Breathe out…

Sometimes No Sometimes YesShe’s coming and it won’t take her long to get here.  I have about an hour left.  I didn’t have the courage to say no.

She’s my mother and I love her.  She surprised me when she called to say she was packing.  My gut screamed out at me to say no, but I couldn’t.  I tried.  I called her back three times.

“Are you sure you want to come?” I asked her.

“Yes.  Are you sure you want me to come?” she responded.

“Well, I’m sick,” I told her.  “I’m not in the best mood either you know.”

She says she understands and as much as a part of me wants to say no, obviously another part is saying yes.

I have a hard time saying no, which is why I love the icon my friend, Leslie, at IconDoIt, the blog, created for me.  The image was the top rated media image I used in my blog in 2010.

I love the “No” icon and saying no in 2009 saved my life.

I need to print this icon on a very large sheet of paper and hang it above my desk, which sits in the center of my small home.

“If truth be known,” a phrase my mother uses often, I need to be in a hospital or at least I need a good nurse.

I need a break from the many obligations in my life.  I need sleep.  I need an appetite.  I need more time for me.

I keep breathing out, then in and slowly out again, but I’m still anxious.  My home is cluttered.  I haven’t washed my dishes or vacuumed.  I don’t think my mother has ever seen my place in this condition.  I don’t think she’s ever seen me as wore out as I am now.  She may be shocked at my dishes in the sink and I’m not sure if she will see how very tired I really am.

I wish she could understand how I feel but at the same time I don’t want her to know how sick I am.

Breathe out…

2010 was a hard year and even though my spirit has felt lighter this year my body has not.  I’ve been sick.

About six weeks ago I got a terrible case of bronchitis.  It felt like the flu.  I thought it went away, but the fatigue has come back and hit hard.

I keep getting confused and sometimes the room spins.  I keep crying too, but I’m not sure what that’s about.  Out of the blue come upheavals of emotions and tears.

My pain is worse.  I’m sick on my stomach and food is the last thing I want.  I’m angry.  I’m angry that I feel so bad and have for so long.

I finally called my doctor.  I doubt if he can help me and as I write that thought, the tears want to come.  Maybe it’s because I’m so sick and I don’t know if anyone can help me.

I dread going to the doctor.  He’ll check my lungs to see if there are signs of pneumonia, which is what I’ve suspected.  I looked up the symptoms and have every one of them.

I don’t know why I’ve waited this long to ask for help.  I guess because when you have Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, it’s hard to know when you get a new illness or have a bug.  Depression can also keep you from seeking medical help when you need it.

I feel guilty for being sick.  I feel like a disappointment to my mother.  At least, I feel like it hurts her to see me sick and especially if I’m sad.  I don’t want to hurt her.

I also feel very much misunderstood, or rather that my illness(es) are misunderstood.

“If you want to sleep while I’m there,” my mother said the third time I called her back, “then just go lie down.”

I wish I could sleep.  I would.

Most people I know don’t understand that fibromyalgia is a sleep disorder.  They think if you are fatigued that you can lie down, go to sleep and all is good.  They are wrong.

Most people I know also don’t understand the reality of Chronic Fatigue Syndrome any better than they do fibromyalgia.  If only they would read blogs by people who are living with and writing about these insidious illnesses.

If we could sleep and sleep well for more than a few hours then we might feel better.  Maybe.

I’m so tired.  I hope my mother is calm in her mind and spirit.  That’s about the best gift she could give me.   I know she’ll start doing chores when she gets here but this is the thing, it will require my help.

I can barely sit here and write, but I thought I better because I don’t know how long she’ll be here and she gets a little jealous of my computer.  Sometimes our visits are emotionally draining on me.

I said yes because I love my mother.  I know she loves me.  I know too that I won’t always have her here.

I said yes.  I sure hope I did the right thing.

I also hope to meet my weekly challenge for PostAWeek, which for me is on Saturday.

OMG!  How did she make it that fast?  OMG!  She is here!

Breathe out…

dogkisses.

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8 responses to this post.

  1. A very moving post, and a reminder that so much of the pain in the world cannot be seen by the naked eye.

    Some people like to have others nearby for support when they are suffering. I’m an introvert, and I want to be alone when I’m suffering. Depression, on top of everything else, seems so unfair.

    John F. Kennedy was not nearly as healthy as he looked. I think he was in pain a lot. He said: Life is not fair. Some people are well, and some people are ill. (I think that’s close to his exact words.)

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    • Hi John. Thank you for this nice comment.

      I’m pretty much a loner too when it comes to being sick. Learning to say no, or yes, is a continuous lesson in finding balance and self-care. I’m glad I said yes this time. I needed some help and hopefully, my mother being able to help gave her something in return.

      I didn’t know JFK was in pain. His words clearly speak to an understanding of the human condition.

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  2. Posted by licoriceroot on January 8, 2011 at 1:09 AM

    You know we read. I get it. You wrote many of my thoughts almost word for word. It’s rough – there’s no other way to say it. I think you did the right thing letting her come. I used to feel kind of the same way about my mother too, but she has started understanding and helping when she comes, and now she is one of my biggest advocates. Maybe letting her see you as you are will help her to understand better. (((((hugs)))))) Celia

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    • Hi Celia,

      Nice to see you here. I can tell you get it. My mom has helped with chores, like I knew she would. Being around her has made me want to eat a few times and I was even hungry. And like yours, she is better able to understand now than a few years ago, mostly anyway. Sometimes I feel like I’m going to fall flat on my face and I’m not sure my family can see this. I’ll say something like, “I’m not feeling so well,” or, “I’m very weak and shaky,” you know, like in the middle of preparing meals or another activity and I feel like I’m not being heard.

      Maybe people don’t know what to say. Maybe I wish or want too much. I’m not sure.

      So, I feel grateful, very much to have my mother and have done well to keep my emotions pretty level.

      Another good thing is that I went to the doctor and am taking antibiotics. I wish now I’d gone one month ago –another lesson learned (or one I’m learning) –get help when I’m sick, esp., when help is available.

      Thanks for your comment. I appreciate you reading and taking the time to share your thoughts.

      Peace to you and your family, ((((hugs2u2))))
      dogkisses.

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  3. Keep breathing, keep writing – we’re here.

    Dishes don’t matter. Vacuumming doesn’t matter (I can’t even spell it let alone do it.)

    You matter.

    If tears need to leak, that’s okay. Did you know that sometimes we rid ourselves of bad chemicals that way? True!

    I’ve endured grief where I cried so hard the skin around my eyes was burned from the salt. Yet, here I am…and here you are. You will surface again DK. I promise.

    May your soul find stillness and peace.

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    • Hiddenlives– Thank you. Your words are like medicine. Kind good medicine.

      I’ve always been a defender of crying, but I didn’t know tears could release chemicals.

      It saddens me to know you have felt such grief, because I know what you speak of –yet here we are.

      Thanks for encouraging me to write, share and find peace.

      Affectionately,
      dogkisses.

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  4. Hi Paul,
    Perhaps that is a good idea. I’ll think about it.

    Thanks for stopping by and commenting.

    dogkisses.

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  5. DK, perhaps you should have your mother read this? Paul

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