Every Monday morning I wake up and I tell myself, “This week you’re going to eat better. Three healthy meals each day.” I set my alarm clock a few minutes early so that I can have extra time to hit the supermarket and buy groceries for the week. I map it out meticulously, almost to the minute. And so far I haven’t followed through even once. Every Monday morning when I get in my car and start to drive to work I pass the supermarket and ask myself, “Why should I do the shopping now? Those bags of groceries are going sit in the fridge at work all day. I’ll just stop on my way home from work.” Once work ends I find another excuse why not to go to the supermarket. And the next thing I know it’s Thursday or Friday, there’s no food in my house, and all I’ve eaten since Sunday is a bagel, a lean cuisine and maybe a sandwich from my favorite new sandwich shop. I feel like an ADHD-PI kid, only it’s localized so I’m only distracted when it comes to keeping myself fed.
This morning I was going to go to the supermarket again, but as I was preparing to leave my apartment my mother called me. We’d spoken a few days ago, but our conversation was really weird. She kept saying she had to call me back, and when I asked where she was she said, “I’m just out around town.” When she called this morning (which prevented me from leaving for the supermarket) she said she wanted to apologize for not telling me the truth. She was not, in fact, “out around town” the other day. She had been admitted to the hospital because she was experiencing chest pains.
This isn’t the first time my family has lied to me in regard to health issues. Although she denied it today, my mom admitted to keeping a secret from me in September of 2009 when my father was in Intensive Care with pneumonia. Surely you remember that awesomely overshare-y blog entry where I wrote about how I needed to reevaluate all the people in my life and dump the ones who weren’t giving me the love and support I needed to deal with it? Whatever. Apparently my mom neglected to tell me that at one point during my father’s hospitalization his condition worsened and there was debate as to whether or not they should call me and tell me to come home. Seems like a pretty big deal, no? Instead she decided to tell me after the fact, when he was recovering and doing much better.
“Oh, by the way, there was one night when things got pretty dicey, but everything’s okay now!”
Apparently my immediate family thinks I’m such a stress case they need to shield me from any and all bad news. I called my sister today to see why she didn’t call me to tell me about our mother being in the hospital this weekend and she said the exact same thing. “We didn’t want to worry you.” Really? I told her I hope if God forbid something happens to her I find out before her funeral.
I went about my day. I wasn’t stressed out, I didn’t freak out and call home every five minutes to make sure everything was alright. I met a friend for dinner after work (instead of going to the supermarket…there’s always next Monday) and then treated myself to a pint and a shot on the way home. Next thing I know, it’ll be Thursday or Friday and it’ll be time to eat again. Stupid Monday routine…
Another thing I noticed this morning is that…who’s this James Blake guy? Why do people care? I watched his performance on Jools Holland. He sounds like Aaron Neville singing a Michael McDonald song.
May 11th, 2011
Part of being kept in the dark about crises, etc., may have to do with living far away. Wait till the first dicey situation where things *don’t* work out, and you don’t hear about it until after the funeral. That’s a wonderful feeling, let me tell you. Or — though it’s not health-related — the first time you don’t get invited to a wedding because they “didn’t want you to feel obligated to attend.”
Just keep reminding all the folks back home that you want to be kept in the loop. Maybe one of them will listen.