Childish

There is a child in all of us. No kidding! (Pun intended.) Some days, like today, when there are 10 inches of snow on the ground, I can't decide whether I should go jump and roll around in the snow with my dog or cozy up inside and tend to my wounded self (the parts of me that are really in physical pain).

Unfortunately, the decision is made for me because of my aching body from a Lupus flare and fibromyalgia and just plain fatigue. The cold, wet snow would be torturous. *Sigh* I want one of the three housekeepers we had as a child to come read me stories and make me Campbells chicken noodle soup with Saltine crackers and rub my back. I want to watch I Love Lucy re-runs. I want to suck my thumb.

Instead, we do like Erma Bombeck once said: Good mothers (who do not act like kids) wake up bruised and battered and bone-tired, but still get up and do what has to be done for the children. Yeah, we do. I do. My own mother couldn't. Oh well...

But I'm coming upon a milestone myself. My oldest son is moving out soon. He's more than ready and, honestly, I thought I was, too. He returned from his first business trip yesterday and was quite the professional describing what had transpired during the two days he spent at a company-sponsored conference in faraway Florida. I know he is well-respected and liked among his peers and his bosses are incredibly pleased with him, too.  He is kind to those he works among and he is continually complimented for how he conducts himself. This makes me very proud.

Last evening, however, after a tantrum of sorts thrown by both of us, we came to a realization that I'm starting to suffer from 'empty nest' syndrome and he is reverting to babyish actions to make sure Mommy will always be around for him even when he's moved to the big, bad city. Of course I will. And of course we will move through this transition like we've gone through so many others; hopefully not kicking and screaming like children the whole time.

*Sigh.* So maybe that's why I feel crummy today and want some hand-holding; some extra hugs. Maybe that's why I love hanging around with one of my best friend's two-year-old daughters. Maybe that's why I am irritated and uncomfortable. I can't have it both ways. My son taught me that.

* * *

Once again, thank you to everyone for all your support. I am happy to say that my memoir will soon be available on Amazon and I will be most thrilled to make the announcement later this year. In it you will learn why I relied on housekeepers more than my mother; why I believe with all my heart that childhood maltreatment is linked to adult physical illness; and why this little girl grew up as a spectator and continues to 'report' on the goings on around her. 

Feisty

With every attempt at publishing a book comes marketing. While my blog has held a spot for an excerpt for two years now, I've published the same one. Now, I decided to swap it out with a sample Chapter. I hope you will take the time to read and comment on it.

But today's blog is really about being feisty, a trait I believe I inherited  from my father's mother. And that pluck is surely a blessing and a curse. Sometimes I simply go too far; take risks. So let me tell you a little bit about my Granny.

In the late 1800's, my grandmother, Aline Lyon (whether she knew so or not) was slated to marry the soon-to-be-famous Dr. Burrill Crohn. A common practice among wealthy and/or culturally significant families of that era, the Crohns and the Lyons were not indifferent to match-making. Yet Aline was an independent young woman. Instead of marrying Burrill, she chose  to marry a true love outside of the families’ inner circle. This non-Crohn husband drowned at Orchard Beach before their first anniversary, uncannily after a scolding by her own father that he hoped the young husband would die from exactly such a fate since he was so disappointed in their union. As some sort of booby prize, Aline was then awarded Myron (Mike) Crohn as her second husband, and my Granny obeyed and married the Crohn clan's ""Black Sheep" and somehow, with her own brand of verve, held her family together during the Depression.

But my feisty Granny Aline also loved romance, drama or marriage or all three. Post her divorce from Mike after 11 years, she was married twice more to the same man; Joe Popper – a New York City horse and buggy driver. She died while my mother was pregnant with me; thus my being named after her utilizing the “A” from her first name as is Jewish tradition. Aline has always been described to me as a woman of determination, intelligence and great fortitude, as evidenced by this letter she wrote to the New York Times in 1944:

TO THE EDITOR

I am a hospital volunteer worker at one of the hospitals and I am hoping this letter will perhaps wake up some women who idle away their time at card games or teas when they could be doing good work. There is a serious shortage of nurses and the clinics that care for people who cannot afford independent care at home are badly in need of help.

The volunteers do good work and many women could spare a few hours a day to help until this war is over and things return to normal. Won’t women please consider this matter and try to help? It is not only a patriotic duty but an act of human kindness.

Aline Popper

New York, Nov. 15, 1944

Not many women spoke out at the end of World War II. Not many women described 'human kindness' as 'a patriotic duty.' I guess, with her nerve, she was ahead of the curve of women's liberation and wasn't afraid to talk about it. I have other stories of her great courage that I include in my memoir.

So I follow tradition. I'm not afraid to talk about what happened to me within the walls of my childhood home, nor the confines of a hospital during my critical illness. I just want to help, as corny as that sounds. But it is part of my healing as well; and my never-ending quest for learning. It's as easy as starting with your elders and examining the groundwork they laid for your values and morality - even if, in some cases, that means doing the exact opposite of what they did.

Looking back at my Granny, however, I can only hope that I've made her proud as she keeps an eye on the granddaughter she never knew on earth. And thank you, Granny, for your audacity to speak your mind. I'm carrying on with that tradition no matter what the consequences.

My father and I taking a risk at a New Mexico mesa; 1973

The Black Hole

No matter how many years have passed, this time of year reminds me of my battle with "The Big C" and how I nearly died without an emergency tracheotomy and brutal chemotherapy. After my surgical biopsy revealed I had Stage IV Hodgkin's Lymphoma, a tumor lodged between my heart and lung and the ensuing days when, coupled with new-found Lupus, I descended into a hell unknown to me. Three years and many treatments and several near death experiences later, I emerged - new and naked. I had to recreate me.

But an amazing thing also happened when I ascended to Heaven for some moments, saw the light, and was able to look down on my own body on its gurney, the rushing doctors and nurses and my terrified husband. Briefly returning to my lifeless body, I told him to say goodbye to my sons and that I loved him. And then off I went to a peaceful, beautiful place until I woke in a trauma unit at another hospital with eyes swollen shut. Of course, when I was able to speak weeks later, I swore it never happened.

Then how would I have recognized the two nurses who tended to me? How did I 'see' my husband throw his trembling body over mine, screaming: "No, no! Amy! My soul mate!" Later, when I could read about such experiences, I learned I had entered a new club, if you will - those who are fortunate enough to visit Heaven and return. I haven't been afraid to die since.

The tears flow freely right now, not only from my memories but also from the tragic events unfolding all around us in this life; the grief, the misery, the sheer torture of it all for so many. And I felt it important that I write this down, perhaps selfishly because I still suffer from bouts of post traumatic stress disorder and to share one of my favorite quotes:

 “I have never met a person whose greatest need was anything other than real, unconditional love. You can find it in a simple act of kindness toward someone who needs help. There is no mistaking love. You feel it in your heart. It is the common fiber of life, the flame that heats our soul, energizes our spirit and supplies passion to our lives.

It is our connection to God and to each other."

Elisabeth Kubler-Ross

On Death and Dying

Let's stay connected, even if just through social media or email.

Let's remember those we miss so terribly. 

Let's wrap the holiday season around us in increments that we can manage, however big or small.

Let's feel our hearts heal and beat with love. 

I'm trying, God, I'm trying. 

Photo taken at Brookgreen Gardens, Murrells Inlet, S.C.

Tolerance for Illness

I admit I don't have much tolerance when I lose a day or days because I am beaten up by one of my chronic ailments. I get angry and disappointed. I think that just because I have a strong will, I can fend it off and "win" the battle.

Nothing can be further from the truth.

The body is what the body wants and it will do whatever it tells you to do. But that doesn't mean I can't get sad or scared or lonely. I spent the day in bed yesterday - sleeping mostly, but also railing against my ills once again. Not a good sign.

How many 'new normals' does one person have to accept? As many as it takes, I rationalize because I know I want to be here for the next one. And on a Sunday! That's one of the few days that my whole family might be together to watch football or have a meal or just talk and joke around. I hate it.

Okay, enough self pity. Enough anger. I know others who have it a lot worse than me, but does saying that really ever help? It does and it did and I know many of my readers relate to this kind of thinking.

So, I will make that critical doctor's appointment that I've been putting off. I will face whatever I need to face and be brave and proud and strong. But if I cry for five minutes, will you understand?

I hope you have a pain-free day and keep on trying no matter what. Love to all..

.

Diagram Credit: Dr. Michael Cousins, an Australian researcher who believes Chronic Pain should be a legitimate diagnosis unto itself.