Less dark, still a little twisty

If you’re not keeping up on our CaringBridge account, we recently had an appointment with a surgical oncologist that was very positive. Given the uptick in the mood in the Willhelm household, I wanted to check in with a slightly less dire/macabre/ennui filled post.

It’s still very hard right now.

As I write this, Ronan is playing with our friend, Sarah, while Andy chills on the couch. I find that this space from the day-to-day caregiving of Ronan is such a relief AND I feel incredibly guilty about that.

Up to this point I hadn’t experienced a ton of mommy guilt. I was with him almost every waking minute of his day. He was surrounded by a lot of good, loving caregivers, and we still got time together in the evening for just the two of us. I was clearly fitting all the societal standards as a “good mom” balancing time with my son and time away from my son, a precarious balance that seems to be undefinable except when we see a mom not managing it. And then the internet has a lot to say.

But now, he’s cared for by a veritable battalion of people. Everyone adores him. No one signs up if they’re not into kids. He is proving to be happy, adaptable…interesting, even to some.

But I worry as this is the big initial push for Andy and his care, am I doing harm somehow to him?

Of course, my higher self who can get on the balcony says, “Absolutely not.” Even now his laughter comes easily with everyone who he is with, the ultimate sign to me that he is fine.

But now that the pressure of Andy’s immediate care is letting up, I have mental space again to start to stress about stuff. And first up gets to be my son.

I know I’m not a bad mom. By all other measures, I’m a fucking great mom. But if you know anyone who is a mom, or are a mom yourself, you know the weird standards that are put on us by, largely, white older Christian Republicans for whom family is defined by how it appeared in the 1950s, aka the height of oppression in the post-war age. We’re fighting back against this, but since the internet is full of trolls and people who don’t have to hide their judgment or civility, we still hear regularly about how we’re not doing motherhood right.

For the most part, I can remain immune to this pressure, but my defenses are down and instead of brushing off the bullshit, I find my inner voice that is concerned about single parenthood internalizes this judgment. If I can’t have Andy, can I still handle raising a boy in this time? I don’t know, says the voice, you certainly abdicate your motherhood to a lot of people.

Smarter, more compassionate parts of me look at it as expanding the motherhood circle, really embracing the whole “it takes a village” especially when mom is occupied with, like, keeping Papa alive. And my village is full of wildly capable, extremely loving people. So Ronan’s in good hands. Probably more qualified than me in some cases.

♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥

I’m also wildly overwhelmed with projects. I have several full time jobs I want to apply to, I have a lot of writing I need to do for one of the consulting firms I’m in the dugout for, and I’m still trying to manage a household and a business. It’s just a lot and it feels like a lot of things on my to-do list truly can’t be put off. But when I sit down to work I just want to write about Andy, or about my experience, or just read Facebook.

Again, smarter, more compassionate parts of me are able to see that I’m battling depression, fatigue, overwhelm, and the desire to do self-care first and work second is normal. But I also have a part born out of the trauma of a country that judges a person’s worth on their work contribution and thinks that I’m just not bootstrapping enough. Why can’t I do more?

Because you can’t and that’s fine.

Ugh.

Fine.

I’m back to working out fairly regularly. Listening to my body and doing what it wants as a way to release some of the pent up anxiety. So I’m getting stronger again and it’s helping me sleep better AND I’m not punishing my body in the process in order to meet fitness goals. I’m just moving for the joy of moving…and the better sleep that comes from it.

That’s me. Less dark than before, still a little twisty. Feeling cautious about the future and trying to stay positive, but not Pollyanna about all of this.

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Meh

So after my last post I got a lot of messages and texts checking in. My post was very representative of the place I was (am) in and I remain committed to trying to keep this process more transparent for the sake of global education.

Also, I like to whine to a lot of people at once.

As the weekend has passed and I’ve watched Andy just get stronger and stronger each day, the acute sense of anxiety has passed. I’m still so, so deep in planning. There are so many plates I’m spinning and I’m just tired all the time. When people are taking care of Ronan for me, I find I have little energy for more than just scrolling Facebook. I’m not ashamed to say I rely heavily on long drives with the kiddo in the car seat so I can get a break from the pressure of the house, which has so many things that need to be addressed and is in a new state of upheaval.

Our bathroom is really hard for me to walk into.

We had to remove a bunch of things from shelves because toddler. But now we have new shelves that house stoma supplies and are at a good height for emptying a stoma bag. The wedge pillow for Andy lives on the couch and the leftover dishes from delivered dinners linger.

I’m reminded everywhere of the state of deep transition we are in.

I’m trying to do a lot right now.

I’m still trying to secure clients, apply to jobs, write regularly for our family, communicate with everyone, update calendars, track all the pieces, and still do some self-care. I get angry and sad when I think about how much more of this we have ahead of ourselves and how I desperately need a self-care routine to solidify and actually work.

I added exercise back into the mix. We went to the YMCA yesterday and I did a really straightforward 30 minutes on the elliptical. Nothing fancy, just pushed myself cardiovascularly so I can start to get my endurance back. I think we’ll go tomorrow morning so I can lift some weights. My arms are still like steel cords thanks to baby bench presses, but I can feel my back and core and pelvic floor slackening as even long walks have become difficult to work in.

I’m inundated with the sheer number of people who are constantly asking me questions. Some of them are good like, “Can I include olives in the meal I’m delivering next week?” Good question. (The answer is yes.)

But  have like 3 too many people asking for personalized updates that I just don’t have the bandwidth for right now. As I told Andy, a surprising number of people feel entitled to these sorts of updates. I appreciate the notes of encouragement, the cards in the mail, the texts that say “I’m thinking of you,” but I just can’t tell this story one more time to one more person when I have several outlets to collect this information.

Let’s face it, I’m tired.

I’m anxious about my ability to keep up with everything if I should eventually be a single parent. I’m doing research and asking questions about how to set us up for that (“us” includes Andy who is rightfully worried about it). Some people have told me not to think like that. SOME PEOPLE.

It relieves me to know that if I need house projects done that I have friends who have already committed to it. It relieves me to know that Andy is writing a house calendar for me of all the things he does around the house to keep it functional so I can follow it if he’s not around to direct that work. It relives me to know who exactly has my back right now, even if it all changes.

It abates my anxiety to do this ultimate Willhelm Planning. This whole supporting a family through the hard times is a contact sport. This is why we asked those present at our wedding to take a vow themselves to support us in times like this. Though I had always envisioned our marriage being tested because of boredom or something, not through an illness this serious.

His mortality scares me. Andy was always invincible to me. I knew that someday I would live without him, but I didn’t expect to have to reckon with that for another 20 years at least. We know so little at this point about what we can expect with regard to that, but the idea of being a widow in my 30s, losing My Person when we are just getting going…it’s unfair that we have to do this.

And yet, I think about moms who have to do this when they are sick themselves with kids and no family. Or people who go through this with literally no one. We are so lucky to be as supported and resourced as we are.

And yet, I don’t care. I want the guarantee that I (and Ronan) have more time with him.