Am I Gonna Die? Be forewarned, soppy shit ahead
My son just asked me a couple of minutes ago "Mom, am I gonna die?". How do you explain to a four year old that dying is a part of living? That no matter how much you love life and the people in it, it's inevitable that one day, you will have to leave it and them?
It takes my breath away, the thought of leaving the people I love. Sort of a selfish way to feel, I suppose, but in a way, not. In a way it's selfLESS. I don't want to die not because it will hurt me, but because I can't bear the thought of them hurting over me. Since I became a mother, the thought of dying devastates me even more. I know that he would be fine. I know that he will be loved and cherished by whomever gets him. But the thought of me not being here to see him grow up, it brings tears to my eyes at just a mere thought.
This summer, I went through a "thing". The "thing" being that I had a PAP smear come back abnormal. While everyone around me was saying "these things happen all the time, don't worry about it, you'll be fine" the thought that I might not constantly sat like a bowling ball at the forefront of my mind for MONTHS. Yes, months. I went in for the colposcopy, scared but assured that all would be OK. A month later, I get a phone call saying that the dr. didn't perform it correctly and that the one he performed was missing the vital biopsy that they needed to clear me. Annoyed, I went in (after paying on a $500 dr's bill) ready to give them hell because I figured they were just wanting more $$. Turns out that a "normal" abnormal pap smear contains certain kinds of cells. They are a-dsjfkfioaiohfi cells or some absolutely foreign word to me. The kind of cells they found on my PAP were glandular or grandular or some shit which carry a higher risk of cancer. The lady that explained this to me and ultimately performed the further chopping of my cervix made sure that I understood that this was an absolute, necessary procedure and that she was pissed the first dr. didn't do it. She also gave me the impression that the first dr. didn't understand the importance of what she had tried to tell him, but that's neither here nor there. I tell ya', I left that office feeling like the sky was going to fall in at any moment. And I lived that way until I got the phone call that I was ok. I spent many nights steeling myself for an unfavorable diagnosis. Lining up what I would have to do in my mind... The freezing of the cervix, the hysterectomy and eventually chemo or radiation or whatever needed to be done. I spent hours crying myself to sleep after he had fallen asleep because I didn't want to scare him. I put a smile on my face so that the world wouldn't chastise me for being the wimp that I am.
I did a lot of growing up in that short span of months. And I was terrified through the whole thing. Not so much terrified of dying, but terrified of leaving him without me, horrified at the memories I might have to leave him with. I know, doom and gloom. But this is me and this is the way I work. I hope for the best, but expect the worst so that I might know how to deal with it, should it come. And at the end of it all, I realized (as I have for as long as I can remember) that "it" will come. One way or another. I can't stop it, you can't stop it. We can only hope that the journey there will be a long one. That in the end, people will have loved us and we will have loved them back. That we broke hearts and had ours broken so that we knew how it felt the next time we trod carelessly. That when we take our last breaths, that we will know we have run the gamut of feelings. That we LIVED and loved and hurt and cried and were proud of ourselves.
In the end, I told him that he needn't be afraid to die, because by the time he died, I will have been long gone, waiting, so that when he arrives, my face will be the first he sees.
It takes my breath away, the thought of leaving the people I love. Sort of a selfish way to feel, I suppose, but in a way, not. In a way it's selfLESS. I don't want to die not because it will hurt me, but because I can't bear the thought of them hurting over me. Since I became a mother, the thought of dying devastates me even more. I know that he would be fine. I know that he will be loved and cherished by whomever gets him. But the thought of me not being here to see him grow up, it brings tears to my eyes at just a mere thought.
This summer, I went through a "thing". The "thing" being that I had a PAP smear come back abnormal. While everyone around me was saying "these things happen all the time, don't worry about it, you'll be fine" the thought that I might not constantly sat like a bowling ball at the forefront of my mind for MONTHS. Yes, months. I went in for the colposcopy, scared but assured that all would be OK. A month later, I get a phone call saying that the dr. didn't perform it correctly and that the one he performed was missing the vital biopsy that they needed to clear me. Annoyed, I went in (after paying on a $500 dr's bill) ready to give them hell because I figured they were just wanting more $$. Turns out that a "normal" abnormal pap smear contains certain kinds of cells. They are a-dsjfkfioaiohfi cells or some absolutely foreign word to me. The kind of cells they found on my PAP were glandular or grandular or some shit which carry a higher risk of cancer. The lady that explained this to me and ultimately performed the further chopping of my cervix made sure that I understood that this was an absolute, necessary procedure and that she was pissed the first dr. didn't do it. She also gave me the impression that the first dr. didn't understand the importance of what she had tried to tell him, but that's neither here nor there. I tell ya', I left that office feeling like the sky was going to fall in at any moment. And I lived that way until I got the phone call that I was ok. I spent many nights steeling myself for an unfavorable diagnosis. Lining up what I would have to do in my mind... The freezing of the cervix, the hysterectomy and eventually chemo or radiation or whatever needed to be done. I spent hours crying myself to sleep after he had fallen asleep because I didn't want to scare him. I put a smile on my face so that the world wouldn't chastise me for being the wimp that I am.
I did a lot of growing up in that short span of months. And I was terrified through the whole thing. Not so much terrified of dying, but terrified of leaving him without me, horrified at the memories I might have to leave him with. I know, doom and gloom. But this is me and this is the way I work. I hope for the best, but expect the worst so that I might know how to deal with it, should it come. And at the end of it all, I realized (as I have for as long as I can remember) that "it" will come. One way or another. I can't stop it, you can't stop it. We can only hope that the journey there will be a long one. That in the end, people will have loved us and we will have loved them back. That we broke hearts and had ours broken so that we knew how it felt the next time we trod carelessly. That when we take our last breaths, that we will know we have run the gamut of feelings. That we LIVED and loved and hurt and cried and were proud of ourselves.
In the end, I told him that he needn't be afraid to die, because by the time he died, I will have been long gone, waiting, so that when he arrives, my face will be the first he sees.
posted by Lori | 8:17 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home |