The C-Word

Somehow, I managed to not realize how exhausting worry is.

As I lay on an exam table - feet in stirrups and stripped from the waist down - I writhed my hands together and listened to the reproductive endocrinologist talk me through the procedures she was preparing for, the C-word continued to dance in my head. Her nurse had gone to search for the results from my Pap test two weeks ago that would give us an idea of what the heck was going on with me. 

You see, two weeks ago my doctor prepared me for a possible cancer diagnosis and I was freaking RIGHT out. And by no fault but my own,  I've skipped every Pap smear I was supposed to be having because I was terrified of hearing I had another abnormal result. Hearing once that I had an abnormal result was scary enough.  I don't know why I thought not having another test was the answer, but there ya go.

This is about the perfect time for me to tell you: get your Pap tests done. Seriously. I will never miss another one.

Then the Pap result arrived and it was normal. Perfect even. I breathed a sigh of relief, knowing one possible problem was gone and then felt my breath catch in my chest because the list of possible problems was endless. 

The doctor sat on her stool and wheeled over to the end of the table and I couldn't help but wonder what exactly motivates one to spend their career looking at people's vaginas. She flipped on the light, patted me on the leg and launched into an explanation of what was about to go down (no pun intended).

Swab. Colposcopy. Vinegar test. You passed. Swab. OH! I think we found the problem - you've got a cutesy little polyp hanging out there. Sorry polyp, we're getting rid of you.

Then she likened my cervix to a donut, told me we wouldn't be doing any freezing, counted backwards from ten before "snipping" and then asked how my sex life was. I'm pretty sure I'd befriend this woman under other circumstances, because she was the coolest lady ever. And then she showed me the "cutesy" polyp, which was roughly the size of the top of my pinky. I didn't think it was cute. That polyp is an asshole.

After losing a little part of myself that's (hopefully) been the reason I've been in big pain for weeks, I walked out of the exam room feeling 100 pounds lighter. And about an hour later, I barely had the energy to stand.

It's shocking the way your body reacts to stress. I would have expected to have felt so alive - so energized - by this good news, but instead I was zonked. Some coffee and a new outfit were a good start to re-energizing, but all I wanted to do was nap. And hug F. And call Mr. Hockey Coach and then hug him. And just bask in the awesomeness of knowing I don't have cervical cancer.

Before saying goodbye, my doc looked at me and took my hand, explaining how things would be playing out. In 2 days, she'll have results back from the swabs. The polyp she removed will take 6 weeks to be analyzed, but she's confident it's just a blob of nothingness. No news is good news, and she thinks I'm great but hopes she won't have to call. She gave me her card and told me to call if I had any questions and then assured me I'd be OK, that I was young and healthy. I'm OK. I'm OK. I'm OK.

And apparently my cervix is beautiful. So there's that.

Dreading

There's a day in my future that I'm absolutely dreading.

I don't know when it will come, or how long I have to prepare for it but it is a day that I think fret about every day. It's going to shake me to my very core, and knowing that certainly won't make it easier. It's coming.

It's the day when F realizes that he doesn't have a Dad. And I have no fucking idea what I'm going to do when that day comes.

F is a smart little guy, and he understands the traditional mold of a family. Mommy, Daddy, Baby. When he plays with his gazillion stuffed animals, there is always a Mommy, a Daddy and a Baby. Even when he hung out with Red and I for the week, I was always the "Mommy Sheep", F was the "Daddy Sheep" and Red was "Shaun the Sheep". Most people would expect a kid to declare himself the "Baby Sheep" - especially since F usually does when it's he and I - but I wonder if F has already felt the loss of a Daddy Sheep, and doesn't want to set himself up for that again.

When J and I first broke up, F would often point to the photos I had left up for far too long and exclaim "Look, it's Daddy and Mommy!" and it would break my heart. As the days turned to weeks and into months, F forgot about J. When J started coming around again, F would call him "guy" or eventually by the same nickname I did, explaining it away as "Mommy's friend". I didn't know whether to let it break my heart or ease my pain. Is it easier that he doesn't know right now?

I know, as a kid who grew up knowing about my adoption, that coping with the unknown is hard. I felt inadequate. Why hadn't I been good enough for my birth family? It was irrational and wrong and knowing the difference doesn't erase 21 years of self-doubt, self-loathing and hurt.What if F feels that way? What if he thinks it's his fault his dad left? How do you undo that kind of thinking? My parents told me better, just as I will assure F, but I believed strongly in what I felt and there was no convincing me otherwise.

What if he blames me? Will he hate me? Will he harbour resentment? Is that going to be a phase in our lives? Even now, the thought brings a tear to my eye and pains my heart.

The day is coming when I have to try to tenderly explain to F that sometimes life isn't fair. Sometimes the people who should love us turn a blind eye, but that everything happens for a reason. I hope that I can promise F that the people who will hold our hand and not let go when things get tough will always be there for us. I hope I can be strong enough to tell him that his Dad just wasn't ready. It's not F's fault. It's not mine. I can't even say it's J's fault. It just wasn't right...

And I hope F can forgive him... but I wouldn't blame him for a second if he can't. I won't.

Good Enough

I've already said that I'm skipping the whole New Year's Resolution this year, but I still have high hopes and many goals to accomplish in 2013. Some of these goals will come to fruition mostly on their own, and some will take work and I know many more will take shape as the days, weeks and months come along. Even though I have no idea what lies in store for F and I, I know that after 2012 he and I can take on just about anything.

Like F turning three, for example. It seems like it was only yesterday that I was laying in the maternity ward of the hospital, flipping through my What to Expect When You're Expecting book and wondering what the Hell I was about to get myself into. The book prepared me for a lot of things, but there were many more "surprises" I was totally unprepared for. I'm not sure if anyone or anything could have prepared me for the sense that I'm never going to be good enough as a Mom.

I know I'm not alone in this. Mommy guilt takes over our lives before we've even given birth. It's the matter of whether or not we followed a certain diet and exercise plan while we were pregnant, if we had an all-natural, drug-free labour or a Caesarian, to the decision (or necessity) of formula vs. breastfeeding. It only gets worse as time goes on, from the music we play for our children, whether they co-sleep (GUILTY!) and what we feed them.

I'm sure there's a large community of mothers who would say I'm an awful Mom and I'm equally sure that there's a large community of mothers who would say that I'm a great Mom. Meanwhile, I'm on the fence.

I breastfed F until he was 18 months old and would have continued to do so only that he lost interest, but I supplemented with formula for eight months because it was too hard to pump while I was in class. I fed him the baby food from the supermarket because he didn't care much for my homemade variety, and quite frankly, a lot of the time I didn't feel up to making it for him. He slept with me from the get-go, and continues to enjoy sleeping in Mommy's bed. He stays up too late, sleeps in and eats junk food every once and a while. Sometimes, to avoid a fight, I'll even let him go to bed without brushing his teeth.

But he's happy and he's loved.

If I don't accomplish anything else in 2013, I want to overcome the feeling that I'm never getting it right. I don't have time to listen to that nagging voice in my head any more. I'm tired of comparing F and I to the mother and child pairs we see at the grocery store or the park. It's useless, and the truth is that she's probably thinking the exact same thing.

Worry

I am a worrier.

It's one of those little quirks that I can't seem to shake. I've tried, trust me. I worry about everything, from the possibility that I may one day have cancer to having my apartment broken into, F getting sick, something bad happening to my parents and little things like losing my car keys. It seems silly, but I can't help it. I just worry.

My worry has become such a monster that I've begun to question whether or not good things can just happen. When I was bombarded with good news earlier this month, I joked that the world really must be ending on December 21. Luckily for all of us it didn't, but there was just no way that I could have all this great stuff coming my way. Anyone who knows me well can tell you that if I didn't have bad luck, I'd have none. I'm that person, it would seem.

My theory that everything happens for a reason is often the only thing that keeps me going. I don't always understand the whys or even the hows, but I believe that there is a purpose and that each challenge I'm faced with will only make me stronger eventually. From time to time, my faith in that falters and I have a meltdown.

"You're such a strong, happy person," a good friend told me recently. The irony that I was in the middle of one of the abovementioned meltdowns was not lost on me. Wiping the tears from my face and apologizing for my breakdown, I listened to her tell me what I already know. I'm doing the right thing and I've come a long way. It's time to let go of the fear that I'm making a mistake, the doubts that are eating away at me have no place in my life any more.

In the middle of all the crap that was thrown my way in the past eight weeks - or the past year if we want to be serious here - I've done my best to stay positive. Even though my heart was broken, I did all I could to smile and love. Feeling sorry for myself won't help, and the truth is that there are many people who are dealing with a lot worse than I ever had to.

Put into the world what you want to get from it. Project positivity and happiness when you don't feel like it because that's when it counts the most. You might be surprised to find that it comes back to you in due course.

Unstuck

I have a really bad habit of getting stuck in my own head.

All manner of little things can do it to me. I worry about this and that, one stressor feeds another and the next thing I know I'm on the verge of tearing my hair out and crying into a glass of something alcoholic. This last month has certainly taken it's toll on me. Tomorrow, for example, will be one month since the day I found all of my belongings missing from my old apartment. The property rental company finally settled last week, and while it was only half of what it should have been, I just couldn't do it anymore. I was too tired.

I've left the dishes to pile up in the kitchen, laundry overflowing in the baskets, clothes strewn across my closet and eaten more than one bag of popcorn for lunch. I was tired, and most of it was my own damn fault.

Yesterday, I woke up sour. It may have been the fact that it was day two of a hangover (it would seem I'm not 19 any more), and it could have had something to do with the fact that my neighbours choose 4:48AM as the perfect time to blast really loud, really bad music. Must be nice to not have to get up and do anything in the morning. I texted my friend and expressed my displeasure at the whole thing. The texts ranged from "Are you going to go to class?" to "Today might be the day I finally lose my shit," but I managed to put on pants (real ones, with a button), and I went to class.

I went grocery shopping with one friend and ranted about how tired and frustrated I was. Another friend came over for movies and dinner and she and I ranted about how frustrated we both were. Then we put on hilarious music and danced. We went for hot chocolates, and I came home to a hot bath and I sat in front of my laptop for the better part of two hours, too wrapped up in my own head to write anything.

It was past my bedtime before I finally got out of my head, and it took a Skype call and a 5-minute laughing fit to do it. As it turned out, I went to bed two hours later than I should have and woke up positively exhausted with bad hair and a smile on my face. I needed a good laugh it would appear.

And I've already watched the 19-second video evidence I have of the hilarity twice.

Road Closed

Do you ever feel like something is holding you back?

Is it you?

We all have barriers in our lives. It's an ugly, unfortunate and downright maddening fact for many of us. The barriers we face are as diverse as the people facing them: from money and social status to family responsibility and our age, we perceive these sets of circumstance to be roadblocks for which there is no detour - just a closed road. But, are they really that bad, or are we letting them stop us in our tracks? Are they keeping us from achieving our goals, realizing our dreams and reaching the level of success we want for ourselves? Are you letting something hold you back?

Don't.

Yep. I said it: don't let whatever is holding you back stunt your success. Turn that shit around, or better yet, don't let it get to that point. Don't spend all your money on shoes and bags you can't afford and then bitch and complain that you live in a crappy apartment or you have an unreliable car. Have I done that? Yes, I have. I know that and I've learned from it. Don't treat your body like trash and whine about having acne and a spare tire rocking out above the waistband of your favourite jeans. Be proactive. Don't treat your friends and loved ones like they're unimportant and then cry about not having a support system. We're our own worst enemies, you know.

And we shouldn't be: we shouldn't diminish our abilities and knock our confidence to the ground. Do you know why we shouldn't? It's not because we are probably definitely being too hard on ourselves. It's not even because we're forgetting to give ourselves a little bit of credit. It's because there are a million other people out there who are totally happy to tell you how shitty you are.  And I'd be willing to bet they're wrong.

I was told, flat out, that I shouldn't advertise my singlemodom. Why, you're probably asking? Because it apparently makes me less hireable. It means I'm going to miss a lot of work and that work will never be my priority. Do you know what sucks the most about hearing that from an instructor's mouth? I've let being a single Mom hold me back. I've used it as an excuse for everything from giving up on my dreams to not having a social life for the last year. Not anymore.

Whatever this self-imposed barrier you're facing is, cut it down to size. It doesn't define you. How you turn it into a strength - into a propellor - is what defines you. Cut the power to those flashing caution lights and bowl that blockade over like it's your job. Oh, wait. It is.

Reopen that road, or better yet - Build a new one.

Step on a Crack...

I try very hard not to let superstition creep into my life.

Lately, it's not working.

Leading up to my wedding, everything went wrong. It started with the date - we didn't get the date we wanted, but we got into the venue on the Labour Day weekend. Next was the dress - my Mom hated the first one I liked, and the dress that I absolutely would have killed for had to be bought "as is", and would have taken a lot of stress and work to make ready for a real wedding. Then, the invitations were wrong not once, but five times. They were even sent out with the incorrect RSVP date because there was just no time to have them fixed again. We wrote the correct date in pen.

There was the ex-roommate who turned into an ex-bridesmaid when she informed me she planned on driving five hours to the church the day of my wedding - meaning she wouldn't be present for photos, hair/makeup, the meet-and-greet or anything else to do with the wedding but the actual wedding itself. Then there was the fact that my in-laws dictated everything. The day of the wedding, I looked at my best friend and my Mom and asked, "Am I making a mistake? Were they signs?"

Maybe they were, maybe they weren't. The only thing I do know is our one year anniversary should have been two months ago, and I haven't seen my husband since July. Aside from a handful of texts this week, I hadn't even heard from him in four weeks - which is usually the case, just a text to say he's sent something for F. I've dwelled on not listening to my gut and reading the signs that were blatantly flashing before my eyes, and have wondered if I would be happier, if hearts would have been spared had I called off the wedding when it first crossed my mind - around the time shit started hitting the fan.

Yesterday, I felt that strange sense of "Is this an omen?" when I went to my apartment to find the door to my unit UNLOCKED. WITH MY STUFF INSIDE. I could feel my heart breaking - I have never felt so assaulted, so violated in all my life. All of my things were where I'd left them, but the building managers cared that little about my belongings that they didn't even lock the door that separated them from the world. I was furious. This was only exasperated by the fact that the apartment hadn't been cleaned, a jug of paint sat in the middle of my floor and there were still cigarettes and old coffee cups on my counter. What did I get myself into?, I asked myself walking down the stairs shaking with anger.

We had no choice but to my move my things into the apartment. I looked at my Dad and said, "I'm looking for a new place. I will not stay here." He agreed, wholeheartedly and within a few hours, I had found a few spots to look at on Sunday when I return to town. It was sickening feeling. All of my doubts about going back to school were blown up on the projection screen for me this last week. An apartment that wasn't ready, twice. Since telling a few people where the apartment was, I've heard everything from "I saw a car on fire in the parking lot there once" to "the cops are there every day".

Needless to say, I'm moving and trying to stay positive that this isn't a sign from some greater force that I'm not supposed to go to school right now but that's not going to happen. Shit happens, but always for a reason. Maybe the perfect apartment is just waiting for me to move in!

Eruptions

We've all been there: so overwhelmed with anger and frustration that, in spite of our best efforts, we just can't hold it in for another second. And then it happens, as we are powerless to stop it: we lose our shit.

Yesterday was what you might call a let-down. Big disappointment. I'll go one step further to call it an absolute piss-off. I drove five hours with my Mom and F to the new apartment. The building manager looked at me like a crazy person.

"We didn't have an appointment for today, did we?"

"Um, yep... I was supposed to take ownership today... I called twice this week to confirm. My power was supposed to be hooked up yesterday..."

Meanwhile I'm looking out the window at tenants in the building across the driveway smoking. In their apartment. Wait, didn't I sign a lease that stated I absolutely could not smoke in the building? Why is she still looking at me like I sprouted a second head? She scrambled around her office looking through paperwork, occasionally glancing quizically at me and then announced, "I don't know why this wasn't written down."

I watched her write it down the day of the lease-signing. I spoke to her last week. I called again this week, twice. Once to confirm my move-in date, the second time to confirm that the power corporation would be setting my power up. Somehow, she missed all of that.With a sick feeling in my stomach, I started wondering if I had made a mistake. Is this what I'm going to be contending with in this building, with this company?

The truth is that the series of events that led up to my gasket-blowing started long before my meeting with the building manager. I was overtired, feeling unwell and stressed out about moving. Finley was feeding off of my anxiety and acting up in the way that only two-year-olds can. I awoke yesterday with a heavy heart and a sense of dread. I snapped at Mom, Dad and F. I grumbled the whole way to the apartment, my bad mood stewing.

When I went to let myself into the apartment, I was greeting with the smell of fresh paint. YAY! They told me they didn't think they would bother repainting it when I had asked (three times). Sense of happy disappeared when I got completely through the door and saw that the apartment was in complete disarray. Shelves were laying on paper on the floor, wet paint all over them. The walls were tacky with their first coat of paint, but the ceilings looked fantastic! Cigarettes laid on my counter top and the lights were on. No one was there, but it was pretty obvious my apartment would not be ready for me to move in.

Nope. Wednesday. Great. My plans to get the apartment ready before I started classes on November 1 were thrown up in the air and smashed into smithereens. The only bonus is that a full carload of stuff has been unloaded into the middle of a bedroom and thus, that work is done. Angrily, I locked the door and drove away from the apartment. We went to the mall to walk around after five hours spent in the car, only to have Finley launch himself into the world's biggest meltdown. As I drove down the highway I could feel my frustration boiling over, and then it happened.

MOMMY MELTDOWN

I cried and grumbled and yelled and then I felt instantly better.

For how mad I was about leaving the apartment, I felt like a million bucks (except for cramped legs and a soreback from sitting in a car for nearly twelve hours). I got to sleep in my bed, snuggle with my dog and after F's bad mood had also passed, we bought a new movie for the car DVD player.

Once again my plans fell through and things looked bleak, but once the cranky skies cleared I was able to reroute and snuggle with one floppy eared dog. Just one more blessing in disguise to add to the list.

Enough

I woke up this morning feeling pretty pleased with myself.

Two big suitcases sat jam-packed with my stuff against the wall, a third set on top of a rubbermaid container (mainly to hold said rubbermaid container closed), waiting to be filled. In a little under two hours last night, I managed to pack the clothes I like the most need for my first few weeks in the new place. How efficient am I? I thought smugly, and then I looked into my closet.

More clothes. Dresses, jackets, shirts, sweaters, shoes, pants, jeans, skirts... There is an entire wardrobe packed in my suitcases and another full wardrobe hanging in my closet. My bureau drawers aren't empty either. In spite of having not one but four white button-front shirts, last week I looked at one and thought how much I wanted to buy it. I didn't, and was reminded why last night. Given, some of the clothes hanging don't fit quite right but some were expensive items, and you never know when you might put on five or forty pounds, right?

More. It consumes our lives, day in and day out. We want more money, bigger houses, faster cars, better wardrobes, more vacation time. Some of us even lose sleep over it - I know I do. Want keeps me awake, need rarely does. Every now and again, want and need overlap for me. Going back to school is a great example of that. I could have done all of the schoolwork in the upcoming year in the time I spent worrying. All those hours didn't change the outcome though. They don't make tuition less and as far as I can see, worrying isn't going to make leaving any easier.

Wanting more this and more that has really only given me more stress, more headaches and less happiness. Worrying about things I can't have or can't change has only dulled my own life and taken away from all of the wonderful things I do have. What if, just for one day, I could swap wanting more with being happy with enough. I have enough. 

I have a roof over my head when thousands of others are freezing in the street. I have food in my cupboards, and electricity keeping my fridge running. I have an amazing support system of family and friends. I have a beautiful, bright and loving little boy and I have our health. New jeans or a shiny car won't make any of that better or worse.

When it's all stripped away, I really have it all - I have more than enough.