the soul-hydroptic

God help me I’m falling apart.

I can’t stop crying. I can’t eat. I can’t sleep. The pain is so … overwhelming. This aching loneliness never ends. And it never will. I will forever be without her and all the “better place” shit just makes me want to scream. I DON’T FUCKING CARE ABOUT YOUR BETTER PLACE. I WANT MY FUCKING MOM.

I bought a bottle of her perfume. I wanted to smell her again, but it’s not the same straight out of the bottle. It’s not quite right. So I will never be able to smell her sweet scent again. But that was just a substitute for what I really wanted.

I miss her arms…the way she used to hold me close and hug me so tight. It didn’t matter what was wrong, Mom made me feel safe and loved. We used to cuddle up together under a warm blanket and watch movies until I fell asleep as she stroked my hair. But that’s over now.

Tomorrow makes a month.

Tonight I’m heading up to Milwaukee to hang out with some new-ish friends. I say new-ish rather than new because we’ve been acquaintances for months, but never even really talked until a couple of months ago. I think this is mostly my fault, seeing as how I’m a friend-a-phobe.

What is a friend-a-phobe? I can hear you wondering about it. The classic signs of friend-a-phobia include:
· Making snap judgments based on miniscule external stimuli (like the way a person stands or holds a cigarette)
· Paranoid thoughts that people dislike you based on miniscule external stimuli (see above)
· Discomfort to the point of avoidance when faced with actually speaking to new acquaintances
· General dismissal of the vast majority of the world’s population as “so much pieces of meat”

Yep. That’s me. Lovely, isn’t it? Luckily, Grif and ‘Nifer and Dave are good people. Like a squirrel to a peanut butter pinecone, they managed to draw me out from my protective blanket of fear with promises of good RP and lighthearted conversation and GIRLS NIGHT.

Gentle Reader, do you have any idea how long it’s been since I’ve been on a Girls Night Out? Neither do I. Jeff and I have been in Chicago for nearly a year and, just as in Memphis, a solid 95% of my friends here are guys. Not that I mind. Guys are easy to get along with and easy to relate with, but sometimes even I want to watch a sappy romantic comedy without having the sentimental dialogue covered in fart jokes. Yes, Swingers is a great movie, but I’ve seen it a bazillion times in the last month. Can’t we try Sleepless in Seattle or The Devil Wears Prada this time?

So when ‘Nifer invited me up to Milwaukee to hang out with her and go dancing tonight, I was elated. I even bought a new skirt. Here’s hoping I haven’t forgotten the subtle play of female-to-female interaction. Last I checked, subtext was the key to it all…ah, screw it. I’m just thrilled to have my own friends again. She could rob me blind tonight and I’d still be happy I went.

I’m sad today. Really I think I’m scared but it’s coming off as sadness. I’ve been crying off an on a lot today. It’s been great for the RP scenes I’m running with Grif – our characters in the OWbN games are doomed lovers being torn apart by war. Nothing helps fuel good dialogue like swimming to your keyboard through a sea of tears. No seriously. These are some of the best exchanges I’ve written since Grif and I started this plotline back in April.

BTW, Grif – if you ever happen to find this blog – thank you for last night. You were so encouraging and understanding. I really needed that…more than you can possibly know.

And it strikes me that while I am scared, I am also really sad. The sadness isn’t just a cover-up. It’s real. I’m mourning and it’s not just my mom. There’s a lot going on in my life right now. Things I can’t put into words…things that would become too real if I gave them words. Mourning sucks.

Now I’m at it again. Damn it. Where do all these tears come from?

Mom’s portacath is in. Her treatment was scheduled for today, but they postponed until tomorrow because she is very sore and slightly dehydrated. Tomorrow at 10:00 AM a doctor is going to try to poison my mother into getting well…into “remission.” I hate that word.

Mom’s treatment schedule as been approved. They call it a 2/28. Days one and two she takes the super-high-powered chemo. Days three through twenty-eight she recovers. She starts Thursday. They’re installing a porta-cath Wednesday so that they don’t have to stick her every time.

*deep breath*

It’s too real…I thought I could just fall into “cancer mode.” I’ve watched two of my mom’s sisters die and my uncle’s wife. I thought I could focus on the schedule and the to-do’s, but I can’t. It’s my mom, for God’s sake.

Her second treatment is July 19 - 20. We’ll head home that weekend to help care for her and to give Daddy a break. That’s a month away…I only have to wait one more month.

***

I’m still not sleeping well, but perhaps that’s a blessing. There’s so much to do these days. You can get so much more accomplished in twenty hours than you can in sixteen.

***

I haven’t cut yet. I’ve really wanted to and I’ve come close a couple of times, but I haven’t done it. I did make Jeff hide his straight razor, though. No sense in tempting myself too much.

Today is better than yesterday. Today I believe it when they tell me she’s going to fight and win. Today I know that her love for me will never change and that somehow I’ll be strong enough to make it through this, no matter what.

Today I feel how loved I am not only by her, but by my friends. Just when I had started to give up on most of the world, so many good people step forward to renew my faith in humanity. I can’t even begin to explain how comforting it is to have people from so many different aspects of my life all flooding me with support and prayers and love.

Today I am tired. I think I’ve only slept 6 hours this week. I just … can’t turn off my brain these nights. So I toss and turn. I wish I could sleep. I *want* to sleep. Perhaps tonight I’ll finally be tired enough to collapse.

I’m so angry today. It comes in waves. Sad, angry, sad, angry. I wish I knew how I really felt, but it’s all over the place and I can’t figure it out. I can’t process it. It’s like someone stuck a PC disc in my Mac. Oh god, that makes me feel old. No one uses floppy any longer.

I tried to find a new support group today. That was a wash. The ACS can kiss my ass. Their website is useless.

Suddenly I feel like crying again. Jesus Christ, I’m losing my mind, aren’t I? I’m officially a crazy person. Fantastic.

It strikes me now that if anyone ever reads this, it will sound like gibberish to them. Let me try to explain, then. My mother is dying. She was diagnosed with Stage 4 Bladder Cancer in October of last year. She had the ostomy surgery and we thought they got it all. Obviously they didn’t because now it’s back and it’s everywhere. It’s in her liver, in her chest cavity, in her bones, and in her lymph nodes. She starts chemo next week.

And I’m stuck nine hours away – her only child nine fucking hours away. We should never have moved.

It’s all my fault. If I had pushed harder for them to quit smoking when I was younger this wouldn’t have happened. Bladder cancer is a smoker’s disease. She smoked for twenty years. I’ll never smoke again. But God, I could use a cigarette right now. My nerves are shot and they always help me relax.

I have to keep busy these days; can’t stand to be still…to be quiet. I break down if I’m still or quiet for too long. And no one wants to see that, least of all me. What good are tears? They only make me look ugly. They don’t make me feel any better once they’re fallen. They only lead to more tears and more ugly.

I think I feel guilty? Guilty that I’m well and she’s sick. Guilty that I’m here and she’s there. Guilty that I laughed this morning. Guilty that I can’t stop crying in the shower. So much guilt…how do I make it stop?

This was a bad idea. Writing about it is only making me feel worse. Damn it! I can’t do anything right.

I want to cut. At least I can control that. But I know I can’t. If I start now I won’t be able to stop. It’ll be worse than before. I’m going to start wearing my rubber band again. How sad is that? It’s like being put back in training pants. Everyone will know. I’ll be so embarrassed, but I’d be more embarrassed if they saw blood on the cuff of my shirt, I guess. No, I’d be angry. I don’t want fucking pity.

Pull it together, girl. You’ve got a life to lead. You’re not the one dying; she is.

It’s scary to think that by this time eight weeks from now I’ll be living in Chicago. Jeff will be at his orientation for Graduate School and I will be (hopefully) working at a new job. As a matter of fact, it’s a bit overwhelming when I let myself think that way. I mean, so much has to happen before we can move. How in the world are we supposed to get it all done in nine weeks?

But then again, so much has already happened just to open the doors for school. First, we made the decision that we wanted to do school full time instead of one-class-at-a-time via the internet. That was a huge step. We recognized that meant moving and leaving everything behind, but if not now, when? We’re still young and have very little debt and no kids or pets to think about. Besides, it was taking Jeff forever to finish his M.A. online. If we just devoted a couple of years to being elsewhere, he could finish so much faster and then we could actually get on with our lives instead of being stuck in neutral for the next 7/10 of a decade.

After he applied the first miracle happened – we got in. Jeff wasn’t exactly an honors student in college. We were both pretty certain that his top five schools wouldn’t even let him complete the application process, let alone actually consider him for admission. But we were wrong. Jeff’s first choice accepted him. He was going to Wheaton. We were moving to Illinois.

And for a moment, I was elated. But then reality set-in. How do we pay for Wheaton? It’s certainly not cheap. And how do we just pick-up our entire lives and move nine hours from our families? We’re only children, me and Jeff. There’s no one else around to be close to our parents when big, potentially scary things happen like Jerry’s heart attack or my grandfather’s sudden death. And what if I can’t find a job? And how do we find a new apartment? And how do we get out of our old apartment?

I worried myself sick (literally) that night and took the next day off work. I started lists of budgets and loan payments and debt calculations and packing lists and timelines and more. It was overwhelming. I thought I was drowning and a big part of me suddenly regretted ever encouraging Jeff to apply for graduate school. Our lives were fine they way they were! We were getting by. I mean, sure Jeff despised his job and had no real chance for future advancement. But at least we were secure. We knew when paychecks were coming and we could cover all our bills. And being happy in a job is a luxury, not a necessity.

Jeff knew I was having second thoughts. He was disappointed, but resigned when he told me that we wouldn’t accept. We would stay in Memphis so that I could be happy. It was more important to Jeff that I was happy than that he was happy. And in seeing that act of sacrifice I knew…I couldn’t ask so much of him. My fears were just doubt wrapped in milk-toast faith and topped with unbelief. If God had already moved mountains to get us in this school, how much more so was He able to provide the means to pay? And live? And thrive?

But before I get too prosperity gospel sounding, I also know that sometimes God calls us to live simply and even to struggle. Yes, the ends will always meet, but sometimes they only just barely meet. And sometimes we will not see how it’s possible, and that is when we know they only meet because He holds the string. Our security can never be in money or jobs or friends or family or even each other. Our security can be found only in the crucified, risen Christ.

So I prayed that night that God would help me let go of the string. And it is still my prayer today because even though we have a scholarship to cover Jeff’s tuition and books I am still holding on to the string. And even though there is an apartment waiting for us with every amenity we could want and even a few we never thought we’d have, I am still holding on to the string. And even though I know there are plenty of jobs for me to find, I am still holding on to the string.

Cut me free, Lord. Let me
fall into Your Arms and find
my hiding place therein.

For I am weak but You are
Strong so be my strength though
I deny your help. Oh, Lord please
save me from myself tonight.

Many of you know that I was a girl scout in my formative years. Yes, every Thursday I went to school in the prescribed green, hideous uniform and was the butt of many a school-yard joke. I had joined because I was new in town, and my parents thought by joining scouts I would make instant friends. The problem was that I joined an already established troup, so they had already made friends. They didn’t need any more friends. Never was that more obvious than when we went camping.

In Girl Scouts they encourage the buddy system to keep kids from getting lost in the woods while camping. So after we set up base camp (imagine +or- 15 fifth grade girls trying to set-up tents and build a fire. Yeah, it took a while), we were free to explore the trails…as long as we had a buddy. We were usually an odd-numbered group (with there being 15 regulars), so one group was supposed to have three buddies instead of two.

Naturally, I was always the third buddy. I wasn’t too fazed by it. For me, being out in the woods was more important than whether some stupid 11-year-olds thought I was “kewl” enough to join their clique. The woods felt comfortable to me; being out there helped me relax.

One night after helping cook and clean-up a campfire dinner, my two buddies asked if we could go on a short hike. I said sure so we grabbed our flashlights and canteens and whistles. I was amazed at how different the woods were at night. It was like a whole other world of creatures came alive.

We followed the marked path for what seemed like an hour before one of the girls turned to me and said, “We should head back through this way. It’s a shortcut we found earlier before dark.” I hesitated. Our leaders had always told us to stay on the marked paths, especially after dark. It was too easy to get lost. Sensing I was unsure, my second buddy joined in, “Yeah. It’s completely safe. It’ll take us half as long to get back this way.” Still I wasn’t convinced, so they changed tactics. “You are such a baby! Come ON!” And with that they took off into the woods.

Startled and confused, I chased after them, calling out to them. Every once in a while thinking I heard them giggle or a twig snapping under foot, I changed my course. It didn’t take long for me to become thoroughly lost. In the woods. Alone.

When I realized I was lost, my normally calm mind started to slip away from me, just when I needed it most. The woods, which had been such a refuge for me, were now frightening and ominous. I thought I would never find my way out. I thought I would starve or freeze to death alone there in the woods…or worse.

Panicked, I ran toward anything, nothing. Blindly I tore through the trees searching for something familiar. But adrenaline failed me quickly, and I tripped on something – a root? a small limb? I don’t know – falling face-first into the dirt. I laid there crying for as long as my tears would last. When I could finally cry no more, I slowly rolled-over and opened my eyes to the stars above.

“Why?!” I screamed at Him.

“WHY?…ANSWER ME!”

But the stars held steady in their orbit above and no great and mighty voice rained down from the heavens.

“You aren’t even real,” I whispered.

And I blew my whistle for help.

Loss is such a strange emotion. Most of the time I am fine; I am happy to remember the good times we shared and content that he is finally where he longed to be. But it changes so suddenly and I find myself on the verge of tears. The void he left is so great and empty and confusing.

But above all I am so tired. Sleep beguiles me, offering no true rest for the weary. So I stumble through my days zombie-like, only a hair’s breadth keeping the angry outbursts at bay. My saint of a husband seems immune to my cruelty these days. He is patient and strong and understanding and forgiving. He reminds me of the one I lost.

I say “lost,” but I haven’t truly lost anyone. Not really. Our separation is just a temporary state of affairs. I envy him for making it home before me…home to the One who had known him and loved him and called him; home where finally his faith was turned to sight.

“Oh Love that will not let me go, I rest my weary soul in Thee. I give Thee back the life I owe that in Thine ocean’s depths its flow may richer, fuller be.

Oh Light that follow’st all my way, I yield my flickering torch to Thee. My heart restores its borrowed ray, that in Thy sunshine’s blaze its day may brighter, fairer be.

Oh Joy that seekest me through pain, I cannot close my heart to Thee. I trace the rainbow through the rain and know Thy promise is not vain – that morn shall tearless be.

Oh Cross that liftest up my head, I dare not ask to fly from Thee. I lay in dust life’s glory dead and from the ground there blossoms red life that shall endless be.

Oh Love that will not let me go!”

I had an appointment with an allergist this week. It seems the Memphis Spring is trying to kill me. I know that Jeff says it’s the beach that’s the real killer what with all the hurricanes and tidal waves and sunburns and such, but I don’t know. Nothing says sadistic like suffocating your victim.

The prick-test went just as I remembered it. (The last time I’d had one of these administered I was about six years old). And sure enough, within ten minutes I had developed several small red bumps to verify my abnormalities. I call them bumps, but really they were more like welts – silver dollar sized flame-red spheres with hard white tops that ooze creamy puss and clear fluid when they burst.

I’m supposed to clean them immediately when that happens, but invariably my welts choose to burst when I can’t clean them right away. Today, the welt on my left shoulder blade chose to burst while I was on the phone with an irate customer. Fun times, fun times.

After the test, my new allergist offered to prescribe an antihistamine and gave me a sheet of tips on how to keep my house allergen-free. I asked for a sucker. He laughed, and then walked out of the room. I assumed he was going to get my sucker. I waited for ten minutes until a very startled nurse came to place another patient in the room.

I was quickly ushered to the check-out station where an admissions rep announced to the entire world that I owed $225 for the visit. I must’ve had a confused look on my face because she said it again - $225. For one freaking visit to the doctor where all he did was give me hives and tell me to take some benadryl.

I asked her to check that my insurance had been properly applied. She got this sour look on her face – the kind of look you hear mothers warn their children about. “Your face will freeze like that one day and then everyone will laugh at you.” She said she had already done the insurance check and I was out of network.

Now, I’m not usually one to argue with healthcare workers. Being married to one, I know just how difficult their days can be, but this lady wasn’t even trying to be ameliorating. I told her that I had verified my insurance before making the appointment and that Blue Cross had assured me that this doctor was in network, so all I should owe is the co-pay. She narrowed her eyes and shook her head while she informed me of my ignorance to the way that healthcare administration works. I told her that I wasn’t leaving until she checked my insurance again.

Slowly she stood up from her seat and waddled over to the long distance phone. I sat back down and pulled a book from my bag – Wonderland (a good read, by the way) – to pass the time. I assumed that it would take a while. It usually takes 15-20 minutes, according to Jeff. When she appeared back behind the desk after only three and a half minutes, I knew she hadn’t really run the insurance check.
When she called me back up, I readied myself for battle. Sure enough, she still claimed that my insurance was out of network and that I still owed $225 for the office visit. Calmly, I pulled out my insurance card and my cell phone. She stood there smirking at me like an idiot. I dialed Jeff and asked him to run the check for me since he was on lunch break. Ten minutes later, I had been approved.

Sliding the approval confirmation number across the desk, I explained what my husband does for a living and exactly what doctors he works for. She went a little pale and began stumbling over excuses for her poor behavior. I cut her off and asked to whom I should make-out the $25 check. She choked out an answer. I signed and turned to go.

Just then the doctor poked his head out from the back. He handed me a watermelon sucker and told me to have a nice day. I smiled back and waved goodbye. Then I handed the sucker to the woman behind the desk and headed back to work.