Posts Tagged: frustration

Cancer — 4 Comments
15
Jul 10

Filter off

I am normally a very polite person. I can’t help it; it’s the way I was raised. Even if I don’t agree, I often smile and nod (at the very least). I may point out that I disagree, but only if I can do so in a way that does not embarrass or belittle or otherwise cause the other person some discomfort.

So I know that it was due to the emotional distress that I have been feeling lately, what I recently did to an acquaintance: I said what I was actually thinking. Filter off.

This was about my cancer. This is someone I have only met recently. “Oh!” she said, when I mentioned that I was going to the Cancer Center on Monday. “You have cancer?” She smiled, tilted her head and said, “Have you tried eating Raw? Because it can help cure you!”

I felt a momentary panic, then rage well up. I don’t know if I can adequately explain what comments like these trigger in me: feelings that are so deeply seated, so primal. Usually, I try and change the subject, or politely say, “No, I have not tried _____ [fill in with any number of crazy whack-job do-it-yourself-cancer-cures],” while trying to remain the picture of thankfulness and gratitude that someone would care enough to try and help me (I do know, after all, that they are only (oh, how I despise it) trying to help.

This day, though, I tilted my head to the side, gave a tight-lipped not-really-a-smile-but-a-grimace and said, “Really? Are you really asking me that?”

She lost her resolve, momentarily, but then continued to plow forward (fatal flaw): “Well, I’ve done a lot of reading on the subject and I just know all about how beneficial it can be, how it can solve all sorts of medical issues!”

Me: still tight-lipped. Barely holding it in.

Her (mindlessly plowing on–is she really that clueless that she cannot see my discomfort?): “You should really consider it! I’d be happy to give you some reading materials!”

Me: “When you are the one with the cancer, I’m sure you can do whatever you want. When you are the one whose cancer is growing so rapidly that you can see it, then you can eat Raw, or practice colonics, or pray to Jesus/Buddha/Krishna/Mother Earth/whatever. Until then….I just thank goodness for the modern medicine that saved my life.”

Her: “Well….umm….well….everyone has to do what they think is right for them.”

Me (damned upbringing, I just can’t help myself!): “I’m sorry….I don’t mean to be rude. I just….” (tears, as I turn away).

The thing is, I know that she was only suggesting things, like most others, in an effort to be helpful. But, to me, it feels so incredibly hurtful. It feels like a blame thing (if only I had done X, Y, and Z differently, maybe I wouldn’t have gotten cancer in the first place). It feels condescending, as if others don’t believe I am a smart enough person to have considered all my options, like I just went with the first option presented to me (I really believe that medicine, yes, even that dreaded blasted chemotherapy, saved my life). It feels invasive (it’s my life and until they have been there, they have no idea what it is like to be in my shoes).

The only thing I hate worse than the “medical” suggestions is when people want to tell me stories about other people they know who had cancer, people who, for some reason or another, I remind them of. Trouble is, the vast majority of these individuals with cancer, the ones that well-meaning others want to tell me about, are dying or dead. WTH? Like I really want to hear a “really and truly inspiring story!” about your friend who was only 33 years old and had a husband and 2 kids and Stage IV breast cancer and died last year (“but she was SO inspiring! and you remind me SO much of her!!!!”). Thanks but no thanks. That is not encouraging. I know that when some people hear my story, they can’t help but think of these other examples but I am not those other people. I have my own story and I have chosen my own way to deal and I appreciate gestures of love and concern but these things do not feel loving or helpful to me. At all.

Whew. That’s a rant. Sorry.

It’s been quite a week.

Parenting — 2 Comments
11
Jun 10

Antibiotics

Anna is about halfway through a course of antibiotics (stubborn ear infection that refused to go away on its own, causing much lack of sleep and pain) but I am pretty sure that making her finish all these doses is going to be the death of me. I have resorted to bribery of the worst sort, offering (gulp; cannot believe I am about to admit this to the world) bites of chocolate ice cream or even (whisper) candy as a reward. In a way, I can’t say I blame her. That stuff is nasty. But…oh my. The hysterics. The “but I feeeeeel better! Why do I still need to take medicine!” It is killing me, one dose of nasty white liquid at a time. Twice a day. For 10 days. Yeah.

Parenting — 4 Comments
31
May 10

Zombie

That’s what I feel like today, totally night of the living dead. I was all set to have this beautiful, glorious night of sleep and then, well, that’s when the screaming began.

Problem is, if it’s not one thing it’s another. It might be that her Pullup is suddenly painfully uncomfortable (though dry), or that she wants to wear a particular outfit in the morning (OK, who cares, yes, you can do that!), or that (most often) her covers aren’t perfect anymore and she wants them pulled up and tucked in just right. Which Daddy cannot do, by the way, only Mommy. Except Mommy has been on a binge of re-covering these last few nights. Like, every 1-2 hours ALL NIGHT LONG. Which just doesn’t seem right. And I’m exhausted.

Adam tried to run interference for me last night, resulting in approximately two hours of screaming. She was so tired she would fall asleep for a few seconds, but then awaken with a start, remember the indignities falling upon her, and scream some more. Scream Scream Scream.

Yawn. I’m tired.

Gems from last night (trying to keep my sense of humor here):

  • “I am NOT tired!!!!!” (as she yawns and her eyelids close)
  • “Daddy is not my favorite! He can’t do anything right!” (this one is sadly hilarious. It makes me laugh because I know it isn’t true; she adores him!)
  • “This Pullup is wet! Wet wet wet” (No. No, it’s dry dry dry and we’ve gone through 6 in one night).
  • (And then, when I attempt to give her a new, like totally new and right out of the packaging Pullup in order to try and get some peace because it is 1:45 am and GAH I’m TIRED!) “I don’t like this one! I’m going to make it wet! (And she does, by wiping her face, all snotty and teary, all over it). Hmm.
  • Lucky hates it when Anna gets like this. She actively tries to leave the scene, wherever in the house it is taking place. Problem is, last night the screaming took place all over the house, so we could frequently see and hear her clomp, clomp, clomping (she’s Big and her paws make noise on the hardwood) from room to room to room, looking for respite. Our house is too little for her to find it, sadly.

So, the hours between 11 and 1 were not my most favorite hours of the night. Neither was 7 am this morning, either, when Anna screamed that she wanted breakfast. Now. No! NOOOOOWWWW! Sigh. Fingers crossed tonight will be better.

Uncategorized — No Comments
21
Sep 09

Calming the emotional battleground

Anna alternately lights up my life and shoves me into a world of frustration and annoyance. I’m practicing my calm breathing and chanting the mantra “I am in control of my emotions” as we enter a new phase in which every rule is questioned and tested. I don’t want to have to be an enforcer, but some things are non-negotiable. Like wearing pants to the grocery store. I don’t care who you are: pants are a must. It’s just not okay to flash your private parts at Trader Joe’s (though, sidenote: weirdest thing! We went to the zoo on Sunday morning and there was this guy there who was TOTALLY cruising around the zoo in a tank top and boxer shorts. TOTALLY not acceptable. V. V. Strange). Though of course it’s okay to enjoy a little naked time in the privacy of one’s own home, the pants on rule is a line in the sand. Also non-negotiable: kicking or hitting Mama or Daddy, sitting on our poor, weak, elderly cat (who, by the way, is now at the point where he cannot eat unassisted. Jack needs to be propped up so that he doesn’t fall over while eating. How sad is that? Also, please don’t yell at me for this, but as sad as it is it’s also…slightly funny to yell, “Sorry, honey, I can’t help you wipe your pee right now, I’m helping the cat eat.” Giggle. Or is that just me?).

New tactic: CALM CALM CALM. And firm, when necessary, though I find that sometimes…it isn’t necessary. Problem is, you kind of have to know, up front, which things are necessary and which things aren’t or else it makes you a pushover parent. Not cool. Any matching of toddler ramped up emotional intensity equals trouble. Hours and hours of screaming, terrible trouble. So: CALM. Calm replies. Quiet answers. Respectful attempts to resolve issues without budging on those things that are necessary. Calm offers of help and/or time alone, when necessary.

I don’t actually think that she’s a terrible kid. I just think that she’s trying to figure out how to get all of herself under control. A big task! This time in her life feels so crucial. I want to get across the right messages. These are the things that I’m trying to be careful to say:

It’s okay to have big feelings, even angry or scared or hurt ones.
It’s not okay to hurt others.
It’s okay to take some time by yourself, if you need it.
It’s more fun to be with you when you aren’t being hurtful in words (“NO! GO AWAY! I NO LIKE YOU HERE!”) or actions (kicking, hitting, biting).
We love you, no matter what.

****
We’ve officially been sick for forever. I’m sick of being sick, sick of being home without my friends and without preschool. I’m ready to get back into the swing of things but I don’t want to be that mom that brings my sick kid around school or playgroup or a friend’s house or whatever. Anna, as of today, was still snotty and coughing and, really, if she were someone else’s kid, I don’t think I’d feel that great having those symptoms near my child. So…stay away we must. It’s just been really….intense at home. Not only is Anna having extreme emotions, she’s also very clingy and needy when not overtly emotionally upset (“Mama, play with me in my room” heard over and over and over like a broken record and YES, of course I do play with her but sometimes a grown woman needs a break from playing with My Little Ponies or reading “Everyone Poops” for the umpteenth time. To do glamorous things like prepare meals and fold laundry).

I know it’s just one of those things, like all other things: a phase. We’ll get through it. But somehow this last week has seemed interminable.

I miss my friends!!!! I miss the routine of getting out and about and in the world!

Uncategorized — No Comments
4
Sep 09

Ball of Fury

In a nutshell: Anna kicked and hit. I gave her a warning (“we will leave if you kick and hit Mama again”). She kicked and hit again. We left. She screamed. And screamed. And screamed. Is this what the three’s have to offer us? Because if they do? No thanks. I’ll pass.

She screamed all the way home, like a tiny riot grrrl. With a punk attitude and with a fury borne of the futility of her efforts to squirm out of her carseat.

If she were protesting child abuse or war or genocide we would sit up, take notice, give her a medal for her belief in the cause.

This is what she screamed: Stop this caaaaaar! Right Nowwww! Stop this carrrrr! Nowwww! (occasionally, Now Pleeeeease!”: so polite).

She screamed until her throat was dry and scratchy and she coughed. She took a break and resumed screaming. She screamed from Glenn Annie to Mission and all the way to our house.

I unbuckled her carseat. She took off her pants in protest, but remained in the car. Screaming.

Part of me wanted to melt into the sidewalk. It takes a good stiff backbone, parenting a toddler. You have to expect to draw some unwanted attention from time to time. I imagined that all the neighbors were indoors, listening. I imagined that they wouldn’t be able to make eye contact the next time we met on the street. I imagined that someone was wondering if I were hitting the living daylights out of her. Yikes.

Eventually she wriggled out of her seat, climbed down from the car. Removed her underpants.

Great.

Screaming snotty red faced half naked child standing on our front lawn.

This job doesn’t pay enough.

She eventually calmed down, washed hands–dirty from hitting my tires–put on underpants and sat down to lunch, nearly falling face first into her couscous, so spent from the outburst. She ate nearly everything on her plate, then asked, “It’s napping time now?”, eyes at half-mast.

It feels like such a huge responsibility, taking care of a creature that is so consumed by emotions. Will I be able to teach her how to control her emotions (especially the part that wants to be violent when angry?)? Can I do it in such a way that she is still able to (healthfully) express emotions, when appropriate? Will we emerge unscathed?

I notice, also, that this screaming, writhing, crying creature elicits some pretty strong emotions in me. Part of me has a (terrible, terrible confession) desire to slap some sense into her (I don’t; I leave the room when this feeling overwhelms me). Part of me wants to cry and protest with her (this sucks, I’m hot, the screaming is bothering my ears, shut up!). Part of me wants to laugh (so silly, why are we agonizing over this again?)! So maybe I’m not as in control of my own emotions as I would like to think that I am. The screaming of my child unlocks the door to my own inner screaming child. Now if we could only get those two to talk….

Doesn’t seem possible that one so small could possess such a mind of her own, but she does….she does. She’s so smart. She always has her own ideas. I’m proud of that part of her, at least when we’re not battling. I like knowing that she’s no wall flower. That she’s not a pushover. That she is a natural born leader, a creative thinker. But MAN! To parent such a child! Not the easiest thing I’ve ever done. It’s my life’s task: to teach. To learn. To love.

I want not to battle. I wonder if I asked too much today (the original frustration, prior to the hitting and kicking, was because I asked her to get dressed for lunch). When to stand my ground? When to let it slide?