Slow Down

Well, I took somebody’s pills.” Dad said after I questioned him on whether or not he had taken his daily meds. We had officially entered the stage of prescription management. One hour later, Dad was sound asleep outside, basking in the sun, having taken Mom’s lot of pills instead of his own. Mom takes Gabapentin and clearly this one had a sedating effect on Dad. I thought of this today as I have entered a new level of better living through chemistry after a week of cranial neuralgia caused by the herpes virus which also caused an outbreak in my mouth on the left side. This has happened numerous times over the years, upwards of 40, and I now know why I get stabbing pains in my head each time those little pinpoint sores show up and also why I most likely have lost a good deal of hearing in my left ear as well as hear a constant ringing/pulsing. Medically, I am special and have been since the age of at least 15. Being Irish Catholic makes me downplay all of that so as to not bother people too much with my woes. That or being Mary Paul’s daughter. She too is Irish Catholic and, as many of you know, holds the reigning title of “Tank” in our family and circle of friends. I drove myself to the ER on Wednesday night with stabbing pains in the back of my head. Why? I didn’t want to bother anyone with my nonsense. That’s stupid. I was stupid. I won’t do that again. Cross my heart and don’t hope to die.

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We threw Mom a 90th birthday party at our house last week and my heart felt full because I know she was in her glory. She thrives in hostess mode, oxygen tank carried around like an annoying oversized pocketbook. It was a beautiful day made complete by almost all of the people we love. “I feel like I’ve walked into my own wake.” Mom said, laughing through a couple tears. “Well, we always figured you’d really want to attend your funeral so this is the next best thing.” I told her in a side embrace.

The thing is, this week scared me down to my core. The kind of core that says “get your will together” then drops the mic. The second time I went to the emergency room, they mentioned brain bleed (stroke) and began to very seriously evaluate for that. The last time I remember being that scared, I was 19 and was just told that I needed to have my appendix out in the bed beside Mom’s as she had also been in the hospital that very same week for a ruptured colon and they figured they’d make us roommates; that’s a story for another issue. Surgery spooked me. This was prior to laparoscopic and I knew this was going to hurt. That surgery was a result of me showing up to the ER after coming home from college to visit Mom. I had angioedema of the gut I found out, years later. I think the appendix was an innocent bystander. See? I’ve been medically special for a long time. Mom asks me all the time “have you ever told your doctors that you were born to a 43-year-old woman?” I have sometimes wondered if my parents’ middle-aged genes have been a root cause of my specialness in many ways. “Well, thank you for having me.” I say to Mom in response to that question.

“Being a human is a full-time job.” my friend from work texted after checking in on me this week. “Yes it is.” I said “and I have officially thrown my last big party” I added, acknowledging that the stress was partly to blame for bringing on my illness. This was a big come to Jesus week for me, a week in which I realized that I cannot, repeat cannot, do all the things all the time. I work, attend games and meets, pick up at practices, grocery shop, cook, and handle medical care for others like a war medic. “I think I have civil war blood” I said to J.D. while attending to one of his turf burns. So, so much is expected of parents these days that we all need to collectively cut the shit. What dizzying heights of living do we expect our children to achieve on this planet by practically breaking our necks to accommodate their lives? For those without children and even the children themselves, I know so many who reach that level of exhaustion through commitments in other aspects of their lives. You lay yourself down and all for what? Do you get a medal? Recognition? Financial compensation? The song that I listened to immediately after all the hell of this last week was “Vienna” by Billy Joel, one I’ve mentioned before. “Slow down you crazy child..” paired with slow, repetitive piano chords does something to me. Scary moments should slow you down. After all, Vienna waits for us if you do. When will you realize that?

Evergreen & Grey is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.