Going to preface this with....Not looking for sympathy here, not down about life, just trying to put into words how my world has changed.
Two and a half years ago, I was in a terrible mental state after months of not sleeping, anxiety and a depression that hit so hard I could not function. I do not hide this, my journey thru that darkness is here on the blog. All that therapy time with Anne brought my passions and life back into focus. I could see the future clearly and what I wanted.
That battle was fought and won, then the carpet was pulled out again. Emotionally, that is how I feel.
Months of doctors throwing all these complicated diagnosis' and treatment protocol at me. Me trying to absorb all the information and assimilate how it affects my life as a mom and wife. I had JUST gotten my life back, my husband had just told a friend ''he'd hadn't seen me this happy in years.''
So I lost my marbles again, because my weakened brain couldn't handle the anxiety and stress.
Most mothers will agree, we envision moments with our children in the future. The day Nora marries is a hazy picture already forming in my brain. What she will look like, what I will say, the tears of happiness we will cry. I can see Trent chatting it up with his father on the back porch like two good friends. My love for these two is held tightly at the center of my soul.
As a mom you want to do EVERYTHING with your kids. Go, go, go! Daily adventures to stores, playgrounds, museums, art groups, music, ballet, the beach, etc.
Inside of four months last summer, all of that was changed. So how do you adjust as a mom?
Well, first you get ticked off! How do you accept limitations on your life because your body is attacking itself? Most people get pissed, I know I did.
You slow down, take a step back. Then you go talk to Anne again.
When I talked to Anne this past fall, our focus was on redefining my roll as mom and what that meant with a chronic illness. My expectations are and were very high, we had to reset that bar. First she had to help me process all the changes that were being asked of me....I entered a very recognizable cycle of grief.
Denial. ''I'm fine. They have meds for things like this.''
Anger. Pissed. pissed. pissed. Don't tell me I CAN'T, I will! How dare this happen! Let's just say, God and a lot of people came under fire.
Bargaining. Played a lot of 'IF this...then that'' statements with myself. If this can just be something that doesn't confine me to a wheelchair, I'll be good with that. God, you hear me....anything where I still walk, and talk, and paint, and sew, and think, and, and, and....oh, I can't have all of that.
Depression: Enough said.
Acceptance: So life is going to look different. What's the plan?
With every new symptom comes challenge, how does that change my day, how do I work around that or compensate. What I learned from Anne, with a chronic condition you will go thru the grief cycle over and over and over again as the disease progresses. There will people that readily accept your illness, those that deny it because they themselves are scared. Let them be scared, you keep marching forward until they find you again.
Don't every let go of family and friends, you will need them.
The bad days can be, well, bad. Joints feeling like they will explode, muscle spasms that feel like 9-volt batteries zapping me, stumbling over simple vocabulary and ideas, fatigue and dizzy spells. My basic BAD day.
On these days, I had to learn to do the minimum so I could do the maximum with the kids. This might not make sense to some of you. What is the activity that makes me use the minimum amount of energy or muscle that still gives them the best of me? I don't like telling my kids, ''mommy can't''. This disease will not be my excuse.
Bad days. Lay in the yard and blow bubbles. Snuggle the kids in for a book. Pull something from the freezer for dinner. Have Nora paint my toes. Play 'patient' with the kids. Be a bumpy road for Trent's cars. Read a book for myself. Skip a play date.
Good days. Most days are good days. Feel the sun on my face. Park with the kids. Go to the YMCA. Make a culinary mess of the kitchen. Fly kiddos on my feet. Play monster. Cover the patio with chalk drawings. Put the kids to bed.
Both days end snuggled up to the hubby, both days are good days sung to a different tune.
