So my doctor's office called last night (at about 8:30 p.m. - strange) to say that she has referred me to a dermatologist for the lump in my armpit. She had second thoughts on her diagnosis of a benign cyst and wants a second opinion. Um, slightly alarming. So now I have appointments with a dermatologist, an OB/GYN (because I haven't had a physical in about two years), an ultrasound, a specialist that links some of my physical symptoms with mental ones, and a homeopath. The thought of it all is a weird combination of comforting and disturbing. On one hand, I'm glad that these specialists will be able to rule out anything major. On the other hand, what if they find something instead.
Now, if I'm straight with you, you need to know that in addition to being slightly OCD (things need to be done in order and to be in their place) and more than a little germaphobic (which stems from getting sick so often), I also tend to "prepare for the worst but hope for the best." This line of thinking is designed to strengthen you to deal with bad news, but more often than not, it just makes me a little manic. There's nothing yet to worry about, but it doesn't seem to stop me from fretting about it.
Before I had Hayden, I used to believe that I would die young. No definite reason why or how, just that I would never reach middle age. It's a lingering thought that has been with me since I was a teenager. Now that I have my heartsong, I find myself fighting back this notion. I can not and will not die young because I am a mother and Hayden needs me. End of story.
So reading all of this over, I realize that I'm coming off as completely insane. I assure you that I haven't come unhitched. The OCD, germaphobia and strange premonitions are things I've lived with for quite some time. It's stress that brings them front and centre. I'll just be happy when all these appointments are over and done with and the guessing is over.
Anyone else out there ever have these kinds of situations? Am I alone in my weird manic state? How do you deal with not knowing, modern medicine, and stress? I could use some real life mama tricks and tips!
Showing posts with label stress. Show all posts
Showing posts with label stress. Show all posts
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
Monday, July 7, 2008
*CRACK* .....did you hear that?
Lately my body hasn't been working up to par. I've been plagued with various illnesses from strep and scarlet fever to stomach bugs and headaches. I went to my doctor last week to try and get to the bottom of why my immune system seems AWOL. I brought a list of symptoms with me, as I figured any one could be the key to unlocking the mystery.
My doctor did some blood work (which came back fine) and then sat back thoughtfully and listened to my grocery list of ill health. When I was finished, her first question was whether my family had a history of mental illness. I was sort of taken aback as none of my symptoms were mental, they were all physical. I quickly dismissed her idea that I may be depressed or over-stressed. I mean, I have a very supportive husband, an equally supportive extended family, a pretty perfect life...what the heck would I be depressed or stressed about. But now, a week later, I'm thinking back on her diagnosis and wondering if she might have touched on a truth.
As you know, I have a huge aversion to admitting that I can't cope with things or that my problems are anything more than trivial. I can always find someone out there who has a much bigger burden than I have and who (outwardly) is coping fantastically, so I clam up. Afraid to admit that I'm having trouble dealing with much smaller issues. And yet, something in me seems to be cracking. There's a fissure behind the pressure and I think a large part of it is self induced. This effort to maintain a perfect exterior to the world is actually causing more harm than good.
I am stressed. In the past two years, we have had a baby, moved 500kms, changed jobs (Adam many times), lived through some pretty major infections, bought a house, started a business, and struggled to pay the bills. And the whole time all of this was going on, I kept my brave face on. I told everyone that we were fine. That it was just another hump and we'd push through. And yet, when I look back, our road of life looks like the car-eating potholed roads of Costa Rica. There were so many times we were balanced on the edge of one of those huge holes and somehow we teetered past. Often by the skin of our teeth. But I didn't talk about it. I didn't admit to anyone that we were struggling. I was too proud. And with Adam chugging along beside me, often picking up my slack, I felt that if I caved, I would bring him down with me.
Now that we're on the other side of the storm (I hope), the weight of it all is catching up with me. It's not easy being a working mum. And it's definitely not easy being a working mum who kept a stiff upper lip through some major life transitions. I think it's time I cut myself some slack. Let myself admit that I'm tired and drained. This is a tough gig, a 24-7 job. And anyone who can do it without breaking a sweat is probably wearing the same perfect mum mask I've been lugging around.
So I heed this call: Imperfect mothers of the world unite. Let's air this dirty laundry and admit that it's a grueling, filthy, stressful, never ending job to be a mother. That our hours stink and the list of duties grows daily. That every time we master the skills we need, a new one is required. That there are many days that our minds and bodies are pushed to the breaking point. That sometimes despite our best efforts, we can't fix the situation at hand. That the most important job on the planet, that of raising the next generation, is unpaid and under-valued. That we race to the ends of the earth and attempt to overcome insurmountable obstacles for those we brought forth into the world. And that we wouldn't have it any other way.
My doctor did some blood work (which came back fine) and then sat back thoughtfully and listened to my grocery list of ill health. When I was finished, her first question was whether my family had a history of mental illness. I was sort of taken aback as none of my symptoms were mental, they were all physical. I quickly dismissed her idea that I may be depressed or over-stressed. I mean, I have a very supportive husband, an equally supportive extended family, a pretty perfect life...what the heck would I be depressed or stressed about. But now, a week later, I'm thinking back on her diagnosis and wondering if she might have touched on a truth.
As you know, I have a huge aversion to admitting that I can't cope with things or that my problems are anything more than trivial. I can always find someone out there who has a much bigger burden than I have and who (outwardly) is coping fantastically, so I clam up. Afraid to admit that I'm having trouble dealing with much smaller issues. And yet, something in me seems to be cracking. There's a fissure behind the pressure and I think a large part of it is self induced. This effort to maintain a perfect exterior to the world is actually causing more harm than good.
I am stressed. In the past two years, we have had a baby, moved 500kms, changed jobs (Adam many times), lived through some pretty major infections, bought a house, started a business, and struggled to pay the bills. And the whole time all of this was going on, I kept my brave face on. I told everyone that we were fine. That it was just another hump and we'd push through. And yet, when I look back, our road of life looks like the car-eating potholed roads of Costa Rica. There were so many times we were balanced on the edge of one of those huge holes and somehow we teetered past. Often by the skin of our teeth. But I didn't talk about it. I didn't admit to anyone that we were struggling. I was too proud. And with Adam chugging along beside me, often picking up my slack, I felt that if I caved, I would bring him down with me.
Now that we're on the other side of the storm (I hope), the weight of it all is catching up with me. It's not easy being a working mum. And it's definitely not easy being a working mum who kept a stiff upper lip through some major life transitions. I think it's time I cut myself some slack. Let myself admit that I'm tired and drained. This is a tough gig, a 24-7 job. And anyone who can do it without breaking a sweat is probably wearing the same perfect mum mask I've been lugging around.
So I heed this call: Imperfect mothers of the world unite. Let's air this dirty laundry and admit that it's a grueling, filthy, stressful, never ending job to be a mother. That our hours stink and the list of duties grows daily. That every time we master the skills we need, a new one is required. That there are many days that our minds and bodies are pushed to the breaking point. That sometimes despite our best efforts, we can't fix the situation at hand. That the most important job on the planet, that of raising the next generation, is unpaid and under-valued. That we race to the ends of the earth and attempt to overcome insurmountable obstacles for those we brought forth into the world. And that we wouldn't have it any other way.
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
Confessions of an imperfect mother
Pride weekend presented me with my first episode of blogger's block. I had so much that I wanted to say but sadly, I was too concerned with my reader's perceptions to write openly and honestly. I find that blogging about motherhood and work is easy because hey, those things aren't at all controversial. But when it came to Pride and my gay connections and this whole other side of my life that few people know about, suddenly my tongue was tied.
I've been disappointed in myself ever since I posted the 2nd This and That edition. Because it was a total cop out. It was the generic, conservative and totally un-Lucy version of the facts. In my efforts to not offend any of my readers (and let's face it, aside from one coworker, my mother and a very kind southern stranger, I have no idea who you are), I ended up offending myself.
I am not at all embarrased or ashamed about who I am or any of the things that I have done in my life. These experiences have made me who I am today - and I like that person! But I think that a large part of me is still this acceptance-seeking teen from high school. I have this need for people to like me. Doesn't matter if I'm at a party or at work or with family, I'm constantly seeking the love of people around me. (Sounds pretty desparate and I pray that I don't come off that way, but that's what's going through my head.) I think that insecurity is filtering into my blog.
I had a great conversation about the blogophere with one of my coworkers, who also blogs. In her posts, she freely admits her hardships, racy past, and weaknesses and I envy her that confidence to put herself out there. I find myself glossing over events just to try and paint this picture that my life is perfect (like mother's day, when really my son was in a terrible mood and threw screaming, flailing tantrums nearly the whole day). I know that my life isn't perfect, that no one has a perfect life. So why do I try to portray this idylic fantasy? I think it goes back again to wanting people to like me. Maybe you'll find out that I can't bake a cake from scratch or that I'm germaphobic and slightly neurotic or that I sometimes lose my temper with my son and you'll decide you just don't like me any more. Somehow, that would bother me. Even if I don't really know you, to know that you disliked me would irk me to no end.
All this to say I'm turning over a new leaf. This blog was started with the intention that one day, my son could read it and know who his mother really was. Know how much I love him. Know a little bit more about his family and his childhood. But it wouldn't be a truthful biography if I only talk about the sweet things in life. I want Hayden to know I have faults and insecurities and that that is okay. From here on in, I vow to be truthful in my blogs and not worry about what my readers will think. I'll blog knowing that I am not a perfect person and that I really shouldn't pretend to be one. I'll talk about the more controversial parts of who I am and what I do because I'm proud of those parts of me and I'm tired of whitewashing them to please an audience who does not exist. This is who I am. Take it or leave it.
And to launch it - my first controversial confession: In college, Phil and I ran the gay support group for students together. That's how we met. And yes, I fit in just fine.
*cringe* (You have no idea the mental strength it's taking to hit "publish" on this one.)
I've been disappointed in myself ever since I posted the 2nd This and That edition. Because it was a total cop out. It was the generic, conservative and totally un-Lucy version of the facts. In my efforts to not offend any of my readers (and let's face it, aside from one coworker, my mother and a very kind southern stranger, I have no idea who you are), I ended up offending myself.
I am not at all embarrased or ashamed about who I am or any of the things that I have done in my life. These experiences have made me who I am today - and I like that person! But I think that a large part of me is still this acceptance-seeking teen from high school. I have this need for people to like me. Doesn't matter if I'm at a party or at work or with family, I'm constantly seeking the love of people around me. (Sounds pretty desparate and I pray that I don't come off that way, but that's what's going through my head.) I think that insecurity is filtering into my blog.
I had a great conversation about the blogophere with one of my coworkers, who also blogs. In her posts, she freely admits her hardships, racy past, and weaknesses and I envy her that confidence to put herself out there. I find myself glossing over events just to try and paint this picture that my life is perfect (like mother's day, when really my son was in a terrible mood and threw screaming, flailing tantrums nearly the whole day). I know that my life isn't perfect, that no one has a perfect life. So why do I try to portray this idylic fantasy? I think it goes back again to wanting people to like me. Maybe you'll find out that I can't bake a cake from scratch or that I'm germaphobic and slightly neurotic or that I sometimes lose my temper with my son and you'll decide you just don't like me any more. Somehow, that would bother me. Even if I don't really know you, to know that you disliked me would irk me to no end.
All this to say I'm turning over a new leaf. This blog was started with the intention that one day, my son could read it and know who his mother really was. Know how much I love him. Know a little bit more about his family and his childhood. But it wouldn't be a truthful biography if I only talk about the sweet things in life. I want Hayden to know I have faults and insecurities and that that is okay. From here on in, I vow to be truthful in my blogs and not worry about what my readers will think. I'll blog knowing that I am not a perfect person and that I really shouldn't pretend to be one. I'll talk about the more controversial parts of who I am and what I do because I'm proud of those parts of me and I'm tired of whitewashing them to please an audience who does not exist. This is who I am. Take it or leave it.
And to launch it - my first controversial confession: In college, Phil and I ran the gay support group for students together. That's how we met. And yes, I fit in just fine.
*cringe* (You have no idea the mental strength it's taking to hit "publish" on this one.)
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
Matters of the heart
On Saturday, my father was admitted to the hospital after having a heart attack. When my mum called me to let me know, I was strangely not surprised. It wasn't as if I was expecting the news, but I have feared this call for quite some time. Dad is certainly not the picture of good health, although he has made great strides in improving his lifestyle over recent years.
I'm happy to share that he has been diagnosed and treated with two stents to relieve the blockages in his arteries. No open heart surgery or lifetime supply of medication, thank god. He is recovering well and is now resting at home with my mum as his nurse.
Like a cheap metaphor, I find that whenever I get these calls of illness or accident, I view life a little differently. You don't know what you have until you lose it, right? I've always been more than open about my love for my family and I live a relatively healthy life, so I'm not tempted to drastically change how I live. It's my husband I obsess about...
Adam treats his body the same way that most young men do - with reckless abandon. He smokes a pack a day and indulges in more than his fair share of wine at the end of a long day. Given his crazy schedule, he doesn't get much of an opportunity to exercise. (And he definitely doesn't share my enthusiasm for walking.) He never wears sunscreen and has battered his bones and muscles over the years with hard labour jobs.
Mentally, Adam is a high stress kind of man. He internalizes a lot of things and takes life pretty personally. Although he lives in the moment with his body, his mind jogs ahead of time, constantly dreaming of new ideas and wishing for the day when our struggles are finally behind us. He wants to be the 50's dad who went to work and brought home enough bacon to pay the bills and allow his trophy wife to stay home and raise babies (which just happens to be my dream). Adam keeps me hopeful about our perfect future through his fantasies. But my realist side sometimes doubts that he'll ever see that rosy time...
I worry that someday I'll be the one calling our children to deliver the news that their father is in the hospital. Or worse, I'll come home some afternoon to find him expired.
He is my other half in the most literal of ways. He understands and loves me like no other has. Through his tenderness, love and thoughtful nature, his essence is tattooed on my soul. How does one ever recover if their soul marker is taken away? I don't think I would. I think I would dry up and fold into myself like a leaf in autumn.
I tried to tell Adam all of this last night, but instead it somehow came out as a hideous nag about his smoking and drinking habits. It seemed that I couldn't put into words the fear and anxiety behind the matter. I couldn't express that I never want Hayden to worry about losing his father the same way that I do. That I'm not the unwavering rock my mother has become; staying strong for everyone and keeping us from seeing her pain or trepidation. Instead we argued and I pointed out his faults like barbs. But bless his heart, he somehow saw through my verbal assault. Although my intentions and dread remained unspoken, this morning he wrapped me in his arms and promised to live a healthier life. He had pushed through my angry insults and found the cowering child silently hiding within. I suppose words are just noise when you live in someones soul.
I'm happy to share that he has been diagnosed and treated with two stents to relieve the blockages in his arteries. No open heart surgery or lifetime supply of medication, thank god. He is recovering well and is now resting at home with my mum as his nurse.
Like a cheap metaphor, I find that whenever I get these calls of illness or accident, I view life a little differently. You don't know what you have until you lose it, right? I've always been more than open about my love for my family and I live a relatively healthy life, so I'm not tempted to drastically change how I live. It's my husband I obsess about...
Adam treats his body the same way that most young men do - with reckless abandon. He smokes a pack a day and indulges in more than his fair share of wine at the end of a long day. Given his crazy schedule, he doesn't get much of an opportunity to exercise. (And he definitely doesn't share my enthusiasm for walking.) He never wears sunscreen and has battered his bones and muscles over the years with hard labour jobs.
Mentally, Adam is a high stress kind of man. He internalizes a lot of things and takes life pretty personally. Although he lives in the moment with his body, his mind jogs ahead of time, constantly dreaming of new ideas and wishing for the day when our struggles are finally behind us. He wants to be the 50's dad who went to work and brought home enough bacon to pay the bills and allow his trophy wife to stay home and raise babies (which just happens to be my dream). Adam keeps me hopeful about our perfect future through his fantasies. But my realist side sometimes doubts that he'll ever see that rosy time...
I worry that someday I'll be the one calling our children to deliver the news that their father is in the hospital. Or worse, I'll come home some afternoon to find him expired.
He is my other half in the most literal of ways. He understands and loves me like no other has. Through his tenderness, love and thoughtful nature, his essence is tattooed on my soul. How does one ever recover if their soul marker is taken away? I don't think I would. I think I would dry up and fold into myself like a leaf in autumn.
I tried to tell Adam all of this last night, but instead it somehow came out as a hideous nag about his smoking and drinking habits. It seemed that I couldn't put into words the fear and anxiety behind the matter. I couldn't express that I never want Hayden to worry about losing his father the same way that I do. That I'm not the unwavering rock my mother has become; staying strong for everyone and keeping us from seeing her pain or trepidation. Instead we argued and I pointed out his faults like barbs. But bless his heart, he somehow saw through my verbal assault. Although my intentions and dread remained unspoken, this morning he wrapped me in his arms and promised to live a healthier life. He had pushed through my angry insults and found the cowering child silently hiding within. I suppose words are just noise when you live in someones soul.
Thursday, May 15, 2008
Event Planner Math
1 Event planner
- 3 nights of sleep
+ 450 guests at an all-day multimedia laced meeting
/ by 1 little boy who was the last kid to be picked up at daycare one day last week
x many tears from mama thinking of said boy having to have as long a day as mama did
+ 9 hours of an almost flawless meeting
x 1 incredible guest speaker who had the whole audience in stitches
= 1 completely mentally and physically exhausted mama.
I did it, it was a great success. But dear lord, I'm glad I don't have to do it again until next year. Tomorrow, I'm playing hookie to make up lost time with Hayden. We're going to the zoo with Gran, Na (Auntie Ang) and Jeej (Gage). I figure watching a bunch of monkeys throw poop will make a great transition from work to weekend!
- 3 nights of sleep
+ 450 guests at an all-day multimedia laced meeting
/ by 1 little boy who was the last kid to be picked up at daycare one day last week
x many tears from mama thinking of said boy having to have as long a day as mama did
+ 9 hours of an almost flawless meeting
x 1 incredible guest speaker who had the whole audience in stitches
= 1 completely mentally and physically exhausted mama.
I did it, it was a great success. But dear lord, I'm glad I don't have to do it again until next year. Tomorrow, I'm playing hookie to make up lost time with Hayden. We're going to the zoo with Gran, Na (Auntie Ang) and Jeej (Gage). I figure watching a bunch of monkeys throw poop will make a great transition from work to weekend!
Monday, May 12, 2008
Blogging for sanity (or lack thereof)
So in two days I will pull off my very first all staff meeting at work. This is a full day meeting for over 400 people and involves everything from slideshows to live video and movies. The logistics have been a nightmare. I've dealt with everything from a double booked venue to a less than enthusiastic response to my RSVP request. Thanks to an absolutely fantastic supporting team (especially my angel Rozie), we've managed to overcome these hurdles. Now as the day draws near, I'm waking up at 3AM thinking of details and decisions. The joy of being an event planner.
Wish me luck and sanity until Wednesday night. By then it will all be over and done with (and hopefully have been a big success)! I'm sure I'll be blogging all about it!
Till then, may Valium not go out of business.
Wish me luck and sanity until Wednesday night. By then it will all be over and done with (and hopefully have been a big success)! I'm sure I'll be blogging all about it!
Till then, may Valium not go out of business.
Thursday, April 24, 2008
I hate molars!
That's it, I've had it with teeth! First my own have decided to deteriorate for the first time in 20 years. I have a cavity in one of my bottom molars. This forces me to face my greatest unreasonable fear: the dentist. I seriously get panic attacks at night thinking of the drilling and needles and scraping. Ugh.
And now, Mr. Hayden has decided it would be a good time to get some of his own molars. For those of you with toothless kids, count your blessings. Molars suck. My baby who used to sleep through the night peacefully is now getting up at all hours to scream and chew and gnaw on various parts of my body (hands, nursies, cheek, whatever piece of skin he can slip between those razor teeth). These days I feel like he's living on Motrin and I'm running on fumes. All I want to do right now is go back to bed. Just a few hours of uninterrupted sleep please!
Molars suck. Give me a self-refilling shark smile any day.
And now, Mr. Hayden has decided it would be a good time to get some of his own molars. For those of you with toothless kids, count your blessings. Molars suck. My baby who used to sleep through the night peacefully is now getting up at all hours to scream and chew and gnaw on various parts of my body (hands, nursies, cheek, whatever piece of skin he can slip between those razor teeth). These days I feel like he's living on Motrin and I'm running on fumes. All I want to do right now is go back to bed. Just a few hours of uninterrupted sleep please!
Molars suck. Give me a self-refilling shark smile any day.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
