I'm just your average, everyday, divorced 38 year old girl -- overweight, tragically unhip,
and trying to make a life for myself. I live with two furry beasts, Dave and Abby, whose
feline mission in life is to choke me with their fur. Nothing special.
Thursday afternoon. In case you're wondering, yes, I saw this article and this one, too. No, it didn't really hit home for me upon first reading, because I've developed this clever little filter for my brain which doesn't allow me to think about what I'm doing to my body by ignoring my diabetes, eating too much food and crappy food, and not exercising. You see, if I don't think about it, it can't hurt me and will eventually just go away. Neat, huh?
However, as I was driving to the yogurt shop to pick up my meals (which were supposed to have been picked up on Monday) last night, it suddenly hit me: diabetes kills more people than AIDS and extra weight kills diabetics eight years sooner than if they'd maintained a healthy body weight. I'm literally killing myself here, people...and pretty darned efficiently, to boot!
Levity aside, I don't have any sort of death wish, nor am I suicidal. Quite the contrary. Every day, I discover something else about myself or my life or the world in general that makes me happier and convinces me that I'm getting closer to being the person that I want to be and having a life that I can be proud of. Good things are happening every day and I want to be here to enjoy them to the fullest extent possible.
Why, then, is this so hard? I wish I knew. I wish that I knew what the "magic thing" that will get me to stop this self destructive behavior was so that I could buy a lifetime supply of it. The answer is, of course, that there is no magic to what needs to be done. Eat less, eat food that is nutritious, exercise every day, and reduce the stress. Simple, really. Follow that simple equation and you'll be healthy and radiant in no time. Anyone trying to lose weight not have that equation burned on their brain? I didn't think so!
So, what's the solution? I'm honestly not sure. I did, however, get a flyer in the mail for a Geneen Roth seminar to help me get my emotional eating under control. The goals and objectives for the sessions seem really well aligned with my needs, so I'm hopeful for good results. (Gosh, that sounds so corporate...I need a vacation!!!) I'm also going to give a twelve step program a chance. I attended some meetings a few weeks ago but got weirded out by all of the talk about listing my character flaws and making amends and never eating off of a rigid plan again. I'm still a little hinky about the "never" thing, because I'd like to be able to decide that I really want Rubio's fish tacos instead of whatever meal I was supposed to have and, as long as the calories are the same, count it as "good".
The bottom line is that I'm on program as of 5:15pm Pacific, for the first time in a while, and I'm feeling hopeful again. If I can just keep treating myself well, not beating myself up or feeling like such a bad person that I'm not worth the effort, and working to diminish the increased stress in my life since the change in my responsibilities here at VLSCI, I really believe that I can achieve my health, Life, and weight goals (in that order).
Tuesday evening. I came home from our divisional product launch celebration about 4pm and called my mother. I didn't expect her to be home, because she works Tuesday and Wednesday afternoons, but I wanted to leave her a message telling her how sunburnt I was (owwie) and how glad that it is (finally) cooling down. Hence, when she actually answered, I was pretty surprised.
I don't know if I've mentioned this before, but my mom is a nurse. She's said that she "always" knew that she wanted to be a nurse, and I've always been envious. I've never felt called to do anything, but she knew all along that she wanted to be a nurse so that she could help people. Helping people is something that my mother is exceptionally good at. In any case, Mom retired from nursing a few years ago after surgery for colon cancer (she's clean and healthy now - knock wood), but was persuaded to come back on a very part time basis just a few months ago. She just loves being able to help her patients and the other nurses so much that being away wasn't making her as happy as she'd thought it would.
In any case, Mom told me that, on her way to work this afternoon (she works the second half of a 12 hour shift, starting at 1pm), she stopped by to see a friend who's in hospice for care of several types of cancer. When Mom walked through the door and saw her friend, she knew immediately that she was dying. What was worse was that no one had told her friend's husband anything, so he wasn't prepared and neither of her children were there with her. Mom removed the booties from her friend's feet and her feet were already blue, so that removed any doubt from her mind. She took her friend's husband out into the hallway and told him what the situation was, knowing that hearing is the very last thing to go, and not wanting her friend to hear what she was about to tell him.
The RN that was assigned to her friend told my mother that her friend was scheduled for a procedure later in the afternoon. Incredulous, my mother told the nurse that she probably ought to call and cancel the procedure because the patient was dying and wasn't going to be around to keep the appointment. I'm flabbergasted that a RN wouldn't know that, but I'm so glad that my mother did. She started rubbing her friend's feet, and she got her friend's husband and both sons into the room to talk to her friend and tell her that they loved her.
At a certain point, Mom remembered that they were Catholic and asked her friend's husband if a priest should be called. They unfortunately sent a priest who didn't know her friend at all and (according to Mom) just stood at the end of the bed and said some prayers for her friend's recovery. After the priest left, Mom asked her friend's husband if that was what was considered last rites, to which he replied that it was not. Thinking quickly, Mom went into the bathroom, filled a glass with water, and proceeded to give her friend the last rites as best she could remember them. She made a cross on her forehead, said a Hail Mary and an Our Father, asked God to prepare a place for her friend and remove her pain. I don't know for certain, but I feel pretty comfortable that it was close enough, and I know that her friend heard her words and was comforted.
Mom told me that the end was fairly brief and about as painless as could be hoped for, under the circumstances. Her friend's breathing grew slower and slower, as her friend and family members told her that she was loved, that she would be OK, and that she could let go and go toward Heaven. Once her breathing stopped, my mother took her pulse, then went to tell the hospice RN that the patient had died.
I am so proud of my mother. What she did today for her friend, she has done hundreds, perhaps thousands, of times in her 40 year career as a nurse. She was never motivated by the compensation she received (which is fortunate because it was never enough to make up for the time and energy she gave), but, rather, by the good that she could do. Many times, as a girl growing up, I sat at the dining room table listening to Mom talk about this patient or that patient and the work she'd done to help their families cope with the inevitable. That wasn't part of her "job description", it was just what she did. So many people have had a better, more dignified death, without fear or remorse, because my mother was there for them. So many grieving families have found solace in my mother's unwavering faith and strength.
Our relationship has, at times, been rocky - I suppose most mothers and daughters are the same. Sometimes, her spontanaeity and lack of caring what others think embarrass the life out of me. Other times, her frustrating inability to sit and listen to someone else's thought before interrupting with one of her own makes me want to scream. Nevertheless, I know with absolute certainty that I will never be alone as long as my mother is alive and I know that she is there for me, just as she is for her patients and their families, no matter what I've done or what I've left undone. Her love for me is as strong and immovable as her faith in God, and that knowledge alone has gotten me through several times in my life when I wondered if I were worth the effort.
Who my mom is makes a difference and that's why I'm writing this entry - to wish her an early, and most heartfelt, Happy Mother's Day. I love you and I'm so very, very proud to have you as my mother.
Monday morning. I've received so many wonderful messages from people I had never heard from previously, in regards to my message from Saturday. Amazingly, to me, it seems that I'm not the only one who has felt as I do, and that realization alone has lightened my outlook tremendously.
Also, I've got myself one of those zippy new Gmail accounts, so if you want to get in touch, give it a try: lottalatte (at) gmail (dot) com.
