Oklahoma, Covering Sadness and Horror with Food

Well, here we are. I brought my scale with me. However, TOM has appeared. But since I'm on P3 I'm not injecting so no worries there.

Arrived late last night. Did pretty well flying all day, including changing planes (read running my ass and my kid and hubby's asses off) in Denver. Ate relatively well- no way to avoid a piece of bread - but otherwise OK. Actually needed carbs last night at 1 AM - and I'm listening to my body not to Kevin Trudeau - had a fig newton and a cracker. Sister's house (this is Biwi's house) is the kind of place where there is always someplace comfortable to sit down, lay down, or stand. Something to read (truly this woman and her husband have OVER 10,000 volumes on everything ranging from her dictionary collection - I gave her the OED all 21 volumes of it when she turned 50) to the original Ozma of Oz), Something to eat (wonderful, bad for me, good for me, comforting food), Iced Tea at all hours of the day or night, and Something to watch on TV or Movie.

The best part is Biwi and her spouse Uncle M. And two reclining chairs and three mostly well behaved dogs. And two or three computers. No one demands anything of you in this house. No need to talk. No need to perform. No need to eat or not eat. No need to do anything but read or watch tv or just BE. Not really an "active" house too - no pressure there - If you want to go be active, you are welcome to do it.

Comforting. Safe.

So, no calls from The Difficult Sister. I slept like a rock last night. Then I got up, dressed up, sucked it up and Husb and Son and I went to see my parents at The Home. I was terrified at what I'd see.

First of all, The Home itself is pretty damn good, given that they are in the hospital care part.

My parents look terrible. My mother had fallen and had a bruised face and arm. She is in a wheelchair and won't even roll herself around. Makes me want to see about getting her a HoverRound - if I can. My dad recognized me and smiled. It was like a flood of relief that he recognized me. He did not remember my husband of 14 years or my son, but he was loving to my little boy all the same. My mother remembered them both and her head lifted a bit to watch him tell her about skiing the black diamond slopes or doing ballet (my son dances ballet 4 hours a week).

My mother is so angry and depressed and sad. And she will not do anything about it. I feel like the worst child ever. I felt like I abandoned her to the Difficult Sister but in the end, I know that even if I had stayed, this is how it would have ended up.

So, I went to Targer and bought her a dvd/vcr and then bought all of the Fred Astaire/Ginger Rogers movies I could find. And then Hee Haw, and Archie Bunker and Jimmy Stewart and whatever else I could get at Barnes and Noble. And we sat, her in her wheelchair and my father asleep in his recliner, and my husband on her bed, and me in the recliner that she refuses to use because she's terrified to leave her very uncomfortable looking wheelchair - and we watched Fred and Ginger hoof it up.

And my mother said "I love those old movies" and smiled.

So at least I could give her that.

The women - all gorgeous african american women who must have more patience between them than Job ever had - initially looked at me warily until I let them know that the Difficult Sister and I don't get along well and that I hoped she wouldn't keep erasing my name and phone number off my parent's white board telephone list. One said "Ooooh Girl! That sister of yours, she can really be so dang mean!" I said "Ooh girl, just try being related to her!!" Thank goodness for those women.

I took a sharpie, permanent ink, and put my name, with the word DAUGHTER and my state and two phone numbers back on the white board where the difficult sister had wiped it off. Put Biwi's number in permanent ink on there too. So FUCK HER when she tries to wipe it off. The caregiver said "oooh girl, she be taking that whole board off when she see that!" And they all laughed.

I felt like I had a little angel on my side there.

Here's another good part. No Difficult Sister Sightings at all. Indeed, I looked in the sign in book - she hasn't been there since at least the 31st. What the hell is that? She made such a big deal about being their caregiver, their guardian, the executor of their estate and now- no visits?

Oh well. I decided I'm not telling her how I lost this weight. She can figure it out on her own - or not.

So here is what I ate today: Eggs with Velveeta Cheese (OMG I'M IN HEAVEN). Half a hamburger pattie. Two bites of cottage cheese. Part of someone's rootbeer. I just couldn't eat. This is the first time that I could not eat. It's a strange experience for me. Usually I eat to deal with all emotions, or no emotions, or what have you.

I know I need to eat now. I'm trying to respect my hunger and eat - listening to what my body really wants. But also I don't want to down a bunch of carbs and blow the good work I've done.

So, when this is done, I'll opt for some lean turkey breast sandwich meat or something and then see if that's enough. The drink a bunch of water trick keeps working too.

My husband is a saint through all of this. We left my son with his aunt and uncle and went to Target for the DVD/VCR thing - and I just sobbed and could not stop. The sense that you missed it - that you should have done something, somehow - but what - that your family is not what you wished it was - and that YOU are not what you wished you were... it's all tied up in there and I have to just sort it out.

But I'm NOT going to let food just cover dealing with it. Let the "oh to hell with it" and eat everything and then feel bad, which is the kind of feeling bad I can handle, cover the kind of feeling bad about my parents and their lives - which I can't ... or which I haven't been dealing with - I'm not doing that.

Diet, no diet - whatever. I am tired of letting food -whether I eat it, don't eat it - whatever- distract me from the truth of what is going on.

At least I've gotten that far for today. The limitations of the hcg diet at least got me to that realization.

My brother was killed in an airplane crash when my mother was my age. He was 20 years old. I was 9. My mother sortof died that day. She stopped cooking and she threw herself into her work. She stopped being very connected to me too... if she ever was. Today I told her - "You lived through the great depression, world war II, and the death of your son." She said for the first time "that was the worst thing that ever happened to me." I said "I think you threw yourself into your work - and when you had your stroke and lost your health, and couldn't work - I think you don't know what to do." My mother knew exactly what I was talking about.

Food, work, it all acts as a cover - as a distraction from what is really happening. Diets, work, family, all of it - can be used this way. I'm not saying it's a bad thing. Some things are too difficult to bear. Seeing my mother's bruised face, looking up at me from her wheelchair, and remembering her brilliant career and all of her old friends who are dead, and her vivaciousness - it was just too difficult to bear. But I didn't eat my way through it. Just sobbed later. And now too I guess.

Thanks for listening, my anonymous but kindly crew.

I find courage just being able to type this out loud is more than I thought I'd ever do.