I decide I seriously need to calm down and since Ryan is flying somewhere over Lake Charles at this very moment, I call the one place my heart longs to be. Home. My Dad answers the call, poor man. I'm a blubbering idiot and he can't understand a word I'm saying. I'm pretty sure the first five minutes of the conversation sounded something like this:
"Hi Bet-A-Roo, How's my girl feeling?"
*serious sobbing* "the mail came, and there's needles. can't do this. overwhelmed"
"What honey? What's wrong? I can't understand you..."
*snot slurping, big breaths, more crying* "the mail. Daddy, I can't. It's too much....
Frustration and fear fill his voice as he struggles to understand what is going on,
"Betsy, honey, I don't understand what you are saying..."
*crying, frustration* "NEEDLES, lots of needles, this CAN'T be my life"
after several minutes of back and forth like this, realization hits him..... Compassion fills his voice as he says these next words:
"OH..... You got your medicine in the mail today and you're overwhelmed. Now I understand." As he struggles to find the right words a "Damn it...." slips out. I can tell he's trying to be strong.
We spend the next 15 minutes talking. Well, he talks and I mostly listen. I start to calm down and by the time he says, "Just take the medicine out of the cooler, stick it in your fridge and hide it behind your carrots until your nurse can come teach you how to use it!" I can't help but start to laugh. We both laugh together and it feels good. We chit chat a little longer and as we hang up he says to me quietly, "I love you Bet-A-Roo. More then you know. Well, maybe you do because you have kids... I better go" I know my break down has affected him. I say goodbye and it makes me sad. I don't want my Dad to hurt but quietly thank God that he answered the phone. These rare moments are few and far between and I'll tuck these few minutes with Dad away in my heart and cherish them always. That man's man, cowboy, with his bushy mustache and wranglers.... he is just what I needed. Thanks Daddy, for helping me through one of the lowest moments of my life in a long long time.
I gather the courage to stand up and I ask my children to give me a few minutes alone. They had sat quietly by my side on the kitchen floor through the entire conversation with my Dad. They don't say much as I walk into my bed room. I find myself on my closet floor now, talking to my boss via text and staring at myself in the mirror. Its a huge full mirror that spans from the ceiling to the floor and big enough for two people to look at themselves in. My face is bright red and puffy. My eyes are swollen and shiny. I have mascara smeared down my right cheek and on my forehead on the left side. I cock my head to the side and wonder how I got the mascara there. I try to wipe it off but only make it worse. I give up and just stare at myself.
I've become so thin recently... It's weird to see. After Chiropractic school I gained about 10lbs. Even after having Ryker boy, I lost all the baby weight but went right back to what had become my normal 128lbs. My now 116lb frame looks so different to me. I definitely wanted to lose weight, but NOT like this. I still can't decide if Im happy or freaked out by it. I touch my face again and wonder what the hell is going on inside my body. Why can't I be normal? I will my brain to heal itself as I stare helplessly at my frail frame. I begin to wish I lived closer to my family. How the hell am I supposed to do this by myself? I'm honestly not sure I can. I can't even hold it together for a day. I feel like a terrible mother and begin to cry again. I turn away from the mirror and lean against the wall. Please God, help me be functional for my children. They need the best of me.... please help me find the strength. I rest my head a few minutes longer and finally get up.
I make my way out to the kitchen. The kids have dispersed and I hear them playing upstairs. I walk over to the cooler and take the medicine out. My heart skips a few beats and my breathing starts to become shallow. I close my eyes and take a few steadying breaths.
I open them back up and stare at its contents for long minute. I think in my head, "What the hell am I supposed to do with this stuff.... I mean seriously? I can't wait for a day when this stuff doesn't make me anxious, when it has become just another part of my routine. I wrap everything back up and put it in my fridge and shove my left overs and yogurt in front of it. (I tried the carrots, but they weren't big enough.....)
Its been sitting in there for 3 days now. Every time I open the fridge it peeks out from behind the dirty rice and pork chops and screams, "haaaaaaayyyyyyy!!!! don't forget about me!! I'm your new best friend, remember??" I occasionally answer back with random bits of hatred like, "yeah, yeah... I haven't forgotten about you, you jerk" or "shut the hell up, all I want is so damn milk."
My nurse is scheduled to come out tomorrow after work. Ryan will finally be home again and I'm thankful he will be there with me as I learn to use it. I'm still not sure if I'm relieved or scared as hell. I try to remember what my Dad said, "This is your new ok. Don't look at it as a burden. Look at it as what is going to help save your life. It's going to be OK honey." This phrase has lingered in my head and I echo it out loud often.
It's going to be ok.....
It HAS to be, right? I don't really have a choice...
---Warrior
It will be okay Betsy. You are still in the very beginning of this and it is still very new, even though it may seem like a lifetime has passed. It will get easier. And I am sure there will be more moments with breakdowns, but you will get through them. I know each experience is different, and the disease varies, however, my cousin, who was also devastated by her diagnoses has been doing very well these last few years. It was hard, very hard, in the beginning. for her, her husband, and their daughter, who was too little to understand. But they, together, have come a long way. They welcomed a new baby after her doctor gave her the okay to try and conceive, and she fills her days with as much optimism as she can. I know she has her occasional rough days, whether it's effecting her health, or just a day where she is down, but still, she has many many more great days. And she now is a veteran with this disease. And you are still processing.
ReplyDeleteIt's also okay for your children to see that their mom is human and humans are fragile! It's okay to cry. I know you have an instinct to protect them by trying to hide the fear, but there is no right or wrong way to cope. Letting it all out can offer some relief. Let your children comfort you. They love you. Stay strong Betsy. This disease will not define you. You have a plan and a great doctor. Also, a support group would not be the worst thing. When you're ready. Sometimes their is comfort in knowing you are not alone, ya know? I hope this find you well. xoxo