Enjoying the crappiness. (It doesn't really matter anyway.)

Shit. My clothes don't fit the same. I'm gaining weight. I'm 28. No, I'm not pregnant. I just had my thyroid removed. My slow and faulty thyroid has been the cause of so much in my life that probably matters so little.

Slow metabolism. Dry hair and skin. Weight gain. Fatigue. 

I am 20 or 21 again, right before diagnosis. Right before the pills. I am at the gym, I'm watching what I eat and I'm not losing. I'm not gaining, so I guess that's okay. I am sad. I feel depressed. Out of place. Lonely.

A few weeks ago, I had this overwhelming feeling of acceptance towards my body. It was really a euphoric breakthrough that was deep and real. I had just learned that I may have thyroid cancer and I'd have to undergo a thyroidectomy. I finally got serious about the best diet for Hashimoto's disease/goiter/hypothyroidism. Also, maybe this diet could help with my love-handles! A mostly veggie diet was leading to a soft middle section, so I started eating meat again in a big way by doing high protein/low fat/healthy carbs. It worked before when I was younger. It worked in a different way now, but I am also different.

Along with my body, my perceptions have changed. I've loved in this body in a pure way, I'd been loved in this body in a pure way, this body felt the pain of watching its first home and source take her last breath and, now, this body was going to go through more changes. (And there will be more to come in life. . .no list needed!)

Now that I have no metabolism and no real control over this weight gain (but an end in sight - THANK GOD), I am just enjoying the crappiness. Yes, I'm freaked out about feeling bloated and "un-svelte" in this body for a little while and of course I'm not eating pizza and hamburgers every night, but I'm going to experience this extra jelly the best way I can. Besides, it'll probably be gone in a month once I start taking my thyroid meds again and my thyroid level stablize.

While I was under anesthesia for the total thyroid removal, I dreamed. The surgery took place at the same hospital I'd been admitted to when I was 10 and had to get stiches on my forehead after a bike accident. My mom and I went to the emergency room alone and together. No brothers, no dad. She was nervous and worried at first. A lot was going on in her life. I was the calm one. When I came home after the bike accident, with exposed flesh and blood dripping down my face, she was hysterical.

"Your face! Your face!" She screamed.

"Don't worry, Mommy. Don't worry. I'm okay. . ."I assured her.

I was very self-conscious about my body at 10. I was made fun of for being fat. I was developing earlier than my peers. The doctor asked my mom if I started mensutrating yet. I cringed and felt embarassed. "No," my mom answered. "Not yet, but soon." I was confused. Did she know something that I didn't? The following summer she would send me away to sleepaway patrol camp with maxi pads "just in case." I was bewildered and embarrassed. I got my first period a few months after camp.

While I was under anesthesia, I dreamed of 1994 and 1995. I dreamed of elementary school. No worries except worrying about what would happen to my body during puberty. Worrying about not being in control of the things happening to it, but not really worrying at all because I couldn't help it anyway.

And, after regaining consciousness after anesthesia, I woke up crying. The cold post-op room. The beeping. The unfamilar faces. I wanted my mother, much like I did the day I got my first period. She was so happy that day and welcomed me to the club. She gave me a hug that night before bed. There were two women in the house now and she was so proud.  I didn't worry. It didn't hurt.

"I want my mom. I just want my mom," I said out loud. The nurse told me that she was out in the waiting room and I would see her soon.

"No,  I won't. She passed away."

The nurse may have muttered "sorry" or may have not. I don't remember. It doesn't matter.

Worrying about every pound I'm gaining doesn't matter either. Neither does worrying about my voice ever returning to normal. Neither does worrying about what's going to happen next. Neither does thinking about why everyone hates Anne Hathaway. All I need to worry about is taking care of myself and being well. I also want to focus on thanking people for their kindness, accepting the love I'm being given and giving love in return. That stuff matters.

Thanks for reading.

Coping Mechanisms

It all sneaks up on me sometimes . . .

I am finally finishing up Steve Job’s biography (fascinating read, by the way) and am now reading about his last months. Coincidently, he shared some of the same last months as my mother. 

It's been a (very) little over a year since my mother passed away.

I’ve been thinking about what my mom had to go through towards the end of her life. I imagine what she must have been thinking about as she looked back on her time on Earth and the decisions that she made. I remember her making comments about her past. I remember her just staring at us all. I wonder what she must have thought about while she watched her loved ones. I can't imagine how hard it must have been for her to say goodbye to us all - especially her children, her mother and her father. I am amazed at her bravery and I am in awe of her strength. 

Of all the ways to go, a terminal illness is one that looms. My mom’s illness only loomed for a short time before it took her, but those last days, weeks and months were long in my mind, as an observer. The pain I watched her go through. The deterioration. It’s amazing that although her body was being devoured by cancer, her spirit remained strong, stubborn and lovely.

She had to say goodbye to her children forever. The thought of it makes me hurt in ways that I struggle to explain: the head throbbing cry I have when I allow myself "to go there"; the constant ache in my soul; the pit in my stomach when I think about how much I miss her. The umbilical cord is cut. She had to let us go. We had to let her go.

All of this before I’ve even said “hello” to motherhood. I’ve already experienced the heartbreaking story of love and loss between mother and child. I’ve yet to experience the depths from the other side (being the mother) and, like I brave all changes in my life, I will welcome the journey with open arms . . .and prayers/books/therapy/yoga/good friends very near. 

I’m coping. I know you knew I would, Mom.

On Mother's Day

This will be the first Mother’s Day without my mom. Last year was the last Mother’s Day I had with her and I think somehow I knew it would be. When your mother is very ill and battling an aggressive stage IV breast cancer, it is easy to know such things.

I am at the age now where a lot of my peers (Facebook friends?) are becoming mothers. Amongst my closest friends, however, motherhood is still something that we have yet to experience. Despite this, over the past couple of years I’ve begun to feel like I should be a mother. (Although, to be fair, being wished a “Happy Mother’s Day” by strangers at a restaurant and a grocery store might have precipitated that a bit.)

Last Mother’s Day, I remember feeling left out and kind of alienated.

It was much the same feeling that I had during my visits to see my mom in the hospital and going to the Oncology Ward, and later to the Cardiac Care Unit, instead of going to the Maternity Ward like most women my age.  I felt oddly out of place and not where I ever thought I’d be. I felt years ahead of everyone else (losing a mother prematurely will do that to you) and yet left behind. I’d see happy couples and their families enter the elevators with precious bundles, while I would stare blankly at the flashing lit floor numbers in the elevator or offer a sad smile without eye contact.

In the elevator, the thoughts of “where I should be” would race through my head very fast yet clear, but most of my energy was focused on my mother and her health. I did not have time to contemplate my own hypothetical motherhood.  There were bigger battles ahead and there were bigger and more real fish to fry.

Now there is silence because my mother is gone. Those thoughts of “where” are more persistent and gain more of my attention. However, the “where” isn’t motherhood necessarily and it’s not where I “should” be . . .now it’s more where do I want to be.

On Mother’s Day, I want to be with my family and I want to remember my mother. I do not know how I will feel and I may just want to be alone, but I know I will see things more clearly. I will not feel such pressure due to self-inflicted expectations because I will embrace that my journey is different and unique. My timeline will never be like everyone else’s. It never has been and it never should be.

“Truth is by nature self-evident. As soon as you remove the cobwebs of ignorance that surround it, it shines clear. “ - Ghandi