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Still here?

Well, here I go.
I had an appointment with my PCP [primary care physician] today. He's a special man and I'm thrilled that I found him. He has a wry sense of humor, is pragmatic, a listener extrodinaire, empathetic without getting drawn into my "crazy-making" du jour, a good diagnostition to figure out what is probably going on in my body, and is egoless regardng referring me to a specialist to, and as pure bonus, not too bad on the eyes -- especially when they twinkle and he gets that cat who ate the canary look.

Well, today's 15 minute appointment turned out to be close to an hour.

My last appointment I had to cancel due to painstuff, so there were issues that needed addressing. I basically get a two-for-one deal, since we talk about Mom and me both.

Regarding Mom, one idea I had turns out to be a bad, really bad one. I had hoped that WSH could get mom to be "sedate", meaning just shy of sedated, to get her on the Island in a private facility, and then have her MDs work on backing her off her medicine and fine-tuning it.

Well when I mentioned it to Dr. Waite, he said that this isn't going to happen. His take is that when Mom is finally discharged, she will be at the best combination of Rx she can be, and any messing with it could land her back at WSH -- which none of us wants to happen. So it's off the proverbial table [if it ever was on -- as I said, it was just an idea, voiced].

So that does not bode well for me, Gordy, chauffeur extrodinaire, or, most of all Mom. This is just awful. As of our last visit, I can't imagine her coming home anytime soon. As each day passes, she is slipping away from me. It is pretty unbearable to watch. And I know I don't actually feel her pain, spiritually, physically or emotionally, but in my heart, I think I do a pretty good job of getting it.

One of my issues growing up was that since Mom needed a special duality from me, which sort of mixed me up. She needed me to be "her mother", as her mother, Lillian, needed of her before me -- that perpetuation of "abuse" but in a more subtle way. The difference, and total mixed message piece of growing up, was Mom also wanted to live her life through me, i.e., it was her "2nd chance" since she was "the Momma".

Poor Mom, despite all her hopes when I was born, didn't have a "mini-me" through me.

I was a tomboy. I wasn't a flirt. I wasn't a "babe". I wasn't a multi-man-dater by choice, I preferred to be a one boy girl [I had long term relationships, and only tended to "date" in-between those special men in my life] -- I fell in love hard, and it was all I needed, I didn't want to "play the field".

To compensate for my wanting to stay with one person, Mom (and Dad supported her) insisted that If I was going to be allowed to date my first real love, Jim Finley, at age 14 [but it so absolutely not simple puppy love, think more Capulets and Montegues -- we were a couple for 4+ years, and for a long while after, stayed in touch, and occasionally tried to hook up again] that I HAD to date other people. We met via his brother. On friday nights, Gillman's was open until 9:00PM. So I had the house sans parents. But I was a "good girl" and got permission from the folks to have parties until they got home. Neil Denowitz, one of Jim's good friends, made me a strobe light, and I bought these gizmos you put in the lamp sockets, then add the bulb (I had colored ones), and they blinked off and on. We had food and soft drinks, and people could not drink or smoke in the house. We cranked the music up from Dad's stereo upstairs, he put a speaker in the wall downstairs, so music piped in. The parties were usually every other Friday, and people crashed.

Call it dumb youthful luck, but no one broke the rules, and the crashers were awfully well behaved, and it was a lot of fun.

Well Jim's brother, Tom, crashed the party, and we started to sort of see eachother-ish. Soon after, Jim came to a party and, wow, chemistry! He was cute and funny and into so many things I had no clue about. He was charming. When some of us girls would go to a dance, he'd show up. It was not long before we started to hang out together and "date". Remember, I'm 14, as was Jim, so we weren't really "mobile" then. He went to a different Jr. High than mine, and later a different High School. We used to meet and hang out after school at West Hartford Center where our store was. Oh it was so magic to feel that way about someone. He truly was a fantastic guy, and also, a "bad-boy" je ne sais quois way back in '67. He had "long hair". If you saw a photo of what "long hair" was in '67, you'd think I was nuts, but it was an issue of my parents. Too bizarre to think back on.

But, it really was a fine and true love. The first unconditional love I ever experienced in my life. He actually loved me despite so many differences, and the peer pressures on him, and oh, the letters he wrote, I never knew such poetry..sigh..but that's for another post, or for a diary methinks. The point was, Mom used to tell me over and over and over about how I was missing so much, and how much fun it was in her day when they went out as a group, or dated many different boys, and how she truly pitied me and my generation , and on and on and on....

So, the mandate to date others if I was to see Jim was a no brainer for me. I had to see Jim.

Jim knew the rules too, and so that's what I did. Most of the time we were going out, he did not see anyone else. That is pretty amazing methinks. But I did see others. It was sooo awkward on so many levels. Sometimes my dates were mere "beards", but some were real dates. If I had any fun, and there were times it was fun with someone else, I felt like total scum to have a good time. It was so messed up. I was so messed up by this edict. When Jim did see someone else, it truly made me upset, yet I had no "right" to be upset did I? So lots of emotions got mangled and tangled and repressed.

So doing things with or for Mom was a huge piece of my life, and of it's messiness.

All my life figuring out what was "right" proved to be a tough thing to discern, and it was difficult to feel my feelings, and think my thoughts, and to do what I needed to do to grow up, and to learn, and to explore. My life was so hard to live, or figure out. The messages were so mixed both incoming, and inside myself as I tried to make Mom happy with me, to love me in a way that felt real. Who the heck was I? What is me and what is Mom? [I'm not even going to touch the Daddy /daughter issues and pleasing him...oy]

I so desperately wanted to please my Mother, and have her love me, but I knew she wanted things of me that were not in my core being or nature.

Mom was not political, it figures I was very politically aware at age 14, and protested the Viet Nam war, way back when, and got permssion skip school and march Main Street in Hartford, and then heading up the ramp onto the highway and forming a human barrier (yes, I was in the front line, literally) stopping traffic on I-95.

Later on, in High School, being on the Student Council, and yet also being a "hippie peace-nik" was considered an oxymoron -- this is still the 60's. The Jocks v. the "freaks". Attitudes mirrored the way people seem to think today that a person can't do things that on the surface seem to be on different sides of the proverbail fence, i.e. people think today that a personca can not support the troops, and still not want a war. That, of course, is ludicrous. So some of my friends during "normal school hours" threw eggs at me during our vigils /march for peace. But when I tried to talk to Mom about these hurts and feelings, well, none of this was of interest to Mom, beyond, (yes, you guessed it) "in my day...I feel so sorry for your generation..." which made me really really angry, but I could only go so far with that anger before I had to back off, and go pouting upstairs to my room, or whatever it took to get away from the feelings I had.

So, to say the least, it was all very tangled up as to where she ended and where I began. I would play out my life often based on how to not do something to disappoint Dad or Mom. And, Dad always stayed "Dad", but Mom, not so much...she would often join my (and Jim's) friends in a discussion, or give advice, she was the "cool Mom" according to our friends. She "understood" and was open and easy to talk to. I'm sure she was if you weren't vying for her approval and love. Jim and I to this day recall that our friends might have come over while we were upstairs in our rooms, and we'd never know it until we went downstairs, and found them engaged in lively talks with our Mom. Lines were so blurred, and they also were a moving target.

A typical mixed message, was that during the summer before my Senior year in High School, my parents sat me down and gave me an ultimatum. Choose Jim Finley or us. Impossible, and so unfair. I ultimately chose them. But here it comes. When Dad was buying for the store in NYC, Mom would let me see him, but shhhhh, don't tell your father! OK, so I was happy happy happy, but, er, this us against Dad was uncomfortable, but on the otherhand, I could see Jim without sneaking around (yes, our deal was to drive by eachother's house, beep, and then meet in Elisabeth Park). I'm sure Dad had a clue, but his choice was to play it "dumb", so it wasn't overtly a mixed message. But Mom was a moving target. There were times that she still said no to seeing Jim, but it was because she wanted to live through me and have me date many different boys as before, all the while repeating how she "pitied my generation". This something that is ingrained in my wee grey cells, if she could only embrace my generation's differences, and intensity, and it's actually following through with the school message to question authority, and the difference we all actually made...but nope, she pitied us, at least back then.

Pleasing Mom was a life-time career. And, later as I went off on my own, she would say how she admired me, and how she could never do "that", and if she could do it over, she would not have kids, and push me emotionally and pull me emotionally until I had no clue if she really ever liked me very much at all. She always said "You are my heart..." and it's true. But I never felt it, nor did I know to whom she was referring. Was it some imaginary me? Or what is really me. And, frankly, I was confused as to just what pieces were truly me. What a mess.

I've been in therapy now long enough to rival Woody Allen. But, it actually was Marilyn who managed to figure out the source of most of my angst, and show me this major flaw that is a huge source of so much of my problems; it was this intense wall I had that defined and defended Mom.and.me. I remember the actual session where Marilyn took pen to paper and drew a visual reference, a diagram, [circles and arrows - nah, just kidding about the arrows - lame reference to Alice's restaurant...which, BTW, will be played this Thanksgiving, usually at noon, and this time, it will have a false ring to it I'm afraid to say, since the military has changed it's policy and will actually inlist felons]
but leaving the Alice's Restaurant tangent, Marilyn was showing me visually, while explaining to me, that Mom and I over-lapped, and that I needed to be my own person, and Mom should be her own person -- not intertwined and overlapping eachother.

Marilyn and I actually managed to work on that separation, and on my not making decisions based on some old tape to please Mom, and we succeeded pretty darn well. I had my own identity, me.

I even changed my name to Zoe. It is Greek for life. It was a wee bit of freedom from not meeting Mom's expectations and "needs" for me to be a certain way, and live in an expected way, or think or feel or dress in a way that Mom needed to feel good, making up for when she was growing up.

But, this is what I'm leading up to. All that hard work is gone. Caring for Mom now, and legally being her "voice" since I am her Power of Attorney, and it creates a perfect set up for me to, well, have the old tapes take over again. And the catch-22 in all of this is many-fold. The more vulnerable I get, the easier it is to lose my hard won self. It is so hard to not be overly connected to her (again), and be overly protective of her, in an unhealthy way. I actually feel both sides of her illness, at least it feels that way to me. I empathise with her too deeply for it to be healthy, and yet, at the same time, I am supposed to be rational and make smart decisions for her. And, I don't, as an individual, think or feel the way she does, but having lived a life learning how she feels, and her preferences, I'm pretty good at knowing just what she probably would want.

I think I pull it off pretty well, and do the right things for her, and push issues for her, and it does help me understand her unspoken needs, and that "Mom-Daughter" connection is pretty intense, and it helps me to have more understanding of what she's saying, implying, asking, needs, et al, while she is unable to speak, communicate, her needs, her pain, her fears. I "empathize /intuit" frequentlyl surprise myself when I "get it" through her look, her manner, her tone, well just all of her Gerry-"isms".

But when all is said and done, after writing letters, or filling out documents, or attending meetings on her behalf, just being her advocate, when each task that comes before me is completed, or we leave for home after a visit at WSH, I am one messed up, beat down, human being.

I have lost not only a sense of self, but a whole lot of self-worth.

I'm sure that the emotions from our history together, and the ever-changing, unending quest to help Mom find some joy or peace in her life, is part of why my brain keeps going 24x7, so that sleep is a fond memory, and restorative sleep? a concept that dreams are made of [yes, all puns intended].

And physically. I am undone. Everything is at an apex. There is so little that is not hurting on my body. My hair doesn't hurt...that's good, yes? But on a bad day....

My mind is scary lately, very spooky in here.

There are lots of fits and starts, and missing words, and messed up sentences coming out of my mouth of late. I feel as if I'm not far from joining Mom at WSH. Dr Waite and I addressed it, the mess my speech and mind is, and he thinks it is due to lack of sleep, stress, pain, and certain medicines that I am on. He believes that as I get off some meds, it should be restored.

So, I have a lot of hope and pressure riding on going to Clear Passage. It is very scary to me. The last time I went on a trip, I drove to Westerbeke California, for a Peaceful Warrior and Life Purpose training with Dan Millman. The best best best part of it was meeting Crissi from Brisbane, Australia, who is one amazing lady, who I have to get in touch with soonest. She joined me driving back up to WA, via this or that way as our fancy dictated. I had some great CDs for the trip, and turned her on to Christine Lavin (and other folks, but absolutely Crissi became a Lavin fan-big time).

But that was in 94! The last time I went out and about was 12 years ago. Wow. So to go to a strange place, with no familiar faces, places, and energy to boot is pretty spooky. Also, doing body work this intense will certainly release a lot of emotions stored in these cells. It is not a trip that I am excited about taking, but I do have such hope that this trip may free up my body to heal some, maybe no more abdominal adhesions, or pain and ER trips and N/G tubes associated with it...or maybe less FMpain, and MPSpain, and TMD/TMJpain, and migraines and less less pain, and more flexibility, and movement, and maybe freedom from so many Rx I am taking, and that would be a blessing of amazing possibilities. So that will be good.

Leaving here, this time without even a "Daphne cat" to keep me centered, and out of myself while caring about a precious life, as in '90 when I did a job relo, and moved 3k miles West (she was so lovely, my Daphne, [we both flew 1st class, I bought her her own seat] she hung in there with me as I settled in Mukilteo and became more familiar with my work, and co-workers, at DEC in Bellevue. But I think she felt I was ok enough after about a year, and she was too sick to hang in there any longer for me, so, at 22, I had to put my dear friend down........] but, this trip to Clear Passage, I've no friends, no cats, not even the comfort of my own familiar "stuff", just the unknown, and an equal chance at success or failure.

The extra cherry on top is that I will be leaving Mom for 2 weeks! ...please she must stay safe during this journey, she absolutely must! This is some heavy and scary stuff.

So, now that I have gone off track, and off those tracks too, and heck, let's face it, I derailed in this free-association post, I think I'll stop for now, take a sleeping pill, and hope the sandman comes by, and this concoction of Rx and fantasy will quiet my busy brain, and I get some much needed zzzzzzzzzzzzzz's to keep going for the next task in the queue on the morrow.

But, this is pure truth; I am so very near bottom. I thought February 9th '06 was bottom when I moved Mom from here to HomePlace. And then, despite the horrors Mom and I faced together, such as when she was admitted to WSH, and went to St Clare, sounds of total fear incarnate still ringing in my head as they left her lips. There are so many more moments, or days of pure awfulness, but despite all that, I think I'm closer now to hitting "bottom" than ever before. I know there lay many more possible ways to go lower still.

So, despite it feeling like bottom, I'm learning not to bet on the only way to go from here is up.

I'm straddling being outside of the human race. I find it so hard to do much now except experience pain. So, each item I can tick off my list of things to do is a monumental action borne of sheer will, mixed in with some adrenaline, fear and occasionally momentum.

Dang.
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