December 31, 2008
I am sick.
I didn't sleep last night, so I could barely get around today and I slept all afternoon in fits and starts.
I'm sick. I hate it. I hate it with a passion that unless you, too, are sick, and I pray you are not, cannot possibly understand.
I don't want to do this anymore. I'm tired. It's been fifteen unrelenting years.
Now I've gotten glimpses into normalcy with the back surgery procedures. Just glimpses. Cruel glimpses that show you what life could be like if you were normal. Then like a rubberband rebounding, you're slammed back into the wall of sickness that swallows you and laughs at your helplessness.
It's almost kinder to reach a certain level and stay there than to get a glimpse of what could have been and have it taken away.
People often debate what Paul's thorn was. He cried out to God. God told him that His grace was sufficient. His grace is, my faith is sorely lacking. It, too is sick.
I think Paul had lupus. Jan Karon's Father Timothy is certain that Paul had diabetes. My poor husband might agree. I pray with everything I have that he has the strength and fortitude and willpower and faith to bring it under control with diet and exercise. I can't even get to PT two days in a row for the pain.
I hate being sick and I hate the self-loathing it brings. I *can't* do things. I don't want to hear platitudes. I can't. And quite frankly, this back surgery has not worked as well as the shots beforehand, but I really haven't had the opportunity to get past the surgery fully yet.
But for today, I am sick. Lupus sick. The 'you're going down and staying down and there's not a damn thing you can do about it' kind of sick.
I hate it.
I am sick.
I didn't sleep last night, so I could barely get around today and I slept all afternoon in fits and starts.
I'm sick. I hate it. I hate it with a passion that unless you, too, are sick, and I pray you are not, cannot possibly understand.
I don't want to do this anymore. I'm tired. It's been fifteen unrelenting years.
Now I've gotten glimpses into normalcy with the back surgery procedures. Just glimpses. Cruel glimpses that show you what life could be like if you were normal. Then like a rubberband rebounding, you're slammed back into the wall of sickness that swallows you and laughs at your helplessness.
It's almost kinder to reach a certain level and stay there than to get a glimpse of what could have been and have it taken away.
People often debate what Paul's thorn was. He cried out to God. God told him that His grace was sufficient. His grace is, my faith is sorely lacking. It, too is sick.
I think Paul had lupus. Jan Karon's Father Timothy is certain that Paul had diabetes. My poor husband might agree. I pray with everything I have that he has the strength and fortitude and willpower and faith to bring it under control with diet and exercise. I can't even get to PT two days in a row for the pain.
I hate being sick and I hate the self-loathing it brings. I *can't* do things. I don't want to hear platitudes. I can't. And quite frankly, this back surgery has not worked as well as the shots beforehand, but I really haven't had the opportunity to get past the surgery fully yet.
But for today, I am sick. Lupus sick. The 'you're going down and staying down and there's not a damn thing you can do about it' kind of sick.
I hate it.
December 28, 2008
I'm feeling a bit reflective this evening, so if you'd like to be spared my ruminations, skip on down a bit and you'll get to the photos.
We had reason to have a difficult Christmas this year, but somehow, it seemed to be the best Christmas in a long time. There were plenty of gifts, not a single thing needed to be returned, and for the first time in a while, when it was all over, I didn't look around an think that the excess was to the point of the ridiculous. It felt like the right amount, the right gifts, the right *feeling*.
I remember last year being unable to find any Christmas spirit, but I found some this year. It wasn't even hard. I looked at the nativity, and the words of my new one resonated somewhere inside me. The scripture is on the outside of the piece. Mary is holding the baby Jesus and the word "promise" is on her dress. The angel has the word "joy" on her dress, but it is Joseph that caused me to purchase the piece. He has the word 'faith' on his robe.
My gosh. I cannot even manage to have faith in the face of something as comparatively simple as lupus, but Joseph had faith under much more difficult circumstances. Surely I can do better.
I received gifts that were perfect for me. A quilter's iron, enough amazon gift certificates to purchase a banjo, a guitar stand, and a book called "banjo for dummies". Movies, quilting gadgets, a dustbuster and money, always helpful.
Hopefully I can improve the condition of the nefarious plot fund after buying the new furniture.
I finished Sam's quilt except for the binding and now just have to finish Steven's and then bind all three and they'll be done. It would be great if they were done by Valentine's Day.
Then I am going to work on my mother's I think. I have the pattern in mind, I just have to decide for sure. I'll do one for Dad as well and Steve of course. Those are the next three on my list.
At least I have something to do while winter blows outside. I just want to get those glass globe self-waterers so I don't have to worry about killing my plants.
I suppose that's enough rambling. I'll be glad when the split in my thumb heals so I can practice the guitar some more.
I'm feeling a bit reflective this evening, so if you'd like to be spared my ruminations, skip on down a bit and you'll get to the photos.
We had reason to have a difficult Christmas this year, but somehow, it seemed to be the best Christmas in a long time. There were plenty of gifts, not a single thing needed to be returned, and for the first time in a while, when it was all over, I didn't look around an think that the excess was to the point of the ridiculous. It felt like the right amount, the right gifts, the right *feeling*.
I remember last year being unable to find any Christmas spirit, but I found some this year. It wasn't even hard. I looked at the nativity, and the words of my new one resonated somewhere inside me. The scripture is on the outside of the piece. Mary is holding the baby Jesus and the word "promise" is on her dress. The angel has the word "joy" on her dress, but it is Joseph that caused me to purchase the piece. He has the word 'faith' on his robe.
My gosh. I cannot even manage to have faith in the face of something as comparatively simple as lupus, but Joseph had faith under much more difficult circumstances. Surely I can do better.
I received gifts that were perfect for me. A quilter's iron, enough amazon gift certificates to purchase a banjo, a guitar stand, and a book called "banjo for dummies". Movies, quilting gadgets, a dustbuster and money, always helpful.
Hopefully I can improve the condition of the nefarious plot fund after buying the new furniture.
I finished Sam's quilt except for the binding and now just have to finish Steven's and then bind all three and they'll be done. It would be great if they were done by Valentine's Day.
Then I am going to work on my mother's I think. I have the pattern in mind, I just have to decide for sure. I'll do one for Dad as well and Steve of course. Those are the next three on my list.
At least I have something to do while winter blows outside. I just want to get those glass globe self-waterers so I don't have to worry about killing my plants.
I suppose that's enough rambling. I'll be glad when the split in my thumb heals so I can practice the guitar some more.
December 28th, 2008
We had a most special guest at Christmas. His presence added to our enjoyment of the holiday and we welcome him into our home at any time. He's a very special and brilliant young man, and a friend to us all. His name is Joel.
Mom, Joel and AB...and it is Christmas day, not New Year's. :)
Here are a few other of this year's craft projects.
This is a fireplace screen I painted for my Aunt Leslie and Uncle Doug's log cabin.
Here is another fireplace screen of a more seasonal nature :)
And then there's the same theme I did in stained glass a few years ago:
Mom, Joel and AB...and it is Christmas day, not New Year's. :)
Here are a few other of this year's craft projects.
This is a fireplace screen I painted for my Aunt Leslie and Uncle Doug's log cabin.
Here is another fireplace screen of a more seasonal nature :)
And then there's the same theme I did in stained glass a few years ago:
December 27, 2008
And just in case you hadn't had enough photos, here are some more of my nieces, nephew and beloved sister-in-law with their Christmas quilts.
My beautiful niece Rachel with her quilt.
And Rachel is about Christmased out.
Donna and her nine patch flowers.
Elizabeth decided to wear her froggy quilt.
It's a toe eating frog quilt!
My nephew Zack's EKU quilt.
And just in case you hadn't had enough photos, here are some more of my nieces, nephew and beloved sister-in-law with their Christmas quilts.
My beautiful niece Rachel with her quilt.
And Rachel is about Christmased out.
Donna and her nine patch flowers.
Elizabeth decided to wear her froggy quilt.
It's a toe eating frog quilt!
My nephew Zack's EKU quilt.
December 25, 2008
More Christmas photos:
The stockings were hung by the depression glass with care......
On Mei Mei, on Pepper, on Truffles and Sheba....
Up close picture of a hurriedly beaded doggie stocking.
"You realize of course, you'll have to pay for this...."
It's hard to be the Mei Mei.
More Christmas photos:
The stockings were hung by the depression glass with care......
On Mei Mei, on Pepper, on Truffles and Sheba....
Up close picture of a hurriedly beaded doggie stocking.
"You realize of course, you'll have to pay for this...."
It's hard to be the Mei Mei.
December 20, 2008
Ah lucky you, it's picture day!
This would be the big Christmas tree with the beaded fruit that the boys hate and the golden bronze poinsettias that the boys hate, but that I love so ptttttbbbttt.
This is my little aluminum tree that I bought about four years ago and I loved it. They, the family, made fun of it and said it was tacky. You'll note what kind of tree is all the rage this year. Ahem.
This is the little tree I bought this year for the family room with all our memorable ornaments on it. You'll not the wooden gingerbread man on the bottom right corner. He used to have a friend, but the friend made the mistake of saying to MeiMei "You can't catch me! You can't catch me! I'm the gingerbread man!"
He was wrong.
We found him dismembered in the floor this morning. It was an ugly sight.
This is my beaded tree skirt. It took me two weeks of solid work to complete it. You'd have to actually be up close to see just how much beading is there.
One of the beaded Christmas stockings. I saw the material and loved it, so I made stockings, put the glittery snowflake cuff on top and beaded them. I really like them.
Of course, seeing my beautiful color scheme of blue, white and gold, Husband immediately insisted that his be RED.
Ah lucky you, it's picture day!
This would be the big Christmas tree with the beaded fruit that the boys hate and the golden bronze poinsettias that the boys hate, but that I love so ptttttbbbttt.
This is my little aluminum tree that I bought about four years ago and I loved it. They, the family, made fun of it and said it was tacky. You'll note what kind of tree is all the rage this year. Ahem.
This is the little tree I bought this year for the family room with all our memorable ornaments on it. You'll not the wooden gingerbread man on the bottom right corner. He used to have a friend, but the friend made the mistake of saying to MeiMei "You can't catch me! You can't catch me! I'm the gingerbread man!"
He was wrong.
We found him dismembered in the floor this morning. It was an ugly sight.
This is my beaded tree skirt. It took me two weeks of solid work to complete it. You'd have to actually be up close to see just how much beading is there.
One of the beaded Christmas stockings. I saw the material and loved it, so I made stockings, put the glittery snowflake cuff on top and beaded them. I really like them.
Of course, seeing my beautiful color scheme of blue, white and gold, Husband immediately insisted that his be RED.
December 19, 2008
In a wonderful Christmas surprise, I received an early phone call telling me my insurance company had approved my rhizotomy and I could have the first half done the next day (yesterday). For those of you interested in what is involved, and for those of you who have followed my sense of magic and wonder at the ability to walk upright after over a decade of spinal pain, here it is.
No food for four hours before the procedure, no drink for two hours before, though they gave me a whole cup of water to take 2 valium and a percocet before we started as a way to get a head start on the pain. I'll tell you right now that I don't like valium. I don't like the way it makes me feel when I'm coming off of it, but Dr. Dubal needs the patient to be very relaxed for the procedure, so I take it.
You lay on the operating table on your stomach and they hook you up to EKG, bp, oxygen sat and something big on the back of my leg though I'm not sure what it was. Maybe blood flow of some sort.
Then the doc gives four shots of novacaine. She warned me ahead of time as though it were going to be something horrible, but it was barely a prick and is truly NOTHING compared with similar shots given in a dental setting, or to the back pain.
Then, I *think* she inserts some sort of hollow needle or tube similar to an epidural. She puts it in, watching on the xray, and then makes it buzz and asks where I feel it. I tell her I feel it in my spine and left, um, well butt. Since that was where the pain was, that was good. Then she made it thump there, like a car going by with big subwoofers. I thumped in the same place, she pronounced it good and then burned off the mylenation layer around the nerve.
She did this four times. Only once did I feel it somewhere other than where she intended. Once, I felt it in the back of my calf. She pulled the tube/needle out a bit and it stopped. Then she did the burning. Then I was done.
They unhooked me, took me to a little post-op chair, gave me some coca-cola, and I sat for a bit, about ten minutes.
I got instructions, a prescription for pain pills, and was sent home, told not to twist or overdo. It was almost as though they knew me. LOL
I think of twisting as the Chubby Checker kind of twisting, however I leaned forward to turn off the water in the sink and aggravated something in my side, so I now will be more careful.
I had one more pain pill last night and only one so far today. I think that's pretty darn good considering someone was operating next to the spinal nerves yesterday.
I can't bathe for 48 hours, but I'll clean up and go to get my hair washed tomorrow before going to my first Christmas outing at my dear friend Tamera's house. I'm so happy with the gift I got her. I hope she likes it.
Boys have been hovering. MeiMei continues to bathe any open surface, oh, and I bought the most beautiful four foot angel yesterday. I am looking for a name for her.
In a wonderful Christmas surprise, I received an early phone call telling me my insurance company had approved my rhizotomy and I could have the first half done the next day (yesterday). For those of you interested in what is involved, and for those of you who have followed my sense of magic and wonder at the ability to walk upright after over a decade of spinal pain, here it is.
No food for four hours before the procedure, no drink for two hours before, though they gave me a whole cup of water to take 2 valium and a percocet before we started as a way to get a head start on the pain. I'll tell you right now that I don't like valium. I don't like the way it makes me feel when I'm coming off of it, but Dr. Dubal needs the patient to be very relaxed for the procedure, so I take it.
You lay on the operating table on your stomach and they hook you up to EKG, bp, oxygen sat and something big on the back of my leg though I'm not sure what it was. Maybe blood flow of some sort.
Then the doc gives four shots of novacaine. She warned me ahead of time as though it were going to be something horrible, but it was barely a prick and is truly NOTHING compared with similar shots given in a dental setting, or to the back pain.
Then, I *think* she inserts some sort of hollow needle or tube similar to an epidural. She puts it in, watching on the xray, and then makes it buzz and asks where I feel it. I tell her I feel it in my spine and left, um, well butt. Since that was where the pain was, that was good. Then she made it thump there, like a car going by with big subwoofers. I thumped in the same place, she pronounced it good and then burned off the mylenation layer around the nerve.
She did this four times. Only once did I feel it somewhere other than where she intended. Once, I felt it in the back of my calf. She pulled the tube/needle out a bit and it stopped. Then she did the burning. Then I was done.
They unhooked me, took me to a little post-op chair, gave me some coca-cola, and I sat for a bit, about ten minutes.
I got instructions, a prescription for pain pills, and was sent home, told not to twist or overdo. It was almost as though they knew me. LOL
I think of twisting as the Chubby Checker kind of twisting, however I leaned forward to turn off the water in the sink and aggravated something in my side, so I now will be more careful.
I had one more pain pill last night and only one so far today. I think that's pretty darn good considering someone was operating next to the spinal nerves yesterday.
I can't bathe for 48 hours, but I'll clean up and go to get my hair washed tomorrow before going to my first Christmas outing at my dear friend Tamera's house. I'm so happy with the gift I got her. I hope she likes it.
Boys have been hovering. MeiMei continues to bathe any open surface, oh, and I bought the most beautiful four foot angel yesterday. I am looking for a name for her.
December 17, 2008
Note to self: Chili does NOT taste as good the next morning as it did the night before, particularly as a belch.
Note to self: Chili does NOT taste as good the next morning as it did the night before, particularly as a belch.
December 11, 2008
I went yesterday for what should have been my rhizotomy, ending my spinal pain for a year only to find that the doctor's office did not begin the precertification process as they were supposed to have. Now I have a month of this horrendous pain to live with. Plus I had so wanted to walk for Christmas. I was devastated.
But there's nothing to be done for it. I'll just have to wait and pray.
Disappointment comes in so many forms and to so many degrees. Disappointment for a child on Christmas morning who didn't get that long wished for pony. Disappointment in a spouse or child. Disappointment in a doctor's office that results in truly agonizing pain for another month.
But disappointment in a parent is a hard one to take. I know a young man whose parents do not approve of his sexual orientation. They are extremely strict, follow the Bible to the letter as they see it, kind of people. But they allowed this child, and calling him a child isn't fair, he's in college, therefore he's grown, but will always be their child, to be abused by other family members at a family gathering and saying not one word in his defense, well, I find that almost inexcusable.
If a family member started in on one of my children I would be between them and in that relative's face so quickly they wouldn't know what hit them. Instead, they allowed the child to be forced from the family gathering to avoid further abuse and then, when they went home and found a letter from him, no doubt disjointed, each parent tried to call him one time. ONE time. Then they never tried again.
Knowing their child was in pain and had been mistreated, they left him to hurt alone. The remembrance of the event makes me sick to my stomach.
I will bring this child into my home not because I agree or disagree with his sexual orientation. That is an issue between him and God. But because that is what Jesus would do. Because that is what *I* would do.
I often find that God sends me people to mother, to befriend, to care for in some way and I am always blessed by it, even if I end up being hurt in the end, I learn. That, I believe, is the reason for being. To continue to learn. Life is not in reaching the destination. It is living the journey, revelling in it, and learning, always learning from it.
I went yesterday for what should have been my rhizotomy, ending my spinal pain for a year only to find that the doctor's office did not begin the precertification process as they were supposed to have. Now I have a month of this horrendous pain to live with. Plus I had so wanted to walk for Christmas. I was devastated.
But there's nothing to be done for it. I'll just have to wait and pray.
Disappointment comes in so many forms and to so many degrees. Disappointment for a child on Christmas morning who didn't get that long wished for pony. Disappointment in a spouse or child. Disappointment in a doctor's office that results in truly agonizing pain for another month.
But disappointment in a parent is a hard one to take. I know a young man whose parents do not approve of his sexual orientation. They are extremely strict, follow the Bible to the letter as they see it, kind of people. But they allowed this child, and calling him a child isn't fair, he's in college, therefore he's grown, but will always be their child, to be abused by other family members at a family gathering and saying not one word in his defense, well, I find that almost inexcusable.
If a family member started in on one of my children I would be between them and in that relative's face so quickly they wouldn't know what hit them. Instead, they allowed the child to be forced from the family gathering to avoid further abuse and then, when they went home and found a letter from him, no doubt disjointed, each parent tried to call him one time. ONE time. Then they never tried again.
Knowing their child was in pain and had been mistreated, they left him to hurt alone. The remembrance of the event makes me sick to my stomach.
I will bring this child into my home not because I agree or disagree with his sexual orientation. That is an issue between him and God. But because that is what Jesus would do. Because that is what *I* would do.
I often find that God sends me people to mother, to befriend, to care for in some way and I am always blessed by it, even if I end up being hurt in the end, I learn. That, I believe, is the reason for being. To continue to learn. Life is not in reaching the destination. It is living the journey, revelling in it, and learning, always learning from it.
December 4, 2008
The surgery is over and I'm quite glad. It wasn't what I expected. People were nicer and I didn't feel like a person on a conveyor belt. Dr. T found some polyps in my uterus but she said they looked benign. She'll send them off just in case. I'm hurting a bit, but really am better than before. I can still have my rhizotomy next Wednesday. :)
One funny thing I do remember was the anesthesiologist leaning over me with a mask after giving me a relaxant in the IV. I said, "I'm not asleep yet."
He said, "That's because this is oxygen. Breathe deep."
I said, "Oh! You're superoxygenating my blood!"
He looked surprised and said, "Yes, we're oxygenating your blood."
I peered at him thru the mask and said, "I watch too much House." Then that's the last thing I remember. LOL
My boy is in Atlanta. Back in the USA. I can hardly wait! Once the surgery was over, it became all about Oldest Son. It's been months since I've seen him and I'm so excited.
Now if I can stay awake after all these drugs. Lol.
The surgery is over and I'm quite glad. It wasn't what I expected. People were nicer and I didn't feel like a person on a conveyor belt. Dr. T found some polyps in my uterus but she said they looked benign. She'll send them off just in case. I'm hurting a bit, but really am better than before. I can still have my rhizotomy next Wednesday. :)
One funny thing I do remember was the anesthesiologist leaning over me with a mask after giving me a relaxant in the IV. I said, "I'm not asleep yet."
He said, "That's because this is oxygen. Breathe deep."
I said, "Oh! You're superoxygenating my blood!"
He looked surprised and said, "Yes, we're oxygenating your blood."
I peered at him thru the mask and said, "I watch too much House." Then that's the last thing I remember. LOL
My boy is in Atlanta. Back in the USA. I can hardly wait! Once the surgery was over, it became all about Oldest Son. It's been months since I've seen him and I'm so excited.
Now if I can stay awake after all these drugs. Lol.
December 02, 2008
A day of resting, and more resting, and resting more and I'm up to my eyeballs in being rested.
I did manage to slip out and get my bloodwork done for the surgery, for which I have already received a phone call telling me my hemoglobin is too low again and to double the chromagen I was put on.
As is often the case, I was watching House and a moral dilemma reared its ugly head that had, until now, been lying relatively dormant in my psyche. Thirteen is dying of Huntington's. She remembered, as a child, them taking her mother away, and she was feeling *something* because she felt nothing except glad when it happened. Evidently her mother had Huntington's too. Thirteen is singularly lacking in feelings, morals and many things it often seems, until she cracks and glimmers of light shine through, giving us a glimpse of a real person.
I know that Daughter has worried that she would become ill and be like I was when I was on methotrexate (a chemo drug) and at my sickest, barely able to get to the bathroom from the bed. She felt bad about it, but I didn't blame her at all. I didn't want to be me at the time, either. Her feelings were natural and understandable.
And no, I'm not worried that the kids will read this. They have far too many more exciting things to do on the computer than bother to read my blog.
I never worried, at the time, about how Oldest Son felt. He was one to take periods of baring his soul, and it seemed healthy. He also was most likely to believe me when I fiercely told the three of them that they were NEVER EVER EVER to allow my illness to keep them from achieving their dream. Not to stop them, not even to slow them down. He seemed to understand I meant it. And I'm glad he listened to me. He has a new appreciation for home since he's been away. I think he'll go away again, but I also think he'll come back home. That is, after all, what I raised them to do.
Youngest Son is much more of a mystery. I suspect that he resented Daughter being moved out and Older Son going off to Japan, leaving him to "Mom-sit" as it were. He takes his responsibility seriously, but we have a problem when I need to exert my influence as the mom because he helps me out a lot. I would do much less if it weren't for him, but I'd get by just fine. I told him that he was not responsible for me and that Dad and I already had a plan for when he moved out. That seemed to surprise and relieve him.
But he still has feelings he doesn't share and doesn't always listen to me because he's fifteen and I'm a Big Dumb Mom, just as I was when the other two were fifteen.
But back to House. Thirteen agonized through the episode, or agonized as much as she ever feels anything, and I had to wonder if, when I was at my sickest, my children ever wished or ever would wish that I would go ahead and die.
I'd like to think that I raised better children than that. However, I never had to do many of the things they have had to do and face. And it could have been, could be, much much worse. I know there are children who pray for their parent's sufferring to be over, and that is an entirely different ball of wax than dealing with chronic, incurable, debillitating illness. The ax is always hanging over your head, but it's not always swinging.
I fear the day my parents pass. I love my mom and dad so dearly and so desperately that I don't know how I'll function without them. But then I live in the same town with them. Not next door, like my brother, lol, but in the same town. I talk to my mom every day. I remember, shortly after marrying, thinking that if my dad ever got transferred again, we'd have to up and move with them because being with family was more important to me than anything money could buy through a higher paying job.
This was, of course, before the internet, web cams, and instant messaging. What a blessing technology is.
Now, I want my children to be happy, no matter what. If majoring in something obscure and hard to make a living with, is a subject that they love, then they should be able to find happiness in it. But always have a back up plan.
Majoring in a lucrative subject that they don't necessarily love, but can live with, well, that's okay too. Keeping a mind busy is important.
Majoring in a subject that makes you feel like you can make a difference in someone's life, that's tough, but has the potential of being incredibly fulfilling. Who could ask for more than that?
I want them safe, happy and to feel loved. I want them to know who their Lord and Saviour is, and unless I am mistaken, and I don't think I am, that's one I can knock off the list.
But while I used to dread the day they were all gone and I was left all alone, the prospect doesn't frighten me like it used to. I guess being mobile has a great deal to do with it. But we raised them to be functioning members of society. We *want* them to explore strange new lands, to present papers at national conferences and to just hang out and act goofy with their friends.
I ran into the father of one of Daughter's friends this past weekend and was asking about his children. He bitterly expressed his disappointment that his doctor son-in-law and PT daughter had moved to another state thereby keeping him from seeing his grandchildren more than a few times a year. I mentioned the next child in line who is doing some exciting things in NYC as a performer and he didn't seem to think she was having much success. I think she is. The next child down is a dancer and then two more are still at home. Do fathers experience empty nest?
I just remember thinking that his children were examples of what we raise them to be...and they all come home as often as is possible, for they are a close family. But he didn't seem happy. I had to think it was a reflection on him and not them. He and his wife were successful parents, but their children didn't choose to remain in the same hometown where he and his wife were raised and where their families were.
Daughter lives in the next town, but she could live on the other side of this town and be just as far away. Oldest Son will likely be moving to the same town as Daughter, as he will be attending grad school at a university there. He has been on his own for a year, and will feel constricted at home. I'm sure Youngest Son will be ready to go at the soonest possible moment.
But that's okay. They'll come home. I'll go see them. And I'll bug them to pieces via the internet in the times in between.
Ah well, now I am rambling instead of staying on topic. Perhaps I didn't really want to explore it. Perhaps House hit a little too close to home and to the old fears.
Time to stuff them back in the box. I have surgery in two days. That's a whole other box to deal with.
A day of resting, and more resting, and resting more and I'm up to my eyeballs in being rested.
I did manage to slip out and get my bloodwork done for the surgery, for which I have already received a phone call telling me my hemoglobin is too low again and to double the chromagen I was put on.
As is often the case, I was watching House and a moral dilemma reared its ugly head that had, until now, been lying relatively dormant in my psyche. Thirteen is dying of Huntington's. She remembered, as a child, them taking her mother away, and she was feeling *something* because she felt nothing except glad when it happened. Evidently her mother had Huntington's too. Thirteen is singularly lacking in feelings, morals and many things it often seems, until she cracks and glimmers of light shine through, giving us a glimpse of a real person.
I know that Daughter has worried that she would become ill and be like I was when I was on methotrexate (a chemo drug) and at my sickest, barely able to get to the bathroom from the bed. She felt bad about it, but I didn't blame her at all. I didn't want to be me at the time, either. Her feelings were natural and understandable.
And no, I'm not worried that the kids will read this. They have far too many more exciting things to do on the computer than bother to read my blog.
I never worried, at the time, about how Oldest Son felt. He was one to take periods of baring his soul, and it seemed healthy. He also was most likely to believe me when I fiercely told the three of them that they were NEVER EVER EVER to allow my illness to keep them from achieving their dream. Not to stop them, not even to slow them down. He seemed to understand I meant it. And I'm glad he listened to me. He has a new appreciation for home since he's been away. I think he'll go away again, but I also think he'll come back home. That is, after all, what I raised them to do.
Youngest Son is much more of a mystery. I suspect that he resented Daughter being moved out and Older Son going off to Japan, leaving him to "Mom-sit" as it were. He takes his responsibility seriously, but we have a problem when I need to exert my influence as the mom because he helps me out a lot. I would do much less if it weren't for him, but I'd get by just fine. I told him that he was not responsible for me and that Dad and I already had a plan for when he moved out. That seemed to surprise and relieve him.
But he still has feelings he doesn't share and doesn't always listen to me because he's fifteen and I'm a Big Dumb Mom, just as I was when the other two were fifteen.
But back to House. Thirteen agonized through the episode, or agonized as much as she ever feels anything, and I had to wonder if, when I was at my sickest, my children ever wished or ever would wish that I would go ahead and die.
I'd like to think that I raised better children than that. However, I never had to do many of the things they have had to do and face. And it could have been, could be, much much worse. I know there are children who pray for their parent's sufferring to be over, and that is an entirely different ball of wax than dealing with chronic, incurable, debillitating illness. The ax is always hanging over your head, but it's not always swinging.
I fear the day my parents pass. I love my mom and dad so dearly and so desperately that I don't know how I'll function without them. But then I live in the same town with them. Not next door, like my brother, lol, but in the same town. I talk to my mom every day. I remember, shortly after marrying, thinking that if my dad ever got transferred again, we'd have to up and move with them because being with family was more important to me than anything money could buy through a higher paying job.
This was, of course, before the internet, web cams, and instant messaging. What a blessing technology is.
Now, I want my children to be happy, no matter what. If majoring in something obscure and hard to make a living with, is a subject that they love, then they should be able to find happiness in it. But always have a back up plan.
Majoring in a lucrative subject that they don't necessarily love, but can live with, well, that's okay too. Keeping a mind busy is important.
Majoring in a subject that makes you feel like you can make a difference in someone's life, that's tough, but has the potential of being incredibly fulfilling. Who could ask for more than that?
I want them safe, happy and to feel loved. I want them to know who their Lord and Saviour is, and unless I am mistaken, and I don't think I am, that's one I can knock off the list.
But while I used to dread the day they were all gone and I was left all alone, the prospect doesn't frighten me like it used to. I guess being mobile has a great deal to do with it. But we raised them to be functioning members of society. We *want* them to explore strange new lands, to present papers at national conferences and to just hang out and act goofy with their friends.
I ran into the father of one of Daughter's friends this past weekend and was asking about his children. He bitterly expressed his disappointment that his doctor son-in-law and PT daughter had moved to another state thereby keeping him from seeing his grandchildren more than a few times a year. I mentioned the next child in line who is doing some exciting things in NYC as a performer and he didn't seem to think she was having much success. I think she is. The next child down is a dancer and then two more are still at home. Do fathers experience empty nest?
I just remember thinking that his children were examples of what we raise them to be...and they all come home as often as is possible, for they are a close family. But he didn't seem happy. I had to think it was a reflection on him and not them. He and his wife were successful parents, but their children didn't choose to remain in the same hometown where he and his wife were raised and where their families were.
Daughter lives in the next town, but she could live on the other side of this town and be just as far away. Oldest Son will likely be moving to the same town as Daughter, as he will be attending grad school at a university there. He has been on his own for a year, and will feel constricted at home. I'm sure Youngest Son will be ready to go at the soonest possible moment.
But that's okay. They'll come home. I'll go see them. And I'll bug them to pieces via the internet in the times in between.
Ah well, now I am rambling instead of staying on topic. Perhaps I didn't really want to explore it. Perhaps House hit a little too close to home and to the old fears.
Time to stuff them back in the box. I have surgery in two days. That's a whole other box to deal with.