n. Inevitable and steady deterioration of a system or society.
My mom sees worms.
Carpet fuzz, milk bubbles, lights reflecting on a sealed bottle of water: it doesn't matter. They infest the ground beneath her feet and the drinks she prepares to consume, regardless of the refutation we provide, the solid evidence we explain. This one piece is lint, yes, but the rest on the floor are still worms. These aren't the only things. Windmills appear in the backyard, glimpsed briefly; almond slivers in her Rocky Road ice cream are slips of plastic; other dark spots on the carpet or blankets are bugs or spiders.
The preposterousness of these claims being asked--would you ask if there was a windmill in your own backyard if there was no reasonable basis for one having appeared there in the first place?--is only surpassed by the fact that she believes them, at least the worms. At this moment there is a tall glass of milk in the refrigerator that she will not drink because of the worms in it.
Fourteen months ago, my mother was well enough to drive half an hour to the rural horse camp I worked at to give me something I'd left at home (a wristwatch, which I said I could do without until the next morning, but she came that evening to give it to me anyway).
Eleven months ago, I left for my sophomore year of college. She had been suffering severe back and some joint pain, diagnosed by our family doctor as rheumatoid arthritis.
Eight months ago, I came back for Christmas break to find her walking slowly with a cane, lower legs grossly swollen with lymphodema, long hair (which she'd grown out ever since her chemo treatments were over years ago) mussed and frail. She was exhausted and heavily dosed on morphine for her pain. The cancer was back, this time in her bones; hip, spine, and numerous other small sites. This is called metastasis in medical terms and is the last thing you want cancer to do: move. Bone cancer cannot be treated with chemotherapy as effectively as soft-tissue cancer can. Dad told me on the trip home that this was Stage 4 cancer. Christmas was quiet. She could barely stay awake through the present-opening, regarding most of her gifts with small weary smiled beneath half-lidded eyes.
Two and a half months ago I came home for the summer. "Sorry I didn't send you any care packages this year," she told me one afternoon when I mentioned cookies off-handedly. "I just haven't been feeling up for it. Maybe next year."
"Maybe," I agreed. Her legs were still extremely swollen, a condition that supposedly would ease the less she walked on them, but being the stubbornly independent woman she is, she tried to do as much as she could on her own unless we intercepted her and tried to guess what she wanted.
A little less than two months ago, I woke up at four in the morning--having gone to bed a few short hours before--to hear agonized screams from the family room. I immediately ran out to find her flat on the floor with my dad by her side. "My leg is broken," she groaned. We surmised later that stress fractures in her femur from the bone cancer, combined with a small pivoting motion she had used as she got up from her recliner, caused the bone to snap in two. The paramedics arrived within fifteen minutes. I waited outside with my brother while they set the leg for transport. "This is going to hurt like hell, so I want you to just scream and let loose as much as you need to," the EMT told her.
"I don't want to scare the kids," she replied.
A week later she was back home and walking minimally with a walker.
She now alternates between using a walker for very short distances (from the bed to the bathroom) and a wheelchair for longer ones (from the bedroom to the kitchen/family room area). The rest of the time she watches TV and dozes, interrupted by her med schedule and meals. When she comes out to the family room, she checks her email and visits with us. For a while after she broke her leg, she seemed more alert than she had all summer; I could hold conversations with her, ask her about recipes, ask her about the past.
But the meds--or something else undetermined--are stealing her away again. She can't go back to chemo until she's healed enough from the break. Her warfarin medication (to prevent clotting) occasionally becomes too high a level in her bloodstream, making her bleed constantly from her lips and a few sores on her legs. Words and thoughts hover just beyond her lips sometimes, making us wait for whatever she wants. We do what we can to make her comfortable, but there is only so much you can do. Medicate on time, keep her tea warm, make her sandwiches to whatever exact specifications she requires.
And still there are worms in her bottled water and on the carpet by the bed. These are a new development. We are waiting until Monday for the doctor to tell us whatever the results of her MRI were.
It has gotten to the point that I don't want to know anymore. He could call on Monday and tell us she has ___ amount of time to live. He could say it's just the morphine and other things messing with her brain. I don't even know. It's easier not to know; to just exist day-to-day, to make bread and play piano and sew things and make her sandwiches. To just let things keep spinning on.
I know you are supposed to give this stuff up to God. It's not like any of this is in my hands anyway. But I still don't understand why. Why are my friends' mothers healthy and active and doing everything my mother should be, but isn't? Why am I the one cooking dinners and washing dishes and correcting my brother's math homework? Why am I the one taking pictures of him at the fair? Why am I putting my own worries about my career, my degrees, my schoolwork on hold so I can help hold my family together? My dad puts on a smiling face, but he is fraying at the edges.
I desperately want this to be a miracle story. To be something where God pulls us back from the brink of destruction and sets us back on our feet and back into the normal family we used to be. But I can't see the light at the end of the tunnel. There is a reason why miracles are called that, and it's because they're rare. If everything continues on in its logical progression, there is no light at the end of the tunnel. There is only mortality. Numbers. God has gone somewhere that I can't see, and to be honest it's hard to find faith at a time like this. If this is all really according to His plan, why does it all feel so terrible? Is this to make up for everything wonderful that has ever happened in my life? Why make her suffer so much?
In less than a month, I return to school. I don't want this to be the last coherent summer I have with my mom. I just want her to be my mom again.
If you read this, pray. Pray hard, because we need as much hope as we can get.
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Saturday, February 21, 2009
May Came Early
It's late February and it feels like late spring. The clouds are gone, the sun is out, and while it may not be exactly balmy out there, I can't help but raise my face to the sky and soak in what warmth there is. The sky has all the endless blue of a June afternoon... the kind of color you just want to leap into and never look back. We are leaving winter well behind and I can't say I'm sorry.
My concerto is memorized. Playing through it is a terrific feeling. Yeah, it's probably one of the easiest out of the 6 or so people who will be playing in the piano department's Concerto Competition semifinals. Yeah, it's not the longest. But it's beautiful and romantic and playing it makes me feel like I've achieved something. I'm no virtuoso, but I relish what I do and it reminds me why I love it so much.
I've got a second wind for this quarter. My depression seems to have lifted with the bad weather... this week is going to be crazy, but I feel like I can do it. I really think I can. Next quarter is going to be all kinds of insane, but I'm not even going to think about it right now. In a few weeks I'm going to Georgia... it will be sunny and gorgeous and I will be on the EAST COAST. For the first time in a while I am starting to feel beautiful. I don't need some guy to tell me I look pretty, because I can look in the mirror and see it for myself. I am strong, I am talented, I have plans and ambitions.
Now I just have to get over this stupid cold and I will be ready to take on the world.
My concerto is memorized. Playing through it is a terrific feeling. Yeah, it's probably one of the easiest out of the 6 or so people who will be playing in the piano department's Concerto Competition semifinals. Yeah, it's not the longest. But it's beautiful and romantic and playing it makes me feel like I've achieved something. I'm no virtuoso, but I relish what I do and it reminds me why I love it so much.
I've got a second wind for this quarter. My depression seems to have lifted with the bad weather... this week is going to be crazy, but I feel like I can do it. I really think I can. Next quarter is going to be all kinds of insane, but I'm not even going to think about it right now. In a few weeks I'm going to Georgia... it will be sunny and gorgeous and I will be on the EAST COAST. For the first time in a while I am starting to feel beautiful. I don't need some guy to tell me I look pretty, because I can look in the mirror and see it for myself. I am strong, I am talented, I have plans and ambitions.
Now I just have to get over this stupid cold and I will be ready to take on the world.
Thursday, February 12, 2009
At What Point...
...does it stop being a bad week and start being depression?
I consider myself a normally optimistic person. I tend to deal well with a busy schedule, not enough sleep, and a heavy workload. I find ways to intersperse school work with drawing, or writing, or watching TV, or going out for coffee with friends. Whenever something bad happens, I find some bright side. --I have another person to accompany, but then I can't go to the lessons of different vocalist so I can take on more work. My wrist gets tired, but I'm doing physical therapy to make it better. I had to get up early for what turned out to be a cancelled lesson on Saturday, but then I went downtown and had breakfast at the Bagelry. You get the picture.
For whatever reason, the last two weeks have not been so optimistic. I think it started right before my busy midterms--I had to sacrifice some things (English reading) to make room for other things (time-consuming theory assignment), had lessons that left me feeling panicked and like some kind of accompanist failure ("Your problem is that you're trying to play all the notes. What do you mean, you don't know which ones to leave out? You've never tried? Not even once? What are you going to do if you have to play this twice as fast as you just did?"), had schoolwork piling up behind hours of practice I needed to catch up on, was too depressed to devote myself to much practice, felt ignored and neglected and walked on, and most of all couldn't--can't--fight back the stifling sense of helplessness, grief, fear, loneliness.
It's better when I'm around friends. Then my mind is off of all this and I can focus on whatever they're talking about. They might ask me what's wrong, but I can barely vocalize it; how do you explain all that in some kind of neatly-wrapped package? How does "I'm stressed out" cover "What if I can't make it doing my dream major" and "Why don't you really care how my day went when you ask?" and "Twice today I thought about making this all go away."
You can't. So I smile and shrug and say "Fine," because it's easier. And no one wants to hear all that, anyway. What do you tell someone who says that? "It'll be okay, just hang in there." That's not enough.
And yes, when I'm around people--in Ear training being silly, in English discussing oppressed women, in my lesson playing a concerto--I'm okay.
But as soon as I'm by myself, walking to class or my room or the next thing on my schedule--as soon as I'm alone with my thoughts, all this comes rushing back and I have to swallow and try not to cry, because people might actually stop and ask questions. I hate being vulnerable, even with people that I trust. I cry to myself and no one else. That's why I pair "I'm having a lousy week" with a shrug, because that gives some semblance of the idea that I will get over it. But it's almost a reflex, because right now it's really difficult for me to believe that.
So, what is this? I can't see the light at the end of the tunnel. I'm lost in the dark. I don't even know where to turn. Walking out of the PAC tonight, I stopped and looked out over the bay, barely visible but for the reflections in the dark, and wondered what it would be like to jump off the dock, flounder for a minute--I've never been a good swimmer, if even a passable one--and then breathe in icy salt water, choke, fade...
I couldn't do that. I have too much at stake here, too much that I've worked for and established just to leave it all behind like another tragic statistic, you know-- X% of college students commit suicide every year. But the fact that I thought about it scares the shit out of me. That's where I start wondering where this went from "midterm stress" to "borderline suicidal."
I just need it all to end. That's all.
I consider myself a normally optimistic person. I tend to deal well with a busy schedule, not enough sleep, and a heavy workload. I find ways to intersperse school work with drawing, or writing, or watching TV, or going out for coffee with friends. Whenever something bad happens, I find some bright side. --I have another person to accompany, but then I can't go to the lessons of different vocalist so I can take on more work. My wrist gets tired, but I'm doing physical therapy to make it better. I had to get up early for what turned out to be a cancelled lesson on Saturday, but then I went downtown and had breakfast at the Bagelry. You get the picture.
For whatever reason, the last two weeks have not been so optimistic. I think it started right before my busy midterms--I had to sacrifice some things (English reading) to make room for other things (time-consuming theory assignment), had lessons that left me feeling panicked and like some kind of accompanist failure ("Your problem is that you're trying to play all the notes. What do you mean, you don't know which ones to leave out? You've never tried? Not even once? What are you going to do if you have to play this twice as fast as you just did?"), had schoolwork piling up behind hours of practice I needed to catch up on, was too depressed to devote myself to much practice, felt ignored and neglected and walked on, and most of all couldn't--can't--fight back the stifling sense of helplessness, grief, fear, loneliness.
It's better when I'm around friends. Then my mind is off of all this and I can focus on whatever they're talking about. They might ask me what's wrong, but I can barely vocalize it; how do you explain all that in some kind of neatly-wrapped package? How does "I'm stressed out" cover "What if I can't make it doing my dream major" and "Why don't you really care how my day went when you ask?" and "Twice today I thought about making this all go away."
You can't. So I smile and shrug and say "Fine," because it's easier. And no one wants to hear all that, anyway. What do you tell someone who says that? "It'll be okay, just hang in there." That's not enough.
And yes, when I'm around people--in Ear training being silly, in English discussing oppressed women, in my lesson playing a concerto--I'm okay.
But as soon as I'm by myself, walking to class or my room or the next thing on my schedule--as soon as I'm alone with my thoughts, all this comes rushing back and I have to swallow and try not to cry, because people might actually stop and ask questions. I hate being vulnerable, even with people that I trust. I cry to myself and no one else. That's why I pair "I'm having a lousy week" with a shrug, because that gives some semblance of the idea that I will get over it. But it's almost a reflex, because right now it's really difficult for me to believe that.
So, what is this? I can't see the light at the end of the tunnel. I'm lost in the dark. I don't even know where to turn. Walking out of the PAC tonight, I stopped and looked out over the bay, barely visible but for the reflections in the dark, and wondered what it would be like to jump off the dock, flounder for a minute--I've never been a good swimmer, if even a passable one--and then breathe in icy salt water, choke, fade...
I couldn't do that. I have too much at stake here, too much that I've worked for and established just to leave it all behind like another tragic statistic, you know-- X% of college students commit suicide every year. But the fact that I thought about it scares the shit out of me. That's where I start wondering where this went from "midterm stress" to "borderline suicidal."
I just need it all to end. That's all.
Sunday, February 8, 2009
A Good End to a Bad Week
I just made a payment for what will probably be the coolest spring break I've ever had. Keep in mind this is coming from someone who has never really traveled outside the Pacific Northwest because we have a million animals at home that pretty much keep us from taking any family vacations.... however, now that I'm old enough to do things on my own......
I'm going to Georgia for spring break!!!!!!!!
Not to do anything too crazy, mind you. Two friends and I are representing the WWU collegiate chapter of MTNA at the national MTNA conference. It will be full of learning opportunities and amazing music. But the evenings will be free for us to explore the city and do a bit of sightseeing... the weather will be warm and beautiful.... and I will be on the East Coast, a place I've never been. Just the idea of it fills me with excitement. I just paid for airfare, so it's official now. Unless some catastrophe happens, I'm going. I'm FLYING there (did I mention how I haven't flown since I was maybe 7?). AAHHH!!
This week has been pretty sucky, though, so it's a good way to end it. On the bright side, I did get some more of my concerto memorized (it's actually pretty close) and had a movie-watching cuddlepile with a couple friends last night. It was lovely. I need more physical contact with people in my life, I have decided.
Now to go prepare for my English midterm. Bleh. Can't wait for the quarter to be over!
I'm going to Georgia for spring break!!!!!!!!
Not to do anything too crazy, mind you. Two friends and I are representing the WWU collegiate chapter of MTNA at the national MTNA conference. It will be full of learning opportunities and amazing music. But the evenings will be free for us to explore the city and do a bit of sightseeing... the weather will be warm and beautiful.... and I will be on the East Coast, a place I've never been. Just the idea of it fills me with excitement. I just paid for airfare, so it's official now. Unless some catastrophe happens, I'm going. I'm FLYING there (did I mention how I haven't flown since I was maybe 7?). AAHHH!!
This week has been pretty sucky, though, so it's a good way to end it. On the bright side, I did get some more of my concerto memorized (it's actually pretty close) and had a movie-watching cuddlepile with a couple friends last night. It was lovely. I need more physical contact with people in my life, I have decided.
Now to go prepare for my English midterm. Bleh. Can't wait for the quarter to be over!
Friday, January 9, 2009
Randomness for 2009
This is usually the time and place where I post resolutions for the new year: eat better, lose weight, practice more, find a significant other... you know. Same old. Stuff I usually aspire to do on a day-to-day basis anyway, then fail at, then wake up the next day and start over again. Rather than bore you with that, I'll share a few thoughts that have popped into my brain in the last few minutes.
Why is time personified? Think about it for a second. We kill time, save time, borrow time, use time, waste time.... when really it's an abstract concept used to organize events in a linear fashion. Our culture's sense of time isn't even universal--I believe it is the Hopi Indians (correct me if I am wrong) who see all events as happening at once, or rather in a cyclical fashion rather than a line with a definite "past," "present," and "future." Our culture places a lot of importance on time; everything is scheduled, predicted, forecast, recorded. Every day is a new day, every year a new chance, new leaf. The Hopi Indians see it as the same day happening over and over and over.
I want to go to Canada this quarter. I've never really been, and the idea of shopping/sightseeing in a place I've never been is highly appealing. I just have to make time to get a passport so I can actually go up there. Which reminds me I need to get a hold of my birth certificate....
My parents were kind enough to get me Photoshop CS4 for my birthday, so now I am not only an amateur artist but a spoiled amateur artist. I really like the workspace layout--very easy to use and user-friendly (synonyms?). There are also some neat new features that I will be continuing to experiment with. I just wish I was a better artist and could take more advantage of all the tools at my disposal. I feel like it's a bit like giving expensive oil paints and top-quality brushes to an eight year old. Granted I've improved a lot with practice, but I constantly see artists who far outstrip me talent-wise. Well, onward and upward, I suppose.
Stargate Atlantis, one of my favorite TV shows ever, has its series finale tonight. The show's plot will be wrapped up in one or more straight-to-DVD movies, which is reassuring, but I'm not sure that I will be able to find another show starring an actor as likable and, let's face it, hot as Joe Flanigan (who plays the character Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard). Fortunately, my roommate is still working through Season 2, so I'll get to re-watch episodes with her and futher familiarize myself with Stargate lore for the fanfics I'll no doubt write (I am actually working on one now, but don't tell anyone).
My wrist, which has been sporadically painful for the last year, is finally about to be diagnosed. I went to a sports doctor yesterday and had it X-rayed; he's going to call me on Monday with a proper diagnosis and treatment. He thinks it's a problem with the soft tissue, which I suspected. The X-rays are mostly to ensure I haven't fractured it somehow. Whatever it is, I'll just be glad to finally know what's causing the mystery pain. I'm a pianist, I can't afford to just let this problem pop up when I might have a concert or something to play in.
My number of piano students has doubled in the last week (from 2 to 4). I don't charge a lot--only $10 per weekly lesson--but it's nice to have a little cash on the side, to help pad my trips downtown for bagels and other culinary delights. Hurray, Bellingham.
Why is time personified? Think about it for a second. We kill time, save time, borrow time, use time, waste time.... when really it's an abstract concept used to organize events in a linear fashion. Our culture's sense of time isn't even universal--I believe it is the Hopi Indians (correct me if I am wrong) who see all events as happening at once, or rather in a cyclical fashion rather than a line with a definite "past," "present," and "future." Our culture places a lot of importance on time; everything is scheduled, predicted, forecast, recorded. Every day is a new day, every year a new chance, new leaf. The Hopi Indians see it as the same day happening over and over and over.
I want to go to Canada this quarter. I've never really been, and the idea of shopping/sightseeing in a place I've never been is highly appealing. I just have to make time to get a passport so I can actually go up there. Which reminds me I need to get a hold of my birth certificate....
My parents were kind enough to get me Photoshop CS4 for my birthday, so now I am not only an amateur artist but a spoiled amateur artist. I really like the workspace layout--very easy to use and user-friendly (synonyms?). There are also some neat new features that I will be continuing to experiment with. I just wish I was a better artist and could take more advantage of all the tools at my disposal. I feel like it's a bit like giving expensive oil paints and top-quality brushes to an eight year old. Granted I've improved a lot with practice, but I constantly see artists who far outstrip me talent-wise. Well, onward and upward, I suppose.
Stargate Atlantis, one of my favorite TV shows ever, has its series finale tonight. The show's plot will be wrapped up in one or more straight-to-DVD movies, which is reassuring, but I'm not sure that I will be able to find another show starring an actor as likable and, let's face it, hot as Joe Flanigan (who plays the character Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard). Fortunately, my roommate is still working through Season 2, so I'll get to re-watch episodes with her and futher familiarize myself with Stargate lore for the fanfics I'll no doubt write (I am actually working on one now, but don't tell anyone).
My wrist, which has been sporadically painful for the last year, is finally about to be diagnosed. I went to a sports doctor yesterday and had it X-rayed; he's going to call me on Monday with a proper diagnosis and treatment. He thinks it's a problem with the soft tissue, which I suspected. The X-rays are mostly to ensure I haven't fractured it somehow. Whatever it is, I'll just be glad to finally know what's causing the mystery pain. I'm a pianist, I can't afford to just let this problem pop up when I might have a concert or something to play in.
My number of piano students has doubled in the last week (from 2 to 4). I don't charge a lot--only $10 per weekly lesson--but it's nice to have a little cash on the side, to help pad my trips downtown for bagels and other culinary delights. Hurray, Bellingham.
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