So, I went back to WW. I’ve done it so many times I’m practically an expert, and yet, actually, it almost always works. I’m doing it online this time (which isn’t as effective for me) because it’s 25 miles to the nearest meeting and I’ll have rehearsals starting up in a few weeks, so making the meeting won’t work. I had to cut out the exercise portion because at this point i can’t do any of it, and I think maybe I’ll adjust my daily points downward just a little. Or try not to use them all up. Day one I overdid, day two I went a little under. I figure it’s the only thing that’s not outside of my control, and I really need to stick to it. Right now I can barely do anything, even going up and down the stairs (I try to keep it to a minimum). I may not be able to do anything about getting older, but I don’t have to accept being a cripple. Which I basically am at this point.
So, I’m feeling emotionally energized to do this (physically is another matter but then, I don’t have to DO anything, I just have to STOP doing stuff, and I’ve been stopping doing stuff so much that I’m an expert at it.)
I was horrified when I got on the scale — 249.9 when it had been about ten pounds lighter. It was probably an artificial high, but hell, I’ll take it because it’ll make the loss bigger.
So I’m on the case.
Had a horrible moment last night. First, a little background. My nephew died in car crash when he was 18. The police called my sister but wouldn’t tell her anything, they called his stepmother but wouldn’t tell her anything, not until Ted could confirm it. And when I talked to Laura (the stepmother) recently she started talking about the phone calls, and I started crying behind my sunglasses.
Fast forward to last night. Tim’s been doing great – really really well. Richie and I were watching tv, the phone rang, and caller ID showed up on the tv screen as California St …
and I lost it. Screamed at Richie to get the phone, and then when I realized who it was (California State division of Social Security about Tim’s disability, not California State Police) I had a complete breakdown. I still get weepy even talking about it.
It’s odd, because many many years ago, when Tim was 12 or 13, he was out one night and the Vermont State police called, and asked if we had a son named Timothy. And I said yes, and asked what was up. It was the dispatcher, and she said she couldn’t tell me, and I calmly demanded, and she said she’d transfer me, and at least a minute later (and trust me, 60 seconds in those circumstances are endless) I found out Tim had been busted, in a car with underage drinkers with marijuana on him.
And I just calmly went into crisis mode — no tears of panic.
And that was about 7 or 8 years after Stuart (my nephew) was killed. It’s now 26 years since he died.
I was always surprised that I didn’t flip out when that happened. Didn’t flip out when Richie had his heart-attack, when Tim had his major snowmobile accident, when my sister died. I can usually deal with crises.
It was probably a combination of talking to Laura last week and dealing with Jo’s death. I try not to let myself panic when someone doesn’t return home in a timely manner and I don’t know where they are. I didn’t even freak when Tim disappeared and I found he was in the hospital. Getting freaked out about something that probably hasn’t happened is ridiculous. Freaking out when something has happened is counterproductive.
But yesterday was just bad. I almost told Tim about it, then decided there was no reason for him to know. I tend to share too much, and that would probably make him worry about me (he already does).
Still, it’s kind of rotten that no one in my family: my father, my brother, my sister, my nephew, my adopted-away niece, and even my 98 year old mother all died without warning. (I need to look on the bright side, which is that we don’t have cancer on either side of my family, which gives you plenty of warning). So it tends to make a girl untrusting.
So instead of making Tim worry I’m sharing it with you guys. It happened so fast that I didn’t have time to control myself, but I don’t want to be prey to those kinds of nightmares. People do die, and there’ll be more agonizing deaths in my life, even if there aren’t that many left. Gotta pull up my socks and get on with it.
Does everybody get those panicky feelings, or is it just me because I’ve lost so many people that way? It kind of seems to me that if it happens even once you start to lose your faith that everything will be all right.