Three days. Barring my father’s health taking another nosedive or a positive COVID test, that’s how long I have until I can be on my own again! It’s been three months since I’ve been able to sleep on my own. As someone who is used to spending 95% of my time alone, this has been…hard.
Before going into the hospital, I was part of a Krupa stream (of RKG) in which I said I was happy to be single because I could eat cereal at three in the morning if I wanted. I don’t know why that is my go-to for the joys of singledom, especially as I rarely eat cereal, but there you have it. It was just a throwaway comment, but it started a huge discussion about being comfortable with yourself and not doing what society says you should do. It was really heartwarming and I actually had tears in my eyes by the end. Several people commented on how heartened they were by the conversation. I was glad to be a part of that conversation and it reinforced my happiness at being a single person.
So, going from that to being around my parents 24/7, regardless of family dynamics, was extremely hard. First of all, I had to crank up the heat because I keep it at 62 during the day and 60 at night. My parents live in Taiwan. They don’t even know what these temperatures are. So I had my brother crank it up to 72 during the day and probably 70 at night. And I’ve been sweating the whole time they’ve been here.
The second thing is that before I landed in the hospital, I was moving towards being a vegan for ethical reasons. I was already GF/DF for dietary reasons and I had cut out eggs. I was down to chicken once a day and was weaning myself off that. In addition, I was used to eating six or seven times a day, more like snacking through the day rather than eat actual meals. My parents are old-school in that they believe in eating meat and a big meal three times a day. So I’ve been eating meat at least twice a day since they’ve been here. I’m going to cut it out completely after they leave, I think. Or maybe do chicken again. But I’m not eating it two to three times a day.
I also had to buy a new steamer basket for my rice cooker because my steamer basket disappeared while I was in the hospital. No idea where it went so I got two replacements from Panasonic. Hopefully, it’s the right size. I need it because I got really into steaming my veggies as I was cooking my rice. I’m just getting ready for life alone again. I’m 1% nervous, but 99% excited to finally be on my own.
I’ll be interested to see if I go back to being a night owl or if I remain a morning person. I’ve been going to bed closer to 10:30 p.m. than 10 p.m. and this is how I creep towards going back to bed at my ‘normal’ time. That being 1 a.m. or 2 a.m. in the morning. It actually used to be closer to three or four in the morning, but I managed to push it back a bit. I had it down to between midnight and one before it exploded once again. No idea why I am more comfortable going to bed at six in the morning than ten at night, but that was how I lived before the hospital. Ever since coming home, however, I’ve been in bed by 10 p.m., 10:30 p.m. at the latest and up at 6 a.m. most mornings.
It used to be that when my parents were here, I’d go to bed long after they did. Now, it’s the opposite and very weird. I’m up an hour or two before them and go to bed around the same time. I sleep eight hours, which is unheard of for me, and they sleep even more. Or rather, my father does and keeps my mother up at night.
What I’m saying is that it would have been hard no matter what to have anyone around me for three months solid. When I was in the hospital, I was unconscious for the first week, but awake for the second. During that second week, I had a team of 2 -4 people taking care of me 24/7. That didn’t mean they were around me all day every day, but that they were always within reach by a buzzer. And they had to take my vitals every so often. I want to say four hours, but it was probably six hours.
So me being around anyone all the time would be a hard sell and hard on me. Add the family dysfunction to it and it’s been a rough three months. There were some very dark days that I’m sure my mom won’t remember.
When I was in my late thirties or early forties, I learned that my mother is an unreliable narrator. She only looks at the positive side of things and ‘forgets’ the negative. I remember one time she was here for her yearly visit and somehow got it into her head to badger me every day about having children. This was when I was in my late twenties. It was a miserable time and I wanted to punch her in the face. In fact, I had to walk out of the house once because I was in such a rage. I’m not proud of this, but it was how I felt. About a decade after this summer, my mom brought it up for some reason and mentioned how we had such a good time together. I gave her a look of incredulity, but kept my trap shut. There was no point in reminder her that she had tried to get me knocked up on the daily and pissed me the fuck off.
During the dark times in the past three months (two-and-a-half, really), it really showed me how dysfunctional our family is. It’s not garden variety dysfunctional or sitcom dysfunctional–it’s pathological dysfunctional. And the fact that my mother is a psychologist makes it even sadder. But I can’t afford to feel sorry for her because she’ll turn on me in a hot second.
A few days ago, my mom told me that she was going to miss me. I had nothing to say to that. All I could think of is how she berated me for not being more loving and respectful of my father when he hasn’t shown a whit of either to me. And how I’m supposed to feel sorry for him when I was the one who went through a traumatic event. Remember, they came back to take care of me during my recovery. That’s not how any of that played out, and I knew from the moment I saw them that it was going to be rough. I just didn’t know how rough.
When my mom said she would miss me (I think she might have said THEY would miss me), I had nothing to say to that. I was not going to miss them; I cannot wait to be on my own. Even if
I had a better relationship with them, I would be tired of being around them by now. There are only two people I could live with and both of them live with someone else. In addition, I had a system that worked! And with the buttons installed and the daily email, it should work even better. It’s funny (in a bitter way) how differently my mother and I view the same situation. In my mind, the last two-and-a-half months have been really hard. I have been counting down the days until they’re gone. In her mind…well, I’m not sure, but I know she thinks we’re close. And she thinks that my father can be saved if we all just clapped hard enough. It’s sad, really, but I don’t have much more empathy to give.
I am still recovering from pneumonia, two cardiac arrests, and a stroke. No matter how much I joke about it and how ‘normal’ I appear, it was still very traumatic. Having to tend to the whims of my father while recovering has not helped–in fact it has harmed me. I have told my mother this, but I don’t think she’s allowed it to truly sink in. I’ve also told her that her slavish devotion to my father has hurt her relationship with me. She hasn’t had anything to say about that, either. In fact, she’d probably deny I ever said it.
Three days. Three days and a few hours until I’m on my own, hopefully. I cannot wait.