Freedom For My Inner Child

I did something tonight that I have needed to do for a very long time. I gave myself permission to say what I have not wanted to say and possibly never wanted to admit. I gained freedom! I confronted my past, I said my peace, admitted my resentment, and have now let it go. I have let her go. I have put my fears out there and broken ties I don't think I can ever fix, and actually if it means it would be painful to fix them, I don't want them at all.

I always feared that saying something to her would hurt her, but I never stopped to think of what it was doing to me inside all that time. I don't think I really realized the tremendous amount of hurt that was there, the pain I have been holding on to that kept me a prisoner in my own past.

Tonight, I let my inner child have her peace. My inner child finally said the things she needed to say to her mother, even if it did have to come out of the mouth of a 41 year old woman. And even if it did hurt her mother. I was not looking for nor did not need an apology because that can never fix the things that happened in my childhood. I just needed to be heard for once.

A child can not understand the mind of an adult, no matter how much they try. A parent is there to protect and love a child, not abandon it and allow it to be abused by others. My inner child will never understand why her mother left her to go into a mental institution and was not there to protect her from the evils that happened while she was gone. That same inner child will never understand why her mother never talked to her, but rather cried all day instead. My 11 year old inner child cannot understand why her mother would allow a predator into their home and never warn her of the dangers of him.

As an adult woman, I can understand that my mother had a mental breakdown, needed to be institutionalized for a while and battled depression the best she could. She was so busy trying to keep her sanity that her 5 year old daughter was just one more obligation in her life she could not deal with. Put on top of that an unplanned/unwanted pregnancy during her depression, an unhappy and dare I say emotionally abusive marriage and someone is bound to get hurt there.

As an adult, I can forgive her, but as a child full of feelings of abandonment and feeling unloved, the pain was still there and was not going away.

There are somethings I will never understand about my mother and the decisions she made in her life. And some people would say I don't have the right to judge her decisions anyway. Some people would be right, but I guess what I came to realize tonight is that I do have the right to be heard when those decisions impacted my life. Keeping secrets only makes you sicker, and as I confronted my mother tonight, her secrets made my life difficult and 'sick'.

I know that God has a plan for me and I am keenly aware that He uses my trials in life to help others. These trials have given me compassion for others in similar situations, and in turn have given me the strength to help those around me while healing my own wounds.

That can't be right...

After putting off my mammogram for as long as I could, I called Tuesday and was given an appointment for THURSDAY. They felt the lump in my right breast was cause enough to get me in ASAP. So, after gulping at their urgency, I accepted the appointment and was told, beforehand, that the appointment may take several hours if they found the lump I claimed to have.

I arrived at the hospital this morning just before my appointment time, already unhappy with the self-inflicted torture I was about to endure. I said a prayer before leaving the car, downed 2 Advil's and walked slowly to the door of the radiology unit.

Every employee I met was supremely pleasant and upbeat, though I felt uncomfortable with all of the "Pink" paraphernalia surrounding Breast Cancer Awareness EVERYWHERE. Guess what colors the walls were? You got it...pink! The pictures? Of Susan G Komen walks, ribbons and survivors. Yes, I know what a mammogram is used for...breast cancer detection, but darn if I wasn't scared just from the appearance of the place!

When it was my turn for my mammogram, I was asked to remove my top garments and to change into a robe that tied in the front. I was then taken into a pink room with the "Dreaded Mammogram Machine of Death" (it's not really called that but that's all I could think of it) where the technician picked out a few plates to 'pancake' me with. She asked about the lump, the pain, and where it was located. She told me that she was planning to do a regular mammogram, meaning take films of both breasts, then focus on the sore right breast for a few more films.

When she finished with the films she had taken, she asked me to wait in the waiting area while the doctor took a look at them. She explained that this was common and that sometimes they need to redo the films if they did not develop correctly. That's fine. A few minutes later, she asked me to come back in and take a few more films, but this time they were on my left breast. I asked her if she was sure, since it was my RIGHT that was giving me the trouble, and unfortunately she said the doctor had seen something on the LEFT side instead of the right. I shrugged my shoulders and prepared for more teeth-clenching torture. Did I mention that a mammogram REALLY, REALLY hurts? Especially when they want to get a better look, which means a tighter boob squeeze...OUCH! And back out to the waiting area I went, nearly in tears over the pain.

Another half and hour later, the technician returned to the waiting area to say the doctor wanted to do an ultrasound and took me back to that office. The ultrasound technician 'gel-ed up' and scanned my right breast like crazy. She even had to ask me to point out the painful right lump since it was not showing up on the screen. She moved over to the left breast and sure enough, she found something there. As she paused the scanner to take some photos, I blurted out "That can't be right. Are you SURE you have the correct breast?" She said there was a mass that looked suspicious and she wanted to go get the doctor to look at it herself. There I lay, confused and annoyed waiting for the doctor. I was just sure they, um, well I wasn't sure what they thought they saw, but I didn't feel anything outright on my left side. And then I did. I felt a pea-sized thing in my left breast. Not a lump like the one I feel on the right side, but more like a pea sized rock.

I think the ultrasound technician was gone a total of five minutes when I made this discovery and panic set in. When the tech and the doctor returned, the doctor looked at the screen and said they had ordered copies of my last mammogram to compare the new films to. She explained that while they could not find a lump in my right breast, they did find what looked like a nodule in my left breast. Once they receive the previous mammogram reports/films to compare this to, she assured me, they would contact my own doctor and go from there. Did I mention today is Thursday, my previous mammogram was done at a different facility and that the weekend was just a day away? I do not anticipate hearing back from my own doctor before Tuesday with any results, so it's going to be a long weekend.

I cannot say I am scared that it's cancer. I beat cancer before, I've had other cancer scares, and if it's not a spider, I don't scare easily. I guess we'll see what the future holds for lumpy, bumpy booby me.

Upper Lower Class

I've usually considered my family (Paul and I) to be more middle class than anything. Not too poor to lack electric, telephone or standard cable service, but not wealthy enough to have all those bills paid up at one time. I am now starting to rethink my classification of our family.

As I sat the the local Social Services office waiting for an interview for my food stamp application recently, I looked around and found that most of us in there all looked about the same. Ok, maybe there was an exception or two, but mostly, we were all in the same boat; poor. I keep wondering just how I got in this boat and just who did I need to talk to, to get out of the boat before the darn thing goes down like the Titanic? I don't remember choosing this boat and I really don't want to stay in it. I could jump ship and swim, but out in the middle of nowhere I am clueless as to which way to swim toward. I used to be a very good swimmer, lifeguard even, but now I'm sure time has taken a toll on my abilities and I might sink. Arugh!

I think back to the times when we both worked or when one of worked while the other went to school. In some ways I romanticized it as our 'tough times' that someday we would look back on and laugh at all the ramen soup we ate and somehow survived. Those were the days when I dreamed of being older and wiser, living in a large home of our own with children and no financial worries. I imagined I'd be about 40 and all those dreams would be realities. I thought for sure all of this suffering and hard work would pay off toward the future. Paul would have a great job in the IT field and I would have a great career, raise a family and do charity work for good causes. It would be so perfect, except.

Paul had difficulties, I had difficulties and down went our financial house of cards. The IT market became swamped with more graduates than it had jobs for, a recession hit, and sometime in there I became too ill to continue working. I've sold nearly every shred of evidence that I ever had been more than upper lower class. Gone are the Gucci handbags, business suits, expensive shoes, and gold jewelry. At 41, I'm trying to figure out how much I can mange to arrange with the electric company to keep the juices flowing for another month. And sadly, I think we're more poor now financially, than we ever were before. Ramen soup is still a staple in our home unfortunately out of necessity rather than nostalgia.

It's been a month and a half that Paul has been unemployed. The pantry is getting thin and there is $40 left in our bank account. Rent, electric, gas, phone, water, and my health insurance premium are all due now. I have shut off notices for the telephone and electric bills hanging on my refrigerator door to remind me that payment must be made by Friday to avoid 'interruption of my service'. And as for my food stamp application, I have a strong feeling I'll be denied because somehow we make too much money. Or at least we did make too much money when I applied.

Sorry this is not one of those feel good posts, but I am trying to find the humor in my own suffering. I'm too rich to be poor and too poor to be rich. I just need to let that out.

On a final note: POVERTY SUCKS!

No Mam!

I finally made it through all the phone calls to my insurance company to clear up the question as to if a mammogram would be covered at 100% or not. Answer: YES! I found this out yesterday, which gave me great excitement to make my mammography appointment. After looking through the extensive lists of radiologists in my area, I decide on a practice that is right in the same building as my gym. Sounds great, right? Well...so I thought.

I was headed to the gym today for my usual water aerobics class at 10am and thought, since I'm here, I might as well stop in and see if I can arrange an appointment after my work out. Well...you know how after your work out you usually take a shower, get dressed and still have that 'look like you've gone to the gym' look? That was me today. I may not have smelled like chlorine from the pool, but even I admit, my hair could have used some better styling. All in all, I was presentable, clean, and even fragranced from some great body lotion I love.

After a LONG and winding walk through the building, I finally arrived at the radiology office. The waiting room was gorgeously decorated and to me seemed a bit too, um, uppity for a radiology practice. As I made my way across the threshold to the reception desk, I could see the waiting room was completely empty of clients waiting to be served, which, selfishly delighted me beyond belief. Wow, I thought, finally a radiology office with no waiting. At the huge reception desk sat two well dressed staff members, even a bit over-done for a reception desk if you ask me. I could overhear the one staffer on the telephone with a possible client explaining to them that if they came in right now, there was no waiting and they had appointments open today. Great, I thought, I can get it done now! But wait...I'm not done yet.

Now to their dismay, they both noticed me standing at their desk in jeans and a t-shirt, obviously NOT their usual clientele. In my typical cheerful self, I mentioned I needed to make an appointment for a mammogram and that I had "so and so" insurance. Maybe asking if they took my insurance was what truly killed my chances of getting an appointment, but then again, it might have just been the jeans and t-shirt. A question the world may never know the answer to. The one staffer who had just been on the phone telling someone on the other end that they had open appointments did not say a word...just yet. The other staffer gave me a drab look, as if I was wasting her time, then hauled out her insurance book to look up my insurance. She took her time, could not find it, asked for my card, THEN said that my card implied they should be covered. She handed the card back, in what I think was an attempt to encourage me to crawl away ashamed and go somewhere else, but I relented in my pursuit to make an appointment, and to make one TODAY. After all, I had just heard they had open appointments, right? But wait...I'm still not done.

Now the other staffer, the one who had been sitting there quietly listening, and who had told the caller there were open appointments just minutes ago, acknowledged my request for an appointment by handing me a business card and suggested I call back to make an appointment. When I asked about any available appointments today, SINCE I AM STANDING RIGHT HERE RIGHT NOW, she said she could check but doubted it. I decided to mention that I was a bit anxious to get a mammogram as soon as possible because my doctor had found a lump in my breast last week. Yes, I shamelessly played the sympathy card, but can you blame me? Yeah, I hear you. The sympathy card paid off, kind of. The staffer did take pity on me, and began to get up to leave the desk to see if she could possibly squeeze me and my insurance into an appointment today. She then turned to me and asked if I would mind taking a seat in the waiting area.

Right there. That's when I realized it. Yes, actually, I do mind taking a seat in that pretentious waiting area. I felt overly uncomfortable being there and even worse, that this woman, who did not even know me, was treating me like an indigent patient in a hospital. I have insurance, a well known company, I might add, insurance that I actually pay for and here I was being treated like a beggar. I felt like she somehow judged me, then pitied me out of the kindness of her heart. Nah, this was not where I wanted to have a mammogram. I just walked out, no explanation. I did not feel like I owed her anything.

A mammogram is one of the more intimate exams you will ever have in your life, right up there with a pelvic exam or a colonoscopy. Your 'girls' are just hanging out there in the breeze than squished like a pancake in a machine looking for a possible life altering diagnosis. I want to be treated with respect if I am trusting you to squish my already painful, lumpy boob into a machine looking for cancer. If I am going to allow you to touch my naked body, you better be sure I don't want your pity, but I do want your trust and respect. I deserve it.

I will never be a client of that radiology practice as long as they practice looking down their noses at others.

Talk At You Later

I used to have a boss some years ago that would end his interactions with me with the phrase "talk at you later". He was one of my least favorite bosses and for lack of a better phrase, a complete jackass. He was hugely overbearing, annoying to deal with, and thought only his design ideas were what I should be making. I would crook my head with a puzzled look whenever I heard him utter the phrase and fortunately he was usually leaving the store or ending our phone conversation when he said it. He was the first person, and until now, has been the only person I have ever heard say that phrase. I thought he was just ignorant or that he had his phrases confused. I thought for sure he meant "talk WITH you later", but now I am realizing, his phrase was more correct.

Lately I have been noticing a pattern in my relationship with my mother and whether it has always been there or not, I can't tell. She and I have a phone call everyday, and lately, I have noticed it has been more of a 'talk at you' call. One of us calls the other and I end up listening to her talk at me about whatever is on her mind, whatever happened in her day, or whatever she wants to talk at me about. Rarely she asks about me or my day, but rarely it does happen. A ‘talk at you’ call is one of the most boring, long and uninteresting calls you will ever have with another person. I have become quite good at playing online games, answering emails and watching television shows all while on the other end of a ‘talk at you’ call. I can have an entire thirty minute conversation with her and only utter about 20 words usually consisting of “Yeah.”, “No, that doesn’t sound good.”, “Oh really?”, “I guess I better let you go then” and “Good night”.

Today was one of those days when I really could have used a 'talk with you' call rather than a 'talk at you' call. I recently found a slightly painful lump in my breast during a self-exam, and had my gynecologist check it out for me. She too found the lump and agreed with me that it might be something that needs to be removed with surgery. Like every other girl I know, I just wanted to pick up the phone and call my ‘mommy’ and cry about my news with her. Then I remembered who my mom is and thought better of it. If I had called her, the conversation would have been more of a ‘talk at you call’ where she would remind me that it’s my fault I have a lump in my breast because…pick an excuse. When it comes to me, the compassion well has dried up, it’s empty and I am out of luck.

We did have our usual 30 minute phone conversation tonight, she did all of the talking at me, and she has no idea I have a lump in my breast. She did not ask about my day and I was never given the chance to tell her anything about it. Maybe our relationship is better this way. I don’t suppose I can ever miss what I never had before; a loving relationship with my mother.

Marriage Is Like A Crab Leg Dinner

It occurred to me tonight, as I was cleaning freshly steamed crab legs, how much that activity reminded me of my marriage. Remember when you heard the line from the movie 'Forrest Gump', "Life is like a box of chocolates..."? Well, I had my Forrest Gump moment tonight at the dining room table!

I sat there, alone, trying my best to remove all the delicious meat from the crab leg clusters, hoping not to miss anything, but feeling overwhelmed with the 3 pounds of legs that sat before me. I know how much Paul hates to clean them, despite the fact that he does enjoy eating them, so I did not bother to ask for his help. After all, I thought, he was busy with something on the computer and surely I could do this myself...even if it took hours. Which it would have. Hours, messy, sticky and slimy, four of my least favorite words.

In the past, I would have cleaned all of them myself and then made VERY SURE Paul knew how I hated doing it, how I sacrificed what I wanted to do instead so he could enjoy the crab legs even though he did none of the work to deserve the crab legs I SLAVED over to clean....on and on and on. Yes, I can be quite the martyr when I want to be. (I, was taught that skill by one of the best martyr's I know, thankyouverymuch.) I decided that rather than be overwhelmed at the task at hand, instead of trying to do it all by myself, I throw out a suggestion to Paul that I might need help to get all of these cleaned. You know what? He took me up on it. I am not sure why he did it. Maybe he felt bad for me, maybe he heard the desperation in my tone, or maybe, just maybe, he did it because I finally asked for his help. I like to think because I humbled myself and asked for his help instead of sulking and always trying to do it myself, he was WILLING to help. And you know, it was a more pleasurable experience sharing the yucky job. We turned up the tv to hear Jeopardy and tried as a couple to answer the questions together, all while cleaning crab legs. What a concept!

Tonight, I discovered, sitting there, that marriage, much like these crab legs can become something rather wonderful and satisfying, but also very messy. More importantly, sometimes you have to get really messy, sticky and slimy to enjoy the good that can come from your efforts. My marriage is like that! I also discovered that if only one person is doing all the work, be it cleaning crab legs or the house work, then less joy will come from the results. One person will feel unappreciated for their efforts and one person will feel neglected. Nothing good can come from feelings like that.

So the next time you're cleaning crab leg clusters alone, remember my analogy, and share the load. It may just save your marriage.

Wedding Anniversary #12

I think it has finally taken me 12 years to figure out that a wedding anniversary is about celebrating the day you officially chose to be with the one you love for eternity, not about the gifts that poor sucker you married will give you.

Today was a really nice day of remembering why I married Paul, how nice it is to still be married to him, and why I'm not looking to trade him in for a 'new model'. It was wonderful to go on a real date to a restaurant where you had to dress up, have a reservation and be treated like an adult. I mean, yeah, Golden Corral has it's place, but you're not going to get a wine suggestion from a waiter there.

I enjoyed our dinner date immensely. Why, you ask? I think a large part of it was that we were able to sit, talk and actually enjoy each others company for a change. Usually, if we're going out to dinner, eating is the main reason we're there, not talking. Tonight was like a mini-remembrance of our dating/courting time before we were married or before life became more important than our relationship with each other is. Tonight was about us, not me, not Paul, but US. And it was great. I hope to keep the memory of tonight alive in my mind by continuing to cherish my husband every day for the rest of my life.

Happy Anniversary, Paul my love!