I’ve been off. My humor always seems to be on deck, which has saved me…but the strain has grown great. I’m sick again, there’s no denying it…and it’s drained me of my energy. Workout? No, the couch and a comfy blanket are calling. I hate the lazy Laura. I had a CT Scan a week and a half ago and the first opportunity I have to speak with my Surgeon is December 1st. I’ve decided to take the entire day off…whatever she tells me will be rotten news.
I know what the report reads—I had my loving regular care providers read the notes to me over the phone. DUMB HMOs! Not my fault I was born with a disorder that this other hospital
wants to write another paper on, to sequel my mother’s can better handle. So, either my surgeon will say that I need more surgery to remove the intruder in my body, or she will say that it isn’t a threat and that I need no more treatment. I don’t want to go back into the hospital…it was the most painful week of my life. Bad memories. And that nurse was very bull-in-a-china-shop-ish with that catheter. *shudders* Hello! Delicate down there!
Yet, I don’t want to be back in the boat I was in earlier this year…the constant, “I feel like crap but they can’t find anything wrong with me.” Eventually you start doubting yourself and how you feel. “Maybe I’m not rejecting almost everything I eat. Maybe it’s in my head. Oh well.” And then your backside explodes and they drain a liter and a half of infected substance during emergency surgery before treating you for a massive infection they decide has been building for months, if not years. (I now know why we’re not typically allowed to read medical notes…I read those from my surgery when arguing for coverage with my insurance…the words “WE PLACED HER IN A PRONE JACKNIFE POSITION” still gets under my skin!)
So there’s that, there’s the approaching of the holiday season that I just don’t want to arrive. I’m not in a holiday mood. I don’t want to celebrate anything without her. Steeped in tradition and memories, I’d rather everything warm and bright just went on hiatus this year. The clouds have cloaked our days this week, and I’m just plain down. I’m not feeling well, I’m sad, and new to this year—I’m a scrooge.
I rolled over at 2:23 this morning…I remember the time exactly. My ears were filled with the sweetest sound. I haven’t dared think of it since last January when I sang the song to her. It was her voice, loving and kind, singing to me…and the sweetness made me cry. There have been many supernatural links to Mom this year…the first night I was home from the hospital and off pain killers, unable to sleep. I closed my eyes and saw a warm, pulsating light…and I can’t explain what it was, only that it somehow brought comfort and then, peace. Private conversations my aunt Brenda had with Mom on her deathbed that I somehow remember in detail, as though she passed it onto me so I would know how much I was loved.
Turn around and you’re a young girl going out of the door. Keep singing to me, Momma.