2020 has been a shitshow. There I said it. I mean, it’s not a surprise to anyone. Between COVID, murder hornets, locusts, Kobe’s tragic death, impeachment hearings, Black Lives Matter movement, the visual rise of white supremacist groups, RBG’s death and all of Australia on fire along with the West Coast of the United states...I think it’s pretty clear we’re running out of time. Interpret that statement any way you prefer...mother nature taking back what’s hers? The universe getting tired of our bullshit? The second coming of Christ? The end of times? Just what we get for ruining this planet?
Whatever.
My point still stands, this has been a shitty year.
That all being said, bitching about 2020 isn’t the focus of this post...not mainly anyway. What I really had intentions of talking about is more specifically about my mother and her health issues. Oh, and to mention that getting old really effing sucks. I know I was just like all the other young folks around me...totally in a hurry to grow up thinking that was the answer to all my problems.
I WAS WRONG. We were all wrong. But I also know that I wouldn’t have listened to anything different, because as a kid...I knew everything. Ha! I knew nothing. I still know nothing, it’s just different nothings at this point. Being an adult is hard, and while there are a great many things that are wonderful about being one, I would be remiss if I didn’t express my desire to just throw my hands in the air, flip a table and yell “fuck this bullshit, it’s all lies!”
Okay wow, I totally got off point there, back to mom and her health issues. This year has been incredibly difficult for her, and me. She’s been in and out of the hospital many times, whether it was for the TIA/mini stroke, her urgent ileostomy to remove the diseased/cancerous part of her colon, the extreme dehydration that had her kidneys shutting down not to mention the next surgery she has to have to try and put back together everything that was messed with originally. We’ve spent more time in emergency rooms over the last 9 months than in the last 10 years combined. We’re both hoping that 2021 will be a turn around year, one that is marked with better health and more happiness.
Do not think for one minute that I am lacking thankfulness for having my mother in my life this last year. I am grateful for each and every day I have with her on this Earth. I will never complain about time with her, in fact we’ve spent a lot of time together over the last few months. I just wish it were under better circumstances. I’ve prayed so many times to ask God to let me take the pain from her, to change places with her so that she didn’t need to suffer. I’ve cried, I’ve yelled, I’ve laughed...I’ve internally threatened to bite the face off of an administer at one of the hospitals.
Heck, I’ve experienced feelings I didn’t even know I had...I’ve had every reason to relapse and fall back on my default coping skills, but I’ve been so busy caring for my mom that I haven’t had time to feel selfish or be selfish. The responsibilities just don’t end. Being an adult is no small thing.
Whether mom is in the hospital or out, my list of “to do’s” maintain a constant weight on my back, like an anchor ripping at the bow of my conscience. There’s laundry, ostomy care, bag changes, taking out the garbage, cleaning the house, caring for Cricket, caring for Arson, caring for mom, cooking, shopping, work number one, work number two, appointments, follow ups, testing and procedures, updating family on setbacks/progress, picking up prescriptions and whatever else pops up needing attention. Everyday just rolls into the next.
I’ve sat with mom, stroking her hair or holding her hand while she suffers in the ER. I’ve listened to her moan in discomfort, I’ve listened to and dried the tears she’s cried. I’ve washed her hair, I’ve kissed her forehead, I’ve tracked down doctors and nurses in the hallways because they weren’t responsive enough. I’ve yelled at providers for neglectful behavior and I praised/thanked the people that seemed to genuinely care for her well being. I’ve drained mom's bag in the ER because no one seemed to hear her when she told them about it, I’ve changed her when she needed it because again no one seemed to hear her. I’ve ordered supplies because no one bothered to offer assistance. I’ve shamed the agencies that have mishandled her labs, lost her blood, or not followed through with care providers. I’ve done everything I can to hold people accountable and at each step I’ve thanked God that I have been able to be here for her...because I do not understand how any of them can think a single person of any age can do this on their own. It’s shameful.
It’s been hard, I won’t lie. I have been in an almost constant state of exhaustion. I don’t get a lot of sleep and when I do, I have mostly nightmares. I carry guilt for not being good enough at being a daughter, coworker, employee, friend, caregiver. I feel weak and empty, like I’ll never be enough for anyone. And it cut to the bone when I heard mom tell one of her doctors while we were in the ER, “I’ve felt so alone.” There was a moment that I think my heart literally stopped beating or at the very least the blood running through my veins turned to molasses. I still hear it like it was moments ago, I cling to it as a reminder that I’m not good enough...even though mom has thanked me so many times for caring for her that I cannot even keep track. It’s funny how we hold on to the things that do not serve us, even in the face of truer facts. Either way, I cried. I cried for so many reasons.
Please make no mistake, I’m blessed that I have supervisors that have been patient, forgiving and understanding when I needed to miss work, urgently leave, and work from home. Having supportive supervisors has taken a massive weight off of me, even though I carry enormous guilt for not being a good employee or coworker. But that is my burden to carry and work through. The point here is that even in the midst of this shitty shit shit, literally and figuratively...there are moments of goodness and for those times I am very thankful and hopeful because each day is one day closer to her not suffering, not hurting, no being dehydrated and feeling horrible. So every day is a blessing, no matter how mixed it may be.
We're not done yet, we have another surgery to complete. More procedures to endure but we're both clinging to the hope that the end of this particular road is coming. It's been years it seems that we've been on this journey, so many appointments and set backs. I keep praying that the light at the end of the tunnel isn't the train. But just as it has always been, mom and I have each other. Come hell or high water.
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