On mothering

It never occured to me that perhaps I need to mother myself. I know that I take care of myself, but being mothered is different than being taken care of. I've always thought: "I had a mother and she mothered me so I don't need to look to anyone else for mothering." But maybe she didn't mother me quite the way I needed to be mothered. She was a great mother in lots of ways, but perhaps not completely in the ways each of her children needed and this isn't her fault. I do not blame her and will never hold it against her. Sometimes I feel like I need to defend her still.

And I dreamt about her last night. I was talking to her. And then this morning my daughter said she saw me talking to "grandma." I clarified that it was my mother and she said yes.

And then I asked my daughter if she was ready to eat breakfast.

That's the way things work sometimes. Life goes on.

2 years later . . .

From Facebook:

Two years ago today, my mother passed away. With every life change comes the constant reminder that she is not here. I am so lucky to have been raised by such a beautiful soul for the first 27 years of my life. When she was sick and nearing the end, one of the thoughts that kept passing through my mind was: "No, not yet, Mom. I'm just starting to really become a 'real' woman. I'm just starting to really grow up. I want you to be here for everything." Mothers can see things that you cannot see. I could not always see all that life had in store for me such as getting married, having kids, etc. From childhood to adulthood, she would remind me of all the great things ahead for me in life - long before I had any clue. When she was fighting cancer, and in a certain drug daze, she said, "I can't wait to babysit your children." And I felt ashamed because I knew she probably wouldn't be around to do that. Yesterday, one of my best friends had a baby and this weekend I’m throwing a bridal shower for another best friend. I’m overjoyed for both and excited that I get to experience this happiness with them. Life always goes on and these happy experiences are what it is all about. Life is beautiful, crazy, painful, blissful and magnificent. What I mean to say is, I am not alone and although a big piece of my heart will always be broken, my heart is still very full. Celebrate life today and always. 

Getting this out made me feel so much better. Namaste.

Benign.

Results came back and my thyroid nodules are/were benign. I just have Hashimoto's disease and a goiter. I'm really very lucky.

All this news is good, but part of me is cautious and worried. Has a lot to do with watching my mother die of breast cancer at only 53.

Morbid thoughts: "Everyone gets cancer. You're safe - for now. There's many other cancers that you can get in your lifetime. "

Deep down inside, part of me thought that if I had thyroid cancer, I wouldn't/couldn't get any other cancer for the rest of my life. I'd get cancer "over with." Disturbing thoughts. Negative thoughts. I'm so morose sometimes.

But I will not judge my thoughts as positive or negative. I will let them be and move on. That's the least I can do for myself right now and always. Be kind.

I'm really very glad it's benign.

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.

Busy is good, but my thyroid isn't.

Haven't written in a while.

Life has been busy and I suppose that busy is good.

I have a job that I enjoy, I'm a homeowner and things have changed drastically, in mostly good ways, since last year. This is all positive and for that I am thankful. (Oh yeah, and my braces are off! Whoo hoo!)

How can I explain that I'm also sad in some ways? The most obvious reason being that I don't have my mother here to celebrate these life changes and accomplishments. I know that there are some mothers who aren't there for their children, but my mom always was and I have had to adjust to a new reality for the past year and a half.

(Side note: The thing about humans is that we're many different things to so many different people.  Everyone who was close to my mom has had to adjust to this new reality. It's tough for us all. We're all still grieving.)

I've recently found out that I have to have my thyroid removed due to some suspicious cell activity. I have a 40% chance of getting cancer in my right thyroid gland. God, I hate cancer.

This surgery isn't uncommon and many other people have had it. I will not know if the cells are cancerous until my thyroid is removed and further testing is conducted. I know I will be fine and I'm strong and all that stuff, but I'm also feeling a bit despondent.

I have flashbacks to my mother's illness. Her experiences with tests, doctors and hospitals. Her feeling alone as she went to those early doctor appointments. Her dependence on her parents to take care of her spiritually, emotionally and physically during her illness. Her trying to protect her children from the pain, which kind of made me feel isolated and helpless.

I have a vivid memory of watching my mother call for her mom from her bedroom one day. I remember feeling left out and unneeded, wanting her to be stronger and knowing that I probably wouldn't have the same support when I am her age. Knowing that I probably wouldn't have a/my mother to take care of me or my children if I had to face a serious illness one day.  I remember accepting this and knowing life would be different for me. I realized that I'd have to construct a different kind of support system for myself. And that had to be okay because I had no other choice.

Now, over a year later, I do have a wonderful support system that consists of beautiful and loving family, friends and even coworkers. I know I will be fine and for that, I am thankful.

While I do carry some sadness around, there's also a lot to be happy about. There's a lot to look forward to.

Now that I'm finding my groove at work and settling into my new home, I hope to write more. I also want to take singing lessons again. There's so much I want to do. Busy is good.

Namaste.

* * *

A word on adriennechristina.com: Back in October/November, I accidentally let my domain name expire. Crap. Now, it's proving very difficult  (and far too expensive) to re-register my domain. For the time being, I'm doing without. Hopefully it's still just as easy to find me. Thanks for still checking out what I've got to say. Until next time . . .

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.

Remembrance

There are days when I am sure that I've dreamt of my mother the night before.

Sometimes I can't remember those dreams, but I know that I wake up feeling different . . .

Closer to the Source, closer to my Mother, closer to Myself.

Strong, positive, female.

As I make important choices and decisions,

As the Outside makes their wishes and desires of me known,

I remember that the only timeline that I must adhere to is my own and God's - which is essentially the same thing.

Everything is connected within and throughout.

There is no right or wrong.

There are lessons and there is Love.

I remember so that I don’t forget.