The Health Crap Shoot

A couple days ago, I wrote about a diagnosis I recently received from my doctor. After reading this and talking to some coworkers today, I realized that my story is much longer than just the past month.

Two of my coworkers and I were discussing doctors not listening to us when we talk about symptoms we are having. One of their uncles was just diagnosed with stage 4 cancer, mainly because he ignored his symptoms until he couldn’t any longer. The other was saying that she had gone to several doctors before her cancer was properly diagnosed. One doctor she went to listened to her symptoms and then had the nerve to take her hands in his, stroke them gently, and tell her that she was just so stressed out and needed to relax more.

This all took me back to all the years between my teen years and now. Every doctor I’ve been to for physicals (and there have been a few since I’ve lived in quite a few different areas over the years) has heard my symptoms and has known that there were “issues” with my health. Because no one ever said anything about the symptoms I gave, I assumed I was just normally abnormal or something and gave it no further thought. I am now 30 years old, and I’ve more than likely had this issue since my early teen years (12 or 13), given the symptoms I have. Think about how long it is that I’ve seen doctor after doctor through the years and not one has ever discussed my symptoms with me. Not one.

“I think some doctors don’t really listen to women when they feel something is wrong,” I said to my coworkers.

They both nodded.

“Okay, but listen to this,” I replied. I then told them about this new doctor I was going to. She was recommended to me by one of our school nurses (who goes to her), and I immediately set up an appointment to establish with her as soon as our insurance switched over to include her (which is why I had to wait until January).

I walked into her office and said, “Here I am. Here is my medical history. Here is my family’s medical history. Here are the things definitely wrong with me. Here are some symptoms I’ve had for years. Here are…”

“Wait a minute.” My doctor made me pause in my list of things that doctors have always asked and I’ve always answered. “These are your symptoms?”

“Ummmm…yeah. These are my symptoms.”

“Well, that’s not normal or right. I don’t like that. Let’s do something about it. Based on what you’ve told me, it could be this or this or this or this. Let’s do blood tests to see if it is any of those. I think, personally, that it is this#4, so I’m also going to order an ultrasound for you. Here’s what will happen at that appointment. If it is that, we really need to get your weight down, but it will be hard to lose weight. Here are some things you can do to work on that.”

“What about my feet?”

“That’s next on my list. Here is a doctor you can go see for your feet. He’s here on Tuesdays, so you’ll get in next Tuesday to see him. We’ll get your feet better and then you can get to work on exercising more.”

“Yay!” I yelled. (Not really, but my insides yelled, “Yay,” for me. I’m ready to get out and do things again.)

“Okay, when will I know more?” I really said.

“We’ll get back to you as soon as we have the ultrasound results.”

“Okay.”

“If it is this#4, which I really think it is, then we’ll need to do treatment for it. Are you planning to have children, or have you been trying to get pregnant?”

“No. We don’t want children,” I assured her.

“Okay, that makes treatment a bit easier on you. Here are your options: Options, options, options, options…”

“Hmmm…I don’t really like one of those options.”

“Well, we’ll discuss that more if we need to. I just want you to know what might be coming up and think about it, okay?”

“Okay.”

I left, made all the appointments, did the blood tests, had the ultrasounds done (have you ever drunk 36 oz of water in just about 10 minutes? If not, I don’t recommend it. You’ll be going to the bathroom for the rest of the day, and five minutes later, you’ll still feel as though you have to return to the facilities to pee again), and waited.

Two days after the ultrasound, someone from the doctor’s office called me.

“We have your test results. As the doctor suggested, it is this diagnosis. This blood test was high and the ultrasound showed what she figured it would. Combined with the other symptoms you’ve been having, here are your treatment options for the diagnosis: Options, options, options, options…,” the nurse said.

“Well…what about this last option? Here are a bunch of questions about it that I don’t understand. I don’t like any of the other options, but I’d like to know more about this one.”

“Hmmmmm…,” she said, “I’m not sure about that. Let me look it up. Ummmm…I can’t find it. Those are all very good questions, but I can’t find the information to give you. Hmmmm… Uhh… Oh! Look! The doctor is standing right here. She wants to talk to you!”

“Oh! Okay!” I am bewildered. I’ve never talked to my doctor on the phone before. I’ve worked with a lot of medical facilities with my jobs, and I can tell you freaking hard it is to talk to a doctor when you have legitimate business with them, let alone just to get your own freaking doctor on the phone for a question. Usually you ask for the doctor’s nurse and leave a message, praying that they really do ask the doctor your question and get back to you.

“Hello, jess!” my doctor said. “Did the nurse give you the test results?”

“Yes, she did.”

“I’d like to go over them again in case you have questions. Here are all of your result again. Here are your options again as well. Why didn’t you like the other options?”

“Well, here are the reasons for that.”

“Have you tried this or this or this or this?”

“Yes, yes, yes, and yes.”

“Hmmm…okay, let’s not go with that option then. Here is the best other option.”

“Yes, I had questions about that. Question, question, question?” I ask her.

“Oh, those are great questions to ask. Here are the answers. How do you feel about this option now?”

“I feel much better about it. How about we try this one and see how it goes?”

“Certainly, I’ll get that called over for you. I also want to see you in six months, no later, to check in with you and to see how you’re doing. We’ll also just see how the weight loss is going, just to keep track and keep accountability on that. You’ll have seen the other doctor by then, so hopefully you’ll be gaining ground on that, too, with your feet better,” she said.

“Okay, then. Thank you!”

“Don’t forget to come see me again in six months!”

“I won’t!”

(Don’t you love how specific I’m being? heheh)

I have never had a doctor who listened to my symptoms so closely and immediately zoned in on things that were happening. I’ve never had a hint that I had this disorder from any other doctor, even though I’ve had the symptoms most of my life. I’ve been told in the past that some of the symptoms were just due to stress from this or that or the other, or that they weren’t really symptoms of anything.

I’ve had doctors I’ve liked in the past, but I’ve never had a doctor I trusted this much or one that I truly felt really wanted me to be in the best health I can be in. Even the sports medicine doctor she sent me to was similar in that he listened to my symptoms, what I’d already done to alleviate the pain at all, and then gave me my options and told me what he thought about each. No nonsense and with a “let’s get this taken care of!” attitude.

One of my coworkers asked me for my doctor’s name and her practice location, because she wants to establish with her as well. I immediately wrote down her information and passed it on. I’m paying it forward, I guess, since another coworker suggested my doctor to me. Since this kind seems to be rare, I’m willing to pass patients on to her, because I know she’ll listen to them and actually take care of their health.

Doctors like this shouldn’t be so rare. Women shouldn’t be patted on the hand or the back or the head and told that their symptoms aren’t really symptoms of anything, so don’t worry your pretty little head, lady. Medical care shouldn’t be such a crap shoot.

Another year, another set of wishes

I’m a bit early this year for my year-end reflections, but I won’t be around my internet at the end of this year, so I thought I’d get to it earlier. Last year, I had just started what I thought was a fabulous new job, we moved to what we thought would be a better apartment, and Neal had started teaching a new class that he thought would be a joy to teach.

My job truly was (and is) fabulous. I love my boss and my coworkers, even if one of the most wonderful ones just left us (hi, Jen!). I’m realizing more and more how good for me my “new” workplace is, mainly because I am around people I enjoy, I get to work with kids, and I never fall into a monotonous routine (similar stuff happens, but since I’m dealing with so many people, no two days are ever alike!) I’ve also realized lately that one of the things I love about where I’m working is that, unlike other places I’ve worked in the past, I’m not embroiled in the middle of all the “office gossip” all the time. Every once in a while learning about the “things going on” around the building is nice, but since I generally deal with the kids more than anyone else, I don’t get tangled up in the office politics as much as I have in other places. Sure, I’ve had my share of run-ins with certain people that I won’t mention here, but I’m mainly not involved with all that. On one hand, the nosy part of me kind of wants to know some things that are going on, but then another part of me kind of likes just knowing what I need to know in order to do my job. I don’t get all the gossip about the students or parents or coworkers, so I can smile and say “Hi” in the hallway without wanting to throw up from false niceties (well, to too many people. Believe me, there are a few in each category that I could definitely do without seeing).

Our new apartment last year turned into as big of a nightmare as the one before it. Turns out the apartment wasn’t the issue; the management was. Since we wised up and moved completely away from those apartment owners, we are now much happier. Sure, we somehow still ended up with the noisiest upstairs neighbor in the world  (case in point: stomp stomp stomp up the stairs, we hear. “Guess who’s home?!” one of us will shout to the other. Bang, stomp stomp stomp, we hear above our heads as he enters his apartment), but we love the space we have, the view we have, and most of the other neighbors we have. Wanna see my “backyard”? Here’s Neal sitting on one of the benches back there, looking out over Lake Superior:

Neal looking at our wonderful view. I have one of him turned around to look at me, but I didn't ask him if I could put it up on here. Like the ore boat?

My backyard, complete with the bench from above and the lake, although that kind of blends into the sky, eh?

We even have a shelter house where we can grill out and enjoy our food (along with some grills around the property, just like in a park). We regularly see deer crossing our paths (three tonight, frolicking in the yard as we left to hang out at a coffee shop). We have a deck, upon which we have hung real pine garland for the season. It’s pretty wonderful here.

Neal’s job has had some bumps this year, but he did greatly enjoy teaching the new class. We had a scary summer where he didn’t work and didn’t know if he’d have a job come fall, but he was asked back for the fall semester (which led to a scary fall semester where we didn’t know if he’d have a job for spring). We now know he has a spring semester position as well, but I’ll worry about the summer and next year when 2010 comes. Until then, I’m going to enjoy the fact that things are okay right now for him job-wise. Not where we want him to be (not where he wants to be), but it’ll do for now.

My feet, oh my aching feet! I’m still having the stupid foot problems I’ve had for a few years now. I’m still doing exercises for them, still stretching them, still icing them…still dealing with the pain. Here’s hoping (yet again) that next year brings healing for these painful things!

And cars! Blech. We just found out yesterday that our only, last-surviving car has decided to leave us — or will decide to do so soon. Sully has so many things wrong with him that it’s just not feasible to fix really any of them. We’ve decided to just do it, just get a new (to us) car. At the moment we realized we needed this, Neal’s parents called and said they were selling their car — did we want to think about buying it? Hmmmm…we’re still debating it for the evening, but I think we’ll go with it. We know it’s been maintained; we know it’s in good condition; we know we’re getting a fair price. Poor Sully. We’re going to miss him, but his time of reliability is probably over. (And I’m going on record: I hate CV boots. I hate ‘em. La Uvita had problems with hers and this is one of the many problems Sully is having, albeit one of the two most troubling ones.)

Blessings for this coming year? May the promises the coming year holds wrapped up to be opened end up being endlessly joyful and lovingly bright for you and your loved ones. May at least one of the biggest desires you hold come true and at least one of the biggest pains in your life disappear. May you be happy in 2010.

Random stuff, just because.

I just signed up for Google Voice and just spent a few minutes playing with it, and I’m pretty happy with what it does. Neal and I are discussing using it as our main number to sign up with businesses, mainly because then we don’t have to have all the annoying calls to our phone that we don’t want to answer. We’ll see what we decide, but for now, it’s a pretty cool toy to play around with.

School is just around the corner, and I’m gearing up to start my full hours again after about an hour less each day this summer. The money will be happily added to our savings account, as Neal is returning to work as well in September. Remember to keep your fingers crossed as far as second semester for his teaching schedule.

Things are brewing where I work, too, but I’m hoping they won’t trickle down to me too much. A couple of my coworkers, however, have already been hit by the changes, and I’m truly sorry for what they are going through. Neal and I are dealing with similar things due to his job being changed the way it did this year, and I wouldn’t wish these times of uncertainty on anyone.

On the bright side, we are now completely debt-free (except for student loans, but those are steadily decreasing — and at least we can take the adjustment on our taxes for the interest on those, right?) We’re so excited to be able to say that, even knowing that we’d like a new(er) car soon. We’re willing to wait for that to happen, though, until we’re definitely on solid footing as far as jobs go. We found Neal a new bike that will work well for him, and I am getting my (really old) bike tuned up and fitted for new tires this week, so we’ll both be able to bike. Heck, we even bought a bike rack for the car, so we’ll be able to bike around more in natural areas around here. (I’m still struggling with those darn foot issues, so the bikes will be especially helpful for us to get out and get some much-desired exercise.)

There’s just so much going on and, at the same time, not enough. That’s hard to explain, so I’ll leave it there, but that’s where I am right now. I really need to write a post on my new life philosophy, so maybe I’ll try to get back to that in the next couple days. It’s pretty interesting and a wild change from the way I’ve been for a long time. Twenty-nine is a good year for change, eh? (It’s my favorite number, too!)

Stigma

Someone I have regular (almost daily) contact with was recently admitted to the local psychiatric unit for a couple days. We weren’t sure if this person would be there two or three days, but we were glad this person was getting the help they needed.

Today, the person came back and was talking to me as we normally do when suddenly they asked, “Do you know where I was?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Do you think differently of me because of it?”

“Nope!” I said.

“Are you sure?”

“Let me tell you something about me: My mom is bipolar. I grew up with this and with her being tight-lipped because of the stigma attached to mental illness. One day, she realized the stigma was stupid and she started talking about it. I started talking about it. I think that when a person realizes that they need to talk to someone for their mental health it’s just plain smart to do what you need to do to be healthy. I’ve lived with mental illness in my family almost my entire life, and the thing I’ve realized is this: People can be stupid. Those are the people you don’t listen to and the people that you don’t spend your brainpower worrying about.”

The person was silent for a while and then said they were off to their next stop.

There’s one thing I want everyone who’s dealt with mental illness (whether they have one or they have a loved one who does) to fully realize: You are you and you are loved. Sure, some people may feel awkward around you and may think ignorant thoughts about your illness, but if they make you feel bad about yourself? Then you don’t need them in your life.

I need some relief

I’m such an odd person. Give me a catastrophe or major stress-inducing life change, and I’ll take it, deal with it, and ask you if you have more. Give me a small change or upcoming stupid thing (like this silly lunch thing that is still hanging over my head), and I worry and stress about it until it’s resolved.

I’m wondering if it’s because the small things I think I should be able to “fix,” while I have no such illusions about the big issues in life (illness, death, etc.) I used to have the idea that I could fix anything for anybody, but I now think the biggest “fix” I can do is just to be calm and supportive. But when these small things happen, they generally only bug me and I feel silly for venting about them — mainly because they are so insignificant in the long run. Yet, while I know that they are going to end up meaning so little to me, I still worry about them.

I need some stress-relief advice. Anybody got anything that works? (Well, besides anything involving becoming drunk or otherwise senseless.)

Year’s end

I suppose that this year has been ever-changing intermixed with a lot of nothing happening. We moved to a new apartment, but in the same building. I was hired at a new, full-time, wonderful job, but at a place where I’ve previously temped (although now I’m a “real” worker). Neal’s working at the same place as before but has been able to add a new, upper-level class to his teaching schedule (finally!)

Some friends we became closer to and some we lost even further track of (unfortunately). The same thing tends to happen with family members as well, as I’ve noticed when you move away from your home.

My feet are still mending but doing better than when this year started, although I hope that by this time next year I’ll be completely healed.

We sold one car and maintained another this year. We hope to remain a one-car home for a long time. We bought a lot of stuff and gave a lot away to local charitable organizations to keep a balance in the house (too much “stuff” in a small apartment just can’t be good, ever). We supported other local organizations monetarily to remind ourselves that we have a great life, even through the stress of no jobs, etc., but we still have had more than others this year.

We are already looking for new apartments for the coming year (only 211 days left!) and have a couple good candidates, closer to where I work (I could even walk in good weather) but still on a direct busline for Neal. I’m excited about the coming months for this job, as is Neal with his, mainly due to the excitement of being given the chance to teach a new class. Looking forward, we feel a lot more hope and a little bit more contentment that we did at the end of 2007. Here’s hoping that 2009 ends on an even higher note than 2008, and that our lives just keep getting better.

Nothing, to me, could be much better than having the most wonderful person in the entire world by my side, helping me deal with all that comes, no matter the day, no matter the month, no matter the year. As with the past few years, the greatest blessing of 2008 has been my husband, who has held me up when I was in the most pain (sometimes literally when my feet weren’t up to walking well) and who has held my hand when I was upset with certain situations in the past year. More than anything, I look forward to another year of laughter and love with this amazing man.

May God bless our lives in the coming year with more than we imagined possible. May you laugh and dance and sing every day, at least a little bit.

Whoa. Wow.

The other night, Neal and I were eating out at Wendy’s.  There was a kid behind us in line with a person I assumed to be his grandmother, although I suppose that it could have been his mom.  I overheard him say, “I’m getting the large,” and saw him pointing at the overly large meal with the gigantic drink and humongous fries.  I blinked and thought I heard wrong.  (Okay, I have a six foot, two inch husband who never gets anything other than the small.  I myself always get the small with a smaller sandwich than the hubby, who also doesn’t overdo the sandwich—no Baconator or anything like that.)

Uh uh.

The grandmother came over to us and I immediately spotted the salad on her tray along with a small water.  I was at first relieved and thought she hadn’t allowed that kid (who appeared to be about eight or nine years old and, um, very overweight) to get what he had suggested.  Unfortunately, I was wrong.  He had the homestyle breaded chicken sandwich with the largest meal you can get.  His drink was larger than Neal’s and mine combined, and his fries probably were, too.  Halfway through my fries, I started feeling full and I also did not get a refill on the drink.  This kid consumed EVERYTHING he had purchased.  I felt ill just looking at all that food.

Whatever happened to learning how to say, “No!” to what a kid wants?  When did we start catering to the every whim of kids whenever they mention something they want?  Ugh, I can’t even imagine my husband eating that much food and would probably ask him to reconsider getting that much, and he happens to be an adult.

Spit it out.

I’ve written about ten blog posts in the past couple weeks and have discarded all of them near completion, either running out of the desire to post the words any longer or deciding what I have to say just isn’t worth posting.  This has been a curse and a blessing, because things I want to say aren’t coming out but things I don’t know if I should say are remaining silent.

But there are a lot of things going on right now.  Too many to actually list in a post, but my brain is full of them.  I’m full of ideas and worries and wants and rants and praises—words in all of those things.  My brain is on overtime lately, but I can’t pour these things out.

I don’t really know who reads this old thing anymore, and this causes me to self-censor more than I used to.  My family basically knows about this, so there isn’t that worry.  But I have a (sort of) job now and I have friends and family and coworkers and acquaintances.  Some of these things are causing me worry…but who’s here?  I think this is what is stopping me from hitting the “publish” button these days.

But there are lots of things rolling around behind my eyeballs, and I’m not sleeping tonight.  Granted, I’ve been sick for the past three days, but this has only led to more worry on some things.  Okay, more worry on almost everything.  I’ve been sick and now I’m tired, but my brain is thinking, thinking, thinking.  Will this work out?  Will that person be okay?  How are these people really doing?  Why haven’t I heard from this person?  What did I do wrong here with this project?  Is something going wrong with this other thing that I sense is going down the tubes? (Or am I imagining that?)  I have two ideas for my future, but which shall I pick?  (Why hasn’t that one place gotten back to me about the second idea?)

I’ve been sick twice in three weeks, which leads me to believe I’m a bit stressed out.  I don’t normally get sick very often, let alone that close together.  Neal has also been sick twice recently and this last bout is still ongoing—and has been going for over a week now, which isn’t like him either.  I think we are both experiencing different stresses, yet we take on each other’s burdens as well, adding to both loads.  We’re carrying a lot right now, and even having two people bearing this burden isn’t enough at this point.

I hope something works out soon.  I hope life evens out just a bit toward the good.  For everyone, because we aren’t the only ones dealing with awful life happenings going on lately—and it’s coming in much more than waves of three these days.  Right now, all I have is hope, even if it is a bit faint right now.  Of course, it is the middle of the night, and things always look better in the morning.  Right?  (I hope so.)

Finally, the “good news” I mentioned

I’ve slightly been procrastinating on this, but I’ve also been trying to figure out how to word it. A favored blog read recently wrote about forgiveness, wondering if a person can truly forgive another. I replied that, yes, forgiveness is possible, for almost any infraction, but it’s work. It’s not a quick, easy “I forgive you” and that’s that. It’s…a struggle, a daily reminder to yourself actually, forgiveness is. And contrary to common belief, forgiveness does NOT mean forgetting the issue.

I’ve had people do a lot of awful things to me in my life. To be honest, I wonder how I turned out so well, especially after my high school life and certain “friends” and family members I had to deal with. But there are only two people I’ve had to truly forgive that I have kept in my life, both of whom remain in my life to this day. Forgiveness was a necessity to maintain a relationship in these two cases, unlike the other ones I can remember. (And, to be completely honest, I don’t know if I HAVE forgiven those who “trespassed against me” back then. I’ll have to think more on that, mainly because I don’t see them, so I don’t know how I feel when I do see them—if that makes sense, which I hope it does.) One of these people will remain nameless, because only this other person and I even know about the offenses against me—and it’s going to stay that way, because it’s an issue only between this other person and me. I recently wrote about the other offense, however.

My mom and I have had a rocky relationship probably all my life, even before her illness started. I’m a very independent person and I’m vastly different from my older sister. Over the years, however, I think we’ve come to understand each other, and I even might go so far as to say that my mom can even appreciate my independence and struggle to be something that I personally like, even if that means that I don’t go along with what others think is best for me. Her illness just tended to make our relationship more than just rocky; it was dysfunctional.

During college, I realized (as I mentioned in that previous post) that I couldn’t carry around my anger with my mom all my life. I couldn’t even carry it another year or month. I had to deal with it, so I confronted her with my feelings on the entire matter. She shrugged me off with the comment that cut me to the quick.

This time, however, instead of taking the hurt and pain with me for months and years, I let it go. I consciously said that I was done with dealing with it. My mom couldn’t hurt me this way anymore. I was better than that, and I knew it. She knew it, too, even if she was too deep into her illness to articulate it or admit that she was wrong. I finally realized that, despite those things, she did love me. And I moved on.

I think that was the only thing that saved my relationship with my mom. I realized that I let her hurt me by not realizing that her attacks weren’t as personal as I was making them. I could control myself, but I couldn’t control her. I couldn’t be her parent, and she didn’t want me to try anyway. I let go, but I had to remind myself every time she said something hurtful or mean-spirited that I had forgiven her. And I really had. It didn’t hurt as much, and I didn’t argue with her as much. I stepped back from that part of our relationship and encouraged something else, something more productive, to grow.

The biggest change in my demeanor was hard for me, at first: I refused to bring up the past during a disagreement and I didn’t throw what she did to me in her face when I was angry. I had forgiven that, so it wasn’t on the table anymore. I also didn’t allow her past actions against me to mold me into something I hated. I didn’t use my past as an excuse to be, well, anything. I have flaws, to be sure, but I realize what they are and I actively work to change the parts of me that I hate. I don’t blame my parents, even though I can see direct links between my childhood and certain character traits I hate about myself. Instead, I take my past experiences and vow to be different, to make changes in the ways I react and respond to certain situations. It’s hard work, but it means that I’m taking responsibility for myself. Others in my family haven’t been so forward-looking, namely my sister.

So imagine my surprise on May 21st when I received an unexpected email from my mother. I had just recently hung up the phone after talking to her, so any email was a surprise so soon. But when I opened this particular email, I teared up and ran for Neal in the other room. My mom apologized for her actions when I was younger. She said that she thought she already had, but just in case, she wanted to do it again. She then expressed gratitude that I don’t use her past actions as excuses for current actions in my own life. (There has been some family tension lately for a variety of reasons, but it centers around my sister at this point in time. I’m not going to go into the reasons or issues, but it explains why my mom was thinking about this.)

I can’t blame my mom for my behavior now. I’ve been out of her house since I was 18, and even before that I didn’t allow her to control me. As a teenager, I was told I was 13 going on 30 or 16 going on 45. I was told how mature and responsible I was. I know that, in part, came because I was parenting my mom, but also in part just because I am that type of person, independent and strong. I’ve always realized that I can’t blame anyone but myself for what I do and that all consequences for my actions do (and rightly should) fall squarely on my own shoulders.

I wrote her back and thanked her for her apology. I let her know how hard I worked in college to forgive her and be my own person, without blaming her for who I was or what I became. I reminded her (gently) how I had asked for an apology that she couldn’t (or wouldn’t) give then. I let her know that I’d already forgiven her, but that her apology meant more to me than she probably realized.

I then told my mom about a concern I’ve been having for a few years: I worry that my niece won’t be as resilient and strong as I was and that she’ll end up on the other end of the spectrum, since that’s what she’s seeing every day. Neal and I work hard to be good role models for that amazing girl (and we’re lucky to be able to have her stay with us a couple weeks coming up at the end of the summer), because we want her to know that she can truly be whatever she wants to be. I want her to be strong enough to look inside herself for growth and change instead of looking to someone else for affirmation of who she really is. I know that she’s a wonderful girl and will grow up to be a wonderful woman. I just want her to know that, too.

And I want her to know that even if her mom doesn’t apologize for anything that happens to her as she’s growing up, she can still forgive her mom and move on in life, continuing to be that wonderful woman even if she never hears the words she really desires.

Becoming

I think that my parents and I have a good relationship, which didn’t come easily for me once I moved out of the house when I was 18, especially the relationship with my mother. A lot of children don’t go through having two moms in one body throughout their lives and not being able to fully grasp what happened to her until they were older.

It’s hard to pinpoint exactly when the changes started, but my mind always links it to two events that happened when I was around nine or ten years old: We moved from our farmhouse in the country into a house on the edge of a small town and my mom decided to get a job outside the house. Suddenly, the woman I had known for almost ten years was no longer there. (To be honest and fair, these probably aren’t truly linked. They most likely simply coincidentally happened at the same time that my mom’s symptoms began.)

MY mom was meticulous about paying bills and budgeting and very conscientious about spending money. We didn’t have much, so we couldn’t really be frivolous with what we did have. MY mom kept notebooks full of hand-written notes, painstakingly written with a piece of carbon between two pages to keep track of whom she’d written about what—letters mainly to businesses about their products, etc. MY mom was home when I got home and asked about my day. MY mom helped keep the house tidy. (Yes, we had chores, but she did help out with housework.) MY mom baked birthday cakes for us each year (neat ones, like a pink wooly worm with licorice whip hairs about its body or a perfect replica of Mickey Mouse’s head) and canned tomatoes and green beans from our garden and baked supper for us at night. MY mom cared for us in so many ways and we knew that she cared, hugging and kissing us before we went to bed and yelling, “I love you!” as we ran up the stairs afterwards.

This new woman in our house? Who was she? This new woman was angry all the time. She was mean and hit us for little reasons—and sometimes no reason at all. Nothing we did was right. This woman came home after we got home from school and didn’t care about our day. This woman threw things all over the house, not bothering to pick things up, and then yelled at us for not picking up after her. She bought things without regard to whether we could use them or needed them, just because they were there—not caring if we had the money for them. She yelled at everyone for any reason she could think of. We no longer had cool birthday cakes, and we were too scared or embarrassed to have our friends over. Anything could become a projectile or a whip of sorts, as long as she was mad enough. This woman didn’t hug or kiss us goodnight any longer, and we didn’t hear “I love you” before we trudged up the stairs for bed each night.

This woman didn’t really seem like a mother any longer; she now seemed to need mothering herself.

Things progressively got worse, even worse than described above. A lot of it I really don’t like to talk about anymore, because it really does no good to hash it out or discuss it with other people—especially people who don’t know me or my parents. Most people don’t know what it’s like to be more responsible than your mother from the age of 11 onward or to feel as though you were the one raising your mother instead of the other way around. Most people don’t understand what it’s like to work so hard to find a way out of that, to think that your only way out is to be so perfect in almost every way—to finally feel when you receive a full-tuition scholarship, not that you’ve done something exciting and finally earned something great, but rather that you finally have a way to escape from being your mom’s mother. Who knows what it’s like to yell at your mom a year after you graduated from college because she stole your credit card number off a bill and used it buy things online? Who else knows what it’s like to only converse with your mother in screaming matches because she makes family life so stressful?

But who else knows what it’s like to finally, finally come to terms with the fact that your mother doesn’t care how much she has hurt you? When you finally get the nerve to tell her, “Mom, all I ever wanted from you was an apology for what you did to me all those years,” all you hear back is, “That won’t change anything, so what’s the point?” That is the point that you realize that your holding these feelings inside didn’t matter to her as much as they did to you. That was the point that you realized you had to forgive her (with no apology on her behalf) and move on—move on because the anger you felt toward her was only hurting you more and more, and she really didn’t care.

I think I was 20 or 21 years old when this occurred to me. My mom didn’t look back at what she had done in any apologetic manner. I was mature enough to find out if she even cared how I felt, and to my chagrin, she didn’t. Instead of using her mental illness diagnosis to help herself and to get help for herself, she used it as an excuse for her actions, as a crutch for everything she did wrong in life. That probably wouldn’t change, but I could. I could do something about how I reacted.

I stopped caring when my mom hurt me or said hateful things. I stopped getting involved when she screwed over other family members. No one was there or helpful when I was being taken advantage of, and I couldn’t continue being my mom’s caretaker. I couldn’t try to change her when she didn’t want to be something different. It just won’t happen, and the screaming matches were always, always my fault anyway, of course. So I just stopped arguing. I stopped bothering.

I know this sounds awful and uncaring, but that’s not the entire truth of the situation. I love my mother, and in many ways, we have a much more open and caring relationship. I take the good and negate the bad, because there is nothing else I can do. I now hold conversations with her without it ending in an all-out verbal brawl. I now discuss life issues with her. I still hope that she will recognize her illness as a way to get help instead of a way out of taking responsibility.

Part of me wonders if I will hit “publish” on this one. I know my mom sometimes reads my blog, but I also know that this has been cathartic for me. Some people need to know that I’m okay with the way things have turned out, even if they aren’t the way that I really want them to be. I can’t change how things are and I can’t change my mom, and I’m done trying to do either. There are so many ways that she’s sabotaged herself, and the only way I can have this relationship is by taking a step back from the entire situation and reminding myself that I have my own life now, my own family, my own worries and cares and problems. I can’t fix my mom. I can’t fix my childhood.

I can only live my own life well and forgive, forgive, forgive. I can only ask my husband to love me, warts and all, and realize myself that I can and have, for the most part, overcome the childhood that threatened to tear me apart and ruin my emotional health. I can only use my mom’s life as a warning for what I could become if I’m not mindful of what I’m doing and who I am. If I ever start to change, if I ever become another woman that I don’t want to be, I don’t want to remain that new woman for the rest of my life. I want to recognize it and accept help. I’m doing everything I now can to be aware of the signs and symptoms for this illness that changes people into something else entirely and I’m making sure that my husband is aware of them as well. I’m making sure that I remain the Jessica my husband married (with normal life and personality changes over the years as we grow together) and that he never has to regret whom I’ve become.

I’m making sure I don’t regret who I become either, whether or not I eventually have the illness myself. Forgiving my mother and moving on was the hardest thing I’ve done in life, but it was the most freeing moment I’ve ever experienced.