Inside Out

It's that pit in my stomach feeling.  I try so hard to not live my life allowing that feeling to ever last long.  I'm an attacker.  Deal with it.  Move on.  Maybe make a joke somewhere along the way.  I find, though, this mantra can be not the smoothest way to operate.  It causes me to push things away.  It causes me to be hard.  It's not that I don't feel, I do, I just don't have a "normal" emotional reaction.  I often ask myself why I am this way and as I've gotten older, I attribute a lot of it to having a dad who has a chronic illness.  Growing up never knowing if it was going to be a Chrohn's Disease day or a good day puts a hard shell on a kid.  I never talked about it; everything was fine.  Instead, I became an obsessive cleaner and an obsessive planner.  It was my attempt to control something, anything. 

Don't get me wrong, I am an extremely blessed person, but of course, there have been bumps along the way.  I sometimes wish I would have given those bumps some more attention so I could be a person who will ask for help.  It's just that in my heart of hearts, I don't think anyone wants to hear about someone else's problems or pain.  And, I hate this cynical part of me that can believe that. 

This is my attempt at not being an attacker.  A pusher awayer.  A fixer.  This is my attempt to let it out.  I really want to just delete this and go organize something.  I'm not going to though.  That pit in my stomach needs to be dealt with.     

My mom has a something on her neck that is attached to her thyroid and lymph node.  She had a fine needle biopsy and there are "highly suspicious a-typical cells."  The thing needs to come out.  Nobody is saying the C word yet.  There is a possibility it is not that.  There is a possibility surgery will take care of it.  There is a possibility it will be just fine.  Mom and Dad-o are leaving on Monday to head to Mayo to meet with a team of doctors there to make the game plan.   

I know there are many other people feeling worse and dealing with worse.  I know this and that's why it would be easier to just go clean something.  However, I do believe in the power of prayer, so this is me bucking against what my soul and being would like to do.  I'm asking for prayers and good vibes. 

Mom is such a giver that she is more worried about everyone else than herself; she's making sure Sister Pister has her sweet sixteen celebration with us tomorrow, as they will be gone on the actual day, she's finishing sewing projects, she's planning this and doing that, basically she's being a mom -- putting everyone else first.  I just want her to feel uplifted and loved.  Which she is.  Right to the core.   

So, this "thing I won't call a tumor" with Mom has me feeling inside out.  Pit in my stomach.  I just keep telling myself a kid can only have one sick parent.  It has to be a rule written down somewhere.