Mummy and Me

There’s nobody in the world quite like our mother. She cooks for us. Feeds us soup when we’re sick. Heals our wounds both physical and emotional. She worries about us uncontrollably and loves us unconditionally. She always has the answers.

I was never certain I wanted to be a mom. The idea of trying to raise children was daunting. .. frightening. And I was selfish in some ways and I knew it. I wanted a business or creative career. I wanted to travel to exotic places. I wanted to delve into my own personal projects. I wanted to pursue my own dreams.

And to my everlasting shame, I never ever wanted to experience labor.

I know I’ve mentioned my low (low) pain threshold.

I suppose the nuclear family life was always in the back of my mind filed under “eventually”. Husband, home, children (maybe 2?) and the dog (of course). Football games, piano lessons, PTA…

Maybe that’d be nice. Stability of family life. Scrapbooks of first steps and snowball fights. Braces and school dances.

The older I got the more that seemed like maybe… maybe I do want all that. Eventually. After I travel the world, build a satisfying business career, become a published writer, and spend a few years with my husband… of course.

Of course.

Things have changed again.

I have made the decision not to have children.

After being diagnosed with diabetes it has been something of a difficult question: Do we have a child or do we not accept that risk? A non diabetic woman’s body has the ability to turn itself inside out to accomplish this feat. Ours does as well but the risks are different.

It’s amazing. Little by little I began to learn what that could mean for me should I choose to go that route. I’m clearly no medical professional, and risks vary so much from person to person, but after looking at the possibilities … at what exactly could happen to myself or my baby, throwing in my own personal health history… and it just doesn’t seem like a possibility any longer.

I guess it’s a question of trust. I don’t trust my ability to keep a perfect sugar reading through pregnancy. And how could that hurt my child? How could I live with a guilt like that should something go wrong?
It’s astounding what you don’t want until you find out you can’t have it. It’s in our nature I think. To desire what is not ours to have.

Like me and egg sandwiches.

I’m so allergic to eggs.

It’s a very intimate, personal choice, this baby decision. Something each woman has to make for herself. And it’s not like there are no other options out there; surrogacy, adoption. Each with their own emotional results.

Have you ever been asked this question: “Where do you see yourself in 5 years?”

I actually hate this question. Usually it’s in reference to a career path. (what is the right answer to that, by the way? I’ve never known quite what to say)

Well , where do you see yourself in 20 years? 40 years? 50 years?

I’ve always been hazy with these imaginings. I picture me and my husband , both with white hair, our faces are fuzzy but it does appear that I am at least 100 pounds overweight.

Apparently I’m going to be fat in my old age (fat and happy I hope!).

The other thing is that I always imagine that I have grown children… with children of there own. I have to actively remove them from my little picture. When I do it seems a little empty.

I have made peace with my decision.

The pitter patter of little feet will be from Oscar (my little dachshund). Or rather Oscar IV or V or something…

What happened to Compassion?

I used to make it a regular practice to buy at least one thing every time I went to the grocery store, that I would put into the food bank bin.

I would reason that someday, at some point in my life I will be in need of social services such as this. As a matter of duty I feel I should contribute now.

I am not naturally inclined to be charitable. When I say that I don’t mean to imply that I’m not generous or giving. I just mean it’s not in my nature. It’s something that I actively work at on a daily basis. In a lot of ways we live in a selfish world where each person must watch out for themselves first.

Dog eat dog.

I was out at a pub one night with some friends. The alcohol induced conversation drifted towards the state of the world. Lily, my friend who has single-handedly-decided-to-Save-The-World was getting heated about a food plight somewhere in Africa. She slammed her hand down on the table and demanded:

“Why don’t people care?”

To me the answer was clear as day:

“Lily, no one has time to care.”

I went on to explain how it’s taking up most of my energy trying to gain some control over my own illness and my own life to be able to contemplate the issues Africa is facing. My boyfriend at the time agreed and pointed out that if it wasn’t for the fact that I had diabetes, and that was something we dealt with everyday – then he wouldn’t have as much energy invested in it himself.

I’ve thought about that conversation a lot.

There are so many challenges we face in our lives. So many big, big things. So many health conditions, so many financial situations and family difficulties. Issues with lovers and stress over careers.

Big, big things.

Right now my challenge is diabetes. (Maybe it’s yours too?) Maybe it’s also my excuse.

The answer I gave to my friend was honest. But it was also shameful. We all have so much on our plates it’s hard to see beyond it.

That’s the problem.

On another day this friend of mine, Lily was lamenting on my condition. She was saying it was terrible that I’ve had to deal with all this. But maybe I could look at the good things it gave me.

I was doubtful but curious.

She said I would never have achieved such an understanding and compassion for the pain, illness, and discouragement of others any other way.

It’s a backwards gift.

But we all have it.

We all know how it feels to be afraid. To crave comfort. To feel misunderstood.

Or to feel pain. Exhaustion.

Can’t that be put to better use?

I can’t save Africa. But I can save some one.
I can listen to a friend who needs a shoulder.
I can put a can of food in the food bank.
I can smile at someone instead of frown.

I guess what I’m saying is that I can try.
I don’t want to be one of those people so consumed with their own problems they can’t see anything else. Heaven knows I’ve thrown myself enough pity-parties complete with full seasons of FRIENDS on DVD and pints of ice cream (sugar-free of course).

So no more pity-parties.
Well, less of them anyways.

The people around me have noticed a change. I don’t seem like a grouch anymore. I’m not always miserable. When you make an effort to help someone else who may be suffering – it makes your own a little less.

I promise you this.

Stress Is A Four Letter Word

How do you handle stress?

I eat lemon cake.

Or fried chicken.

My best friend doesn’t eat at all. She loses her appetite completely.

My co-worker pops pills.

I know others who need to take a walk to calm down.

My boss turns into super woman and goes into a frenzy to accomplish a thousand things all at once.

Well, I cut back on the cake and chicken. I had to when stress is a constant daily factor. The calories really start to add up…

I read once that stress is related to 99% of all illnesses. Actually I think it’s written on my Lululemon shopping bag. It makes sense to me though. It raises our blood sugars, doesn’t it? It affects those with heart conditions, causes stomach ulcers… who knows what other bad and scary things could be happening inside our bodies due to this intangible, mysterious thing.

It’s illusive. It means different things to different people. Some people thrive on it. School stress is my motivation and I love what I can accomplish with it. Daily stress is something else though, the little things that pile up and up and up until – well… what?

Panic attack?
Meltdown?
Anxiety disorder?
Depression?

If you have had one of those things you’ve probably had another. They all hold hands together. And I know the answers are unclear. I feel like I’m just an uncertain being asking other uncertain beings how to “catch smoke” by trying to manage my stress.

So we medicate.
Sedate.
Meditate.
Contemplate.
Then medicate some more…

I’ve been told that depression can be a by-product of high blood sugars. So when our sugars run away on us, our stress levels run away with us.

Then our stress levels keep our sugars high.

It’s a tricky-sticky situation to find yourself in. But maybe we can try to , I don’t know…

Motivate?

Try to turn what stress we can into positive energy that pushes to us to achieve. And the stress we can’t? There will always be the stress we can’t change.

But there’s help for that.

Help we can get so that this type of stress doesn’t change us.

Sick Days

For most of March I laid in bed. Counting down the days until my 24th birthday and watching the crack in my ceiling get longer…. And longer….

Rolling over in bed seemed hard.

Getting up to pee seemed like an extensive excursion.

Out of 20 days of work I missed 18 that month.

I had the flu.

And we all know what happens when we have the flu. Blood sugars sky rocket. Uncontrollably. Which in turn keeps us sick and makes it hard to recover.

Which keeps our blood sugars uncontrollably high.

And ‘round and ‘round we go…

I didn’t go to the doctor right away. I mean, who goes running to the doctor the minute they get a sniffle? No, we wait until we realize that it’s not getting better on it’s own. Right? Plus there was the added difficulty that I was so tired and sick and out of breath that making it down the hall to the bathroom was near impossible, never mind all the way to my doctor’s office.

But I wasn’t getting any better. So eventually I did go to the doctor. Because I had to.

My GP is very good. He was the one who initially realized I was diabetic. He’s intuitive. His administration girls are very nice. He always gives me what I need.

But I hate going there.

It’s the way he makes me feel when he comes into the “little” room. Like he is the parent and I am the naughty child. I have always done something wrong.

Very tall and intimidating, he looks down his nose and asks me how my blood sugars have been.

“Fine!” I squeak

He gives me the Eye.

“Good, in fact!” I lie.

He looks at me like he knows darn well I’m not being truthful but can’t very well sit there and argue with me. Not very doctorly.

If I had a tail, it would be between my legs.

On this particular visit I am once again in trouble. Apparently I should have come in right away instead of waiting two and a half weeks of illness to go to the doctor. He might as well be wagging a finger at me. I tried shamefaced to explain about not wanting to come in for every little cold… but that weak argument was silenced when he told me that the reason for this was because since I had waited so long I had now developed an infection (infections again!!) in my lungs.

Pneumonia!

I was floored. I mean, I’d know I was sick but pneumonia?! I had no idea I was that sick.

I left the doctor’s that day with 2 prescriptions and a lecture on pneumonia prevention.

Now whenever I sneeze or cough my family jokes about how I should call the doctor right away or I’ll be in trouble. (oh so funny. Everybody’s a comedian.)

Actually my throat is feeling a bit dry right now.

It might be strep.

Maybe I’d better leave a message for my doctor just in case…..