Sister time

When I scheduled my colon surgery I reached out to my sister and asked her if she would come here to help me when I was released from hospital. After my last surgery I needed help simply getting out of bed and up from the couch for the first few days, and I expected to need similar help this time. Additionally, I knew I’d be limited in my ability to lift anything more than 10 lbs, so having someone on hand to help with anything involving lifting would be important.

My relationship with my sister has been a rocky one for most of our lives, but in the past few years it has improved. It used to be that she would lash out at me the majority of time; lately that has happened infrequently, and she’s been apologetic for her cruel behavior when it does happen. Getting emotionally eviscerated is never good, but this is truly progress considering where we started.

Sister seemed flattered that I asked for her help, and excited that she was going to take care of her “little sister.” Of course, she was also glad to be visiting Napa, too. After all, she and her husband own a house here that they purchased because they plan to move to Napa eventually.

In fact, their house in Napa became a focal point of her trip here in the weeks leading up to my surgery. Certainly she still crooned about taking care of me, but she also decided that she wanted to try furnishing the house while she was here so it could be marketed as a short-term rental and make it easier for them to take possession when they are ready to move. And this was probably the source of the stress that caused trouble for me.

Sister flew in the day after my surgery and took care of my house and dog until I was ready to be released. She also picked me up from the hospital on my release date and helped me with the chores I couldn’t do, such as wheeling the waste bins to the curb, and carrying groceries and laundry. However, she was clearly mostly focused on furnishing her house and preparing an online listing.

I accompanied her on most of the trips to the consignment and thrift stores since I was feeling well-rested and had only small amount of well-controlled pain. Sitting in my car as a passenger or sitting in a chair while she shopped allowed me to take it easy and take a look at what the shops had to offer, too. But as sister started feeling her time for prepping her house running out, she started acting more resentful and angry towards me when I asked for help.

One morning in particular stands out for me. It was waste pick up day, and I had asked her to roll out the big bins the night before. We were up early and the bins hadn’t yet been picked up when she discovered she had overlooked rolling one of them to the curb. Sister ran out to put the bin in position, then came back inside to get her breakfast ready. Just as she was sitting down to eat I found a bag of trash she had forgotten to put in the bins, so I asked if she could quickly bring it outside. She exploded at me.

Did I expect her to wait on me hand and foot? Why couldn’t I take the bag outside myself, since it seemed lightweight and under my 10 lb limit? Why was I being such a baby? I started crying and reminded her that my gut had been cut open just the week before. She was not deterred and downplayed my surgery; after all, I had small incisions, it couldn’t have been that bad and I was clearly exaggerating. I continued to cry and pointed out to her that there were other reasons I needed help besides my lifting limitations, including having pain and fatigue. And then I walked away and tried to remind myself that she would be gone in a few days.

What was truly hurting me wasn’t just this exchange, though. Over the course of the week sister had made the observation that her husband and I had similar thinking and communication patterns. I could observe her interacting with him in a patient and loving way, yet she didn’t do that with me. While I was crying that morning I asked her why this was the case. Why was she able to be so patient and kind to her husband yet so hurtful to me?

It took a few minutes for her to think and to apologize to me. But the damage had been done. I knew that her main focus had become readying her house and not helping me, and that I had better limit the number of times I asked her for assistance.

The outburst did help us build a bridge in one way, at least. Sister had mentioned that I had said a few things in the past few days that had hurt her feelings. At first she said she didn’t want to tell me what those statements were despite my request that she do so that I may gain better awareness. Eventually she did tell me, and it was helpful to have a better understanding of her tender points.

*sigh*

My family is so hard to deal with. I still have hope that at some point I’ll be able to enjoy time with sister without getting a picked on. I hope that day isn’t very far off.

 

 

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So it goes

The visit back to Chicagoland was as disturbing as I’d feared. Although I landed on a Wednesday afternoon, I didn’t go to see my mother until Saturday. In between, I worked a couple days in our Chicago office and tried to set up meals and coffee breaks with friends. Sadly, only one one of those rendezvous actually worked out, but I had to try.

That Saturday morning I picked up a rental car and started the drive down to the rural area where Mom lives. I dawdled a bit along the way, stopping at a tollway oasis for coffee and a breakfast sandwich. When I arrived at her house, she met me near the door and seemed eager to see me. I had called her that morning and alerted her I was on my way and would be taking her out to lunch so she would be dressed and ready to go. We didn’t have to rush off after I arrived, though, so we visited for about an hour before leaving. This consisted of me showing Mom photos on my phone and me talking a lot. Mom — formerly an extremely talkative person — had hardly anything to say, even when I directly questioned her about things from the past and present.

The drive to the restaurant took about 40 minutes. In that time, I think Mom talked for about five. At lunch, I commented on the changes in the area. Again, Mom had little to say.

All through my childhood, teen, and early adult years my Mom would talk your ear off if given the chance. She would talk to telemarketers who called the house until THEY hung up. She had a limited filter and would often make borderline bawdy comments for laughs. But that person is gone. In it’s place is someone who often says “I can’t remember. My memory is no good anymore.”

Physically she is in terrible shape. She is obese and has asthma, diabetes, and hypertension, all of which are only marginally under control because she just doesn’t care to do so. Poorly managed diabetes is the mostly likely cause of her dementia, in fact. On this visit, her legs were swollen, and her breathing was labored after just the short walk from the house to the car.

I returned the following Monday to take her to the dentist. Since I didn’t need to do that until the afternoon and I had a few phone meetings, I brought my laptop and did some work. Mom has no Internet connection, but my employer pays for use of the hotspot when necessary, and my phone had a solid connection. It was still challenging to work at her house because I could only find one place to connect my laptop to power: the same power strip where her microwave is connected.

The truly appalling condition of the house struck me that day. Mom remarried after she and Dad divorced. Her current husband is a hard-working guy, but while he runs his own business as a “horse trader” (someone who trades in heavy equipment like backhoes and trucks), he’s not an educated man. He grew up in a poor household, never even finished grade school, and is functionally illiterate. He used to have Mom do his basic book-keeping and attend to anything that required reading and writing skills; now he has his son do that. Back when Mom would talk a lot and share all the nitty-gritty details of her life, we learned that stepfather’s main source of business capital was mortgaging the house and credit card cash advances. I’m sure he’s still doing that now.

Maybe lack of capital is why the house is in such bad shape. Or maybe stepfather’s standards are just really low. The door handle on the bathroom was completely missing. The door itself was mangled a bit, probably because the new puppy stepfather bought six months ago did it. (What was he thinking?! Why did he think it was a good idea to bring a puppy to a woman who can’t remember to take her meds or eat regular meals?!) The outlet in the bedroom in which I first tried to work wasn’t accepting my grounded power plug. I managed to find an adapter, but the laptop still wouldn’t charge, so the outlet must not have worked at all. In the kitchen, several of the cabinet handles were broken.  The linoleum is missing in some places and the plywood sub-floor is visible. Every piece of furniture in the house was suffering from heavy wear or in some state of disrepair.

The older dog would start barking like crazy whenever I made a movement, and Mom would then scream at it to stop. The now six-month old puppy wasn’t house trained and kept peeing around the house. Not finding any paper towels in the kitchen, I asked Mom where I could find something to clean up after the puppy, and she directed me to get a rag from the bathroom cabinet. I couldn’t tell the difference between the rags and the “good” towels.

That was my breaking point. That was when I started to cry, as I walked along the hallway, with a wet cloth in my hand to wipe up dog urine from the sides of the couch and easy chair, and from the stained wood floor. I don’t think Mom saw me cry.

After spending a bit of time talking with stepfather when he returned to the house, I started the drive back to my friend A’s house where I was staying for those few days. Along the way I stopped at a Walgreens and picked up beer and a giant bag of kettle corn so I could comfort myself that night.

I had to return to Mom’s house the next day to take her to another doctor’s appointment. It hadn’t been part of my plan for the day, but stepfather had asked me to call the doctor the day before and ask for advice on her swelling and difficulty breathing at night. In just the three days that had passed since I had seen her, Mom’s legs continued to swell. The pulmonologist looked her over and then said her problem was not her lungs. This wasn’t an asthma complication, and she needed to see a cardiologist. He said she had a problem with her heart. That’s all he would say, but he did get her an appointment with the cardiology nurse practitioner for the following week.

What he wouldn’t say was that she has congestive heart failure.

I drove straight from Mom’s house to the airport. I turned in the rental car and went through the motions of getting through security. I had some extra time, so I bought a large beer and sat at a table and tried hard not to cry. I’m still trying.

A visit home

It’s been great to have my energy back again! The new estrogen patch seems to be working well for me. I’ve been on it for a week solid and I finally feel like I’m firing on all cylinders again.

Sleep is pretty good. I do get hot spells, but they’re manageable. My new routine for the evening is to turn off the heat and open the bedroom window enough to let the cool night air inside. When I get hot, usually just turning back the top quilt is enough to cool me down, and if not I’ll toss off the other two layers (a blanket and top sheet) if needed. I have the fan with remote control in position just in case, but rarely have had to use it. In the morning, the house is usually around 60 F when I get up — which makes for a chilly start to the day — but the thermostat is just outside the bedroom door.

I’m still allowing myself more time to rest and taking on less, too. Despite my new energy, I’m still healing inside. Last Saturday, for example, I had plans to attend a potluck party in the evening. A chance to go on a short hike that morning popped up, but I declined because I didn’t want to totally pack my Saturday. It turned out to be a good call.

However, there are some stressors over which I have little control. A few weeks ago I was urged by sister and stepfather to get back to Chicago soon for a visit with Mom. I had been planning a trip back to Chicago in late June this year to attend sister’s wedding celebration, but they told me not to wait that long.

I had to figure out how to fit a trip back to Chicago in the near term into my budget and schedule, so I went hunting for cheap fares online. I found a flight on Southwest that worked out for my schedule, and not *too* bad on my budget.

I depart on Wednesday, and I plan to spend two days with Mom: Saturday and Monday. Sunday will be a day of rest and relaxing  (I hope!), and the rest of the days are work days. Sadly, I can’t get work to pay for the trip since there is no business need for me to visit Chicago, but at least I won’t have to burn up a lot more PTO, and should retain enough for all the medical stuff I have to schedule in this year.

This trip is really stressing me out, and I’m not entirely sure why. There are plenty of possible reasons. It may be because:

  • I’m dreading seeing my mother. Talking with her weekly I get an idea of how poorly she’s doing, but that’s not the same as experiencing it in person.
  • I’m still mending and not feeling up to the rigors of packing and travel.
  • I’m leaving behind my personal comforts: the new friends I’ve made, my dog, and the little “nest” I’ve been building in the rental house.
  • I’m leaving behind the glorious weather (sunny, warm, lots of greenery and flowers from the plentiful March rain) and heading into a typical Midwest spring. (There was snow in Chicago on Saturday, and it was 70 F there yesterday.)

And, then there is answer E: All of the Above.

The stress is manifesting itself in waking up with a worried mind, and heartburn. I’ve been combating the first by writing down lists of things I need to do. The last one is a new development for me, and I had to pick up some OTC meds at the pharmacy to keep on hand.

I’ve been experimenting with different Bay Area airports over the past year, and this will be my first time flying in/out of Oakland International Airport. It’s both good and bad that the flight leaves Oakland at 6 AM: good because there should be little traffic on the expressway at that time of day, so my drive from Napa should take just over an hour; bad, because it means I need to get up at 4 AM. *gulp*

Part of my time this past weekend was spent online researching how much time to allow for the drive to the airport, what amenities are at the airport, and what amenities are on the flight. I’m a pretty good flyer, but that’s because I prepare for my personal comfort in advance. (Maybe that should be a separate blog post some day.)

M will drive me to the airport and take over house-sitting duties (mainly Hannah care) while I’m gone. On the Chicago end, sister will pick me up at Midway Airport and I’ll stay with her and her guy for a few nights. Come the weekend, I’ll pick up a rental car near their house and drive down to the south suburbs to stay with my friend A for the rest of the visit.

*Fingers crossed* all my prep goes as planned, and that I get a comfy seat on my early morning flight so I can sleep.

Mom update

It’s been awhile since I’ve mentioned anything about my mother, so I thought i’d do an update post. It’s taken several months to work through all her doctors to get a handle on her full health status, but now we think we have most everything figured out.

We already knew mom has diabetes and asthma. As we got her meds organized, it became obvious she also has high blood pressure and high cholesterol. She’s on a lot of meds, including two different types of injectible insulin, an oral med for diabetes, an oral med for asthma, and a maintenance inhaler. Just keeping them all organized and filled is a chore. I looked into mail order prescription services, but her insurance didn’t cover the one that really intrigued me (Pillpack.com), and mom said she prefers to get her meds from the pharmacy anyway.

Sister and I were worried about mom’s inability to take her diabetes medications regularly, and her primary care doc thought that had a lot to do with her forgetfulness. Finding a way to get her to take her meds properly was imperative for us.

We also recognized that mom was stuck at home with only her two little dogs for company. Her days consisted of getting up and fixing breakfast for her and stepfather, then spending the time after he left for work mostly watching TV and dozing in a chair. She would do some light housework and usually get dinner ready during that time, but she wasn’t getting any real physical or mental stimulation. She was also skipping or missing meals, which wasn’t good for her blood sugar. Mom lives in a rural area and there are no close neighbors for her to interact with, either.

After a bit of research into senior services and activities in her area we found that there was a day program at a private senior living facility within 30 minutes of her home. We also discovered that the township would pick her up and drop her off there for a small fee.

It took quite a bit of negotiation to get mom to agree to visit the place and try the activities. We had to get a lot of forms completed with health details and doctor permissions for activities, too. We finally managed to get her going to the day program in July. She goes two to three times a week and is loving it. There are chair exercise classes, games, puzzles, and cooking classes. The staff make sure she takes her insulin shot and she gets lunch and a snack, so her blood sugar is now more under control.

Stepfather covers the cost of the transportation, and sister and I split the cost of the day program since they can’t afford it. Each month it costs me between $250 and $350, and I can make that fit in my budget. Every week when I talk to her she tells me how much she enjoys going there and thanks me for paying for it.

Tomorrow sister is taking mom to the neurologist to discuss the results of mom’s most recent EEG. The first visit to this doc resulted in a diagnosis of dementia and a prescription that mom had to stop after a few days because it made her sick. We’re not sure what this visit will bring, but hopefully there will be something else she can try for the dementia symptoms.

The last few times I’ve talked to my mom she has mentioned that she would love to come out to visit me. I’m considering that progress.

The distance I’ve had from her has helped me feel less stressed about my mom, but I recognize that sister has taken on a lot of the burden of taking her to doctors and organized her health care. I had a pretty transparent dream about this a few weeks ago, in fact. In my dream, I was living in a beautiful suite of rooms in a big house. I left my suite to go find my sister since I knew she was living in this big house with me. When I found her room it was small, cramped, and dingy. It really didn’t take too much thought to realize that even subconsciously I know sister has the more rotten deal here. :-/

Go with your gut

I broke the stand-off with father and stepmother. I’m not sure if it was a good decision or not. On the one hand, I learned some stuff that is relevant, including some health history and more about how they want to interact with me. On the other hand, I’m not sure I can handle the latter.

It has to be clarified that father and stepmother are a unit and they are rarely if ever interacting separately with me or my sister. It became apparent shortly after they connected over 20 years ago that this was their preference — that every phone call and every visit took place with BOTH of them, and never with father only — and this position has been vehemently guarded ever since. There was even a reality TV-worthy altercation at the funeral of my paternal grandmother because the cousins wanted to place a small photo album in the casket and said album did not contain a photo of stepmother, yet did contain a photo of my real mother. The bickering at the wake and funeral, and the physical wrestling over this little album was intense. (Sister and I weren’t involved in these altercations at all; when asked by a cousin what I thought of the situation I mildly said I didn’t think it was worth fighting over and to leave the album out. I can’t recall what happened to it.) Both sister and I think my stepmother has a lot to do with my painful experiences over the past two months.

Over Labor Day weekend I felt like I was ready to deal with father and stepmother again. I finally got through to them on that Sunday while I was out walking the dog. There was a long conversation because they were imparting some family medical history they thought I should know, and there were several minutes where I did get a bit worked up because I was being questioned about the validity of information I was sharing. Stepmother was telling me I was wrong about what I knew about my maternal grandmother’s death, and I was insisting that wasn’t the case because I was there at the hospital and I talked to the doctors myself. When I realized I was getting argumentative I apologized and softened my tone. (But I wasn’t going to back down on the facts. I was in my 20s when my maternal grandmother died. I was very familiar with the health problems she had because I’d lived with her for several months after graduating undergrad. I wasn’t a child who was getting my information second-hand, which stepmother apparently thought was the case because she kept saying “Who told you that? Where did you get that information?” Ugh! I WAS THERE! I had to repeat that exact phrase about 10 times!!)

There were a few times during this conversation where father commented that they had been wanting to tell me this information, but that they were waiting for me to call them. So the last time this came up I acknowledged my lack of calling by saying that I had to take a break for a while.

The next day, I received an email from my dad. There was more documentation about the medical history, and also some other commentary that I’ve excerpted below.

Now on to another concern of mine: My feelings don’t seem to count or at least that was the way I felt when you said yesterday, “I needed to take a break from you.”  About a year and a half ago, since you are one of seven children involved with my life, [stepmother] and I asked you to take one of the seven days of the week to simply make a very brief call early in the day to check that all is well here.  Your response to me at that time was, “Well it goes both ways. You know my phone number, you can call me.” And when you were still in Chicago, I never heard from you on ‘your day.’ I only heard from you when you were upset with something.  You do not have to do the brief weekly phone call.  It is your choice to refuse.  When a child becomes an adult, roles change. Older parents cannot continue to solve the problems their adult children experience. There are not enough hours in the day!  I try as an older parent to not burden you with my minor day-to-day problems.

I thought this was worth responding to in a thoughtful and honest way, so I took my time to think about what I wanted to say and how I wanted to say it. Then I sent an email response about a week later. I’ve edited out some of the message because it’s not relevant.

Dear Dad,

I really appreciate the thoughtful email. Very often I find it easier to communicate in writing and prefer this form of dialog because it allows me to reflect before I react. Conversations aren’t as easy for me; I find my immediate emotions to what is being discussed sometimes get in the way.

There is a lot here to reflect back on.

[edited out…] as to my not adhering to a schedule to call you, all I can say is: it’s complicated. It sounds like you think of these weekly phone calls as a short check in, while I think of them as opportunities to talk and share updates. I wasn’t feeling that you were interested in sharing anything about yourself (your health or whatever was going on) with me for a short while there and I found it distressing. I am trying very hard to change parts of myself and to let go of negative feelings like anger, sadness, etc. It’s not an easy process for me. Sometimes I need to just turn inward to attend to it. That’s what I meant by taking a break. Then when I feel strong again, I can pick life back up and move forward.

The crux of the issue really is that I’ve felt for many, many, many years that I’m only acceptable and loved if I’m doing exactly what you tell me to do. That if I do something outside of what you find acceptable behavior, I’m bad and not worthy of your love and attention. Maybe that is not what you intend at all, just as I don’t intend my withdrawal periods to be slights on your feelings. I guess this is a pattern that is going to be a very stubborn one to break. I’m trying, though. I’m really, really trying.

Love,

Linda

I thought that my efforts to really open up here could be a step in the right direction. I thought that expressing my feelings would be appreciated. And I also thought I wrote in pretty clear English that didn’t require any subtle interpretations. Apparently, I was wrong.

The response to this message came into my email box Friday afternoon, but I chose not to read it right away. I thought I was ready to read it yesterday morning, but I’m sure not sure I can even think of a time when I would be ready to read this response. (Again, I edited out some details that were irrelevant.)

Dear Linda,

I was glad to get your response. Sorry I didn’t get back sooner, but we had dentist appointment [sic] on several days and lots of Church meetings…etc., all out of town.

[Edited out]

As to asking you to make a very brief call early in the day once a week to check that all is well here I did because you are my daughter and I thought that was not any kinda stressor [sic].  As I said in that email, you do not have to do the brief weekly phone call.  It is your choice to refuse.  But, still I don’t feel that expecting me to listen to all your ‘problems’ while you are walking the dog, is my responsibility either. Experiencing problems and solving them yourself is part and parcel of life.  As I said in that email, I try as an older parent to not burden you with my minor day-to-day problems.

You also said, “I wasn’t feeling that you were interested in sharing anything about yourself (your health or whatever was going on) with me for a short while there”, yet you totally cut me off when I tried to tell you of some of my experiences in the Redwoods in California.  We have been in California and up and down the West Coast quite a few times. We have had family living in California since 1988 and for ten years had a niece and her family in Napa. [I have no idea what any of this means as I have no recollection of a conversation where I was cutting off anything being discussed. This is all news to me.]

As far as health goes, I am able to make up my mind about what I want to do with my health concerns. Just because you were there when a doctor came in does not mean that you are making or have a say in my decision.  I have a Health Care Power of Attorney (HCPA) to take care of that if I get incapacitated. And, several of those doctors are far from being competent about what I need in medical care. My Primary Physician disagreed with what you heard said while you were in the room. [This is a reference to my visit to him in the hospital back in late June. There were some doctors and specialists that came in while I was present so I couldn’t help hearing what they were saying. Again, it seems that by expressing any interest at all in his health I am making some sort of medical recommendation to him?]

[Edited out]

I’m sorry you feel that I tell you what to do and that you question whether you are loved when I make a suggestion.  Parents do things like that because they love their child and don’t want the child to experience some of the hurts and tribulations.  At this point in my life, I must tend to my own problems!  We all have to grow up and be responsible for our choices and actions. I certainly can’t spend my older adult years settling anybody else’s problems.  I need to focus on my aging process and looking after myself.  I love you and I always will!

Love, Dad

I was devastated by this email. I couldn’t believe the huge gap that existed in what I had thought I was clearly communicating and his (their?) interpretation of it. It hurt to read that my attempts at conversation were seen as burdensome sharing of my “problems.” (That really floors me because I think I’ve talked mainly about how happy I am here and how well I’ve been doing with making friends. I guess talking about the health issues I was experiencing earlier this year were the burdensome part?)

My scary (to me) admission that I felt I was only loved by doing exactly what I am told to do was interpreted as “you question whether you are loved when I make a suggestion.” The difference may be a bit subtle, but it is there. No, I don’t mind suggestions at all. What does make me feel unloved and uncomfortable is inflexible insistence that I must be the one to make regular contact. Plus I’ve had conflicts when I was younger (pre-stepmother) where I received rigid instructions and was punished and denigrated for not following them. (Like the time I called to ask for a few more minutes on my curfew since I was running late and was told that if I was late I was grounded, no matter what. So I stayed out until 3 AM. Father yelled at me in the morning, pounded on the table, and called me a slut.) That’s what I meant when I said this had been going on for many, many, many years. I thought that by opening up in that way I’d hear a “water under the bridge” type response and assurance that wasn’t the case at all.

I cried so hard reading that email that Hannah dog moved into her “comfort dog” position right next to me. I called my sister and I read her the messages.

Sister and I both have opinions on what is going on here. We suspect that much of what is written was edited or dictated by stepmother. We know that she is a controlling person and her identity as a highly intelligent, highly informed person is very important to her. She is intelligent, but she seems to feel threatened by other people’s intelligence, too. I suspect that she is still angry and threatened by the fact that I was not only present during the doctor/specialist visits during father’s recent hospitalization, but that I actually asked a follow-up question or two of her and in subsequent conversations with father where she wasn’t present. And the recent conversation we had where I was correcting her information about my maternal grandmother’s death probably irritates her, too.

While sister has suggested that I try to call and ask for a private conversation with father, I’m not ready to do that. For now I’ve decided that I have to go back to a father and stepmother hiatus again.

Highs and Lows

Fair warning: there’s some adult content here!

Stuff that makes me feel good:

  • I’ve been getting into a groove with exercising in the mornings. I found this fitness program that I really like on the local PBS station. It’s a sort of ballet/classical dance based program and each episode is only about 25 minutes long. I went looking for DVDs online and found that in addition to the DVDs you can subscribe to a bigger catalog of streaming programs, so I did that instead. With my employer fitness program subsidy it only costs me about $7 a month. In case anyone wants to try these classes they’re at essentrics.com. At the end of each session I say “Thank you, Miranda Esmonde-White!”
  • One of my close friends from Chicago contacted me a couple days ago and asked if it would work for her to visit me over Labor Day weekend. Yes!! She scored a super cheap flight. We’re going to have so much fun!!
  • I’ve been listening to the Against the Stream podcasts more often and thinking about how I can add meditation into my days. I’ve sat a couple of times for a whole 20 breaths.  Woo hoo!
  • In a totally different vein, I’ve also been amused by listening to the Guys we F****d podcasts (NSFW!), starting with the oldest ones first. I still have quite a few to catch up on, but am finding them intriguing. I admire that these young women are claiming their sexuality so boldly, and find some of their advice to be spot on, yet at the same time I think they still have some things to learn about relationships. But they are stand up comedians, so the podcast isn’t meant to be super serious. A few of the shows have been annoying, but I just skip past those. It will be interesting to see how the podcast continues to develop as I catch up with the current episodes.

Not so good stuff:

  • I cried during a conference call today. I think my colleagues (both women) knew what was happening. One sent me an email message tonight that was really nice. I’ve been working on a project that is really frustrating the hell out of me because I seem to be hitting all sorts of roadblocks. The project team keeps telling me I need to step up and make some progress, and that just is getting to be too much for me because besides this project I have like 5 billion other things I am supposed to be doing. I have 3,500 emails in my inbox. I’m waaaaayyyy behind on just about everything, and I keep getting more piled on. My new boss (yes, I have a new boss and a new organization I’m kinda sorta not quite fully integrated into) says things like “Just speak up when you need help,” so I do and the people he tells me to get help from are also already really busy and help just a tiny bit and then it just bounces right back to me. *sigh* Every Friday I am ECSTATIC that the weekend is nearly here. Every Monday I am hopeful. By Wednesday, I am frequently in the pit of despair. But I have a job, right? I am employed and able to pay my bills and all that. That’s good, right? Right?
  • I am currently in a stand-off with my father and stepmother. When I was back in Chicago for my mother’s 75th birthday my dad was unexpectedly hospitalized. I hadn’t been planning to add a visit to my dad that trip, but I had a rental car and some flexibility in my schedule so I drove out to see him in the hospital. He was released a few days later and has been doing OK, but I apparently made a couple critical errors around that whole event. I didn’t know that he and stepmother don’t want any references to them EVER posted on social media. I had made a reference on my Facebook account to going to the hospital to see him and what his condition was. Big error, apparently. A lurking relative contacted dad and stepmom about his “health scare” which is how they got tipped off. They let me know they did not like that I had posted something about them on Facebook, etc., etc. Fine, I took my lumps and said I wouldn’t ever reference them again on any social media [which I guess I’m sort of breaking right now], but apparently that wasn’t enough and they were still miffed about it. Also, the fact that I had expressed any interest at all in dad’s treatment by asking questions was seen as bad, too. When sister had a visit with dad and stepmom last month, stepmom apparently complained vehemently about how I had not only shared information about dad’s health with all sorts of people who didn’t need to know (and not just mentioning that he had been hospitalized on Facebook, but likely talking to my friends about it, horrors!!) but that I also had tried to give my dad medical advice. ????? I guess by asking questions, I was giving advice. So for the past three weeks I have been in a f*** them mood and refused to call them, and since they refuse to call any of their “kids” (we are expected to call them once a week…yes, EXPECTED, as they have made abundantly clear to me) we are in a stand off. They’re older than me and not in as good health as me, so I’m gonna bet they break first. We’ll see.

Not sure if good or bad:

  • Last weekend I did some social media “gardening” (such as removing some “friends,” etc.). One of the things I did was update my Google profile photo. I don’t use Google +, although I do have an account, but I use Gmail and comment on Blogspot blogs and had noticed that my photo was very old (like, at least 14 years old!). So I changed it out for a more recent one. Ever since then I’ve been getting notifications that men I do not know (they are all men) had added me to their circles. I have checked my G+ privacy settings and strangers should not be able to add me to their circles, so I’m very confused by this development. And a little creeped out by it, too. Is G+ now some sort of clandestine dating site where guys troll for women? WTH?!
  • I had a very odd, but very sexual dream about an old boyfriend last night. The boyfriend in my dream was someone I dated a very long time (like nearly 30 years) ago. I had ended the relationship because he had become very disrespectful of me (by cheating a couple times, and essentially raping me once) and then proceeded to creepily stalk me for a while afterwards. So it disturbs me that I had this dream about him and it involved sexual stuff. Certainly I’m feeling healthier these days because I’m having…ahem…cravings, but to dream about this particular guy in this particular way…ewww. Maybe I need to listen to less Guys we F****d podcasts.

On being child-free

While unwinding after work today (and it was such a gorgeous evening to do so on the back porch, cocktail in hand), B brought my attention to a segment he heard today on our local public radio station, WBEZ. The segment was called “Why Have Children?” and included an interview with the author of a book examining the ethical issues involved in deciding to procreate.

The summary included in the link above is very good, but listen to the segment if you have time as the calls were particularly interesting. There is a call from a man about how he and his wife have been considering this issue for some time and are still not sure, and the last call is from a woman who says she hears people tell her how selfish she is for not having children. While the author is surprised, I’m not. Although logically, really, if a person chooses not to procreate aren’t they really being selfless? Isn’t choosing to not produce another person to consume finite resources a decision that frees up those same resources for the offspring of others? Can’t that be called selfless or even altruistic?

I can’t say that I put a lot of heavy thinking into my decision to be child-free. Although the fact that I choose to call my state of not having children to be one of freedom says something about my mindset, I think. I have several child-free friends, and I think some of them do wish they could have/would have made children at some point in their lives. But not me.

For many people, there seems to be some thoughtlessness that goes along with procreating. Even the author comments on this in her interview. “It’s natural,” or “it’s the next step after marriage,” seems to be the cultural norm most of us face. I actually did face this assumption in my twenties. I hadn’t gotten married yet, but I thought that I would do so and just have kids since that’s what we’re biologically optimized to do.

But at 30, when I finally did make plans to be married I talked to my soon-to-be husband about the fact that I didn’t really think I wanted to have kids ever, and he was OK with that. I can’t really put my finger on one single reason why I didn’t want to reproduce because there seemed to be many reasons: I doubted my ability as a parent; I was concerned about the costs of raising a child or children; I had reservations about adding to the population of an already over-populated planet; I felt like I had a lot of personal development ahead of me that would be interrupted by the addition of a child or children.

For six years of marriage I continued my hormonal birth control and then I finally decided I should stop the drugs. I still didn’t want kids, though, and husband concurred. So I asked him to get a vasectomy. He balked. I said I’d get a tubal ligation, and he urged against it. He said it was not because he wanted children, but because he didn’t want me to have unnecessary surgery.

Turns out he was probably right about that, as I could have gotten an IUD instead if I had just seen another OB/GYN. The one I had at the time was very discouraging of it and said she couldn’t guarantee the insertion would work since I was “nulliparous.” She was also highly doubtful when I said I wanted to have a tubal ligation.

I should have been insulted when she insisted that she meet and talk with my husband first before she would perform the procedure. I was certainly incredulous that in 21st century Chicago I had to jump through so many hoops to get surgically sterilized when I was “only 36 years old.” I was counseled that if I ever did want to have children I’d have to use IVF, and I thought, “Yeah, me and pretty much every other 36+ year old female will need to use a lab to get pregnant these days; no surprise there.” But the fact that as an adult woman I had to get my husband’s approval first…damn, that amazes me now, nearly 10 years later.

I’ve never regretted my decision to have the tubal ligation, by the way. (Not even when an accident during surgery — oops, we perforated your uterus, sorry! — turned an out-patient procedure into an overnight hospital stay.) I’m glad I took the surgery route back before women’s access to birth control was being challenged, like it is now.

For the most part I don’t judge others that have children. I can’t say I’m completely judgement-free because I think people who have more than two children are being selfish or misguided. I’m a big proponent of zero or negative population growth because I think there are more than enough Homo sapiens on Earth. (Let’s give the rest of the life forms a better chance, OK?)

I’ve never wanted IVF or to adopt or foster children. I’m perfectly happy being an aunt to one niece and one nephew, and having lots of friends (including an awesome guy like B!) who are child-free like me. And I’m not selfish, just practical and realistic. Or at least that’s what I think.