wildcelticrose.net

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I received the news today when I stopped by my mailbox on my way home.

He died in April, but because his family had old contact information for me that I gave them in 2004 (a business card from a place I no longer work with a cell phone number I no longer have), I did not get notice until my Christmas card was replied to this week..

He died over here, on this side of the bridge, in a hospital in Seattle and I never knew.

I can’t even read the full text of his obituary or sign his guestbook because they have been archived. Yes I could pay to unarchive them, which I won’t do. I think he knows how I feel.

But I want to remember the Lou that I knew and loved, and honor the lessons he taught me, not dwell on the negative.

Louis Mrkcvicak was my “step-father in-law”

Yeah, it sounds weird, and pretty far removed from what most people consider “real family” but he taught me a lot about what “real family” is.

My family history is convoluted at best but requires some explanation (I will leave out the drama) for this relationship to make any sense.

My parents divorced when I was three years old.

I have no memory of my biological father.

I tried to find him several times growing up, asking questions of my mother resulted in being stonewalled and lied to (I knew his name and where we lived when I was born)

When I was older (in my 20′s) I was able to use some means that I won’t go into here to find him.

I learned that he was no longer in California and lived in this strange place called Sequim Washington (isn’t that near Canada?) I had our dispatcher take a polaroid picture of me in front of my ambulance and I sent him a letter. I told him that I didn’t want anything from him other than to know him and fill in the blanks of my family history.

I waited and waited and waited and did not get a response.

I thought perhaps my mother was right, that he didn’t love me, didn’t want me and was afraid that I’d want something from him (all later proved to be untrue)

I finally received a letter back, with the last name Mrkvicka on the return address.

The letter was from my step-mother (gee, didn’t know I had one) who re-married after my father died two years previously. She and Lou met at the hospice.

I lived in California at the time (1980-something) and had never heard of Sequim Washington. Heck, I had never even been to Washington.

It was in Washington that I met my stepmother Helen, and Lou.

Lou was a jolly Norwegian who was always armed with a big bear hug and an off color joke (Oh how Helen hated those jokes)

He was the perfect offset to Helen’s rather rigid and stoic nature. I was sad that I was too late to find my father when he was alive, but I did get a “step father in law” and a fine one at that.

When I was in a Colorado hospital in 1997 with a fractured spine and pelvis, it was Lou who (unknown to me) alerted all of the friends on my email list what had happened to me and encouraged them all to send me well wishes because I had sent them cheer (in the form of silly email jokes and updates) for so many years. My room was filled with flowers, candy, balloons, well wishes and stuffed animals.

It was only when a friend brought me in a printed copy of an email that I knew what Lou did.

Helen died in 2004 and I drove the icy roads from Tacoma to Sequim to attend the funeral.

I didn’t know anyone there aside from Lou.

After the service, I was feeling like I didn’t belong because I wasn’t his “blood” family.

He and his family brought me over to their table, sat me down, gave me food and told me that I was indeed family. (as it turns out, his daughter was adopted and there were all sorts of adoptions, halves, steps and other non-traditional relationships.)

I was told that my relationship with him was not “odd’, that it was normal for him and his family and that I fit right in.

Lou taught me that family is not about blood, it is about love.

That my friends, is an amazing legacy.

Rest in Peace Lou, I love you!

~L

Mood: Sad

~L

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Ugh…

I decided not to go into work today because the combination of the extremely frigid dry air and all of the people ignoring the burn ban and filling the already yucky air with wood smoke was kiling my sinuses.

I slept for ten hours last night, (thank goodness I decided not to set my alarm last night when I felt so crappy)

I did manage to get over to Molly’s this afternoon for some best friend time and to do my laundry (it was nearly an underwear emergency)

Although I didn’t feel well, it was nice to spend some time with her. Both of our lives have been very busy and stressy lately.

The day went downhill from there.

I went to check my mail and found out that Lou (those who have known me for a long time know him as my beloved “step father in law”) passed away.

Yes, he was “extended” family, but he loved me like blood family and I cried the whole way home.

Maybe it’s because I don’t feel well, it was a tragic and emotionally trying week around here, and I am just coming off my mom’s death but it really hit me hard.

That was my last “parent” (step or otherwise)

As soon as I walked in the door, my phone rang (I let it go to voice mail) and found a message from a friend asking me why I removed her as a moderator from a yahoogroup that I turned over to her over a year ago.

WTF? I don’t have anything to do with the administration of that list anymore; and I only occasionally send an email to it.

I just sent her an email advising her to check with Yahoo. I was not up to playing tech support.

I’m sure she had no idea that I’d just gotten bad news, but that mixed with some other “debate” going on in another real life group I’m a part of didn’t help my mood any.

I let the other (real life) group know what happened, that I don’t have the time or energy to deal with the debate right now, and to just let me know the outcome.

Seriously folks, I don’t feel like being in charge, I don’t feel like arguing/debating/mediating, I don’t feel like being given any crap! (I get enough crap at work[not from management or co-workers-jussayin'], I don’t need it in my off time)

Other people can work out their own “stuff” right now.

I am officially “checking out” from extra responsibility right now. Put a fork in me, I’m done!

I’m sure the world won’t come to an end if I don’t jump in and try to fix everything.

With that said, I have a few girlfriends coming over for girls night tonight.

They are big girls and know how to pour their own wine and they won’t complain if I don’t feel up to cleaning my apartment. (which I don’t)

I can’t think of anything more life affirming right now than spending time with friends.

Oh, I did get a couple of cards in the mail today; here’s the door (holiday cards make me smile and I might as well share something happy)

Mood: Sad

~L

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My mother is pissed at her neighbors, pissed at her friends and pissed at me over the police being called.

They can not legally force entry.

She has had the phone off the hook all day (and who knows, maybe all night)

I appreciate all the suggestions of calling different agencies, it’s been done.

She is a master manipulator and a bald faced lair.

I found out yesterday from her neighbor that when she had the severe edema (swelling for those not up on medical terminology) it was all the way up to her waist (why her heart didn’t stop completely I don’t know) She told the doctor that is “just happened a day or so ago” and never let them see how far up it was.

She knew she was diabetic, and she’d go on crazy crash diets to get her blood sugar down just before her appointments so that her blood sugar would test out OK.

She has a mass on her kidney that she refuses to have looked at (she’s had cancer twice and doesn’t want to go through that kind of treatment again)

She was working in a law office up until she finally went in for surgery.

She is as sharp as a tack, knows that she can not be declared unable to care for or make decisions for herself and that there is no implied consent. (and did I mention that she’s a charmer and manipulative?)

Shes’ not stupid and has brought every bit of this on herself by refusing to take her medications (I begged and pleaded with her to take her blood pressure medication when I was in my 20s as a paramedic telling her how people who don’t have strokes and end up in extended care facilities having their diapers changes and being fed through a tube in their nose)

The only reason she agreed to the surgery earlier this year is because she hoped she’d die on the operating table (she told this to both me and her surgeon)

She won’t go to the doctor or let anyone in to her home because she KNOWS that she will not be allowed to live alone in her filthy (she’s a hoarder) mobile home. She doesn’t want anyone in there and doesn’t want to be put in a home.

I’ve dropped everything and flown/drove out there more times that I can count only to have her return to her self destructive lifestyle. (which is a lot more than should be expected given the abuse I put up with as a child)

I’m not doing it any more.

I can’t make her want to live.

I can’t make her take care of herself.

I can try to not let it make me physically ill again (trust me, this brings back a lot of my childhood/abuse issues) and not end up like her. (and I’m most certainly not going down there, break into her house and potentially have a criminal record that will lose me my job)

Unless she suddenly decides that she has something to live for (not likely) I expect that she will be dead (either intentionally or unintentionally) by this time next week.

It’s what she wants.

~L

Mood: resigned

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~

Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da

Life Goes On

It’s been an interesting last 24 hours.

But first, some serious comic relief, courtesy of Comedy Central and Popfiend on LiveJounral

COOKIE MONSTER (watch all the way though)

Back to “real life” (which is not as much fun)

I didn’t believe my mother when she said that she would be going into surgery on Saturday.

First, I don’t know of any hospitals that do anything but emergency surgery on a Saturday.

Second, She’s been so incredibly stoned on Morphine (which although she has a history of alcoholism was appropriate if not for pain due to her leg but to decrease the load on her heart)

Third, She’s a liar.

Is it any wonder that I have a difficult time trusting people?

I called the hospital yesterday and first her line was busy; then they told me she wasn’t on the 4th floor anymore.

She was (allegedly) downstairs in the CCU.

The CCU said she was in recovery.

I couldn’t get a hold of anyone in recovery.

After about an hour, and lots of transfers, I was able to find someone to tell me that she was IN surgery and was expected to be in the CCU (with or without a stop in recovery) in about two hours.

Someone was supposed to frikkin call me when the surgery was scheduled.

I was pissed.

Due to general stress, I only got about one hour’s sleep on Friday night.

I was pissed and didn’t feel well.

After a really bad trip to the store where I was cut in front of in line by rude people, blocked in every aisle by clueless people and rain into with a cart by an inattentive woman… seriously she hit me in the ass (for a brief moment, I wondered what would happen if I stood in the middle of the store and screamed) I got a call from the vascular surgeon.

She survived the surgery and the next three days (from yesterday/Saturday) are critical.

He did do it on a Saturday (did I mention that no one bothered to frikkin’ call me?) because he needed to do it as soon as the heparin was out of her blood stream so that she would clot (she was given that because she tried to signer herself out of the hospital on Monday before her friends and I leaned on her to have the surgery)

I let him know about the alcoholism (so that they could carefully wean her off of the morphine which is highly addictive)

I thanked him for what he’d done, and indicated concern that she did not want to get better and thought she was really hoping shed die on the operating table.

He said, “Well, that’s what she told me.” (at least she was honest with him)

At that very moment, I felt guilty for talking her into the surgery.

She doesn’t want to get better, she wants to placate everyone long enough to go home and die a painful death of self neglect.

This surgeon came in on a Saturday and spent time, energy and resources on a woman that doesn’t want to get well and won’t cooperate with recovery. (no way will she agree to a skilled nursing facility for rehab)

Put a fork in me, I’m done giving a shit.

You know what? I didn’t ask to be born.

I didn’t ask to be raised in an abusive alcoholic household.

I didn’t ask to be lied to my entire life.

Is it any wonder that I have relationship issues?

Is it any wonder that I don’t have the same feelings/relationship with my mother that “normal” people do and that I feel guilty for that? (and her friends probably think I’m a selfish little bitch)

Feh!

I called the CCU last night to get a status update.

She was alive, awake and charming the socks off of everyone.

They took a phone in there this morning so that I could take to her.

She sounds better than she did before the surgery.

I tried to convince her to just do what they tell her and she will get better (the surgeon had not yet talked to her so she hadn’t been informed that it “went well”)

I told her not to worry about open heart surgery as that was not on the table and that she’d be taking heart medication and might have one “outpatient” procedure. (not going into the defibrillator procedure with her now)

Of course, she focused on the negative and yelled, “They aren’t taking my foot! I won’t allow it!” (note this is not a senile woman, this is someone who is highly intelligent and was working as a paralegal up until she went into the hospital)

I explained that if she did what she was supposed to and healed up from this surgery that wouldn’t be an issue.

She said, “Well you didn’t say that was not on the table”.

“Mom; that’s because we were talking about your heart, not your leg.”

“Well no one told me that.”

“Well, you were unconscious at the time so they had to talk to me.”

I thought she might have decided to live.

I thought she might cooperate.

But then I got a message from her boss.

“Your mom called today and told me to tell you that there is nothing wrong with her heart.”

What a load of codswallup.

Oh wait, make that BULLSHIT.

The only doctor that was going to talk to her today (Sunday) was her vascular surgeon and I ‘m not even sure that he did (the poor guy deserves at least one day off) because he didn’t call me).

The cardiologist already told me what was up and her heart is most certainly NOT fine. She will need medication and a defibrillator implant.

So either my mother’s damaged heart (damaged by years of neglect and refusal to take care of herself/follow doctors orders) miraculously healed and her cardiologist made a Sunday visit because it was such a huge miracle.

Or my mother is (still) a manipulative lair.

I did not sign up for this shit.

In an effort to end this on a positive note, here’s a “Two Lumps” cartoon.

~L

Mood: Fed Up

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My mother’s surgery has been scheduled for tomorrow.

They wanted another day to let the Heparin clear out of her system. It’s good to have blood that is capable of clotting when one is about to undergo surgery.

I appreciate all the thoughts, good wishes, magic, energy, candles and prayers from whatever sources and traditions they come from. (it’s all good “juice” from the same source to me)

*just a note on such things.

Although you are all free to send/pray for whatever you want, those in my realm of spirituality often hold a belief that “best possible outcome” is a better idea than violating someone’s free will and wishes.

For example, praying for someone who wants to die, to live… (it’s a good idea on paper, but perhaps not so much in practice)

When I was a paramedic I often had to transport old, sick and dying people from extended care facilities to the emergency room.

I’ve had them literally beg me to let them die because they were tired and in pain. You want to see real tragedy? Watch a person being artificially kept alive and stuffed out of sight/out of mind in a nursing home and subjected to painful and degrading procedure after procedure when they are tired, in pain and want to just be let go with dignity (and depending on their beliefs to go to heaven or to be with their departed loved ones).

Let me tell you, after that experience I don’t want to be kept alive if I’m in that condition and I promised my mother that I wouldn’t force it on her (I may have issues with her, but I made a promise and I intend to keep it)

This surgery carries a 20-30% risk of mortality for her; maybe less if she’s a day stronger, maybe more if she really wants to die. (which is what I suspect)

The point is, you can’t make someone want to live.

A lot of bad things can happen in surgery that don’t outright kill a person, but damage their brain, kidneys, etc….

In a perfect world, the surgery would go well, she wouldn’t lose her leg or die of sepsis, they would then address the heart issues, including the implanted pacemaker and put her on a plan to manage her diabetes.

In this perfect world, she would then start to feel better, follow doctor’s orders and live out the rest of her years in peace.

This is not a perfect world and the reality is not so rosy (or even likely)

For those who think I should rush down there right now against her wishes.

I appreciate your thoughts and the fact that you care.

But you don’t know enough about us or our situation to determine what is best. (and the stuff you see in the movies about grand reconciliations on deathbeds and “happily ever after” even into the afterlife; doesn’t generally happen)

The fact is that she is so damaged from her upbringing and I am so damaged from mine, that we don’t have a normal mother-daughter relationship. We’ve tried, but the bonds never formed quite right (they didn’t for she and her mother either).

These things can not be forced and my trying to rush down there against her will and “fix” things will do more harm that good. She’ll be stressed, I’ll be stressed… (and providing she survives this, she’ll never tell me the truth again because I broke a promise)

We have accepted the way things are for some time now and work with what we have.

Some of us find more healing and peace with chosen family than blood family.

You don’t have to agree with any of this, but I do ask that you please respect my feelings and don’t start a debate, fight, disagreement or try to sway me to your way of thinking.

I already feel guilty and like crap for a number of reasons that I won’t go into here.

I’m an emotional mess and am having physical symptoms as well. I can’t sleep properly even with Ambien, my back and neck are knotted up and painful and I’m pretty sure I’m coming down with some sort of cold/flu bug.

To be a bit selfish here, between that and the childhood trauma this has unleashed which I will make a counseling appointment for) I just don’t need to be argued with or given any crap by anyone right now.

For those who have continued to give your unwavering love and support without judgment, thank you.

~L

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I just got off the phone with my Mom.

I think everyone knows that this usually upsets me and why, so I just won’t go there. (if you’re half as tired of reading it as I am writing about it; that’s pretty bad)

It’s “just the facts” today.

I (and the cardiologist and vascular surgeon and her friends who I am in collusion with) have convinced her to have the leg surgery.

This is the bypass where they will pull an artery from somewhere else into the leg to bypass the blocked area (which couldn’t be opened with the catheter procedure) to try to get blood flow back to the foot/leg.

She still has no pulse in the foot/leg and if she does not do this, the foot and leg below the knee will die and she will either die of the sepsis or lose the leg up to the knee anyway.

There is a 20-30 percent chance that she will not survive this surgery. (I suspect that she’s hoping she doesn’t wake up and thinks this might be the easy way out)

Sadly, these are the best odds she has at this point.

The amputation would have a higher mortality rate. (she won’t allow it anyway)

Doing nothing has a 100% mortality rate (in addition to being a terrible and painful way to die)

She doesn’t yet know when the surgery will be scheduled, so I’ve asked that someone call me when it is.

If she comes through the surgery, she will have 5-7 days of recovery from that, and then will need to have a defibrillator implant put in.

The recovery time from the surgery (and likely only an extra day for the defibrillator), buys myself and her friends (one of whom used to work for Adult Social Services and is researching options for help at home, ramps showers, funding, etc…) some time to make arrangements for when she is released.

~L

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Today was a better day.

Sadly, part of that is because I talked (in regards to my mother’s medical condition) only to the vascular surgeon who tried to open up circulation to her dying foot/leg via a catheter and to her cardiologist who confirmed what I believed, that she’s had congestive heart failure for several years. (never mind that all of this was preventable, unnecessary and entirely of her own doing by refusing to follow doctors orders, take care of herself or be honest with me, her friends or her doctor (who is not blameless in allowing things to get this bad) rather than to her.

I’m a mess for at least two hours after I talk to her; a depressed, dysfunctional messed up abused little girl who just wants to crawl into a fetal position on the couch and not talk to anyone about it (not even my best friend)

This whole thing with my mother has really left me feeling raw, stressed and damaged. (and if I don’t keep a grip on this whole childhood abuse trauma being dredged up, I’ll be talking to a counselor pretty quick because I don’t want to go down a bad road, screw up my job or drive away people that I love because I feel like a nut job right now.) *note, the (best) Icky Boy (ever) has been awesome through all of this, as have the few friends I will talk to about it. (my mom’s friends have been awesome as well)

Its has made me think (dangerous, I know)

There are two types of people in this world.

Fighters and Quitters.

Call them by any other name, but there are people who refuse to be limited by life circumstances, injuries, diagnoses, etc… and either beat the odds or do the best they can to make the most of what they have are fighters.

Then there are those who choose to be a victim, because fighting to make the best life they can out of what they have is just too damn hard, and it’s much easier to have people say “Oh poor baby.”

What a frikkin’ waste.

Life’s not fair and at one time or another, we all get dealt a raw deal and have a choice to deal with it or not.

But before I go off on that, let me tell you about some people who are nobody’s victim.

I was beaten in a half marathon last year by an amputee running on a prosthetic leg. (which pretty much makes my injury history look lame). I am cycled into the ground on a regular basis (at least once a week) by old men who have had heart attacks and I know people who have fought and beaten cancer against all odds. Not to took my own horn (especially now that I’m feeling so weak, messed up and damaged) but I ran my first marathon on the 5 year anniversary of learning how to walk again after an accident that fractured my spine and pelivs.

In both the Danskin and Subaru US Women’s triathlons, and on dragon boat teams, I see women compete who are cancer survivors and in some cases still undergoing treatment.

There are those who simply get up every morning and try to make the world a better place though small, uncelebrated actions and who even use their tragedy to help others cope.

If you or someone you know is feeling sorry for yourself because of the hand you’ve been dealt, here is a little bit of inspiration for you.

As I’ve alluded to (not too subtly) before, I was raised by a victim and was raised to be a victim (and it really screwed me up).

I’ve spent my entire life trying to overcome that.

Once I “thought” I was no longer a victim myself, I wasted time, energy and countless years of my life falling for every sucker story and helping enabling other victims to my own detriment.

I’ve got a pretty frikkin’ low tolerance for perpetual victims at this point.

This is not to say that people don’t come across hard times, get a crap deal and have a right to feel sorry for themselves…

But once that’s over (heck have yourself a pity party), for gosh sakes people, find your testicles/ovaries and man/woman up and put on your big boy pants/big girl panties and DO something about it!

We are all given the same thing, a lifetime.

We should all make the most of it in whatever little way we can.

~L

Mood: contemplative

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I thought that the “come to jesus” talk I had with my Mom on Saturday did some good. (I was gentle, but frank)

I can’t make her want to live, I have never been able to get her to take care of herself (she’s a clinically depressed, alcoholic), but I at least thought I had her convinced to cooperate and get well, so that she can die on her own terms later on rather than now in the hospital or of blood poisoning/sepsis in her crappy mobile home if she signs herself out of the hospital AMA, (against medical advice) although, I’m not certain she could walk out of there on her own power and call a cab.

This morning’s (really awful) conversation pretty much killed that little bit of hope I was hanging on to.

I left a message at the nurses station to have her primary care physician call me and give me the lowdown (I’m pretty sure what I know what it is, but can’t trust her to tell me how bad it really is). I’ve waited until now because last week was all about testing and why harasses a doctor that doesn’t know anything yet?

I will start the conversation with, “I was a paramedic for 13 years and am certified in Advanced Cardiac Life Support (not even all physicians are) so don’t sugar coat it, beat around the bush or talk down to me.” (translation-don’t make me come down there and get in your face, it won’t work out well for you)

So I’m worried, stressed, have all the childhood trauma coming back and feel guilty for thinking of myself at all. (oh, never mind that I’m worried about job cuts at work which we won’t know about until after the 9th of this month)

I’m trying to cope by “compartmentalizing” my life.

I know that after I talk to my mom, I’m completely wrecked for at least two hours, so I need to schedule those calls for when I don’t have to be productive right after.

I know that I need a small amount of time in which to blog/talk about it and then stop. (I just can’t be dwelling on this shit)

I know that the best thing I can do for myself right now, is to get sleep (not as easy as it sounds) and exercise.

I’ve been good about the exercise.

Thursday, I swam.

Friday, I ran and then went on a bike ride.

Saturday, I swam and then ran

Sunday, I took a rest day (required when one, particularly a triathlete/multi-sport athlete is training hard-my legs were complaining) and went in to work to catch up a bit.

Today, I went on a 22 mile bike ride with the Wheelmen. I had to let Joyce, the ride leader know that if I got a phone call, I might suddenly drop out of the ride and not to worry, which of course lead a few people to want to talk to me about the situation.

If nothing else, all of this stress is going to give me a nice, tight ass and one hell of a cardio-vascular system.

I was to the point where I was considering going into therapy because I wasn’t sure if the depression, anxiety and childhood trauma (this is really bringing back my abusive childhood and the fact that my mother was too messed up to protect herself or me.) this whole thing has created was normal or not. But I was able to talk (albeit briefly) about it with a couple folks on today’s ride without crying or otherwise losing it. That’s a huge improvement over just a few days ago.

As long as I sleep and exercise, I seem to be able to cope and function, and time seems to be making it easier, so I won’t further stress myself by making appointments for therapy right now. I’m sure I’ll need it later.

My fiddle teacher emailed and she has an opening for lessons here in Tacoma (no stressing out about driving to Olympia during rush hour after working a ten hour shift) so I’m removing the “hold” on lessons.

I’ve applied for a loan out of my retirement account to cover travel expenses when I need to go down to SoCal to deal with mom, so finances, although always tight won’t be dire, and I can do things that are good for me.

Sadly, I’ve had to back out of volunteering for Wintergrass this year. I not only did not get grandfathered into my usual job/schedule this year (as has always been policy, especially for a long term volunteer like myself) but got scheduled for a high stress job (my day job is stressful enough) and days that don’t work for me.

I need to save my leave from work because I KNOW I’m going to have to go down to SoCal. Those 20 hours (2 days) leave I was going to take for Wintergrass, along with a four day weekend, may keep me from having to cancel cancel the Grand Canyon trip with the icky boy at the end of March/early April.

I feel guilty for even thinking about “vacation” but it’s not just me that would be affected. Yes, he’ll go without me (and have twice as much food and wine from what’s in the cache which he can send back down the river) as he normally does a Grand Canyon trip solo every year. But it’s a big deal to him to have me coming with him. He would never pressure me; he would not be upset with me if I had to cancel because of my mom, but he’s been so wonderful and supportive, I don’t want to let him down. (oh, and I’ve never had two weeks off in my life)

Here’s today’s ride.

(if you are viewing this on LiveJournal or via RSS feed where the map doesn’t show properly, just click the link that says “view larger map”.)

View Larger Map

That’s it for now…

~L

Mood: Tired

~

the run

I was waiting for the icky boy this morning and decided that I’d be better of not sitting around and dwelling on things, so I grabbed my Garmin (traded up for the one with a heart monitor; I don’t to HR training, but its’ a GREAT tool for measuring fitness, especially when comparing performance on the same route over time.)

I did a quick run in the park; only 30 minutes. The air quality was terrible as we were under another inversion and the pollution from the tide flats was being held down by nasty, nearly freezing fog.

But I got out and ran and it made me feel better.

(if you’re viewing via LiveJournal or RSS feed, where the map doesn’t show properly, just click on the “view larger map” link)

View Larger Map

I grabbed a quick bite to eat, then went and picked up the Icky Boy to go ride the Foothills Trail (I needed to be above the inversion and out of the bad air)

the ride

We couldn’t get all the way out to South Prairie because part of the trial is still closed due to flood and storm damage. (as it was, we had to ride through some slimy mud and get brown stripes up our backs.) We still got almost 24 miles in (as opposed to the full 30)

(if you’re viewing via LiveJournal or RSS feed, where the map doesn’t show properly, just click on the “view larger map” link)

View Larger Map

He was trying to make friends with the EMU, who hissed and growled at him (pictures already directly posted to my blogs from my cell phone)

When I twittered the pictures, Dale text messaged me saying that he was just loading up to make a fuel delivery to the Safeway in Orting, so we stopped by to see him (and I kicked over one of his safety cones because he goes nuts when people drive over them-I later picked it up for him)

the relationship

I’ve discovered that I’m at my lowest and teariest right after I talk to my mother, so if I allow myself some time between talking to/dealing with her and trying to talk to anyone else, I can do it without crying.

That makes me feel less emotionally out of control and hopefully better company.

I reiterated to the icky boy that I was sorry about being this way; to which he grinned, gently pushed my shoulder and said, “Oh, you’re not THAT bad.”

I also discovered that the best way to let a boyfriend know that you need them and comfort from them in a time of crisis without feeling like you’re being whiny or needy is to come up with a good line.

The one I chose was…

“So, is that offer for a “good Schtupp” still good?

In any event, I got my bike gear unloaded, grabbed some food (couldn’t wait for dinner with the icky boy and needed red meat which he doesn’t eat) and took a nice hot bath with a glass of wine.

I’m getting ready to head out the door now; guess where I’m going

~L

Mood: Tired in a good wayt

~
First, I’d like everyone who has commented sent emails, texts and twitters to accept my humble thanks for taking the time to do so. Knowing that I have people who care, many of whom have been through the same type of thing really helps.

I do apologize for not replying. I’m a bit overwhelmed right now and just can’t handle doing so. Please know that I appreciate all of you. (except the person that popped over from someone else’s LiveJournal to give me crap about my “You owe it to those you love” post; if you don’t like what I post on MY journal when I’m in pain and hoping to help others, feel free to stay off of it; you were never invited in the first place)

Please also know that my mother is not a bad person and is not intentionally being manipulative. I appreciate the attempts to commensurate; but that really isn’t the way she is.

When she says that she “Don’t worry, I’ve lived a full life” and refuses heart surgery (although I’ve recognized that she has congestive heart failure and has for some time, she claims the doctor always told her that her heart is good) and the recommended amputation of her foot (she claims she’s not diabetic but they are giving her insulin) she does honestly mean that she’d rather die that go through that at her age (78). It’s not a guilt thing (although and it does make me feel guilty because I’ve never been able to get her take care of herself and follow doctors orders). I don’t think she understands how horrible it would be to die of blood poisoning and gangrene. Although it breaks my heart, I don’t really blame her for wanting to just let go.

She was abused as a child and was abused in her marriage to my step-father (I watched him hit her in the face so hard that the bridgework was knocked out of her mouth) Women didn’t have resources in the 60′s early 70′s and these things were dirty little secrets back then. She and I were trapped in a violent, sexually abusive alcoholic home.

She couldn’t protect me and I am angry about that. But I feel guilty for being angry because she couldn’t even protect herself. I can honestly say that anything she ever did, she believed was in my best interest. (I won’t go into all of them, but some have taken a lot of forgiving and trying to forget)

We never formed the normal bond that mothers and daughters do (FYI, she never formed that with her own mother). It’s no one’s fault, and it can’t be fixed (imagine not being able to feel safe or trust anyone growing up; the bonds that form in those circumstances are different). We have a different relationship and we accept that and work with it; it’s more than most people in our circumstances have.

Part of the reason I chose not to reproduce (although I did raise someone else’s child for a time, and dedicated myself to doing the best job of it that I could) is to break the cycle of abuse and dysfunction. I never had a model for a healthy relationship, neither did my mother. I also never met anyone I’d be willing to raise children with. Bringing another human being into this world is a huge responsibility and I wasn’t about to do that and screw it up. As it turns out, I made the right call, I continually chose men that were abusive, manipulative, controlling, addicted or dishonest.

I think that I may finally have gotten it right with the man I’m dating now, but am afraid, that like so many others, when he sees my weaknesses, insecurities and fears, he will be disillusioned with me. I’m feeling very anxious and out of (inward) emotional control. I’m afraid I will drive him away. (I’ve got lots of random, unsubstantiated fears right now)

The economy and being understaffed and overwhelmed at work (and not knowing the job situation until med next month after the board meets) already had me twitchy. This thing with my mom just added a big fat pile of new stress with the added bonus of dredging up childhood trauma.

So I’m trying my best to manage what stress I do have control over. No matter how bad my back hurts (I’m all knotted up with stress) I am getting out to exercise.

I am taking my four days off, with the exception of going in on Saturday when no one else is around to get caught up a bit.

I am letting the icky boy know how I am feeling (no drama, just honesty) and that I appreciate his patience and understanding. (he really has been sweet) I don’t want to drive him away by being whiny or needy, or by pushing him away in an effort to “spare” him from what I’m going through. I probably don’t act as crazy as I feel anyway. I’m hoping for a happy medium and good communication.

In any event, they’re doing some non-invasive heart testing (radioactive isotope & a scanner/camera) and then I believe are going to put a catheter down her leg to look for deep vein thrombosis or other occlusions.

So it’s still sit and wait and not know what’s going on and if/when I’ll have to rush down there with my mom.

I’m still not sure what’s up with the icky boy for the weekend (stressed out crazy woman is sure that she’s pushed him away or he’ll run away, because I’ve never been with a man I could trust to be there for me; why should now be any different?)

So I’m going to go exercise.

and I’m going to try to catch up on work on Saturday.

and I’m going to try to think good positive thoughts that I have actually chosen a healthy relationship with a good person for once in my life.

and I’m going to try not to cry.

~L

Mood: Meh