![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
k2daisyDecided on a roofer; he comes this afternoon to meet R and confirm dates to do this. Could go pretty quick (she said, immediately jinxing this possibility).
Got rejected by the insurance for Wegovy. I need to demonstrate I am on a weight-loss program, including a low-calorie diet, activity, and behavioral changes before I can reapply for pre-auth. So I signed up for Weight Watchers this morning. It's the one I know best, and they still have local meetings; in-person always motivates me more than just an app. And it's the last day for a great discount that lasts a year. So that's good news too, and it will keep me committed.
But it wasn't just the insurance denial that prompted my turn-around. This is a really hard week for me; today is the one-year anniversary of the beginning of the end. One year ago today, my mom went for her CT scan (which found the cancer metastasized to her liver) in the morning, and in the afternoon my dad collapsed in pain as his aorta dissected. I still have the voicemail from my mom as she followed his ambulance to the hospital. Kate and I flew down the next morning, and it all went to shit from there.
Of course, this has prompted lots of tears thinking about Dad. I talk to them both all the time, and it's easy for me to fill in what I know my mom would say in response. It's been harder to imagine Dad's response. But last night felt like he finally did reply.
He said it was better that he had gone first. "You know it would have been really hard for me to see your mother like that." He loved her so much, and her being sick for the last few years had taken a big toll on him already. "And I knew you could handle it. I knew you would take care of her and everyone. You did good, Kris."
Then I felt my mom's hand cupping my chin, like she did to all of us including Molly. Because of course she was there with him, waiting her turn. "You took good care of all of us, Kris. But now you need to take care of you."
Wish-fulfillment and projection, of course. But I have been feeling not great lately, having a lot of shortness of breath and wheezing. My doctor said it wasn't anemia, so then I googled more and now I am worried I have COPD. Like they both did. It's one of the main things that contributed to my dad's death. Which of course has not helped contain any of my anxiety.
But "talking" to them did. It gave me some agency and hope back. I know they would both rather be alive, but if they have to be gone they are better there together. And I did all things I needed to do. I took care of Mom, and Molly, and their friends and neighbors. I still take care of Kate, as she does me. I even mended a little bit of my relationship with Alison. At the minimum the door is still open between us, and that's enough. I took care of their house and the treasures they loved and their money and their remains.
It is time for me to take care of myself, and my own house. Part of what is triggering this is replacing my own roof; didn't realize I had PTSD around it until the dread started after I got all the estimates. All the stress of getting that goddamn permit in Florida has bubbled up to the surface again. I told the roofer we are going with about it, so he understood that I was extra-sensitive to getting this done right, and why I needed this to be the only home improvement we did right now.
The only way through all this is through, of course. So: Roofer. Weight Watchers. Onward.
Got rejected by the insurance for Wegovy. I need to demonstrate I am on a weight-loss program, including a low-calorie diet, activity, and behavioral changes before I can reapply for pre-auth. So I signed up for Weight Watchers this morning. It's the one I know best, and they still have local meetings; in-person always motivates me more than just an app. And it's the last day for a great discount that lasts a year. So that's good news too, and it will keep me committed.
But it wasn't just the insurance denial that prompted my turn-around. This is a really hard week for me; today is the one-year anniversary of the beginning of the end. One year ago today, my mom went for her CT scan (which found the cancer metastasized to her liver) in the morning, and in the afternoon my dad collapsed in pain as his aorta dissected. I still have the voicemail from my mom as she followed his ambulance to the hospital. Kate and I flew down the next morning, and it all went to shit from there.
Of course, this has prompted lots of tears thinking about Dad. I talk to them both all the time, and it's easy for me to fill in what I know my mom would say in response. It's been harder to imagine Dad's response. But last night felt like he finally did reply.
He said it was better that he had gone first. "You know it would have been really hard for me to see your mother like that." He loved her so much, and her being sick for the last few years had taken a big toll on him already. "And I knew you could handle it. I knew you would take care of her and everyone. You did good, Kris."
Then I felt my mom's hand cupping my chin, like she did to all of us including Molly. Because of course she was there with him, waiting her turn. "You took good care of all of us, Kris. But now you need to take care of you."
Wish-fulfillment and projection, of course. But I have been feeling not great lately, having a lot of shortness of breath and wheezing. My doctor said it wasn't anemia, so then I googled more and now I am worried I have COPD. Like they both did. It's one of the main things that contributed to my dad's death. Which of course has not helped contain any of my anxiety.
But "talking" to them did. It gave me some agency and hope back. I know they would both rather be alive, but if they have to be gone they are better there together. And I did all things I needed to do. I took care of Mom, and Molly, and their friends and neighbors. I still take care of Kate, as she does me. I even mended a little bit of my relationship with Alison. At the minimum the door is still open between us, and that's enough. I took care of their house and the treasures they loved and their money and their remains.
It is time for me to take care of myself, and my own house. Part of what is triggering this is replacing my own roof; didn't realize I had PTSD around it until the dread started after I got all the estimates. All the stress of getting that goddamn permit in Florida has bubbled up to the surface again. I told the roofer we are going with about it, so he understood that I was extra-sensitive to getting this done right, and why I needed this to be the only home improvement we did right now.
The only way through all this is through, of course. So: Roofer. Weight Watchers. Onward.
no subject