A Note From My Mom

Inspired by Rachel Balducci of Testosterhome, one of my favorite bloggers, who recently invited her family members to guest blog while she focused on caring for her toddler after a broken femur (please pray for Mom and Henry during this difficult recovery period!), I’m sharing a post from my own dear mom. I think you’ll see where I get some of my Type A tendencies from. Thanks, Mom, for sharing your wit, honesty, and talents with the blogospehere!

For the record, I’ve never blogged before. Nor do I tweet or twit or whatever it’s called. I’m lucky to send and receive emails. Snail mail is more my speed, but here goes: my virgin blogging adventure.

I’m not a worrier by nature. It’s no testament to my great nature or undying faith. It’s just who I am. I leave the worrying to my husband, Steve, who has perfected the art of worrying to an Olympic event in which he scores gold every time. I have two worriers-in-training – my oldest son, Jason, and my daughter, Katie, but trust me; they are amateurs compared to my husband.

Of late, however, I have felt this twinge of worry creeping about in the recesses of my mind, heart and soul and I don’t much like it or understand how to deal with it since it’s so alien to me. I’m praying for the worry bug to fly past me and leave me alone. If there’s a heavenly fly swatter, I hope God will squish this pesky worry bug to death.

There’s a very good chance that I may have to have some pretty major back surgery. I’ll know more on tomorrow after a consultation with the surgeon. From what I understand, discs L4 – S1 will be fused via anterior and posterior surgery. Recovery time: three to six months. (That’s for people who actually heal; from previous experiences I’m on the slow end of that scale.) Would love to hear from anyone who has had this particular procedure, but only if it’s good news. Call me Pollyanna, but I only want to hear about the success stories.

Now I’m sure you’re all thinking I’m afraid of the surgery itself, or the pain, the recovery, the outcome, etc. Not so. One of my concerns is being the source of worry for my already burdened loved ones. I can tell them over and over not to worry, but, well…..I can see it in their eyes and hear it in their voices. They worry about me.

And I fear losing that slot in the timeline of my life:

Picking up grandchildren will be a “no- no.” As my daughter said, poor little Mary Elizabeth (three months) may not even know me! And how can I expect 2-year-old Rachel to understand why “Gaba” no longer bends down (another “no- no”) scoops her up, and smothers her in hugs or kisses away boo boos. I won’t be able to run along side of 4-year-old Madeline’s bike, swim in the lake with her, take beach walks with her and our Lab. And the list goes on and on of what I won’t be able to do with these three munchkins whom I absolutely adore! And chances are, they will be moving in the next year or so. This makes every minute with them even more precious. How do I ever recapture the three to six months of not being a vital part of their young lives? How can I expect them to understand why I’m saying no? I don’t even know if I want them to see me at first because I wouldn’t want them to worry.

My weekly volleyball nights with my “baby” Josh will have to be on hold indefinitely. For nearly five years this has been our standing dinner and volleyball night together. How many other 28 year old sons would even want to be with their old moms that much? Even now when I drug myself up enough to try to play, Josh runs after every ball and hands it to me so I don’t have to bend.

The church garden as well as my own will have to be neglected. I may not exactly have a green thumb, but I love to be out there snipping off dead leaves, replanting a petunia, misting an orchid or repositioning planters.

I’m not so sure of the future of those romantic sunset cruises on the lake with my husband, although I’m hoping calm, slow rides on a pontoon boat will be just what the doctor ordered.

Fortunately, my oldest son is a couch potato and will gladly volunteer to watch movies with me while I heal. Then again, I’ve heard that sitting for long stretches is another “no-no.”

Pet therapy visits with my yellow Lab will be out of the question.

We’ve already canceled a trip out west this fall with some good friends. A family trip to the Bahamas in early December is my goal for complete recovery.

So exactly what am I going to be doing? I’m a Type A person. I have to pause a Jeopardy episode an average of five times to water a plant, straighten a shade, throw a load of wash in the dryer, scrub a spot on the floor, etc. etc.

I am a loser though, so that is one saving grace. I have been an avid fan of those lovable losers, the Cubs, since the age of 10. My daughter teases that I was a good mother unless a Cub game was on the boob tube. I’ll have plenty of guilt –free time to watch them, but they’ve played so poorly thus far that I’m afraid too much of them will send me spiraling into depression.

During some of my volunteer days I met an angel called Adah, who had ALS from the age of 21. She could talk (sort of), move her eyes and two fingers. She painted with her feet. She loved her husband, young son and life itself. Despite the fact that she was virtually paralyzed, in the five years I helped her out, I only saw her cry twice.

Apparently, she dealt with that missing timeline of her life much better than the way I’m heading.

I’ve never been one to dwell on the negative or indulge in self pity, so God please help me to steer clear of those unwanted vices now. Give me the courage to deal with a very temporary loss of time with those I love with dignity and grace.