It is never easy, or straightforward, but it just IS. Or, alternate title... That is the best I can explain the unexplained!

Over the time periods represented by the past 79 blogs - I have noticed a continuing precipitous decline in my hoarding mother's grasp on reality, but it is, sadly... not near enough to be actionable.  Since I had a major health issue and major emergency surgery almost 2 months ago, I have been only calling/speaking with her every 3-4 days and getting off the phone if she devolves into paranoia, negativity, or attempts to earnestly invade a boundary I have set.

The things that I have quickly gotten off the phone for include... 

1. Asking if I have every used Vaniqua (a prescription used for hiristulism [sp]?)as she is quite bothered by hair on her upper and lower lip.  She went to another doctor without dealing with it for weeks... and then complained to the pharmacist.  Despite me advising her it is not an issue, at least yet, she will drop into the self centered world of gross, and it always leads to a discussion of pubic hair... another subject I refuse to discuss with her.
2. Attempting to discuss her 'crusty, scaly moles' on unsavory places on her anatomy...
3. Continence pants, bodily functions in gross detail, including lack thereof...
4. The condition of her fungus infested toenails... And her lack of personal hygiene and denial of that as well.
5. Asserting that her hated neighbor 'has been in her house and put a turd in her basement'.
6. Discussing the Castle Doctrine, her conversations with the Sheriff and the State Police that she takes as a green light to shoot someone...  And other violent ideations and expressions.
7. Criticism of, and jealousy of her neighbors and anyone she interacts with, especially if they *GASP* spend money for pleasure.
8. Her delusion that she is Snow White.  (Not exactly, but that she has a special gift with animals...)
9. Inappropriate, confrontational and MEAN behavior in public.  
10. Medical and pseudo-scientific beliefs that border on the magical, overly causative/simplistic, or spontaneous regeneration.

Her ability to go to the absolute worst case scenario is a sight to behold, and her ability to invalidate and minimize anyone else's experiences is also worthy of at least a published case study.  And the upshot is ... she never seems to change topics or modes of craziness.  She has so self isolated that her world is wee-little-tiny.  

Last week I purchased another car.  My lovely, reliable car that was almost 8 years old and had over 170K without a single problem was approaching the stage where I could continue to drive it, but it was going to cost me... and having no payment would come at a large trade off.  Pay me now, or pay me later!  So it goes.  I traded last week, and am happy with that trade.  My newer car does not have Bluetooth as my old one did, but I am having that installed ASAP... But... where this is relevant... I can use the no handheld phone law in my state to extend the times between conversations to keep me healthy, happy, and working to continue to heal from the events 2 months ago.  Last week I returned to work 'full time'.  It has taken a bit out of me, but I have had some revelations and rediscoveries during this time.

• By nature of how life-threatening what happened to me was, and how invasive the surgery was... I had weeks at home when I really was not in the shape to do much.  I realized that if something ever happened to me that disabled me/prevented me from working- I would have to do SOMETHING.  Anything.  I could not let my world retract like I have seen in many others, my hoarding mother included.  I would need social interaction and intellectual stimulation on some level, even if I was capable of little else.
• I am still really only intellectually processing what has happened and the changes that may or may not be permanent.  And knowing myself like I do, I know that I do not want to discuss the particulars of some of it.  Partially because it is personal and something not discussed in polite company, and partially because I want to get through the next few months of assessment and some additional treatment before we determine what will likely be permanent in the nerve damage.  I am still in the place I was post diagnosis of the massive tumor and pre-op, where I expect nothing but a positive outcome, and if, IF... it is not, I will deal with what I have and I will kick its ass.  That is how I cope.  Expect the best, prepare for the worst, and take what I get.
• That I focus on what people do, rather than focusing on their 'failures' and 'did not dos'.  I again, could not look in the mirror if I lived in the museum of petty grudges and minor misunderstandings...
• That even well into my 40's... I still would rather have quality over quantity, and that includes life.  When it looked impossible that I would come out of this without an ovarian cancer diagnosis, my stance was, "Who truly wants to live forever?"  Not in a fatalistic ennui sort of way, and not to attempt to be 'heroic'.  Simply said... do I want to die?  NO!  But if I do... The only regrets I would have is leaving my aging kitties, the grief of my friends, and leaving my agency in a difficult position.  That is pretty much it.  I have taken most challenges and risks presented me, loved hard, often, traveled extensively and in places that many would not choose to go... Jumped at chances for formal education and lifelong learning... Excelled at a career that has been as challenging as it is fulfilling.  I have attempted to make the world a better place, and arguably, one could say that my impact has been negligible   BUT- even if I made one person's life just a little bit better, even if I moved the cause of social change/social justice and ending oppression every so slightly forward...  I have no reservations about my choices.  And something is only a regret if you do not take the lesson from it and use if for positive change.

I think that final point, is the thing that is a chasm that will forever separate me from my hoarding mother.  I look at life as an adventure, something I should actively contribute to... not for any karmic or religious reason, not to avoid consequences, but that it is the right thing to do.  My hoarding mother, and many, many, MANY who hoard look at life as opportunity lost.  Everything must have some sort of identifiable gain, and they are stuck in making the same choices over and over.  The saddest thing of all?  They know it will not bring a different outcome.  They are waiting for the 'X' factor... whether that be family, children, wonderful strangers... to come fill up the hole they cannot fill in their own lives.  

That is why I get so frustrated when my mother cannot distinguish that every event is a jumping off place to talk about herself and tell her stories for the umpty-umpth time, exactly in the same words, inflections, expressions.  Why I want to scream at her invalidation and her refusal to see me as a whole, completely different person that has different experiences, feelings, knowledge... and DNA contributions.  I am a separate person.  Not a supporting actor in her never-ending drama.  Her refusal to change the subject and resultant digging in further when I ask or tell her the subject upsets me, such as about my nerve damage/resultant BP drop that causes me to pass out when I stand quickly.  Her attempt to DARVO... Deny, Avoid, Reverse Victim and Offender?  "Lisabeth, I was just asking... you do not have to be so hateful and mean."  Then she pouts.  

Do I worry about something 'tipping' me and that would cause my descent into mental illness/hoarding?  Yes.  Do I know that since I am 44 and have not shown any signs of the mental illness, depression, schizophrenia  and the like that runs in my family that some how, some way I might have escaped that piece?   Yes.  But I did not escape unscathed.  Do I know that my very precise, organized, tidy, and minimalist life are common in those growing up in the shadow of the hoard?  Yes I do.  I know that I am close to one end of the (linear) continuum and hoarding is at the other end.  But I also recognize that my managing my space the way I do... that it is possible that two such extremes in behavior may come from a similar place.  And I am always checking myself, and I hope that those close to me would give me a reality check if I ever do start to move down the continuum.

But... with all that coming out of my head and through my fingers via my keyboard to your kind eyes... I am so much further along in my ACOH process than I was even 2 1/2 years ago.  Will I be the person I could have been if I had not been exposed to cruel, narcissistic and abusive parenting growing up?  Would I still have had to negotiate life with PTSD?  No one can know that.  But honestly, that Lisabeth who might have been, has quite bluntly, never existed.  

The Lisabeth I am now is integrated, whole, and as such I will continue to strive to heal and grow.  I am not the physically, emotionally and otherwise abused, bullied and stalked child I was.  I have never had a mother.  I do not need one now.  I am my own mother.  I have realized that my reality is what I make of it... and I choose happiness.  And so it goes.  

Have a great week everyone.  Thank you for reading!  I should have more 'FTMOAH' soon!

Another episode of 'From the Mouth of a Hoarder"

My plan of only calling/speaking with my hoarding mother once every 3-4 days is working well overall, and our conversations have been relatively short since I am still recovering from emergency surgery six weeks ago.  She gets negative?  Gotta go.  Gets intrusive?  Gotta go.  Gets off-the-hook batshit crazy?  Same result.  I knew that at some point she would push back or rebound a bit when I was not paying attention, and this conversation yesterday was that day.

I am transitioning back into work, and for me, this week has been a steadily improving one.  I attended a meeting in a nearby large town that is about 80 miles away, and I called her when I was about a half hour out.  

She asked what I was doing, and I told her I was driving back from the 2 day membership meeting, and had a good meeting, a good time seeing friends and colleagues, and shopping.  (Of course I did not share with her that the new pants I bought was a size 00, and that I had the lovely BP drop that has been happening and passed out with a mirror in my hand that broke.  Luckily I was not cut.  I also did not mention the shock of folks when they saw me.  I did not want to hear it from her... I think she is secretly convinced I have cancer somewhere... She has often criticized any type of invasive surgery because 'when the air hits the cancer it runs and hides everywhere'.  It is cancer, Mother, not ollie-ollie-oxen-free...)  My visit was culminated by seeing and having a lovely lunch with my former elderly neighbors who had moved to that city about 2-3 years ago.  I was coming home, and had an appointment to meet the sales manager and a sales person to discuss a deal on a (newer) car for me.  

She started rapid fire asking questions about me working, and making statements.  When I apprised her that:

1. I was doing extremely well, and I had been fine on this trip...
2. The surgeon had released me to do this...
3. I was released to start working out/running, as my endurance/energy will allow and to only lift weights at 60-70% until three months out...

She demanded to know if it was three months from surgery or three months from my appointment.  I informed her that any benchmark like that is from surgery, and 3 months from the appointment was CRAZY.  She immediately took offense.  Whoops.

She started awkwardly trying to find a way to get her opinion in regarding the car I am considering.  

• First she wanted to know 'how much something like that would cost' and I told her to not worry about it.  She gets so angry at prying people, but she will be intrusive in a heartbeat.  She would love to know how much I earn, what my rent is, and now, what my car payment will be.
• She asked if it was a large car like I have now, and no, it is not.  It is a smaller car, but is all-wheel drive.  
• She started to make some comment about how much I am in the car and how dangerous small cars are.  I cut her off and let her know that it is much smaller than the Acura TL I drive now.  However, it is comparable to the size of her Accord.

Egad... perish the thought that after almost 6 years of driving this car and putting 170,000 miles on it I would consider trading before I have to spend quite a bit in tires, alignment, services, inspection, and any repairs it might need.  That I would make a cost/benefit analysis and make a logical decision rather than be forced into a decision by default when I have no choice later.  The estimated costs of those items will almost exceed the actual cash value of the car, and that is if nothing is wrong.  And since it is almost 8 years old and has not had any repairs needed, it is coming.  And it will be expensive.  An alternator perhaps?  Or maybe struts or a CV joint?  Oh I know... the manifold cracks...   Older/high mileage car problems.  The reason I am considering revising my plan to drive it for another year or two and take it to 250,000 or 300,000 miles is when my ex-husband asked if I was limiting what I do and where I go because of the age and mileage... I had to answer in the affirmative.  Especially in light of my recent medical crisis, life is too damn short to live it constrained by things that do not have to be limits.  I wanted to drive to NOLA, but changed my mind and flew.  I have friends that live a few states away that want me to visit. I keep demurring.  If I do not follow through on this car, I will keep looking.  

The biggest thing is, I refuse to JADE.  That is justify, argue, deny, or explain.  I am middle aged, have bought many, many cars in my life, and am not doing this impulsively.  I can afford this car, and it has less than 50,000 miles and has that in a warranty left.  Yes, it is a luxury brand, and for the first time in many years I will buy something outside of the Honda line.  

Seeing she was not getting anywhere, she started on hated neighbor and asserted that he keeps coming out on the porch to 'glare' any time she is outside.  She also asserted that his dog must have died and she has determined this since she has not seen it in over a month, and that all kinds of people are walking their dogs out the street.  

In the next breath she tells me how it is so weird, she does not see ANYONE ... it is so dead.  HUH?

She then starts chattering about... get your barf bags ready... a crusty huge mole on her breast that is coming off.  I quickly advised her to change the subject or the call was OVER.  

She started lamenting she needs a med-mal attorney to sue a physical therapist for malpractice... and she does not want anyone around her home area.  Do they still make books like 'Best Doctors, Worst Doctors' that she saw 20 years ago... and do they do that for attorneys?  Um... yeah.  It is called Yelp or Google.  She blustered and changed the subject.

The final straw was...

"I am going to ask you a question."

I am breathless with anticipation....

"Do you have hair on your upper and lower lip?"

DEAR. FREAKING. GOD!  We are not having this same inane conversation that we have already had 50 million times!

"Well, I am just ASKING! Does anyone you know have that?"

I am sure someone does, however most folks have boundaries and do not discuss this stuff.  They wax it, get electrolysis, laser hair removal, or shave it daily when they shower...

"OH!  I could not shave it every day! That would make the hair stiff like a man's beard... What I do..."

Gotta go.  BYE.  

Recently she also opined when I mentioned getting estimates for someone to come in and clean once a month that I should have one of my friends come over and do it... that I do enough for them.  

How would she know?  And I quickly told her friendship is not transactional.  It is reciprocal, but she has no concept of that.  Many friends offered to vacuum, to take out the trash when I could not do it for myself, and I let a few folks and was grateful.  But, I do not invite folks over based on what I want them to do for me.  This is not about my being unable to do certain things any longer.  This is about, both long-term and short-term, the quality of my time and my life.  I keep a pretty spic and span, minimalist place.  I would like a deep dusting, baseboard clean, and the 'hard turn' that many cleaning companies do, because I do not enjoy those activities, and they have to be done.  I am willing to pay someone to do them, and if I cannot, then I will do all of them without editorial comment or delay.  She has spent many conversations criticizing the lovely couple across the street who have a beautiful home and have a lot of pride in their home, car and their own personal appearance.  My mother also criticizes a 'wonderful stranger' she has groomed because she also is very particular and diligent in her housekeeping.  

Her disdain of those who dress and treat their spaces with the respect in which they wish to be treated is definitely a common 'hoarder think' trait... to my mother, that is some sort of character flaw, and a definite form of snobbery... that you would put everything back as soon as you are done!  That you have nice things, sometimes expensive things that are loved, used, and have a place in your life and in your home.  That like things are grouped centrally and in places that make sense rather than having multiple little 'stations' with all kinds of things.  That you are 'too good' or 'too busy' to be bothered with certain house chores and hire it done.

It is not the first time I have thought about this, but it hit me again.  She has such poor insight that she will not see any other perspective but her own that has been twisted by mental illness and paranoia.  She has effectively isolated herself with her hoard, physically, emotionally, and in every other way possible.  The hoard has become her moat and her dragon.  She also does not see folks as individuals, but merely as extensions of her will and what she wants them to do.  Everyone is something to be controlled, to be manipulated.  She also has little concept of happiness, of seeking peace, and of actually living life, rather than just existing in it.  Life is a series of disappointments to her.  I am sure that my life, my thoughts and things that I hold as values are as foreign to her.  She has a constant internal dialogue or tape that seems to be running 24/7, and it seldom changes.  She seems to be aware that people such as doctors and others are pulling away from her, but she does not know why, other than the blame game she plays.  And she sits in the hoard, day in, day out, and watches crappy daytime television, old reruns, and does nothing stimulating that empowers her to learn something new or even have a new experience.  It must be like being stuck in an alternate reality loop... or being in the movie 'Groundhog Day' with Bill Murray.  

What a sad place eh?  Hoarding... No one wins.  NO ONE.  I have some more work to do personally, some more introspection as I move forward.  I have had a brutal reminder of how precious life is, and how you are as happy as you choose to be.  I want to make my life count... 

Have a great week, and hopefully I will be a little more consistent as I get back into my life.  

Some memes shared with me by other adult children of hoarders...

Occasionally I receive memes, pictures, and the like from adult COHs like me.  Some via email, some via other venues... and some are relevant, some irreverent humor, and some directly relate to the hoarder him or herself.  

Sharing several tonight...

(Sorry... It was too uplifting for a bit too long... My twisted sense of humor had to pop in somewhere!)

Okay.  More than enough for now.  I have some others... and some humorous ones, but another time.  Oh... and I have some nice, creepy, CLOWNS.  

More of the 'From the Mouth of a Hoarder' for your amusement. (FTMOAH)

Spoke to my hoarding mother the other day.  We continue to be on the 'short call every third day or so' plan, which is working well ... for me.  Especially as I continue to recover from my surgery a little over a month ago.  

Anyway, I called to check in.  And... Shocker... I got a whole lot of crazy.  She was complaining about the neighbor who she hates who lives in the turn, and was going on and on about all the things he has stolen from her, like her iris plants, that he prominently displays in his yard to taunt her.  She then gets into conspiratorial whispering mode, like the state of the free world is at stake, and that is what -sort of- pulls me back from the mindless spacing I was doing at that moment.  Unlucky me...  

"You remember where I had my iris plants and that SOB took them?  Well, I just woke up thinking about that flower bed and I went out to it and the dirt had been disturbed.  And when I dug down a bit, there were hard oval bulbs, and they were bigger, and grayish brown.  Could they be... you know... that stuff?"

What stuff?

[Now, she has been on the psychic kick again, telling me about old coworkers, school mates, distant relatives that she thinks of out of the blue... Then... PRESTO!  She sees their obituary in the paper.]

"You know... he was always messing in it as a kid..."

You mean marijuana?  Are you asking if I thought if he planted pot in your flower beds?  

"It is not in the flower beds.  I noticed the dirt in the YARD was disturbed near the gas light when I went out to the flower beds, and... well.  Is it?  I know nothing about that kind of sh*t.  What does it look like?  Does it grow from bulbs?  You know all about this stuff since you have worked with those drug people.  The sheriff has been busting people all over the place around here, and I would not put it past him to do this then call the police so I am arrested...."

Seriously???  Okay.  Marijuana comes from seed, and what you are describing does not sound like it, but I do not know for sure as I have not seen the seeds personally, just the plants or the product for consumption.  And, with the small amount of seed, I doubt very much they would be flying the helicopter with the heat identification software to bust you.  In your state, if I remember correctly from years ago working in juvenile detention... growing penalty is based on the aggregate weight, and this would be a misdemeanor, and of course you would test clean, so it is unlikely that the penalty would be imposed, which at most is $1,000 fine or 90-6 months, usually sentence suspended.  Again, if memory serves.

"I would not put it past him!  He is sneaky!  He is escalating!  I told you that he..."

Okay... at my doctor's appointment.  Gotta go.

Wow.  Egad... 

Was it even plant bulbs?  Or with her lack of smell, and severe cataracts... was it poo from some cat or animal that she is feeding on the porch that was buried?  Her yard is all wild, just weeds and bare dirt...  It would be the perfect cat box.  

And- she is apparently pissy for some reason.  

Tonight- I realized it has been 3 or 4 days since my last call, but I have had a rough few days with dealing with issues from the nerve damage wrought by my tumor (pain, pressure, insomnia  and the like), and as I keep saying, this recovery is not linear.  Plus, this is the week that I am allowed (after throwing somewhat of a a fit with my oncologist/surgeon) to start working offsite.  Up to this point it was supposed to be less than 10-15 hours from home (um... I did exceed that sadly) and starting today I could go to meetings outside my residential program and office, and I am to keep my attendance onsite minimal at best.  I have not been anywhere yet, and I go back on the 10th for a follow up, and I will learn if I can resume some onsite after that appointment, and if I am still on track for 'normal full time' (or under 40 hours) until the end of September.  I also will be getting referrals to a neurologist and the core center to attempt to help with some of the damage caused by the tumor. 

Sorry, I digressed.  I attempted to call her, and the phone rang maybe 7 times, and I am positive she picked up sightly and hung up.  Giving the benefit of the doubt, I called again, and it rang the full amount before the answering machine (that she keeps shut off) asked for the access code.  Oh well... 

I am sure she is pissed/being passive-aggressive that I was not overly concerned about the conspiracy to have her jailed on drug charges, and she has been complaining of a multitude of physical concerns, including a tooth ache, thrush (due to her immune suppression medication/lupus/antibiotics for the tooth) and etc. 

I think I also annoyed her when she told one of her confrontation stories.  She shared a story that the nurse practitioner would not give her the anti-fungal oral medication in the sufficient dose and duration she needs to head off thrush, and instead of asking to see the doctor, asking the nurse to check the file for the letter that her lupus doc sent, or anything that would be remotely helpful, she walked out.  She has refused answer the calls from that office, despite being at the phone and seeing the caller ID as it rings, and they have called multiple times each day, and sent letters.  She did call her lupus specialist and got the prescription she needed, but again, as in any situation where someone does not act in a manner that she wants, she took the nuclear option and simply could not give anyone the benefit of the doubt, or get out of her own way.  

I am so happy to start transitioning back into work, although I am not as hale and chipper as I hoped I would be at this point.  As I keep saying, this recovery has not been linear, and although the net gain each week is significant, and apparently- very ahead of where most folks are at this point, I still have a long way to go.   

<Sigh>  

I know she is not equipped to act like one would expect a mother to act, and I do not expect it... but it is bittersweet when folks that are not related are more supportive.  And to be fair, I will not allow her to start her morbid poking and questioning, but a simple motherly 'how are you feeling' and asking about next steps or progress would be... maternal. I have amazing support from others, and I am so grateful.  I continue to focus on the positive, and the tremendous luck that I had escaping so many dire things.  I escaped cancer, a colostomy, having that THING burst in me at removal.  I escaped having it rupture in me before surgery... which would have resulted in my death, either from bleeding (it was an almost 10-11 lb tumor on the Fallopian, and apparently it is a miracle that the tube did not rupture like an ectopic pregnancy)... and if I managed by some miracle to survive that, the septic infection from the fluid in the tumor would have gotten me.  

I have continuing weight loss (I am down to 118 lbs) and the bone pain is lessening, but I still have low blood pressure continuing, most likely related the nerve damage and not surgery blood loss, is causing me to pass out once in a while.  I have some other issues that I will spare you, and although I know I will heal and recover significantly from them... it is simply unknown if I will be 'normal' in function that way again.  I am slowly coming to terms with frankenbelly, and I honestly do call my tummy that affectionately.  A battle has been waged there, and it shows.  It is now a part of who I am, it is not all encompassing.  I am so thrilled to be here, to be returning to my career and life, and to be cancer free.  This struggle, although brief, is coming to an end.

My struggle as a COH, however, does continue.  And I will keep working at that as hard as I am working to recover from this.  It is a large part of what I am... it does not make up the whole of me.  Even if I were to end my relationship/estrange from my hoarding mother, she would take the nuclear path, and stalk and cause me all kinds of pain.  And some day, no matter what, one of us will die first.  And if it is her, I will still have some level of 'stuff' to deal with, even if at the absolute least it is simply moving on from having an estranged, ill, and toxic parent die... 

Hoarding.  No one wins.  No one.

Have a great week, or what remains of it!  Thanks for your patience, support, and again... Thanks for reading.

From the Mouth of a Hoarder Time.... (FTMOAH!) Week 3 post op for Lisabeth

Today is 24 days post-op for me, (if you are a first time visitor here, please see the post on 8/7/2013 as your interest dictates!) and today marks 3 weeks out of the hospital.  

I am doing very well, and have realized through this recovery a few things:

• I am not Superwoman, and I am not quite as young and resilient as I used to be...
• I am, however, doing fantastically well by my and my doctor's accounts, and minimizing my stress level seems to help that by leaps and bounds.  I get stressed past a certain level, and it is like I over-exerted and I am down for a day or two.
• So- based on this, I have realized that my energy is not endless, it is more like a rather limited checking account.  To make withdrawals, I have to make the appropriate deposits of resting, and the like.
• The other conclusion that I arrived at is ... as I continue my healing journey and have fully recovered, that there is a lesson to be learned from this.  I must internalize it, and be able to successfully implement it.  That means my interaction with my mother.

I have been keeping her at a distance, and if she is narcissistic, mean, morbid, intrusive or macabre... I end the call.  We are talking maybe each third day, just enough to keep her for calling work, anyone else, or engaging in her terrifying stalking behavior.

I have not discussed any additional issues health wise, and I will not permit her to start to ask 'medical' questions or deflect anything to her.  The conversations for the most part, have been rather surface.  

I called to check in today, and got a dose of FTMOAH. 

She was in a dither.  She stated she had 'made' a TMJ orthodontic device (which she calls an 'orthotic') to keep her teeth apart and her jaw from hurting.  Apparently she has misplaced it in the hoard.  And went into great detail about her travails in attempting to locate it.  During this discussion she mentioned:

1. She found an entire kitchen drawer full of McDonald's, Burger King's, name-the-US-fast-food-chain-in-Appalachia's soft drink drinking straws, still in their little wrappers.  She asked if the local domestic shelter would want them...  Um... NO!
2. She also was amused by the discovery, and said she was not sure why she kept all of those, as she goes to McD's for a sweet tea (YUK) and she uses and reuses the straws she gets, and she rinses them out every so often, and gets several days to longer out of them...  <the sound of Lisabeth's head imploding... GAH!>
3. In looking for something else, she found a brand new toilet flapper that had been in the bathroom a really long time... and asked if they went bad or had an expiration date.  Now, I told her to throw it away, but I know this will come up again, and again.  It has been in her house a minimum of 20 years.  Some of those years with no HVAC.  I can only imagine...
4. She then stated, "I am not sure how I got all this stuff in here.  I cannot find anything, and I probably do not need all this stuff.  I try to go through something and it does not look like I did anything at all, and I get so tired... "

At that point I ended the call.  I know where it was going.  It was going to 'poor me, no one will help me churn and reshuffle this stuff, and obsess over trash being re-homed to someone that will use it like it was a puppy or a kitten.  

She is also being very good and not 'going there' with many of the areas that are off limits.  Of course, a couple times I called she was so negative and having violent ideations about neighbors that I would immediately end the call, maybe a sentence or two into it.  I am not listening to it.  She does wing some value judgments in, things like 'oh... you are out running around again' and telling me what I should and should not do since she had an umbilical hernia repaired in the early 70's... ugh.  She is always focused on the neighbors, on their incomes, on their choices... It is the same conversation over and over.

So, I am keeping contact minimal, short, and when she makes a swan dive off the diving board of tolerable I end the call.  

I think I may continue this after I return to work, and my normal existence.  Although the longer contact does have a downside, if she is cycling behavior-wise I do not have any forewarning or opportunity to attempt to mitigate it somewhat.  But, that is not my problem.  

Thanks to all my friends and readers for your support, comments, emails, and all the kindness and good wishes.  I am still not 100%, but I am doing well.  And what health problems I am dealing with now as a result of the size of the tumor and the things it pushed against and possibly damaged, I still think will improve, and are improving.  Will I be back to what I was pre-tumor?  Maybe not 100%... but I am grateful for every bit of it.  

I have also not discussed my 'Frankenbelly' with my hoarding mother.  The hysterectomy incision from 2007 is huge, and now I have this even larger one that is just a couple of inches from the end of my solar plexus to the old incision.  The landscape is not smooth.  I have divots, and folds I did not have.  My belly button is down and to the side, and about 1/3 of what it was.  Right now, my abdomen resembles the battleground that it was.  And I am working on honoring, and accepting it as well.  And I do not need any negativity or judgment from her on this.  I am already getting a lot of guff from concerned friends and my doctors about my low, low weight right now.  I know when I start exercising/lifting/running, my belly will change and evolve to a more final state, and I will pick up the muscle weight I have lost.  I definitely am glad she cannot see me, after her reaction to me in April when I was 23 pounds heavier and and she informed me that I was going to die.  

But, again, I am staying focused on what is ahead of me.  Getting back to health.  Getting back to work, and staying balanced this time.  Getting back to my work out regimen.  And I have to focus on the positive.  I have a shining example, 7 hours away of what focusing on the worst gets you.  

Have a great evening to everyone!  Oh... and her did-it-herself-because-she-will-not-pay-for-a-professionally-fitted-TMJ-device?  I suspect that it is a pencil, wrapped in packaging tape, with some sort of headband on it.  Maybe I should go to a BDSM website and send her a pony-bridle gag?  <Evil Lisabeth...>

Two weeks post op- and doing well! Mother however...

Today is 2 weeks post op from my emergency surgery on 8/2 (for the full story, see my 8/7/2013 post) to remove a Fallopian tumor the size of a honeydew melon or a medium sized, fully inflated balloon, and I was released from the hospital 4 days later.

Friends stayed with my until I could be on my own, and the cards, the flowers, the fruit baskets, the other deliveries, the texts, calls and emails have been wonderful, and overwhelming in a very touching way.   The support, comments and emails from my readers has also been so appreciated.  

The first day home, I was EXHAUSTED.  But, I knew that my hoarding mother would unleash all kinds of crazy if I did not let her know I was out of the hospital.  (She had tracked me down and was calling the land line at the hospital during my stay... and I feared she might call my best friend who called her after surgery, might call my work... who knows...)

I called her.  I let her know I was home, that my good friend had picked me up, and another friend was en route... and that folks were 'sharing' time until my friend arrived from out of the area, where she would be staying for a few days.  My mother began to immediately go on about the last time she spoke to me, how bad I sounded, how the call quality was so bad, how she could not believe I had the phone up to my mouth... and on and on about nothing.  I advised her that I was quite worn out, and was going to bed.  

"Well- I need to inform you of one important thing that I did not tell you earlier before you get off here, so wait just a minute."

Make it quick.  I am fading and my incision is screaming at me at the moment.

"Remember the wind-chimes that your father's mother had?"  

Yes

"Remember the scale my mother had to weigh clothing before she put it into the washer?"

Huh?  NO!

2 more questions of that nature...

Get. To. The. Point.  I am hanging up in 90 seconds.

"Well!  Guess where all those items are!  Those wind chimes are yours, and were [buried in the garage hoard for 24 years] in some stuff here.  They are on the thieving ba$t@rd's front porch.  I can see them from here!  I could just stand and watch as someone took a meat cleaver and sliced him into ..."

I hope he enjoys them.  They were god-awful ugly and were actually a gag gift for grandma.  I don't care.  Hanging up now.  <click>

A couple days later, I was going a bit stir crazy and my friend took me to a little pizza shop just a couple of miles down the road.  It wore me out, but I was glad to get out and do something 'normal'... even something as mundane as getting a pizza.  While my friend and I were there, a co-worker texted, and asked if she could call.  Long story short, mom called my place of business, and was fishing for information.  I called her and called her out on it, and she was minimizing, evasive, and quite bluntly, full of crap.  I ended the call.  Grrrrrr.

Last Tuesday I had my first follow up with my oncologist/surgeon.  I was hoping to receive my final pathology report on my massive tumor, and get some answers on my BP bottoming out and me passing out when getting out of bed in the morning.  I had also lost 10 lbs from when I was discharged from the hospital, and was losing a pound to two pounds a day.  The following day, I would have an appointment with my primary care physician.

I continue to be one of the luckiest people on earth.  Final path report... BENIGN.  I am going to be okay.  It was reinforced at the cancer center, and at my PCP's office by the staff stopping by to give me a hug, to ask questions, and to express how incredibly lucky I was, that I beat the odds.  Without the family history and my personal health history, there was a less than 15-16% chance that my tumor could be benign.  With the other factors... it looked even more grim.  And I get that.  I understand it, and I am still processing it... and suspect I will be for a while.  The other issues should resolve in time, and I was instructed to not lose any more weight (Um... OKAY... Not trying to lose any now)... and that the BP issue may resolve, and some very likely possible causes, and one of the other likely issues may NOT resolve.  I may have to sit on the edge of the bed for 5-10 minutes from here on out so I do not pass out when my feet hit the floor.  I can deal with that...

So... I call my hoarding mother to let her know the good news.  She is not home, and she no longer allows her answering machine to pick up.  So it just rings until the mechanical voice asks for the access code.  

I called her a couple of days later.  She had a litany of physical emergencies that had to be dealt with NOW!!! And were in the defcon range of mortality... for her.  A toothache from a loose filling... Suspicion that normal questions asked of her by the radiologist prior to her MRI were harbingers that she has a serious tumor too!  And the like.  The thing that sent this call off the reservation was she asked what I had posted on Facebook about this, as the neighbor 'down back' had called her from vacation and had asked if I was okay.  

"Well... I did not not know what you put on your Facebook thing so I just said that you had some sort of cyst and had it removed and things were okay now."  I advised her she could have just told her, it was not a secret... "Well-she hardly ever calls here and ..."  Never mind that.  I got my results back.  Final path was good.  And I need to go.  <click>

She cannot stop herself.  It always has to be about her, and nothing exists in this universe except as a supporting role in her life.  The neighbor called me.  She was concerned, and I told her the 'Cliff Notes' deal and she was horrified.  She was pissed that my hoarding mother made it sound like I had a skin cyst or something minimal removed, instead of major, major surgery.  She was frustrated at her secretiveness, and her inability to reach out and to seek support for herself.  She was also frustrated that my mother simply could not be a mother.  Could not come to help, could not focus on what I needed... just could not get out of her own way... or away from the hoard.

We had a lovely conversation, and the neighbor mentioned that my mother had went to the garage, was churning and fell.  She did not have any details, but mother had been referring to it somewhat obtusely yet dramatically.  I know that I am going to get whaled with it soon.

Again, I am so sorry that her life is so full of resentment, unhappiness, and lost opportunity that she cannot engage in anything other than her soul sucking narcissism.  I am 2 weeks into what will be at least 8 weeks of recovery.  And this has not been an easy one thus far, although I am doing very well, and will happily take what I get.  My recovery is not linear, and it sometimes is a large step forward, a half step back, an another step to the side, and forward again.  I am just so happy I am not:

• Dealing with a cancer diagnosis
• Dealing with radiation or chemo
• Dealing with a diagnosis with a very poor viability 5 years out
• Dealing with a colostomy and even more physical limitation and disfigurement

I am thrilled I am going to be OKAY.  Lisabeth now has a bit of a 'Frankenbelly' and I am grateful to that belly, and will give it the respect due it.  I am so happy my life is not transversed by a diagnosis 'before and after'.  

But- maybe there is a 'before and after' here.  I was in the center of the tornado, confronted by my worst fears for myself.  Hurting those I love by being sick, serious/terminal illness, disfigurement, leaving this earth and leaving my elderly cat and my 'tweak' cat, losing my career... losing everything I had spent a lifetime working towards that I used to define ME.  I again have had what is important, forcefully shown to me by threat of losing it all.  

Some of my friends refer to me as 'unbreakable' due to the things that happen, and that I often overcome to be in a better position.  I have laughingly referred to myself as more of a cat... (I will spare you the Maggie the Cat quote from 'Cat on a Hot Tin Roof' with Paul Newman and Elizabeth Taylor) and with some of the experiences posited I have used up about 5 of my 9 lives.  

I think this last challenge may have used lives number 6, 7, and 8.  I just might be on life number 9.  And I want it to be full, meaningful, and real.  I want to be happy.  I want to be able to be vulnerable when I need to.  I want to be brave when I need to... Not just because I have nothing else but that to give at the moment...  And you know what else I want? 

To do everything in my power to make this life COUNT.  

I am going to take the recovery time to heal my body, and not just the 8 or 9 inch mid line incision.  I also want to heal my core of ME.  

To be continued...

Serious illness and narcissism

Sorry for the long delay in posting. I had a very unpleasant medical crisis unfold, and one that was potentially life threatening.  Long story short, I had a huge ovarian tumor that was the size of a honeydew melon in my pelvis.  Keep in mind I am a size 0 or 2 Misses (US) so my pelvis is not that big.  And I did not have a clue.  

Again, the cliff notes of how this situation unfolded are:

• Lisabeth got sick on Sunday and on Monday night allowed a friend to transport her to the ER
• At 2am Tuesday morning Lisabeth received this devastating news, and understood that there was a small chance at best that this was NOT malignant
• 10am Tuesday Lisabeth saw the 1st oncologist
• Wednesday Lisabeth was scheduled for emergency surgery to remove the mass
• Thursday Lisabeth saw the Cancer Center oncologists
• Friday at 5:15am Lisabeth reported to the hospital and surgery occurred, successfully...  The tumor did not rupture, they got it and the initial path report was benign, and Lisabeth did not wake up with a colostomy like was discussed in the Thursday consultation with the surgeons...
• Lisabeth spent 4 days hospitalized, and is now home recuperating from a large mid line incision 

As you can imagine, the 75 hours between discovery and surgery were similar to being caught in the center of a tornado.  My focus was on keeping calm and not panicking until we knew what I was facing, and I did something different this time.  I reached out to my friends, my coworkers and colleagues, and was very open.  I allowed folks to support me, to express their fear and dismay, to express their love... And they all knew the deal, what I was facing.  They knew that if it was ovarian cancer, what the 5 year survivability of that.  We had just buried my friend on Saturday... the day before I got sick.

Now... as you can imagine, I was torn as to what to say to my hoarding mother.  I had folks giving me different advice... to not tell her anything, to play it by ear until I knew, etc.  

"Hello?  Where have YOU been?  I have not been able to..."

Look.  I have some news.  ... [telling her]...

"[Stammering]But how is that possible?  How did you not know?  How is it possible that something that large is in you?  Okay... one question for you... does your belly puff way out?  Do you look bloated or pregnant??"

No... Why do you ask?

"Do you think that is what is wrong with me?  My belly is over 50 inches!  I am..."

Gotta go.  I will call you when I know more.  

<dial tone>

<Sigh>  So initially she tried to have a reaction that was focused on me, even if it was a bit of 'shouldn't you have known something'/victim blaming in tactic... but then we took a left turn right into narcissism and plowed right into her inability to see me as a separate person from her.  I sat in my car with the most awful, stricken expression before I looked up and caught a peek at myself in the rear view mirror.  

I called on Thursday to let her know that I was scheduled for surgery on Friday, the extent of what I knew, and the hospital, the day and that I would be on a certain floor after.  My best friend was taking me, and I advised her that he would be calling.  She was starting to demand that he call, and if she was not there, to call again... and to ... I cut her off and said he would call, let her know I was okay, benign or not if that was known, and that was it.  He had a huge list to call/text.  

Friday he called her, apprised her I was doing well and that the tumor was initially benign.  He shared with me that she was very emotional, crying, thanking him.  It tore at me a bit, because I again felt empathy for her, sitting alone in that miserable house, not knowing if she was going to lose me today, or 5 years from today... and knowing she always goes to worst case scenario...

My hospitalization was ROUGH.  I did not call anyone, but Friday night my friend gave my iPhone back.  On Saturday the land line in the room rang intermittently, but I could not reach it.  Finally it rang and a nurse handed it to me...

"Lisabeth!  LISABETH!!! IS THAT YOU?  YOU DO NOT SOUND LIKE YOU!!!!! Geraldo never called me back!  He said he would call me back!  I did not know where you were, I did not know how you were, you would not BELIEVE ALL THE CALLS I HAD TO MAKE TO FIND YOU!!!!  I called there several times and no one answered!  It just rang, and rang, and rang..."

Okay- first of all, give Geraldo a break.  It was a really long, rough day, and I cannot believe he said he would call you back... I suspect you told him that as he was ending the call... Second, I told you where I would be, and the reason I have not answered is I am in bed and cannot reach the nightstand where the phone is due to IVs, the Foley, and other things hooked up to me right now.  I am exhausted, and I am ending this call.  If you need to contact me, call my iPhone, and I do have it on silent so if I am sleeping it does not wake me up, and the ringer does not disturb other patients.  DO NOT CALL THE LAND LINE.

Sunday she called the land line.  Luckily, a nurse had moved the phone to the bed for me.  I had a horrific day.  I had to have my IV reinserted, and Foley reinserted.  My bladder and bowels were not 'waking up' and there was no way I would be discharged that day.  I was devastated, I had had a horrible reaction to pain meds, and was again on 'nothing by mouth' status.  She immediately started commenting on how I did not sound like myself, (duh- major surgery and sore throat from being intubated!) and how she could not hear me, asked if I had the phone near my mouth, called back from her cell phone, put her hearing aid in, and then started to berate the neighbors and talk her normal crap.  I advised her the med cart was coming and ended the call.

I will spare you the rest, but I think you catch the theme.  And each time she has deviated into the crazy, I have just ended the call.  I am keeping my phone on silent, so I am not hearing the ring tones/message indicators.  I need peace and space to heal.  I simply cannot deal with this right now.

She has not yet started her whole 'hopeless cancer' routine and made statements about how I am going to die... YET.  She did get fired up the day I told her about surgery say that it was not fair, all I have done is try to help people, and some many worthless people are still living, look at me, look at my dad...

Dear gods it is exhausting.  And I need all the positive energy I can get.  This is going to be a long and physically arduous recovery.  And I suspect, this will continue to evolve as her macabre interest, questions, and etc. will grow and she will start asking vile things.  

My friends were amazed at her, that she would not drive 7 hours to see me.  I am actually relieved she will not, as I do not think I could take it.  So sad, eh?

Hoarding, no one wins.  No one.