Medicine, Animals and a Dream

I didn't write this but unfortunately I could have.. and no, you couldn't hate me any more than I already hate myself.

noreply@blogger.com (Surgeon In My Dreams) — Fri, 08 Aug 2014 03:25:00 +0000

The Gift That Keeps on Giving

noreply@blogger.com (Surgeon In My Dreams) — Sat, 17 May 2014 19:10:00 +0000

"Mama"

This is a song that speaks about how the things the mother taught her son will always be with him. He tells her that loving her is like food to his soul. He assures her she will always be the girl in his life. She taught him that he could face anything that comes into his world. When his sky was grey and when he was down she was always there to comfort him.

My baby boy is 32 now. Typing that number beside those words haunts me. It haunts me because I don’t know the man who is my son. I think about him so much and I dream about him at least once a week. In my dreams things are as they should be; as they used to be. The dreams are the worst. I awaken and as soon as my eyes open I realize it was just that…a dream.

My baby was a very loving child. He was intuitive about people’s moods. He could tell when someone was sad even when they were not showing outward signs. He was so open with his love too. He wouldn’t hesitate to throw those chubby arms around your neck – he didn’t care who was around to see.

When I finally got pregnant with this child, we had been tying for four years. My doctor has already told us that short of a miracle, (or fertility meds), it just wasn’t going to happen again. We had begun telling family members who asked that we weren’t planning on having another baby. The day I went to the doctor because I had been sick all day every day for a few weeks, they did a test when I arrived. It was positive!!! I would not allow myself to be happy until the doctor examined me and said that, “Yes. You are pregnant.” I don’t know how in the world I drove home that day but peeking out between the tears I made it safely home.

For 24 years I was a wife and mother my children, to that boy and his beautiful & bright big sister. I did motherly things at their schools. I went on field trips. I sent goodies to the classroom. I played hide and seek. I taught them to love books and animals. I fought tooth and nail when needed to protect them. One night I jumped out of my car at a convenience store in my nightgown to confront a grown ass man who tried to start something with my 15 year old son because he accidentally bumped him with the door on his way out of the store. And finally, I am sure I made some mistakes along the way. My biggest mistake was letting his daddy force me out of the home while my son, who was 18 and a senior, was still in it.

Fast forward to that day 18 years later when I knew my marriage was done and circumstances forced me to leave the family home 6 months before I wanted to. That is the day my life ended.

The hate my husband had for me was so pure and ugly and spiteful that in addition to telling anyone who would listen that he was going to kill me, he turned my son against me. He told him some truths and a whole lot of lies, none of which should have ever been shared with a child about his mother. Throughout the years I had done everything in my power to keep the bad parts of their dad from them. There were things they never knew until years after I left. When I realized that my son had truly turned his heart away from me, it was only then that I tried to explain to my son in a letter that our marriage was not always what it appeared to be and gave him examples.

My son watched his daddy start drinking and carrying on foolishly in his mad, angry life. He watched him get behind the wheel of his truck and drive off completely wasted. He watched him start missing work, something he had never done before. He was there for my husband to cry on his shoulder. He saw what my leaving did to him. After I left and my baby stopped speaking to me I started writing letters to him to try and explain why I was gone. Those first 3-4 years I must have written at least one letter a week; long letters; 2-3 pages long. I tried to call but he would not answer the phone. That is the year I began to die.

I starting going to a shrink. Every week for a long, long time. I would sit in her office and cry and cry like my heart was going to just break in half. She assured me every week that he would not always hate me so. She said it was just a matter of time before he would soften and allow me back into his life. I believed her but I just could not get my heart to stop beating that extra beat it has when you feel panicked. I could not stop crying even though my job required me to meet with clients and go on lunch meetings where I had to strain just to get through paying the bill so I could hurry back to my car where I could let go. I eventually gave that job up for one where I didn’t have to face the public so much. The tears – the depression – just would not stop.

My son who is now a man, has babies of his own. His wife practically grew up in my house. They began dating when they were in 10^th grade and she was at our house a lot. She used to talk to me and hug me when they would leave the house. I loved her like she was one of mine. They married the week after they graduated. Seven days later he took her to the emergency room because all of a sudden she began having horrible pain in her leg. She had bone cancer! Three weeks later they find out she was pregnant as well.

Because of the chemo and the surgeries she endured, and her refusal to abort their son, he was born blind and severely brain damaged. He is 13 now. He walks. He has some language. He is in school. He knows how to respond to questions – in his way – in the way they have taught him. He also has a little sister just 13 months younger. The doctors had told them she wouldn’t be able to get pregnant again for years because of the chemo but I guess no one told little sister that.

So my son went through this horrible nightmare of hospitals and doctors and fear and surgeries while trying to work and provide for his little family. How much help and comfort and peace did he miss out on because he didn’t have his mother? In raising this little boy with his issues and special needs how much peace could they have known had I been around. I’m not saying other people didn’t help them, they did, I’m saying look how much more support he could have had. Instead, I have two grandbabies who don’t know me and whom I don’t know. I have a man-child I don’t know.

When I see pictures of me over the last 14 years, I am astounded at the difference in my countenance from then until now. Although I have aged 14 years chronologically, I look twice that. That is what heartbreak and mental anguish does to a person. I used to be strong and fearless and happy.

My ex no longer hates me like he did back then but the damage he did is still there. He asked me not too long ago why am I still so angry with him for something that happened "so long ago". I told him this, "It is very simple...I awaken every single morning remembering that I don't have the love and relationship of my son. When you turned him against me, you gave the gift that 'keeps on giving'."

Our son still has no mother and I still have no son. It has been 14 years since my son was turned against me. Fourteen of the longest years of my life. Fourteen years of my dying. Fourteen years of gradually coming to hope that the dying would hurry and be complete.

This article was written by a judge to divorcing parents. He says it all. Don't do it folks...just. don't. do. it.

Hurry up Santa

noreply@blogger.com (Surgeon In My Dreams) — Sat, 21 Dec 2013 04:19:00 +0000

Santa please hurry. I'm not sure how much more of the merriment I can take.

I'm sitting here when I should be in bed but I know when I get in bed my mind will really start to ramble. What's bad is if I can hang on till the holidays are over, then I'll have a whole new fresh year to dread. In this box with no way out and no where to go if I got out.

A hundred years ago I used to do volunteer work with a local suicide prevention group. I was young, maybe 22 when I started. Was even volunteer of the year once for this office through the United Way. Looking back, I HAD NO CLUE.

I know now EXACTLY what those people would mean when they would say, "What's the use?", and what my trite, empty, canned slogans must have sounded like.

Holidays and People in My Boat

noreply@blogger.com (Surgeon In My Dreams) — Sat, 14 Dec 2013 17:48:00 +0000

Well, it certainly didn't take long for me to come to the conclusion that I am unable to function once the medication is out of my system. I suppose getting the house cleaned was a positive from my little experiment.

Maybe now that it is clean I can keep it that way easier because all the energy I had flew out the window when I went back on the Seroquel. (I am not on as much as before but have a bad feeling that what I am on is not going to be enough.) I was cleaning and cleaning and thinking, "Wow. That Seroquel was really causing me a lot of fatigue." I guess what was really happening was it was keeping the bipolar under control.

Another holiday season is here. Over the past 14 years of mine and my son's estrangement that happened when I left his father, I most of the time have gotten better about the holidays as the years have passed but this year for whatever reason it is hitting me worse than in a while.

Yeah, this is definitely a "worse" year. I can't get my son off my mind. I miss him like I imagine a recent amputee misses a limb. I miss seeing his babies, my grandbabies, who I am no allowed to see. Now my daughter for whatever reason is unable to visit or have me visit because she "needs to feel safe". I haven't a clue what that means. My own father is now upset with me because I am not pushing my daughter about our Christmas get-together we normally have. If she doesn't feel well enough to have me over for visits I'm betting she doesn't feel like the big Christmas thing either.

I know there are so many other people like me out there. People who for whatever reason cannot tolerate the holiday season. Or at least not tolerate it well. Then there are people like me who can put on their mask and even convince themselves that everything is fine. I used to be able to do that.

I hurt for all of you! I cry for all of us who for whatever reason are getting older and missing our children. I'm sad for all of us who can never please our aging, elderly parents and fear that their acceptance will never come to fruition before it is too late. I'll lift you all up in prayer and you lift me up or send me warm fuzzies or whatever it is that you do...Merry Christmas

noreply@blogger.com (Surgeon In My Dreams) — Mon, 28 Oct 2013 16:09:00 +0000

Three months ago I decided I needed to get off my psyche meds. I felt like I no longer knew who "I" was. I had no energy and between that and the constant pain, I had to do something or make some kind of change. I was on Seroquel (300mg), Prozac (20mg) and Nortriptyline (50mg).
(I had recently been on 400 mg Seroquel but we had dropped it to 300mg a few months ago.)

We started with the tapering of Seroquel. I was on 300 mg so my doc had me taper to 200 mg for one month, then 100 mg for one month, and this week is my first week off all of it completely. (In the midst of tapering the Seroquel, I realized one day I had not taken the Prozac for about 10 days. I had run out and forgot all about it since there were still other pills in my little pillbox. So I just never took it again. The doc is not going to like that since we were specifically wanting to do one at a time so we could catch changes and know to which drug to attribute it to. It was an accident however.)

When I dropped the Seroquel to 200, I couldn't tell any difference at all. None. When I dropped to 100 mg, I FELT IT! I have more energy than I have had in years. (So now I actually WANT to clean my house and yard but my pain level hasn't changed, lol ...thankful but frustrating to have the energy and the 'want to' but having to stop every few minutes to ease the pain makes it slow going.)

I love the energy. I love the "want to" that I have now. I have even started back thinking about writing again. I am cooking more complete, better balanced meals. There are a couple of negatives however...ANGER being one. I get so angry at the drop of a hat. The least little thing sets me off. The least little thing makes me want to scream at someone (I wouldn't). Driving has once again become a fighting sport (only verbally & from inside the car with my windows rolled up). I have apologized to my poor husband a million times in the last month. Things I had taught myself years ago not to fuss about all of a sudden get on my VERY LAST NERVE! And where he had become accustomed to not having to put things away when he was done with them, now all of a sudden in our clean house he better NOT lay something down and walk off.

Aside from the anger the only other negative (so far) is I CANNOT SLEEP!!! I was afraid of the depression bounding back. I never even considered something like anger coming back. (Is that the bipolar?)

On the one hand my house is cleaner than it has been in years. I'm talking closets; cabinets; drawers and bookshelves! I'm talking THROWING STUFF OUT!!! On the other hand I am so mad I can't stand myself sometimes. Conundrum...Conundrum...Conundrum...

I believe I can learn to control the anger and lessen it somehow. I suppose I can work with the sleep problem and maybe stay up later and get up earlier rather than lay there trying to sleep when I can't. I'd rather deal with those two than go back to feeling like I did 2 months ago. I assume at some point I will need to attempt to deal with some depression (?). I mean I have been on medication for depression since 1992 and still had problems every 1.5 - 2 years requiring some adjustment or addition to the meds. I just know I HAD to try. I have to see who I am without the meds. I just have to.

noreply@blogger.com (Surgeon In My Dreams) — Fri, 09 Aug 2013 19:16:00 +0000

Some days, no matter how hard you try, you just can't empty your brain of the bad stuff.

A Visit to the Shrink

noreply@blogger.com (Surgeon In My Dreams) — Mon, 10 Jun 2013 18:54:00 +0000

I see my shrink on a semi-regular basis. It is good for the cause – cause I need to stay on my meds or I get a little “off”.

Each time I see the doc, I am supposed to be seen by the nurse as well because two of the meds I am on cause weigh gain and can cause diabetes. Each visit, the nurse checks my weight and my blood sugar.

Last week during my visit, when the doc was finished with me, I reminded him I was supposed to see the nurse as well. He was surprised I had not seen her yet. I suppose the nurse is supposed to see you before the doctor, (which makes sense – in case a med needs to be changed or further tests run depending on the results of the test results).

At the end of each visit, the doc walks you to the front desk and tells the secretary when to set up the next appointment. This time, he also told her I would need to see the nurse before I left.

After she made my next appointment, the secretary looks up at me and says, “So you didn’t see the nurse before you saw Dr. Shrink?”

“No ma’am” I replied.

“Are you sure?” she asked me, looking me square in the eye.

“I think I’d remember…” I said.

Phew.

Folks, just because I’m crazy, doesn’t mean I’M CRAZY!!!

(For the politically correct folks that may be passing through – if there are any of those on my “friends” list – I can say the word “crazy”. I have put in my dues for 19 years now and I have learned to laugh about it otherwise all that is left are tears.) J

noreply@blogger.com (Surgeon In My Dreams) — Tue, 14 May 2013 15:11:00 +0000

(If the idea of my using very vulgar language bothers you, please go away and read something on another day. Today, for me, is just about hanging on. On days like this the vulgarity that some days seems to match my life just has to come out.)

I am so tired of feeling this way. I am tired of reminding myself of reasons I need to just hang on and hope it goes away. I am tired of the guilt. I am tired of the shame. I am tired of all of the shit that goes on and on and round and fucking around in my head.

I am tired of being lonely. I am fucking tired of needing to feel someone’s body against mine and feel their arms around me. I was not made to go without the physical aspect of who we are as human beings. I am tired of being faithful when it would be so easy to find someone, anyone, to hold me and make love to me for a few minutes.

I am tired to DEATH of seeing people on TV joke about how their man wants sex all the time. I am tired of trying to talk to him and him acting ignorant and pretending he doesn’t “understand”. WHAT THE FUCK IS THERE TO UNDERSTAND??????????? Lie beside me in the fucking bed and touch me. Kiss me. Fuck me.

I am so tired of this earth. I wish so badly that I could just go on to Heaven without it hurting anyone. If I could make that happen I’d go today. RIGHT FUCKING NOW I’d go! This shit just isn’t worth it. I lost everything. I gave up everything. I lost a child. I gave up financial security. I gave up a paid for home. I lost my parents respect just a bit. I lost friends; or what I thought were friends. I even feel like I lost my self. When you’ve lost a part of yourself, there is no fucking reason for anyone else to give a shit. And all this for what? For a husband who hasn't touched me in years.

I am tired of the fucking pills. I am tired of the fakery. I am tired of wearing the mask. I am sick and tired of being here when all I really would like to do is to lay down and go to sleep and never wake. I hurt when he is here and I hurt when he is gone. How do you explain that? I feel like shit. I feel like he wishes I had never entered his life. I know he wishes he could go back and stay where he was and that makes me feel like some pile of shit he stepped in. Fuck this all. I mean fuck it all.

Just So You Know...

noreply@blogger.com (Surgeon In My Dreams) — Mon, 06 May 2013 16:18:00 +0000

I love you with a passion you will never comprehend. I loved you before your presence was known to even me, much less the world.

I would lay down my life for you. I would have kept you safe no matter what that safety could have required of me. I believe I showed you that at least twice in the short time I had with you.

I loved the way your head smelled when I would hold you. I loved the touch of your skin against mine. I loved feeling your heart beat against mine when I held you close.

All these years I kept thinking, "It can't last forever". Well, I'm not sure how much more there is left until "forever" gets here, but if something doesn't change soon, my thinking was horribly wrong. It could last forever - and damn near has.

I'll leave this world loving you my son...just so you know. I'll hold no grudges; no bitterness and no anger, and I pray that one day, even if it is after I'm gone, you will find it in your heart to forgive me. I never meant to hurt you. I would have taken it back at any point were that possible, but it's not. It's just not.

Just so you know.

noreply@blogger.com (Surgeon In My Dreams) — Sun, 21 Apr 2013 22:49:00 +0000

Sunday, April 21, 2013

Oh God please tell me it isn’t back. Please tell me this is just “that time of the month” or something else hormonal. Please God don’t let this be my medication petering out.

The first thing I recognized was waking up in the morning and being disappointed about it. I know how ungrateful that sounds to most people, but until you have lived inside my head, PLEASE DON'T JUDGE.

The next thing I am noticing is severe forgetfulness and a really difficult time finding my words and concentrating. I even mentioned the forgetfulness to my family doc during my physical last month but he wasn't concerned. Oh, and another thing, I'm crying a lot. Right now it is only during a sad part in a movie or a song that really touches me, but damn it that is how it usually begins.

I don't know how many more of these lapses in life, because of the medication no longer being effective, that I can survive. It is like walking through water. Or mud maybe. Like some dreams I have had where I was running to get away from something but realized I was running in the lake and not getting any where.

The timing is right though. For the past 10 or so years, the meds work for 15-24 months then they stop. It has been 16 months since I was put on the cocktail I am taking now. I have always been grateful that I never had to be admitted for this. The last time though, I came very close. I can't imagine what it is like and from what I have read really don't want to.

Please, please, please don't come back.

noreply@blogger.com (Surgeon In My Dreams) — Wed, 05 Dec 2012 20:38:00 +0000

Lately I have been thinking about James. This month will be the 13th anniversary of the day I left his daddy. I miss him so much, James, not his daddy.

I don’t know if it is the holiday season or just by chance that I can’t get him off my mind. When I get this way, I wind up dreaming about him at least once. I guess I dream about him 2-3 times a month. It is always a dream where we’re getting together for something or the other and it is as if we have not went 13 years not speaking. I awaken with the most depressed heart & spirit. To dream it is over yet to awaken to the fact it was only a dream. It hurts so much.

I used to write James 3-4 letters a WEEK! That first couple of years I did. I would also call his number but he would never talk to me nor did he ever respond to any letters or emails. I would try to explain why I did what I did. Explaining how it is not how I wanted to do things but his daddy forced my hand. Describing what it felt like to not have him (James) in my life.

I would write and remind him how close we once were; how whenever he was in trouble it was me he came to, not his daddy. I would tell him again about the four years it took me to become pregnant with him and how the doctor had already given up on it happening.

I eventually began telling him about things I had kept hidden from him and his sister all those years. The abuse; the spying on me; how his daddy would mark my tires in the driveway to see if I went off during the day while he was at work. Showing up on my job at midnight to see if I went straight to my car or if I stopped and talked to anyone. At this point in our lives, I had never, ever, given him any reason to not trust me, none!

I no longer know my son. I don’t know what he likes to eat. I don’t know what his thoughts are politically. I don’t know how he feels about everyday happenings in the world. I don’t know how he deals with his children, or his wife. I don’t know what he does for a living; or for fun.

Oh God how I love him; how my heart yearns for him.

Not Angry Any Longer (or Now That I’m Old I Understand)

noreply@blogger.com (Surgeon In My Dreams) — Sat, 17 Nov 2012 04:43:00 +0000

I was angry with my mother for a long, long time. All manner of understanding and consideration of her circumstances never helped me to “get it”. Now, at 52, I get it.

When my mother was 35, she walked out on my daddy, and of course that meant me as well. I was 6. She ran away with a man she had begun seeing from work. After a few weeks, from what I have been told, she was left there in the motel room they had been living in when the guy decided to go back to his wife and kids. I am told he called my father and told him where she was and that she was talking about suicide. Daddy immediately went after her.

Life went on as usual. The only thing that changed was mother had to leave her job and go to work somewhere else so that she would not be around this man any longer. That was daddy’s only requirement to her coming back home. Otherwise nothing changed. No one talked. The only speaking that was done in our home was reminding someone to pick up some milk or telling someone to be sure and sweep the porch before night. It was years before I understood that in some families’ people actually talked to each other; even when they didn’t “need anything”. Some parents hugged and even kissed their kids. Why some parents hugged each other! Wow!!

Six years later, she was 41 and I was 12, she left again. This time it was with a different man. Someone at her new job. I was warned that eventually I would have to g to court and tell a judge which parent I wanted to live with. I was also told which parent to choose; this by my only sibling, a sister. She is 10 years older than me and she eloped at 15 so she was already gone by time mother left the first time.

I understand now. I spent a lot of years being mad at her. She doesn’t know that, but I did. Was what she had done wrong? Of course it was. Very wrong. Was she human? You bet she was! I understand now.

noreply@blogger.com (Surgeon In My Dreams) — Sat, 19 May 2012 20:23:00 +0000

The one who caused the pain hurts just as much if not more. >They would never ask for pity - they don't want nor expect pity. They just want you to know. This song says it all.

Happy Birthday to me ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

noreply@blogger.com (Surgeon In My Dreams) — Tue, 13 Sep 2011 20:40:00 +0000

Gosh. Another one. Funny how they sneak up on you after so many. I wonder how many more. I wonder if they will all be as dreaded as this one and the past few. Sometimes it would just be easier not to have any more, to..uh..celebrate. Shouldn't be listening,but...

Mothers Day 2011

noreply@blogger.com (Surgeon In My Dreams) — Mon, 09 May 2011 02:15:00 +0000

I hope the mothers out there had a peaceful day. I know the cards all say, "Happy" Mothers Day, but I believe peaceful is just as good. As mothers, some of us carry around extreme loads of guilt. Guilt for either things we did or failed to do, or guilt for ways in which we perceive we failed our children.

I have plenty of guilt myself. I was never"mothered" as a child so the mothering I did I learned on my own. Some of it was good, some of it was not. I was young, and chances are I was bipolar as well.

I have learned this about guilt; number one, ask your Heavenly Father to forgive you. He will. Next, ask forgiveness from those you have wronged. They either grant you that forgiveness or not but if you ask in earnest that is all you can do. Then, FORGIVE YOURSELF.

That last part is the hardest part. You may have to do it several times over several years. Keep doing it until it "takes", lol. "Fake it till you make it" as the old saying goes.

I forgive myself, again today. On this Mothers Day, 2011, I forgive myself for not being perfect.

Oldies Goodies Maybe....

noreply@blogger.com (Surgeon In My Dreams) — Sat, 07 May 2011 03:08:00 +0000

I've been sitting here listening to some of the top 100 songs from 1999. I can listen to this genre of songs and it carries me back like certain smells will do.

I don't remember other years like I do this one. I mean sure, I remember the 70's because that is when I was young and semi-free. 1999 now, that was when I became free again for the first time in 24 years. I like the songs, but the feelings they leave me with is mixed.

On the one hand, I love remembering the freedom, but on the other hand I feel much older than the short 12 years it has been. I feel like I have lost part of me along the way.

Middle age?

Mothers Day

noreply@blogger.com (Surgeon In My Dreams) — Tue, 03 May 2011 03:32:00 +0000

Every year I dread the day that mothers across our land are receiving flowers and cards and other tokens of appreciation and love.

It isn’t that I don’t want to wish my mother a happy Mothers Day. Oh no. I settled that ghost in my mind a long time ago. I know in my heart my mother did the best she could at the time, given the tools that had been passed down to her. I love my mother. I even talk to her several times a week now.

No, it is me. I was (am) a mother. Evidently I was a worse one than I remember, although I too did the very best I knew how, given those same tools that were given to me.

Regardless of how bad things got between my mother and me, I never once forgot to remember her on Mothers Day. In 45 years, I never failed to send her a card if nothing else.

Mothers Day is not an opportunity to “bless” your mother depending on what kind of job she did. It is not a “payback” based on your opinion of how she raised you. It is simply a “Thank You”. Thank you for trying. Thank you for caring. Thank you for hanging in there. Thank you for loving me even though you may not have been very demonstrative about it. Thank you for getting up during long nights when I was sick. Thank you for doing your best to teach me to be kind to others.

Bless your mothers this Sunday; and every other day too.

New and Improved !!!

noreply@blogger.com (Surgeon In My Dreams) — Wed, 19 Jan 2011 01:27:00 +0000

I must get back to my writing. It gives me a sense of accomplishment when I can actually get pen to paper (so to speak) and now that I am unemployed (after giveing Huge Corporation the best 10 years of my life) I need that sense of accomplishment.

I will try my best not to do the "depression/manic swing" type of posts any more.

Welcome back me

:-)

De-escalation of the BIG NEWS

noreply@blogger.com (Surgeon In My Dreams) — Tue, 18 Jan 2011 23:58:00 +0000

Okay. I am down off my, "OH MY GOSH I'M GONNA BE A NEW GRANNY" high.

I have been properly put in my place by a gentle reminder that, "No. You will probably NOT be keeping him at your house every week".

I know. I understand. It is going to be tough with this one though.

BIG News

noreply@blogger.com (Surgeon In My Dreams) — Tue, 18 Jan 2011 03:07:00 +0000

Today, I received some HUGE news! I am so excited I can barely get to sleep. My daughter is preggo.....again!!!

She has three daughters, ages 15, 14 and 8 and now we have another little on the way.

With the first two, I didn't work and they would stay with me for several days at a time several times a month. That was so wonderful. When the last one was born I was working and after being at work 9 hours every day and being just plain old wiped out, I didn't have the energy to have her over even on weekends. I am looking forward to creating that bond with this one.

Welcome little one; and HURRY!!! Granny loves you.

New Year or 50 Years?

noreply@blogger.com (Surgeon In My Dreams) — Sat, 01 Jan 2011 05:10:00 +0000

As this old year has come to an end, my mind has driven into overdrive. I hate it when I do this.

We live in an area that has 3 major universities within a 50 mile radius. There is one particular grocery store I go to that always has a lot of college students shopping there. Tonight was no different.

As I saw one after the other going down the isles, I began thinking about the world I missed out on. I wondered what it would have been like to go to college. What my dorm room would have looked like, or would I have lived off campus in an apartment. What kind of friends I would have made. What kind of grades I could have maintained. Would I have been a partier; or settled in with just a close friend or two.

Then, I thought about where I would be career wise had I got an education. Would I be in medicine? Would it be human or animal? Would I have married or chosen to remain single.

Finally, I began thinking about the mistakes I have made in my life. Where I’d be if I had shown more self-control in some areas. How many people would not have been hurt by my actions?

Maybe it isn’t just the new year coming quickly upon me. Maybe it is the fact I am 50. Fifty sounds so ancient to me. It sounds like I should be further in my life. Have more to show for 50 years I have been here. Be happier, more content, instead of looking back over the mistakes I have made and where I’d be had I not made them.

I love everyone in my life. I would not have traded my loved ones for anything, so this is not a slam against anyone. Some of them I would not have had I not taken the roads I took.

I just can’t help but think though. Should there not be more out there to show for 50 years?

Seasons in the Sun

noreply@blogger.com (Surgeon In My Dreams) — Thu, 30 Sep 2010 23:36:00 +0000

I heard the Terry Jacks song, "Seasons in the Sun" today. I was reminded of climbing trees, playing ball in the neighborhood, riding my mini-bike, playing in the yard with my dog.

I remember hurrying through homework so I could get outside with my friends. Playing so long and so hard. Getting all sweaty and dirty. Hurrying through supper so I could get back outside with my friends.

I miss my friends.

Pretending

noreply@blogger.com (Surgeon In My Dreams) — Mon, 19 Jul 2010 14:22:00 +0000

I used to pretend everything was different. Outsiders would never have guessed. I don't even have the energy to pretend any longer. Not even just for me.

Th Perfect Mother

noreply@blogger.com (Surgeon In My Dreams) — Tue, 11 May 2010 12:50:00 +0000

I was not a perfect mother. Matter of fact - I was FAR from it. I had just turned 16 when my daughter was born and I had no clue how to be a mother.

I was a yeller and I was way too strict. I used a little paint stirrer stick for spankings. I expected A's when B's and C's should have sufficed. I did not buy her name brand clothes and for that she suffered ridicule from her peers. She didn't get to go to all the functions she wanted to go to, and according to her when she did go she felt like she was a "charity case".
I was a stay-at-home mother and we just didn't have the money for these things every time.

I took my child to my shrink years ago when she was 15 and asked her forgiveness and along with my shrink explained why I mothered in the fashion that I did. I was abused horribly as a child, and my mother had it even worse when she was a child. I'm not placing blame, just explaining how things turned out the way they did.

Over the next 15 years, I allowed her to "vent" to me about how bad her childhood was. She was allowed to say whatever she needed to say and I answered any questions she had. I won't attempt to guess how many times I have apologized for my actions. I also know that no matter how many times I apologize, nothing could make up for the actions she suffered from.

As a grandmother, the first few years of the grandchildren's lives I kept them a lot. The first two, I kept for days at a time several times a month for 2 or 3 years. I enjoyed every minute of it. Once I went to work outside the home, and as my mental health has become worse, I have had no energy - physical or mental - to keep them or go to games and other functions that they participate in. Working from 8 until 5 every day then going straight to a ball game or whatever it happened to be was just too much for me. This caused friction with my daughter as well.

Her youngest child, has behavioral issues and does not like to be told "No" nor be told what to do. She will for instance, aggravate the dogs and when told to stop she will turnright around and do it again. She doesn't allow adults to talk without constantly interupting them. I had never been around a child who behaved this way and after trying to keep her at my home without her mother once, and having to call her mother to come get her, (which NEVER happened with the others), I knew I could not keep her for visits. Because of this, my daughter told us that if we can't keep her we can't keep the other two either. She said it wasn't fair.

A few months ago, she made several comments pertaining to her childhood and how sorry it was and how she would never put her children through the same thing. She HATED how she couldn't wear "nice" clothes and she HATED how she couldn't go to all the extracurricular activities she wanted to go to and she was determined her kids would have better.

After the last vent session, and a comment made on facebook about how she believed she was born to aliens and put in our family, I decided in my heart that I was finished letting her say things to me about it all. I cannot take it back and I feel like 15 years of letting her "vent" is enough. As I get older these things were beginning to wear on me more and more and my mental health is not in the category of "healthy" to begin with.

I wrote her a letter and told her I no longer wanted her to tell me about how bad a mother I was and how bad her childhood was. I tried to explain it in as nice a way possible while not taking away from the fact she did have a rough childhood.

Since then, she has had very little to do with me. Mothers Day came and went with no word. This isn't the first Mothers Day I've been ignored, but it bothered me the most.

I'm sorry I wasn't a perfect mother. I'm sorry she felt so "different" from the other kids because she didn't have the name brand clothes. I'm sorry she didn't get to go to every function and that she felt she was a charity case. I did the best I knew how to do at the time, with the resources available to us on my husbands income. I would have loved to have had more clothes instead of wearing the same 2 or 3 dresses to church every week. I would have loved to have been able to do some things I enjoyed as well. Instead I was too busy doing my best to keep a home for four people on a one person budget.

I am very happy that her husband is able to provide all these things on his income alone so that she doesn't have to work. He obviously makes much more money that her daddy did. I am happy that her kids won't come to her one day and complain about what they didn't have or where they didn't get to go. I hope she never has to feel the way I feel at this stage in my life.

Mothers Day ??

noreply@blogger.com (Surgeon In My Dreams) — Sun, 09 May 2010 23:25:00 +0000

In my nearly 50 years, from the time I was old enough, I NEVER forgot my mother on Mothers Day. Nor did I ever ignore her. We may not have been close, but I have always respected the job of raising me that she did her best at.

I forget now just how many mothers days have passed that I have been forgotten or ignored by my children.