Please read Mothership Down - Part One, first. Thank you.
I don't remember the day after my surgery. I don't remember the following night. My sister told me I slid from pain killer to sleep, to fitful sleep, the kind of unrest you measure in numbers of sinister shapes behind your eyelids. I barely remember the following week, only know I farted painful gas left by the surgeon, laughed on the phone, told friends and family I felt great - awesome - wonderful, if a bit smelly.
"I'm totally on the mend," I promised a long-distance friend. "The pathology report came back. The cyst was benign. It's not cancer. I'm going to start calling my Avon customers and making plans to go door-to-door next week."
I spoke with the voice only moms stash in their arsenal - the warm rounded vowels that smother fatigue, blanket fear. I spoke from my bed, in the only almost-but-not-quite-comfortable position my body could stand - on my left side, sore legs pulled toward sore belly. I drifted to sleep once more.
Losing an ovary causes disruption of hormones. I blamed that at first, blamed progesterone and estrogen wildfire on my unrelenting fatigue. My right leg still smarted, too, still held the memory of cyst pressed against spine, a sciatic nerve echo that refused to fade. One week became two, then three.
"I can't take this any longer, Cathy. What am I going to do? I can't work, can't write, I can't even stand in the shower for more than a few seconds without feeling like I'm going to pass out."
My sister made soothing noises.
"Birdie, the nurse told you it would take a few weeks to feel better. You're trying to do too much. Just rest. I'll drive back up and stay with you again if you need me."
I didn't accept her offer of help. I didn't accept anyone's offers of help. I crawled from bed to kitchen, placed the same cast-iron skillet on the stove every evening, toasted ham and cheese sandwiches, cut stalks of crisp celery and carrots into even chunks, pretended my boys could stay healthy and strong eating the same dinner each night.
"Mom, you don't look so good."
My son, age 12, stood over the stove, metal spatula in one hand. He glanced at me out of the corner of his right eye. He pressed the utensil into his charring sandwich. The sizzle coaxed the family dog from her warm cedar-filled pillow. She rubbed her body against me like an enormous cat. I leaned against the fridge, one arm hanging onto the door handle for dear life, an expression of pain in my eyes.
"Nah, I'm okay. Just a little tired maybe. This is all normal."
"I think you should go back to the doctor. Your face is red, mom. All you do is stay in bed all day and tell everyone you're okay. You're not okay. You can't even walk without holding onto things. Your legs don't work right."
My face grew even redder in shame. 12 was right. The muscles down my leg cramped in constant spasm. My surgical incisions appeared slightly swollen, ruddy, distressed. I thought about my doctor, about her easy smile and bobbed gray hair, her high tech office near the hospital, about her bills I had yet to open. I worked hard, worked more hours than most people I know, but Avon Representatives don't find health insurance in their boxes of pink product. I made too much money to qualify for Medicaid, but not enough - after paying the monthly premiums for my boys - to cover private health insurance for myself.
Me and everyone else in this poor town, I thought. We all wrestle with health, don't see specialists when we should, ignore pain as long as we can handle. Who cares for the working poor? Nobody. Yet we spend over a billion dollars a day in Iraq. It's gonna take me months and months of double-shift Avon to pay these medical bills. I don't know how I'll manage.
I limped from the kitchen to the hall, cursing political leaders who eat big steak dinners far from my rural Americana landscape, picked up the phone book, and thumbed through the "A" section. Acupuncture. Yup.
Pain Specialist - We help you feel better - Sliding Scale - Chinese Medicine
I dialed the number. A quiet man answered on the first ring. I explained my troubles, and he told me I could sneak in the next morning before his regularly scheduled clients. He told me not to take any painkillers overnight, to drink as much water as my bladder could hold. He didn't sound Chinese. He sounded East Coast, New York, tired.
"Thank you so much, Dr. Naki. It's been almost a month since my surgery, and I'm just not getting better. I feel worse."
"Birdie. Sometimes admitting you can't handle life is the bravest, kindest thing you can do."
I stared at the phone for a long, long time.
To Be Continued!
Birdie Jaworski, Health Correspondent:
Birdie has been recovering from ovarian surgery and subsequent complications. She will resume her column, Nature and Nurture, on a regular weekly basis once she is able.
Nature and Nurture is published Monday evenings to Gather Essentials: Health. Nature and Nurture tells the stories of Birdie's attempts to raise her two boys, 12 and 9, in a healthy, loving environment without going crazy herself!
You can find all of Birdie's Nature and Nurture articles at www.gather.com/naturenurture
Keep up with Birdie's other postings and Gather activity by joining her Gather network - just click here and select the orange "Connect" button on the left-hand side of the page
You'll find Birdie and other health correspondents, plus expert guest columnist content and plenty of other health nuts at Health.gather.com
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Comments: 24
{{{{{Hugs}}}}}
Dannielle, Well Part Two has the farting! ha ha ha! Okay, that's the only chuckle in this saga except for something that the acupuncturist describes in the final installment. : )
Jennifer, you are so right! We single moms HAVE to stick together!!
the beginning of healing Birdie...
glad you are better.
I am glad that you are finally on the mend.
I am so glad your health is returning and can turn this negative into a positive by writing this amazing story.
Xtabber, hugs to you, too, as always, sweet boy!
Lloyd, it's so dang hard for me to ask for help. I love to be self-reliant, but sometimes that isn't pratical or smart. Thanks for being such a dear friend to me, on and off Gather.
Ruth, ain't that the truth! I hate not having health insurance, but it costs a few hundred bucks a month.. just for me... and I can't afford it on an Avon Lady's commissions. I do shell out for my boys, and that means I can't go to movies except once every other month, can't treat myself to meals out, but single moms do what they have to do.
Melissa, what a great observation. There IS a huge difference in available care between Have and Have Not. Sigh. Maybe someday soon (hey - maybe after the 2008 elections) we will have more options.
jessie, I'm so sorry you're in the same boat as me!!! It stinks, doesn't it? I do accentuate the positive, and I am so grateful that I have an abundance of health and love in my life, this one little situation withstanding.
Renda, I sure with those of us working poor didn't have to make those kinds of choices. I bet you see a LOT working in the health care field, it's so sad. Thanks for the kind words.
Richard, you are way too kind! Thanks for reading my crazy accounts and leaving such gentle footprints. : )
Mike, you just never know what's gonna happen next, boy! ; )
Lorry, nice to meet you! I think you'll get a good laugh when you hear my acupuncturist account. I'm not going to spoil part three by saying anything!
Thanks for re-living your pain for our benefit.
I am sorry for what you have gone through.
I suspect you will emerge from this stronger and well.
Straw into gold indeed.
.
Also, I'm interested in how the Oriental medicine worked out. I have family with a stake in the practice.
Take your time and keep us informed.
I've been discouraged lately about the quality of articles(and sadly, the people) on Gather. The first comment on a very personal article I posted tonight was one of that sort. I find myself posting more to my blog and less and less here for that reason.
Then, I came and read part two of mothership down. You are such an inspiration. The way you keep fighting no matter what, love your boys with all your heart and pour all of that into your writing is amazing.
Best wishes for your continued recovery and I can't wait to see your articles regularly again.
dm - the acupuncture part is so interesting, I am posting it very very soon, I hope you enjoy it.
Debbie, exactly. In my tiny town, most of us don't have health coverage, or have limited coverage only. I know that some of my neighbors refuse to go to the doctor even when they need to go, when their health is in jeopardy. What will it take before those in charge understand that there is a layer of society that works so hard and can't make ends meet?
Ed, huge hug, boy!! Thanks.
Scott, check your mail. I needed this wonderful hug. I'm so glad that we're connected - you are a kind and loving person, and you deserve all wonderful things.