Yes, I promised a Part Trois (if ever) on the goings on of me. But, as my clever friend Jill pointed out, maybe all this writing about me is what is blocking me from writing. See? Isn’t she brilliant?

So, at the beginning of August, to mark the unofficial time when people go on vacation, I begrudgingly, disagreeably, whole-heartedly took a writing course. And guess what? In my best Mikey voice, “I liked it!”

I took a fiction class and I liked it (is that a Katy Perry song?). No, I didn’t like it; I loved it! What refreshment to be able to create characters and have them deal with all the emotions; have them learn the lessons! Ah, relief! You may recall this girl has a knack for characters. No? You don’t remember? Go read the Tale of Tobias and come back. Right, quick!

So, yes, it seems I have a knack for characters and weaving a good tale (pun not intended) and so I took a writing intensive where I discovered that I can create characters that are so far from my reality, so distant from my present, that I actually like to think of them as voices in my head (in the non-loony bin sense, of course). I’m currently working on something and I’m really enjoying it. I don’t know that I will publish any of this writing here as I would like it to take good form. Then, who knows? Maybe I’ll post a preview here? For now, know that I am writing and it’s all good.

In case you are not familiar, Graves’ Disease is an autoimmune disease that attacks the thyroid and whose most familiar symptom is bulging eyes. You know, like Marty Feldman…

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February
In a strike force, ninja-like action fit of brilliance, my mom, supported by her friend Dr. R, made an appointment with an endocrinologist in the city, for a second opinion. The appointment was set for March 22nd. My birthday. Of course.

I immediately stalked Googled him to find out more. Seems he is one of New York City’s top doctors and has rave reviews everywhere. He looked young, but trustworthy. Certainly, he wouldn’t give my mom a diagnosis with his back turned!

Waiting for the day of the appointment was excrutiating, like Chinese water torture invigorating. While working close to 14 hour days, I searched online on the possible causes of Graves, long term effects of medication, potential therapies.

March
The first half of the month came and went and as the day approached with the meeting with the endo-crino (like I was calling him in my head), both mom and I were fairly calm. I can’t speak for her, but I had a little voice in the back of my head that kept on saying, “it’s gonna be fine. Nothing going on there.” Sure enough, nothing was wrong. Not only were the values of her TSH not as dramatic as the other two doctors had said, but Dr. M gave her a blood test in his office and called several days later to confirm that she didn’t have Graves’ disease.

Phew.

April came and went. I worked loads and took some time off for Easter break. I spent it with my mom and was able to enjoy some time together. After all, dad had passed just five months prior; we were still licking our wounds.

May
April showers, they say, bring May flowers. I don’t remember if it rained in April or not. But the month was not flowery. At all.

Mom went for her annual mammography, always a source of tension since 1992 when a small tumor had been found and speedily removed. She had been given a course of radiotherapy and five years of tamoxifen. After the tamoxifen she had been deemed cancer free and though her yearly mammos (like I like to call them) where tension-makers, the distance from that event and my dad’s diagnosis of Parkinson’s in 2000 had rendered the memory of cancer rather faint.

[voice over: The Voice of God, or Orson Welles] Man plans, God laughs.

The mammo showed signs of something that needed a closer look. So another was performed. Another look was needed; the kind of look that a needle sonogram biopsy can give you. Mom told me about this look (and that the mammo had give the doctors concern) the weekend of Mother’s Day. I would say rather appropriate. Mind you, I’m making these connections not for some sort of cry of lonely child whose mother is ill, but more to reinforce the mother-daughter-woman-female-motherearth connection.

End of Part II

We are both still processing all that has happened and therefore, perhaps, the lesson has not yet crystallized for either of us. I realize that as I am writing this post, I’m including my mother in this (or including myself in a post about my mother). Perhaps, the subtle lesson exists in that very statement. Perhaps not. Perhaps, I need to fully write out the events and arrive at some kernel of truth, of a lesson, of something to explain.

[drumroll]
[voice over, "The Voice of God" or Orson Welles] It all began in November 2011…

November
My father passed away. My mom would say “He died.” She prefers it; she says we need to confront death, so ‘passing away’ is too soft. “Confront reality!” I hear her voice in my head. He died. After almost 11 year of battling Parkinsons, he went gently, softly in the night. There was a part of me, when I heard the news on November 21st, that thanked the heavens, that he went peacefully, at home, without tubes stuck in him, without drama.

Most would say he had a great life. And adventurous one which included airplane crashes, travels in the Saharan Desert, temporary blindness at age 30 (or thereabout), seeing Russian tanks entering his birth city, marrying a classical ballerina. I could go on with what an exceptional man he was, how he provided for us and made us feel like queen and princess, but I eulogized him at his funeral and you can read more here.

My father’s passing was not, I don’t think a lesson per se. It was a moment in time that shaped the months to come and gave me an opportunity to confront the reality of death and notice how much like him I am.

December
The person who was living with my mom and helping her take care of dad up an left suddenly, two weeks after dad’s passing. She left without reason or cause after she had been offered a roof over her head, pay and an opportunity to work elsewhere, while living with mom. It came as a great shock to both of us. To anyone who heard.

[voice over, Forrest Gump]
And that’s all I have to say about that

January
As a result of my father’s passing, my mother, who had been his primary care person, began to show signs that taking care of an 85 year old man is no easy task. Naturally, she went for a check up and was told by her PCP that her thyroid was showing signs of strain. That her TSH levels were off and she could be hyperthyroidial. All with the territory, everyone around me said. It is natural that after all the strain, and subsequent grief, she had pushed her body (and mind and spirit) to the edge. But nonetheless, just to avoid a lawsuit cover her ass be thorough, the doctor suggested mom go see an endocrinologist to double check.

So off she went. She was tested in a nuclear medicine facility. She was radioactive for a week. At the end of the testing process, with his back turned, “You have Graves’ disease.”

End of Part I