2022 is Not Going Well for Me

Let me explain

I’m back to writing—sort of.

For the past few months, I’ve taken a writing pause. I’ve been missing out on the best writing topics, too: the dismantling of Roe v Wade, the DV relationship of Johnny Depp vs. Amber Heard, and I even missed out on Will Smith hitting Chris Rock over Jada’s alopecia.

Damn.

But all of what’s going on in the world isn’t that important to me right now. I have personal crises to live through—too many of them all at once.

My life has turned a bit upside down, and I’ve been overloaded with too much to handle.

I was so hopeful at the beginning of the year. I had multiple writing projects that I was happy to delve into. My home life is wonderful, my kids are doing great, and I settled nicely into a job that I enjoy.

And then my mom died.

On January 26th, my mother passed away. It was quick, without much more than a week to realize she was dying.

I had a complex relationship with my mother, which made her death a strange phenomenon for me. I know she didn’t like me very much. Her treatment of me from childhood until she passed on was covertly abusive. After fifty years of this behavior, I decided to go ‘low contact’ with her, and the past five years have been more peaceful.

Regardless of my low contact, I heard from my stepdad that she was sick and was stuck in a hospital emergency room several states away. I learned from her nurses that she was actually dying. My stepdad, bless him, was powerless to navigate well through the medical system to get her home and too much in denial to do what she needed in her last few days of life.

So, I went to her. I helped her and my family through the process.

And then she was gone. My mother, who had for my entire life, always considered me a screw-up, always let me know that I was less than to her — she was gone.

This is going to be really hard to say, but I’ll say it anyway: I didn’t cry, and I didn’t feel bad that she was gone. However, my grief is a mixture of relief yet also realizing my mother will never be the kind and loving mom I’d always wished for. She would never apologize for the severe neglect and abuse I experienced as a child.

Losing my abuser to death without that reconciliation has left me feeling lost and a little bit hopeless.

There’s so much more I can write about on this, but it would be an entire book. I have other events and issues that have made me seethe over the year 2022.

My Lipedema diagnosis

As many know, I was diagnosed last year with Lipedema. It’s the same diagnosis that Shannon Ashley writes about. In fact, reading her articles made me realize I also had the disease.

Before my diagnosis, I tried for four years to lose weight, only for the pounds to creep slowly upward no matter that I starved and exercised myself to near death. My failure was explained away as a side effect of menopause. I was getting older; my metabolism was slowing down. Blah, blah, blah, yada yada. None of that was true. I flew myself down to California and had Dr. Herbst — a specialist in loose connective tissue disorders — correctly diagnose me with Lipedema.

After my diagnosis, I felt redeemed. I didn’t have to blame myself anymore for my weight gain. But I also have no control over my body, which keeps growing. I went through physical therapy. I started getting lymphedema, which is painful and tiring. I got a lymph machine to help, but my Lipedema progressed quicker than I could keep up. I kept gaining bulk, and I started losing mobility.

After my mom’s death, I think I gave up a little bit. She gave me this disease, and I know that’s not the way I should think about it, but it’s like she branded me with her obesity problem. God, I know that sounds bad. Please don’t hate me for saying that. I have struggled trying not to become her all of my life, and here I am, becoming her.

I’ve gained over fifty pounds. I can’t walk without pain and fatigue. I can barely take care of myself; I get so tired. I’ve been trying to get my insurance to cover Lipedema surgery for months. I’ve been denied. And now I’m working on an appeal. If I get denied again, I will have to privately pay for surgery, which will cost at least $70,000 altogether.

But, surgery is the only way I can get better. And I can’t continue to live like this.

Right now, I’m not able to do regular life. I have to measure my activities. Otherwise, I throw myself into a pain crisis. Seeing friends or doing fun things is short-lived. I’m good for 2–3 hours, and then I’m in pain.

My physical limits have also impacted my regular job as an on-call nurse, requiring sitting for hours. When my legs are dependent, I get a lot of swelling. I can only get relief from putting my legs up and using my lymph machine. I can’t do that at work, so I have to push through. By the end of the day, my legs are like tight little sausages as I hobble to my car and drive home, then crawl into bed, spent.

I’d work one day and come home with so much pain and swelling in my legs that it took an entire day to recover from the day before. If I worked two days in a row, it would take me three days to recover.

Last month, I was on my second day of work, and by noon I thought I would lose it. I couldn’t walk; I couldn’t even think; the pain was so bad. So I marched into my supervisor’s office and told her that I couldn’t work anymore and to take me off the schedule.

That was a little scary for me. I need the income to live. But what could I do?

Fortunately, my manager was kind enough to let me work from home. I got set up with a work computer and scooched my recliner up to my desk. I can lay back and have my legs up while I’m working. I can even use my lymph machine.

My other passions have suffered, though. My writing stalled, and I lost my gig reading Tarot at the local metaphysical shop.

Some things just have to give.

My love for life

I enjoy being around my friends and loved ones. I like going out and doing activities. I have a full and rich life, until recently.

Like I said, my life now revolves around my stamina. I am “down” a lot, usually with my lymph machine or sleeping. When I am up and participating in life, I feel like I’m walking in quicksand, and I’m in pain. I break out in a sweat and get short of breath with small efforts.

Last weekend, the weather was beautiful. I’ve been trying to go through my mother’s stuff, a task that has been handed to me. She was a hoarder, and there’ are three generations of stuff that fill an entire house. Some people tell me to throw it out, take it to the local thrift store and be rid of it. But I can’t do it. I just can’t.

Anyway, I was holding a garage sale at my mom and stepdad’s house. I ran it alone. It was a disaster, and I came home feeling so beat up that I crashed into bed and didn’t get up until almost noon the next day.

Today, I’m not doing anything except writing this sad article. I’ve learned how to lay low and not have others rely on me right now. I say no to meeting up with friends. I don’t make plans for the future. I focus on the moment.

But I’m strategic. I’m able to move mountains if I want. I just have to dig deep for that little bit of motivation inside me and, little by little, make some effort to push forward.

And hopefully, by next year, I’ll be in a better place.