Thursday, October 12, 2006

Southern Woman's Martyr Syndrome

First off I want to say, that is a fake tattoo on Chuy's arm that hadn't worn off. Second thing is, there goes my Mondays with Alexander for awhile as I won't be able to life more than five pounds. My coffee mug is that heavy.

Today's title comes from my son-in-law, Preston's mom, Edith. Her doctor had given her this phrase in response to her, and my, inability to let others do for us. I cracked up when I read her email, this is so true.

When faced with this daunting surgery tomorrow, instead of writing out all the details for Sarah to follow, I've been puttering around the house watering the hundreds of house plants, especially the ones up in my room. In an 800 square foot space upstairs, I believe I have crammed up to several hundred containers.

Sabrina picked me another bucket of tomatoes that I feel personally obliged to eat...Lord knows when I'll get good food again. I'm in uncharted waters.

I was told, at pre-op, to expect a month of no driving to which I'd replied, "wanna bet?" And after noon today, nothing but clear liquids at which I'd asked them to put in writing that they would allow strong black coffee in the morning or there wouldn't be anything left of me to operate on. They agreed if I'd get up tomorrow at 4 to just drink one cup. OK. Duh.

Paloma and Scotty went on a mutual crying jag last night that sucked Tony in enough to provoke door slamming, wall banging and screaming regarding an issue that didn't even concern him in the least. Jack cried about a thunderstorm, Lily dillydallied for four hours on a reading summary and Jose retreated, once again, up the tallest tree on 50 acres. Tabby and Nando agued about everything in the world, Gito was rude, CW grew obstinate, Jonathan pouted, Mayra flounced and most of the others were circumstantially oppositional. Who didn't see that coming?

Vanessa is still holding her head high above the fray, calm and helpful; obviously more concerned than Sarah who'd asked me yesterday for my skinny clothes when I pudge back up.

The YDC that contains Fabian down in Macon is affiliated with a mental health system and is giving him a great deal of therapy (thankfully). They'd sent me his case plan which indicates limited progress up to some progress. This is one angry, mixed up kid who'll come home a week after my surgery to find me not exactly up to par. They'd allowed him to call me again yesterday as he's starting to be upset over me not being 100%.

I reassured him, yet pointed out that this had been a very tough year, and that no human being could stand up to this amount of stress, violence, rage and hatred without something having to a family we have to all work together and get ourselves back into a positive position. And, by golly, that's what we're going to do.

Just give me a minute here........