Category Archives: health

The last baby.

It’s a distinction he bears with pride.  It started when he told me he wanted a younger brother, so he could have a boy to play with.  My heart constricted in my chest and tears welled up in my eyes.

“I can’t have anymore babies my love, you are my last baby.”

“Your last baby? Why am I your last baby?” He asked, eyes widening as he tried to wrap his six year old mind around a very adult concept.

“Remember when mommy had the last surgery?”

“Yes. You couldn’t pick me up forever, and you cried.”

“Yes” I managed to whisper over the lump in my throat. “When I had that surgery, they took out the parts that let me have another baby. So that is why you are my last.”

He was silent as he absorbed this.  Maybe it was something in my tone of voice or the look on my face but he sat with my statement for a long time, treating it with more seriousness than I thought he could.

“That’s really sad mommy, that you can’t have another baby.” He threw his arm around my neck and snuggled into me, giving me a chance to breathe in the unique smell of his sweat and shampoo. “But I am a little glad I got to be your last  baby.” He kissed me on the cheek and snuggled in close, pulling me towards him with both of his little boy arms.

“I am glad too sweetheart” I murmured as I rested my chin upon his head and closed my eyes.

“And Mommy? Don’t worry, I will always be your baby.”

Losing my voice.

I have been through a lot in the past two to three years.  However, if you were to ask me how I am, I would probably tell you I am fine, or perhaps shrug and tell you I have a headache, but “When don’t I?”. 

You see, as I have grown older I have begun to lose my voice.  I don’t talk about the really scary stuff, the really hard stuff.  I don’t share the stories behind my nightmares or the reasons I cry in the shower.  I showcase the positive and when it comes to the negative I hide in my cave and lick my wounds.  

I don’t talk about it because I am already tired of dealing with it.  I am tired of having the feelings surrounding it, much less sharing them.  Sometimes, the situations are just too big for me to handle my own reactions to them, much less another’s.  Further, when I have shared my feelings, it has seemed as though the person I am talking to needs more comfort regarding my affliction than I.  Rare is the person who simply says “That really sucks” and offers me a hug.  

I love that my friends and family all love me enough to offer help and to offer suggestions regarding alternative medicine or particular treatments.  I understand how hard it is to sit idly by while someone you love is going through something, anything, hard.  Because I understand, I used to diligently follow up on each and every referral and suggestion, trying everything my collective loved ones thought might help. 

Now I don’t. 

I don’t have the energy. 

I can’t live a normal life right now.  Some days it is still impossible to really leave the darkness of my room.  Hold music irritates my headaches, as does the sound of overly chipper receptionists.  The thought of explaining my medical history to yet another medical professional makes me want to cry.  The pages and pages of patient history I have to fill out is daunting in the extreme.  

Then there’s the fact that all these doctor’s are just guessing.  “Here, try these samples and see if something works” is the most common thing I have heard.  I know they are as flummoxed as I am.  There is no tumor, no allergy, no obvious thing causing my condition.  All they can do is try. All I can do is let them try.  

Last night I ended up in the ER because two of the samples I had been given were similar enough to cause an overdose.  I hadn’t been warned to avoid taking them within 24 hours of each other and I didn’t read the entire pamphlet until I started feeling unable to stay awake.  When I did read it I freaked.  Not only was I not supposed to take the second medication within 24 hours of the first, but I also had a much higher likelihood of having a heart attack on this medication because post menopausal women aren’t supposed to take it.  

Well shit, I am post menopausal, I thought. 

So I went to the ER.  I got to jump the line due to pressure in my throat and a possible allergic reaction to medication.  I got an EKG, I got an I.V., I got to play in the hospital room with my son while they watched me to insure I wasn’t going to die on them. 

Today I woke up with another horrible headache.  I couldn’t drive my kids to school or pick them up.  I couldn’t work well.  Tasks that should take a few minutes took forever. 

If you asked me how I am feeling today I would tell you.  

I feel hopeless.  I don’t know what to do. 

 

Moving through.

Today my Other Me is quiet.  She has been vanquished by a good nights sleep, a day of exercise, conversation with a good friend, and snuggles from small warm animals.

Today the crisp fall air seems full of possibility.  There are baked goods to be made, work to be done, children to pick up from school.

I know she will wake up again, but for now she is silent. It took me a really long time to be willing to talk about my feelings.  I have a very hard time letting people know things are not okay.  Even now that I am blogging about it, if you ask me in person I am likely to tell you things are fine, or that I am doing OK.  I’m not sure why I have such a “stiff upper lip” mentality, but I do.  (Why is having a stiff upper lip such a sign of strength anyway? What does that saying even mean?)

The truth is, I am trying to move through.  I am angry and deeply sad.  I miss my life.  My life before illness, my life before separation.  I miss struggling to fall asleep because my husband snored too loudly beside me.  I miss the way he would put away things I needed while I was cooking.  I miss having my kids around all the time.  I miss having endless amounts of energy and confidence.  I miss taking up space in my life.

I don’t want to move on.  I want to move through.  I want to feel everything I need to feel. I want to learn and grow.  I want to heal.

The problem with healing is that it takes a long time.  My hysterectomy was ten months ago and I still feel odd and have physical side effects from the surgery.  Sometimes it feels like it’s been forever and I should be over it now.  I hate being patient with myself, and because I hate being patient with myself I superimpose that impatience onto others.  How sick they all must be of hearing about it.

Healing takes a long time.  I have no idea how long.  Maybe I will be better next year, maybe the following. In certain ways, maybe never. I just have to remember I can’t wake up and expect myself to fix everything that was broken in a single day. I have to learn to take it a step at a time.

Job hunt today. Exercise today. Sleep well. Eat well.  Simple everyday instructions, simple everyday steps.  I hope they will build themselves into something complex and fantastic, a life full of optimism and opportunity.  For now, though, I just have to get through the steps.