Yesterday was my first actual Psychiatrist appointment. I was totally terrified. I know that most psychiatric drugs tweak chemicals in the brain and I wasn’t sure if I trusted that idea. I know I need tweaking, that isn’t the issue. Lord knows if I could stop all the thoughts that get stuck in my head I’d be happier. But, I don’t want the medicine to change the person I am at my core. I just want it to give back to me what I was before I became sick. I’m afraid it will change *me* and that nobody will care because I’ll have stopped worrying about the table cloth and how people use dishes and I won’t be so upset about mistakes on a draft paper.

The doctor seemed nice enough, but she was also very much like my regular doctor. She had her own agenda, or seemed to. I’m pretty sure that since she deals with the mentally ill on a regular basis she is convinced she needs to take things in a firm hand and guide the situation. But still…my clinician said the diagnosis she was ‘working with’ at the moment was OCD with a-typical anxiety and affective disorder. To me, the anxiety is the worst thing, the OCD is only mildly oppressive most of the time, and the mood disorder is hardly a blip on the scale.

After she asked about my physical problems and why I sought treatment, she rammed right into the OCD. “Tell me about your routines,” she said. It’s not that kind of OCD, I don’t have routines. I just have to have some things done a certain way or life is miserable and I sit there and think about how irritated I am that things are not right. When I’m at work I have to bank stack the money and keep it this way no matter how busy I get. Which is annoying when people try to ‘help’ me and don’t put things away right. People have to wash the dishes in a pan. My table cloth is sacred space not meant to have dirt on it. Paper can’t have mistakes on it and I cannot write on paper which is wrinkled, blotted up or dirty in some way. Pens have to feel a certain way. Pencil has to feel a certain way and look a certain way on the page and has to erase cleanly. Those aren’t routines.

Then she wanted to know about the depression. Sigh. It’s depression with everyone. Perhaps my lifelong melancholy has become so much a part of daily life for so long I am desensitized to it, but most of the time it’s not debilitating and I’m normally not worried about it. There are times when I get up and all I can accomplish is staring at the wall. However, those times are very far between and usually follow a mountain top experience.

What I’m tired of is being scared when I drive, being uptight and uncomfortable with people too close to me in the mall, being angry at the least little thing and not being able to think about anything else for days. I hate people close to me, I hate strangers speaking to me if I wasn’t already looking at them, I don’t like people behind me, I don’t like it when people talk softly when I’m around because I’m sure they’re talking about me. I react very badly to anyone who does anything which could be misconstrued as disrespecting me; I don’t like being questioned in such a way that I might mistake it as calling my intelligence into question. I’m afraid of having something happen to me which will make me look stupid or less valuable than I was perceived beforehand. This is the stuff I want fixed.

She gave me medication which is supposed to control my body’s use of Serotonin. It supposedly also works well with OCD. We’ll see. I took my first pill and I’m trying to have an open mind.

I always, always, always check to see what the side effects of medication are when I get new scripts. I read the side effects of this and now I am paranoid. This seems to be the exact opposite of the reaction I desire. I worry all the time as it is. It makes me feel funny, not sick, not tired, not hungry, but something made of a little of all of them. Not sure I like that. I will have to see how things go I guess. I remember the first day I took the Amitriptyline, it made me feel like I was living in a bowl of Jell-O. Now it hardly affects me at all.

The night was interesting. I almost had a headache; it was an uncomfortable feeling in my head which made me feel a sick-tired lethargy. I wasn’t asleep either, but I was definitely not all there. And I got hot, like I used to get hot flashes, only it never went away until somewhere after midnight and before 3 am. And, I don’t know, it could be that nothing was different in my body I was just noticing it more but I noticed tingling in the bottom of my feet, shooting feelings (not tingling but not pain but it was definitely pronounced) in my arms and fingers and a few small spasms in very small muscles around my stomach. It was definitely odd. The strangest thing of all though, was a heavy pounding sensation in my heart. It wasn’t beating worse than normal, but I felt it more than normal. Normally if I feel it like this I also feel it in my head and ears, but did not this time, only in my chest. I also felt heaviness on my chest (I had that beforehand though) and made my self cough to stop whatever it was.

So I slept in the chair. When I laid down the pounding and heaviness got unbearable. Now I have to ponder. If I stopped being paranoid, anxious and overly fussy, but had to sleep in a chair, would it be worth it?

Today has also been strange. I feel my clothes more than normal and even my hair. This isn’t a good thing at all. My skin is already overly fussy, I can’t handle that for a long term thing, and I hope this goes away.

I didn’t get hungry sooner than I would, but I felt it more. Not sure how I feel about that. And I got hot again. Yes it is hot here in the trailer, but still this was out of the ordinary. I’m tired now too. I guess I’ll go sleep in the chair again.

The Sitting Stone:

My favourite spot is not available to me anymore, though I frequently go there in my mind. It is a page from my childhood, preserved in fond memories alone. To reach this sacred spot, I would walk down a well-worn path in the shady forests which surrounded my home perched on a New England mountain top. When I reached a certain clump of bushes just before a steep rise just around a bend in the trail, I would step off the beaten path and into heaven. Just a few moments in my special place and I would feel blessed by God and embraced in calm.

Dug into the side of a hill sat my ‘sitting stone.’ The sitting stone was shaded by ancient trees with wide, gnarly and nearly black trucks which often had wild mushrooms growing at the base. It was perched precariously in the side of a hollow in the mountain, reaching it required a few moments of daring climb.

The stone itself was a large shale rock covered in moss and surrounded on three sides with bushes. I would climb up, then walk between the bushes and sit down, Indian style, to watch the small stream which flowed through the forest. It was very small, hardly a stream at all, but I could have sworn it sang to me. The water was clear and cold, even in the heat of summer. Sometimes I would wade the creek which barely lapped my ankles in the deeper spots. Minnows populated the deeper, non-moving spots the water had carved out of the banks. If I was lucky, there would be a frog or two there. The water sometimes splashed onto small stones which held a nearly non-existent puddle for a short time. Butterflies visited these minuscule puddles for much needed refreshment and I would watch them in rapt fascination. I also would periodically picture the water gently carrying my troubles away.

My sitting stone also provided an excellent view of the skies, with puffy clouds and endless blue which I imagined were the walls of heaven showing through a clear floor. There was also a view of a distant meadow. Sometimes there were deer in the meadow, sometimes it was just the birds landing and taking off in a beautiful dance.

My sitting stone was where I cried secret tears, dreamed fantastical dreams and rid myself of worry. It was where I first learned to love nature, listen to the still small voice of God and hear the inner workings of my soul. It was a haven and a private heaven. And I still miss it over 39 years later.

I was worn completely out and brushing Penny did not provide adequate rest after my daily heroic mission against the evil ants in the vacant lot next door. It was a heavy burden for me, at the tender age of three, to be the family hero. I was a secret hero at that. I needed to be because I’d told the family about those evil hordes beside their house and the adults did not pay me any mind. So, it was up tome.

The ever faithful Penny would sit and guard while I was on my raids. I needed the protection and also the warning if I were about to be caught. I wasn’t technically allowed to be out of the yard, especially in the area next door. Mamma had said there might be snakes there. I had only ever seen one snake, but I knew they couldn't be worse than the real danger lurking there in the tall grass.

Besides, not all snakes were bad. Mamma had said rattlers were bad, and I supposed that was so. But as long as I listened carefully, I wouldn’t get bit. Rattlers always made a weird shaking sound before they struck, and I would be able to run away first. It happened that way on TV all the time. Mamma probably wouldn't know that though, because I never watched the nature shows.

Then there were the Blue Racers. My eyes wanted to see one of those snakes, but my stomach did not. It would have been interesting to see a blue snake. But Mamma said that they were as fast as cars and that sounded very scary to a preschool girl's reasoning. Still they couldn't be all that dangerous. Mamma said that if they were chasing you and they got up to speed, you could jump out of the way and they would just race right past you. I reckoned that a snake as stupid as all that would be easy to trick if necessary.

Where Mamma grew up, there were also bad snakes that swam in the water called Cotton Mouths. They were poisoned somehow, and I figured it had to do with the cotton. Sometimes I wondered if I could put cotton balls in the water for the snakes to eat. If I did, maybe they wouldn't be poisoned anymore.

But there was no water in the vacant lot, so I figured there would be nothing there but those gardener snakes. Daddy said they didn't bite people and they kept the bugs away. Once, Daddy had found a gardener snake in the bushes and I tried to sneak outside that night to see it. I wanted to watch it because I wanted to know how it gardened with no hands. I had been very quiet but just as I got outside Penny barked, waking my parents. I was spanked and put in bed before I could see anything of any importance.

I really didn't care about the snakes most of the time; I only cared about the ants. Ants were evil. That was why my mother sprayed them with the ant killing spray; and a whole city of them lived in the vacant lot next door. I also knew they weren't planning to stay there. The man across the lot had put poison on the lawn. 'To keep them from invading my yard,' he had said. Once I was tipped off to the ants' real intentions, I’d told my father. Daddy told my there wasn't anything to worry about.

Once an idea was in my head, I wasn’t easily dissuaded. So, I’d decided to see what was going on in that vacant lot for me. I walked into it and saw what would become the fuel for many nightmares. There amongst the sand, rocks and waist high weeds were ants of all sorts. There were tiny ants and huge ants, black ones, red ones and some were both red and black. Their homes varied in size; some anthills were short and fat, others were tall and thin. When I felt the little creatures crawl up my legs; my heart nearly stopped. I was filled with horror and ran screaming to Mamma.

Mamma brushed away all of the ants and dried my tears. She reminded me that ants were nothing but food for frogs and lizards; they weren't dangerous. Because of this, the family was going to leave the vacant lot alone. When I cried to Daddy, he said he wasn't worried about them either. He was going to leave the ants to 'their own devices,' whatever that meant. Maybe the adults didn't know the truth, but I did.

Those ants were bent on world domination. I would stop them; I just had to be smart. Daddy had told me that a small smart army had the ability to beat a big one any day. That was how the Americans got free. I hadn't figured out who the Americans needed freed from, but I didn’t ask either. Daddy had said it as if it was something everyone knew about. Whenever I thought about asking, I would become so uncomfortable I would stop before the question met the end of my tongue.

I was smart and outnumbered; I had to do it right the first time. At first I planned to poison them, but not in my yard. I’d do it in their area instead. I planned to look at the poison my neighbour had placed to prevent the inevitable yard invasion. Perhaps I could make some of my own. So, I went snooping around his yard. I didn’t find it; all I got was a spanking for being out of my yard. Poisoning them was not an option.

Then I remembered that ants were food for frogs and toads, which gave me a new idea. I started collecting frogs and toads from my yard. I placed them in the ant city, next to the anthills. There, they would feast until the ants were gone. It seemed like a wondrous plan, until I noticed that nothing seemed to change. The frogs were big enough to eat a bunch of ants every day. Why were there still so many ants?

The answer I found horrified me, and made me feel guilty. I saw a dead, squished toad on the sidewalk and it was covered in ants. Actually, there were so many ants that it was hard to distinguish whether it was a frog or a toad, but the poor thing was dead. I knew the ants had done it. They must have fought back and swarmed the toad. I wondered how they flattened him, though, and figured it had to be painful. I knew I could never use them as soldiers against the ants again. I prayed that Jesus would forgive me because I hadn’t known that ants could kill a toad.

The Arrival

It all happened because of magic. It wasn't a sleight of hand con job fashioned after what one would see on stage. It also wasn't the product of voodoo, potions or the weaving of spells. That would never have been successful in the situation anyway. It was instead the result of a strange, special sort of magic that only someone like a child could create.

It was a beginning of sorts, to something that would be for quite some time. It was not a birth, at least not in any literal way. That had happened already. The details of what had happened then and for the next three years were shrouded behind a veil-like absence of memory. Some things just were...others were happening just now. But the rest was a retrievable as a coin at the bottom of a murky, algae-filled lake.

The whole thing started in my front yard. My mind's eye opened in a profound way, rolling away from under a deep, unfathomable silent time. Self awareness was sudden and jolting. I was a tiny, confused, naive slip of a girl in a white sundress. Whenever i considered the specifics of my last three years of life, i was unable to grasp anything from within that darkness. But I didn't understand anything about the light that had just arrived either. When I moved, something around me changed. I knew it. I was affecting the fabric of...something. Why? Was that something also changing me?

I held my delicate fingers before my eyes, as if seeing them for the first time. When I regarded them against the backdrop of the things around me, I knew that they belonged. I didn't know why or how I knew, but they were familiar just the same. I dropped one hand to my side and tousled my curly auburn locks with the other. The movement caused the sun to illuminate blood red highlights from hair which was nearly black. I tucked a piece of it behind my ear. My hair went no further than the nape of my neck. I somehow knew the curls had been made with rollers, yet the actual memory hid in the blackness from which I had just appeared.

'What am I doing here?' I inquired of anything or anyone that might be listening. I was not concerned about my history; I somehow knew that was not important. I wondered about my very existence. Was there a 'why' for my? And how exactly was I anyway? Where had I been before I found myself here?

i blinked and fixed my eyes upon the single story piece of Americana I knew was my home. I saw it only briefly before I became entranced by my thoughts. I was beguiled by the existence of them, I wondered about the shape and texture of them manipulating my mind. My brain folded, rattled and flowed around those ideas in my head. There were questions rambling about and making themselves known before the ideas before them had finished formation. My mind was churning, boiling and running on full open. I was taken by the movement of it all. Some questions were well formed while others were mere wisps and phantoms of uncommitted thought. Some were known and others were shadowed. But all of them had sound.

The sounds of some were whispers which blew on silent winds, some rushed through me like water. But most of the time it was as if a little girl sat inside of my head, speaking my thoughts aloud. I could think of no reason for this girl; thoughts existed before I spoke them. Of course the spoken ones were more real and finished. I examined myself and my surroundings. I closed my eyes. Yet I could not find the girl anywhere.

I wondered what my parents would think. I knew I had them, and that I loved them. Mamma's soul had imprinted itself upon me before I was even born. Daddy was something else. He was a perch, a safe place and someone to play with. I didn't need to pull these memories from the dark, these things just were. I wondered why. I hadn't seen my family since I materialised from wherever I had been. Just as the thought danced across my mind, I was aware of that girl speaking once again. It was enough to irritate me and send me running toward the house. Daddy would know what was going on.

I found Daddy with his shoes off, feet up, reading the newspaper. The chair was his space, nobody sat there without his permission. Questions burst like water from a popped balloon.

'Daddy, why come my eyes look like windows when I look out of them? How can I know stuff I don't member? Who is that girl in my head saying all of the words I'm thinking? How did I get in the front yard? I wasn't there, then I was and I cant...' Daddy looked momentarily confused. He put his paper down and pinched the bridge of his nose as I was speaking. He closed his eyes and then moved his hand. It was almost a wave and sort of like a karate chop. It was Daddy's sign that meant to stop talking even if you were in the middle of saying a word.

'Calm down. Slow down. You are thinking too hard. You were inside and then you walked outside. I don't know why people know things they don't remember, but maybe the brain is just so busy that it cant remember everything all at once. Your eyes cant see beside you, if they did, you would be a lizard...And the girl in your head is you. Your imagination. Honestly child, I have no idea how you keep coming up with this stuff. You worry about so many things and don't pay any attention to the things you should.'

'But, Daddy, why-'

'Pa-lease!' Daddy groaned and flapped his paper smartly. He sounded tired. 'I'm in no mood for a game of twenty questions today.' His face was changing; it was becoming angry looking and dark. Deep inside, my stomach knotted; I knew I had stayed just a moment too long. I willed myself invisible and ran to my room.

There I pounced on top of my bed and swung my legs over the side. my shoes seemed heavy so I removed them with my toes. They plunked onto the white rug. I felt like plunking inside. Unanswered questions still ran laps in my brain. The noises made by my imagination made me want to scream and cry. Frustration washed over me and wet my face. I could count to five and I knew I hadn't asked more questions than that. How would Daddy know if there were twenty? Could he hear the imagination girl like I did? I knew she'd never heard anyone talking out any one else's head. If Daddy could hear the imagination girl he would always be angry with me. I felt sick, angry and broken.

Just then the magic happened. A faint whisper of an idea wafted like the mist through the hidden places. It beguiled me mind until the shape of it changed. There was a flicker and my curious soul grasped it. I was a magic child who could create things with my mind. I could create special spaces, and I did so. After the magic fog had moistened my insides, it rolled partly away to reveal a delicately carved box. It was in a new, yet familiar place on the cusp of reason and fancy. It belonged and I knew it. my questions changed directions and seeped toward the container. The lid cracked, just as it was meant to and everything slipped inside. Then the lid closed. The only sounds I heard were new thoughts as I drifted off to sleep.

This sticks out in my mind because I was so young and I was thinking such profound thoughts, wondering about my place and purpose in life and also wondering about the intricate workings of the process of thought itself.

I’m tired, I’m hot, I’m cramping in various places of my body and I’m emotionally numb but broken at the same time. It was hard to just behave as if nothing is wrong when to it’s all wrong. But Dad never was one of those who like to make a big deal about much of anything.

We’ve been through a lot as a family these past ten years too. Mom’s death, untimely pregnancies, family strife, I moved repeatedly, my sister was homeless for a while. There was divorce, unemployment, bankruptcies and chronic illnesses. This decade has also blessed us, as divorces finalized, my sister found the man she wants to marry, I found my independence and my voice, and my sister and I have adorable, precious grandchildren. Dad even found a sweet woman. But, overall though, it’s been tiring.

Now I ponder how I would deal with life without my father. I don’t know. Our extended families are mostly in KY and Pa with a few scattered out over the US. With my branch of the family will be alone here in SC. My sister and hers will be alone in MD. I’m not sure I’ll like that feeling and I know I’m not ready to do it.

And how on earth, when it’s all over, will I be able to take care of death paperwork and know that no one is in his house waiting when I go to organise and sell his belongings? It just hit me like a tonne of bricks last night but I didn’t cry. Dad says not to worry. I’m not worried, I’m sad, angry and hurt. But I can’t let him see, because I can’t have him worried about me. I waited until I got home and now I can’t hold back anymore.

The enjoyment of chocolate is an integral part of my being. I don’t try to justify or explain it; I just accept that it is. I believe that the confection should be its own food group, it’s that necessary.

Chocolate is the warming beverage on a cold day, the gooey mess on a smiling child and the sticky goodness that must be licked from the fingers. Good chocolate is heavenly; bad chocolate may as well be poison as far as I’m concerned. The form it exists in is immaterial, really. It could be light, rich smooth, elegant, creamy, strong, edgy, intense, silky, frivolous, decadent, crunchy, chewy, or filled with surprises. Sometimes it’s a cheap thrill to be consumed quickly, other times it’s a treasure to savour. I eat it all in turn.

Supposedly chocolate contains chemicals the body needs and as such is a health food when taken in moderation. This does not matter to me, other than the half-hearted attempt to justify the fact that I’ve just consumed a large bag of M&Ms. It’s the taste and the sensual experience that gets me. If chocolate was a person, I’d be having a decadent affair with it and I'd marry a chocolate bunny without much deliberation...

I do not have any apps on my mobile phone because....gasp, I do not have a mobile phone. I'm one of those weird people, the ones who do not want to be available to the world 24/7. I value privacy, my right to be undisturbed.

Now, I just got a car, and probably will get a mobile phone because I will periodically drive alone and might need to summon emergency services or marshal my minions for help should I run into one of those nasty life events. I might put links to my status on my networking sites on it in case I don't want to bother with the computer just to update my status, it could save time I guess. I'll probably just have phone numbers and games on it, the way the cellphone used to be, and maybe picture taking feature in case I run into a strange sign...In any case, it will be off most of the time.

I feel like I have been run over by a truck and then kicked to the curb. Yesterday was my official entry into the system.

T also had his psych eval for his disability case. That was interesting. I learned something, too. The shrink drew to pictures overlapping each other. They were simple pentagons. T had to copy them. The left side of the page was perfect, the right side was not. Ergo, evidently, one side of his brain works better than the other. I believe it was parallel (rt side to rt brain) but I am not longer certain. My memory sux nowdays.

Then came my eval. I have had my disability eval before and that was distressing enough, but my actual eval was even worse. I was crying repeatedly and what took us 30 min with T and weedchikka ended up taking two and a half hours. Then I had to drive home feeling like a limp wet dishrag.

The tv was messing up all day so I ended up reading American Gods most of the night. Ended up on the phone with Miss H, talked until about midnight and then went to sleep. Of course after Draco went to school I went back to sleep, the meds make sure I get at least 8 hrs.

Today tv is back. I suppose perhaps things will calm down now. I hope so, I have to go out with Ian and family on Thursday. I want to be better by then.

I’m an avowed constitutional libertarian, and as such I thoroughly break out in a rash at the idea of heavy government regulation of just about everything. Below is an example of WHY I’m so anti federal regulation of so many things.

I watched a PBS show last night called Food, Inc. I believe the piece was created in order to cause regulation to either occur, or change, in order to make things work the way they should for the US consumer. Very well intentioned; however, the facts of the video only demonstrate that Uncle Sam is a master at not regulating things he should and sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong when he shouldn’t. And when he isn’t doing that, he’s just generally fouling up the process.

The Constitution is pretty clear that the federal government does have the right to regulate commerce within the states. This would include the food that is grown/raised and then processed for consumption by the general population. So, theoretically, if there is a problem with the food supply, the Federal organisations which were created to do so have the right to step in and make things right.

But, according to the Men in Black, they do not have the authority to close down food packaging plants and slaughterhouses which continually test above the acceptable limit for E-Coli and other nasties. Excuse me? What good is having a federal food regulator if it can’t? It’s not like I have the time to investigate which of my hamburger patties are ground at which plant and then check out the results of their tests on a daily basis. That is within the federal government’s right and it is logical, sensible and necessary to make sure our food is safe for the population to eat.

Instead, what does the federal government spend it’s time doing? Well, there are laws which state that one cannot criticise the food industry overmuch (what happened to freedom of the press?). This is but one example of oppressive legislation on the topic. Oprah may have won her case with the Beef industry, but she’s loaded. The rest of us would not be so lucky.

And there are laws which allow companies like Monsanto (the chemical company that created Roundup herbicide) to create Genetically Modified seeds and then get a patent on them. Theoretically, if one manipulates a living thing overmuch it is no longer natural and could be patented.

The problem is that when this is a plant, the DNA from these modified, patented plants can mix with the DNA in plants never modified by the company in question (via pollination).

In practice, this means that Monsanto thinks it has the copyright on some farmer’s soybeans when the farmer never purchased any seeds from them. And when the farmer takes these seeds which have been unknowingly mixed with Monsanto genes to a seed cleaner to store for next year, he could be guilty of copyright infringement. This means that fewer and fewer farmers are a. legally able to store their own seed (Farmers who use Monsanto knowingly are not allowed) b. find non-GMO/Monsanto seed to plant and store and keep it pure.

Typical, really. The government over regulates some things, passes laws which favour those who do not have the citizen’s best interest in mind, and cannot act on the things they should be able to act upon. What to do about it?

Well, I don’t hold out the false hope that any new regulation will help the problem, even if I were into seriously oppressive regulations. It would probably only make it worse for us all (Google EPA and Superfund for examples of this sort of thing). I got the general impression while watching the video that Monsanto was sort of like some food mafia which would come into a community and strong arm all the local farmers into using their stuff. They attack the people who clean the seeds for farmers not using Monsanto and keep them in court so that they go out of business. And the feds are ok with this apparently.

Personally, I wasn’t and never have been personally concerned with whether or not my food was organic, it tends to be more expensive. I was never too awfully concerned about whether there was too much GMO stuff in processed foods because I used them rather infrequently. I figured they were bad for me and when I ate them, I knew I was ingesting too much sugar, salt and preservatives for my own good.

But, at the end of the show there was a few good points made. First, one never knows if the food we eat is GMO because it’s not necessary to label it (there are laws about that too). GMO food could be fresh produce and meat as much as Hamburger Helper.

Secondly, the reason any of this can go on is economical. Monsanto, et all, have a vested interest in dominating the food market. However, economics can do as much for the good guys as it does for the bad guys. For example, Stoneybrook Farms is an organic dairy. Walmart carries their yogurt. Walmart does this not because they are all about green, whole foods and organics. I’ve shopped there and found them to be rather poor at carrying such things. But when the market for organic yogurt got to be large enough, they acquired Stoneybrook products.

Monsanto gets away with what it does because people buy the things their seeds make. If no one bought them, they would not have the revenue to pick on independent farmers and seed cleaners. Therefore, it is possible to stop this abuse by shopping differently. Which is what I intend to do.

Uncle Sam will not save me, but I can change things with every bite I eat. I know that our local butcher accepts food stamps; I can stop shopping elsewhere and go there. There are also local farmer’s markets which accept them. And if I use my stamps mostly on meat, organic canned products, cereals and grains, I can afford to pay cash for my fresh veggies…

Yesterday I was very happy. I was thankful for my new van, happy to be independent and looking forward to spending more time with Ian and his new family. I took the kids out for dinner and bought some books. It was a day of frivolity and a day when I did almost nothing in the house. Today was my birthday. I had a little money left in the bank and looking forward to a trip north with my dad to my sister’s wedding. Got the normal happy birthday calls.

Then, as is common for my life, what goes up must come down. The happiness I felt has been overtaken by a large, heavy cloud. It’s like depression just rolled in and began strangling me. I might lose my father. Soon.

It’s not like we didn’t know. My aunt had posted something to his wall a few months ago, tipping us off. My sister and I decided to try not to worry, if he didn’t think it was serious enough to tell us himself, it wasn’t serious. Well he admitted what my sister and I already knew today. Happy birthday me….

I know that he’s in his seventies and he’s had a pretty full life. His children and most of the grand-kids are raised. He’s also been in bad health with his leg and his cough and his arthritis and chronic pain. It’s just that I’m not ready to lose him yet. Especially to what might take him. Lung cancer? Not a heart attack or stroke or other heart problem; and about 10 yrs past my mother’s death of the same thing.
To me it’s just not fair.

I know that I do not have the right to pass judgments like this but…people who smoke all their lives and die old of something unrelated really piss me off. My parents quit years ago. They ate as healthy as they knew how and worried about their weight enough to actually make sure they never became obese. They took vitamins and supplements, kept up with their doctor’s appointments.

They should have had the right to die in their sleep from simple old age. But Mom died after she became unable to use the toilet for herself and unable to accurately communicate her wants and desires to the rest of the family. She was too tired to eat, yet she took the radiation because she knew her family needed more time with her. It didn’t work, she died less than a month after she found out she was sick.
I didn’t want that for my mother and I surely don’t want it for my Dad.

It was hard enough to watch him unable to deal with his back pain a few years back. It is hard enough to watch him shuffling along and dragging his leg behind him unable to walk the way he could a year or so ago. To know that he might just waste away…I just don’t know that I can do this.

I feel like I don’t have the right to feel this way even though I do. I’m not the one facing the possible diagnosis of cancer. I may end up taking care of him, but I’m not the one that will experience the whole thing first hand. To Chemo or not is not my decision, I wont be the one embarrassed or irritated that my child will have to help me. I won't get sick and I won't wonder (just yet anyway) if dying will hurt in and of itself.

They say that God doesn’t put more on your plate than you can eat (with His help of course). I suppose then perhaps I can eat this. But I know I’ll get emotional indigestion at the very least.