Well telling my parents didn’t go very well. Before I get to that part, let me give you a little background on my mom. I can do this because I’m anonymous on this blog. Whew – because I really need to get this off my chest. Deep breaths. Here we go….
My mom makes life very difficult for herself. Something has changed in her over the last year or so. I can’t figure it out. My dad can’t figure it out. It’s not menopause because she’s been going through that for many years already. I don’t know. Anyway, she is a total worrier by nature but she finds ways to worry about things that shouldn’t even be worried about. She worries about things that may not even ever come true. She takes work home with her and let’s it effect her relationship with my dad. (My dad almost walked out on her earlier this year.)
Her anxiety level is through the roof. She let’s the simplest things completely set her off. She told me she needed a new life because a piece of hair wouldn’t stay tucked behind her ear. She had a meltdown because she couldn’t find the right watch to wear. She freaked out and stopped talking to my dad and I because she thought we made a plan to take the subway and then the bus without telling her. She lost it when she couldn’t get everything to fit into her purse the right way. She was very angry when she couldn’t post to her Facebook wall from her phone. (This all seems so ridiculous to type out, but I am not kidding you. These simple things created much havoc.)
She also has a crappy family relationship with her parents and siblings. She had a hard life as a child. She’s had bad things happen to her as a young adult (her marriage to her first husband was abusive). Yeah, yeah, yeah. She’s had it hard. (I don’t mean to sound insensitive but I’m a believer in getting over things and moving on. We all had crappy things happen to us in life. If you let it eat away at you, then you lose.)
But in my opinion, the worst part is that she’s an over-medicator. She’s a nurse and I think she learned to take a pill for any ailment – no matter how big or small. Well my mom really took that to heart. She pops high dosage Xanax like it’s candy. She takes pain medication for the slightest irritation. She has a terrible stomach issue that I personally think is caused by all worrying compounded with all the meds she takes, but of course she takes even more meds. She doesn’t eat right for fear of upsetting her stomach. It’s all totally exhausting. You should see the pile of pills she takes every day.
My mom and I don’t have the closest relationship because she’s pretty walled off. It’s hard to be close to someone when they don’t really let you in. Besides, she’s spends so much time focusing on herself and her worries and her ailments that she honestly has a very narrow view. Everything is about her, how she’s feeling, how she’s doing. It totally sucks you in. I can feel my stress levels rise when she is having one of her little worry/stress fits. I hate it. I want my mom to be my mom and my friend. (I believe she thinks things are wonderful between us and they are except I don’t think she even realizes that I wish we were closer. I think she thinks we are close as can be.)
Anyway, let me get to the OpCOOTIC part. So I’m gearing up to tell my parents. I was a little nervous about finding the right way to start the conversation because as I mentioned above, we’re not as close as I wish we were. (I am super close with my dad, though.) Bringing up a very personal, painful issue that doesn’t have anything to do with my mom’s narrow view of life is a big deal.
So she wasn’t feeling well the other day while we were out and about so she took I don’t know how many Darvocets. I decided it was probably a good idea to head home to meet up with my dad. So we get home, my mom goes to the bathroom, and I’m shooting the shit with my dad. So now I’m thinking to myself, “Okay, now is the perfect time to tell them. As soon as mom gets out of the bathroom.”. At this point my phone rings and I had to take the call in another room. When I hang up, my parents are both in the living room. I’m just about to spill my guts and my dad says to my mom, “How’s your head?”. So I ask, “What happened to her head?”. My dad explained that when my mom was in the bathroom and she fell asleep while sitting on the toilet and banged her head on the sink. WTF?! Too many drugs!*
My plan was foiled. You can’t tell a drugged up person your deepest, most personal, painful secret. Sigh.
So since my mom was feeling under the weather, we left her home and went out to dinner without her – my dad, my husband and I. At dinner, I told my dad that I have a bomb to drop on mom and I told him what we’ve been going through. He is a softy but also kinda tough on the outside so he didn’t really know how to react to the information, but he was adamant that we NOT tell my mom. He thinks that she’s so on the edge of a breakdown that she wouldn’t be able to take the news. Plus he said that she wouldn’t be able to resist offering me lots of assvice, which as you all know is not really welcome at this stage in the game. Besides, I (we!) know a hell of a lot more about ART and IVF than most medical professionals so what assvice could she really offer?!
So yeah, we’re not telling my mom. My dad is right – it will do more harm than good and I don’t need any more stress piled on me at this point.
But it absolutely breaks my heart to not let my mom in. Why can’t she just be normal? I hate her stupid pills, her stupid stomach issues, her stupid job, her stupid pain. I hate her emotional explosions, which always seem to be taken out on my dad. I hate how self-absorbed she is. I hate that she lacks the ability to be introspective and grow from her experiences that excessive worrying doesn’t help anything. I hate that my mom can’t be my mom. Right now I need my mom to hug me and tell me everything’s going to be all right. I hate her for not being able to do that.
*This is why I hate taking any kind of medicine. It kills me that I have to pump my body full of meds for an ART cycle. Please let this next cycle work.