It's the first day of the year 2002 (according to our culture) and I spent most of it in the hospital, where my mother has been since Jen got home from the party she was at with me last night and found her ill. It's a good thing she went home when she did, and I was trying to convince her to stay the night and party through.

What was it, you wonder? Well, my mother has a series of physical ailments and complications, most of them brought on from poor health and diet, neglect, and a general lack of care for herself and her body. Jenny drove 100 miles per hour with her hazards on. All she knew was that Mom was in pain, crying in anguish for that pain to stop and to be taken to the hospital. We KNOW it's serious if she wants to go to the hospital. She usually avoids those places like the plague. So Jen brought her in, and tests were done. Jane, having slept but an hour, arrived early in the morning to take over and relieve Jenny.

Gall stones was the verdict, and not just one or two, but and entire gall bladder full of them, enough to have them admit her immediately and schedule for the next possible operation time with prep -- tomorrow at 2pm. Taking out the whole bladder. They would usually do this as some kind of laser procedure, but that may not be possible, seeing as 4 years ago, there was another serious operation performed, gastric-bypass or something like that.

She's scared. I won't go into much detail, because I'm sure you get the picture, but after that operation 4 years ago, there were certain things she was supposed to do in order to ensure proper healing. Follow-ups, a regimen, exercises, things like that. And she hasn't. And we knew that. And each time something like this happens, we repeat ourselves again, "This is another wake-up call, Mom. You need to take care of yourself."

I had lunch with Heather and Jenny after visiting for a bit with Mom. We talked about it, about the history of her family and the trends with her mother and her mother's mother. Both bedridden at a young age, having given up, hypochondriacs who complained of the pain but never did anything about it. We know that she's hurting and scared right now, and we have to let go of our desensitized attitudes right now for her sake. But at times like these, you tend to want to blame someone for the pain of someone you love. What do you do when that pain is inflicted by the same person who's receiving it?

How hard is it to love someone more than that person loves herself?

So tomorrow I'll be there all day, grading English papers with Heather while we simultaneously keep our mother company until 2pm. And then we wait. And if and when everything turns out okay, when she is released, we will have to watch her ignore all of the doctor's orders and suggestions. We will have to bear her ignoring us as we plead with her to do the things she needs to do to stay with us as long as possible. We will get angry and blame her when she is sick, for the pain that we go through because we love her so much and hate to see her suffer, and then chastise ourselves for that same placed blame as we become level-headed and see it all as one big sickness that she is battling.

Like some cancers, treatment either works or it doesn't, and we never really know why. But in this case, the medicine is her daughters' collective voice. And the virus is in her mind and not her body. And there's nothing to do but keep trying new tactics, new words, new ploys to make her see, to make her WANT to be happy and healthy. But until she wants it, all of our treatments are merely temporary pain killers, until we go back to our own lives again, always feeling horrible on some level that we are not actively treating our patient.

What do you do???? Huh? What the FUCK do you do?

If you've got an answer, let me know. I feel incapable of any pity or sorrow, and yet at the same time, I'm overflowing with just that. For her. When someone is sick, it's so easy for me to say, "she brought it on herself." That's how I view sickness, and my mind is boggled by children with cancer, because that contradicts this desensitized, critical, suspicious mindset of mine.

I guess what I have to realize, is that when it comes down to it, there is no one to blame. She did NOT bring this on herself, not completely. Whatever seeds of self-hatred exist in her mind, they were planted long ago, before she could know any better.

I could go in a million directions with this. But I'm just gonna go to bed. I've got to be there in the morning, and I'm sure I'll have plenty to write about when I come back here post-op. If she's let out, I'll help bring her home. If she's not, I'll stay here another night and wait.

Keep her in your thoughts. Wish her well through this, as I wish for her a sense of contentment and peace that lasts longer than a family meal.

-Barbarella

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