To MFASRF: I am thinking that you are road tripping with your father, now,
and I'm sure, too, you will not regret it, regardless of what happens and how each of you "takes" the other. If I ever did (and, as I recall, I did), I no longer have any earth shattering philosophy about what parents and children should "do" with one another as the former approaches the end of his/her life and the latter watches. I think my altercation a little over a month ago with MFS cured that. What I do think, though, is that you have maneuvered yourself auspiciously within your family relationships for all concerned and will continue to do that, and, because you have. Whatever decision you made about this trip would have been the right one, for both you and your father. I have thought (idly, actually...I haven't given over much time to it, but it is a thought that bubbles up whenever you write about you and your father) for some time that you are not in danger of being haunted by "issues" when your father dies, in part because you take the initiative to consider your actions in your relationship with him, rather than grabbing the handiest tool (which is often the most inappropriate) for an interim patch job.
     Although some time ago I focused on whether each my sisters (and I) would "regret" our separate involvements with my mother after her death (I think I did most of this in your direction, in fact), I don't think about that anymore. These days, I find myself satisfied that each of us is doing what we are capable of doing. Although I'm not sure of the connection, I've noticed that the more I focus on my mother's health concerns as she travels the realm where "health" loses its meaning (a challenging paradox of a situation), the more relaxed I become about whether my sisters' actions within their relationships with her are "appropriate".
    We saw the hematologist yesterday. The iron pills have taken care of my mother's anemia; this doesn't mean that she isn't bleeding internally; it does mean that if she is, it's not much. When he told me this I thought about how thin and fragile her skin is; it no longer protects her from bruising, even when she scratches. I suddenly realized the obvious, that she is aging inside exactly the way she is aging outside. It seems that her bone marrow is producing a protein, now, that, in much younger people, typically indicates the development of cancer somewhere in the body. In people "her age", there is only a 15% chance that this is so; more likely, it is an indication that her bone marrow is operating like a pair of arthritic hands or a mind taking up the creativity of old age. I'm still wrestling with whether or not to subject her to the bowel cleaning regimen required for a colonoscopy. I'm not worried about the actual test; she'll not only tolerate it, I'm sure she'll consider it a felicitous opportunity for a nap, as it requires the patient to lie in one of my mother's favorite sleep positions. All the doctors would like it, a few are concerned about the results, the others simply want the "history" it will provide. At any rate, the test is so popular, right now, that, unless there are emergent reasons, and, in my mother's case there no longer are, she wouldn't be able to have one until December. The gastro-enterologist was a cheerleader for the test; then made the mistake of telling me that she performs "1,000 a year, give or take a few". I quickly figured that, factoring in weekends, vacations, holidays, August and Wednesdays, this means colonoscopies are not just her bread and butter but pretty much the whole dinner, which is a bit alarming, considering that the colon is only a part of the gastro-enterological system. It also means she's probably very good at them, and, she came highly recommended to us, anyway, by a couple of colleagues. But, you know, I'm naturally suspicious of anything that Katy Couric (or any media personality) has done to her on national TV.
    Lastly, my birthday. I received an extraordinary birthday gift from my mother last night. We were watching something on television, I can't remember what (typical television fare), and after a Halloween commercial she said, "Goodness! Is it time for Halloween, again?"
    "Yeah," I responded, grinning at her, "and my birthday!" I added that out of habit, a habit one develops by dint of being related to a Designated Birthday Monger.
    She gave me a sly look (not as if she was teasing me, rather, as if she'd caught me lying) and said, "You weren't born on Halloween!" She's forgotten my birthday, I realized (perhaps she's forgotten, as well, that she gave birth to me, and/or that such a thing as birth occurs).
    You know what, MFASRF? I didn't remind her of "the facts", this time. I laughed with her, as though we'd shared a good joke, and, we had, although the joke was different for each of us. It's especially funny to me because last year almost every day in October she'd say, "Your birthday's tomorrow, you know; where do you want to go to dinner?" Realizing she's forgotten my birthday instantly dissolved an internal burden (which I had no idea I had been hefting all these years).
    I won't, by the way, be in Prescott, this year, for my birthday. It's not important, this year. In fact, recently, it's become insignificant where I am on any particular day, which is another wonderful feeling. I do, however, like the idea of doing something special for oneself on one's birthday, as well as every day. Of course I like this idea, it's like masturbating...no one can do you as well as you can do yourself; and, anyway, I don't consider masturbation a substitute for sex with people, but simply another (necessary and non-competing) sexual relationship. So saying, I was thinking about it in light of your chocolate-dipped softserve ice cream, and, this year, for me, in the area of food (if that is the special thing I decide to do) it might be warm-warm butterscotch pudding with bits of pineapple, or an order of the more-than-delicious vegetable fried rice a restaurant in Chandler makes. Last year it was Baskin-Robbins French Vanilla in burnt-roast coffee. Although, I'm also thinking, this year, it won't be food. I lost the last of one of my pairs of "personal signature" stud earrings, recently...a little freshwater pearl. Years ago, the earring I used to wear in that hole was a small gold rose for which I'd developed an affection. I'm thinking, since I "need" to replace the lost earring, anyway, both of those lost signature pairs were gifts and I haven't yet decided how to gift myself this year, maybe I'll hunt for some small, gold roses; or, maybe come across some other stud I'd like to adopt as a signature; a small, gold, unidentifiably shaped stud might be nice; in fact, "unidentifiable" feels like an appropriate descriptive talisman for my life, right now. Hmmm...interesting, considering that, this year, I've also become Officially (since, I think, only one's parents can bestow this honor) Unbirthdayed, and one's birthday is, in this culture, anyway, an important identification tag.
- posted by gail rae @ 11:24  0 comments   email...this post