March's Challenge

Although content in February for the most part, there was something brewing that month – about which I was aware –  that would threaten to upend me in March.    The woman I call my ‘heart mother’ (see blog entry Feb 3, 2013), who has been a significant part of my life for 32 years,  was diagnosed with cancer. My emotional world imploded.   

For the first time since I left NYC in September, I did not want to be in Batavia.  I wanted to be back in NYC. With her.  For her.  I experienced something similar when my mom was sick. In fact, I had sat with my ‘heart mother’ at the time and lamented – I just want to be there (Batavia) with her (my mom). Being at work all week was an interference.  I wanted the weekend to come and I wanted to go to mom.  Nothing else in my life would get accomplished. It didn’t matter. I felt I was in the right place when I was with her. Shopping, doing laundry, or cleaning, helping with my brother, fixing what she felt like eating, sitting for long hours in silence or being an amicable companion when she felt like talking….that was what I wanted to do, where I found my purpose, and what helped keep my anxiety at bay.   

My ‘heart mother’ was having her own struggles. I called her daily to see how she was doing. Terrified of doctors and surgery, she was at times, vague. Without body language or close physical proximity, I felt panicked and frantic. She didn’t really want to know what was going on inside her body. But I did. Our opposing “needs” clashed and many times,  I would hang up gripped with fear and confusion.  It carried over to my daily life. I started finding it very hard to concentrate, very challenging to “be where I was”. My stomach churned much of the time and I lost my appetite. My heart did double flips. I was often close to tears for no good reason.  

I knew I had to get a grip. I struggled to not make what was happening to her all about me while trying to remain conscious of what I was feeling.  I was scared at the prospect of possibly losing her, angry with her for not taking care of herself, and filled with dread and sadness about the choices that she might have to make and the pain or suffering that she might have to endure. But I didn’t want her to have to deal with any of what was going on in my head while I was working it out.  She had enough on her plate and did not need to be taking care of me.  Still, she had always been the person I turned to in difficult times, and now I didn’t have that option. I felt very alone.

She allowed me to accompany her when she met with the surgical oncologist and for that, I was grateful.  I made my first trip back to NYC since the new year began.  Going gave me a direct pipeline to solid and complete information, which I craved. Leaving afterwards, she asked me if it was “too much information.” I assured her that it was not – I was feeling a little bit of ‘been there, done that’ because of my experience with my mom. I was internally adamant that I wanted to be there for her whatever it took. She had been there for me and now she would need support. I was up for it.  It was a very long three weeks between that visit and the scheduled surgery at the end of the month. 

She was subjected to further testing during that time, and although in hindsight, I realize she did the best she could at keeping me in the information loop, I just felt stone-walled and dismissed. I struggled to stay home, to continue living my life, and not run to her in NYC. There really wasn’t anything I could “do” and it was just a waiting game.