Screw Mean Girls - I've Got Another Brain Surgery to Worry About!

I had no idea how important my last few posts would be. I take that back; I had no idea how important they would be to the few people that viewed them nearly 100 times. It’s strange how important you can be to someone, how much you can impact them in one context, but matter so little to them in another. It makes me imagine my “fans” opening my page again and again, making their poor husbands read it, or reading passages aloud, shouting, “can you believe she said THAT!” Poor hubby mumbles, “yes dear, she’s a monster.”

Meanwhile, the amount of angst I’ve spent on this whole thing has been about the equivalent to how bad I feel when I kill a centipede. I hate centipedes. Oddly, I'll rescue every other type of bug, and shoo it outside. I'm a softie for every living thing, except centipedes. Nothing should have that many legs! Nothing!

Don’t get me wrong, I shed my tears over a year ago. I was hurt by mean girls. I had my “why don’t they like me anymore?” moments; and I had my “what did I do?” and I had my “how can they abandon me like this?” times. But that was over long ago. I pretty much had my tear-fest long before my first surgery. It was the last time I saw any of these people, and realized I was “out.”

And here’s why I feel this way: I’m fucking sick! Yesterday, I was reminded of this in a big way. I got word that I am, indeed, facing a second brain surgery, probably before sinus surgery. So, all of this petty bullshit is just that. It’s petty, ridiculous bullshit, which was my point all along. Girls decide they hate you for whatever insane reason they make up in their minds, and they don’t offer their support when your family is literally in the depths of hell. But, they pretend they are smiling and waving. It’s insane. And, it’s a special kind of nonsense that I refuse to allow near my life anymore.

Full on pain, yesterday. I slept for over 18 hours of the 24 yesterday. How did I do this, with a husband out of town for work? People. Kind people. A neighbor played with my son. A different neighbor picked him up from school. Someone else came and helped me with my medication. Kindness. This is what sickness looks like; and it's what kindness looks like. I have been in a bad pain cycle for a few weeks and haven't been able to break out of it. The only thing that helps is pure, unbroken sleep. So, I slept. And slept. And slept some more. Like the pretty ice pack on my head?

Full on pain, yesterday. I slept for over 18 hours of the 24 yesterday. How did I do this, with a husband out of town for work? People. Kind people. A neighbor played with my son. A different neighbor picked him up from school. Someone else came and helped me with my medication. Kindness. This is what sickness looks like; and it's what kindness looks like. I have been in a bad pain cycle for a few weeks and haven't been able to break out of it. The only thing that helps is pure, unbroken sleep. So, I slept. And slept. And slept some more. Like the pretty ice pack on my head?

The news of my next brain surgery has put things in perspective, yet again. It’s why I have no patience for silly girl nonsense, and why it doesn’t matter. My battle isn’t with them, or with any mean girls. My battle is with my own body.

My body is constantly fighting against me. It’s constantly trying to tear me apart. It’s constantly trying to see if it can tear my family apart. My battle is trying to keep my family whole, amidst the storm that is both chronic illness, and brain injury; it’s a storm that wants, so badly, to tear us, and me, apart.

This illness wants, so badly, to force me to miss my son’s school performances. It wants me to lay on the couch, and not be able to play Lego. It wants me to be too weak to engage when he needs correcting, forcing Daddy to be the only disciplinarian and me to be his only source of comfort. It wants me to be too sick to ask my son how his day was, so he feels closer to the neighbor who drives him to school. And, it wants me to be too sick from pain meds to stay awake to hear the answer, when I’m strong enough to ask.

This illness wants me to be too sick to cook dinner more than once a month, leaving my supportive husband to add it to his list of amazing ways he cares for me, without complaint. It wants me to be too sick to shower alone, forcing my husband to not only be my lover and partner, but also my nursemaid, a role he didn’t sign up for. It begs to burden our marriage with far more sickness than health. It threatens our partnership, every day, and forces us to choose to be closer, or to be pushed apart.

So, when I get dealt another blow, knowing that a titanium plate in my head will come with more ICU time, with screws in my skull, and with more of everything awful, all this nonsense about mean girls just reminds me that it’s just that: nonsense. It melts like a snowflake from the first snow, landing on the highway: impotent and meaningless. If some nasty girls choose to be awful to me, and choose to pass the blame buck, choose not to self-reflect, that’s on them. It’s not about me anyway; it’s about them.

I have bigger and more important problems than a few mean girls who got upset about being called out on their behavior. And more importantly than that, I have bigger and more important people in my life than those who are small. I have people whose hearts are larger than life. Those are the people who I will lean on again. Those are the people I will talk about and share about. Those are the people I will see at the hospital, whose words of comfort will carry me on nights filled with pain and illness. Those are the people my son will lean on when he’s afraid his mother will die.

My reason to fight. This is the best I'd felt all day. I got out of bed when he came home from school. We sat together for a few minutes before dinner, and we cuddled on the couch. He told me about how excited he was to get further in his Wii game (a special treat to get to play during the week, but Mama is sick). And, we re-heated a meal that hubby prepped in advance for us. But, I have to keep my head, essentially, frozen, so I have to wear an ice pack, wrapped around my head 24-7, so I can even THINK of moving from bed. Why? Because my brain is swollen. Yes, swollen. I take steroids all the time too, to keep it from swelling too much. But, this is what matters, not some petty nonsense. If it makes silly girls feel better to hate someone whose life consists of this, then more power to them. I hope they enjoy hating me if it gives them a weird version of power.

My reason to fight. This is the best I'd felt all day. I got out of bed when he came home from school. We sat together for a few minutes before dinner, and we cuddled on the couch. He told me about how excited he was to get further in his Wii game (a special treat to get to play during the week, but Mama is sick). And, we re-heated a meal that hubby prepped in advance for us. But, I have to keep my head, essentially, frozen, so I have to wear an ice pack, wrapped around my head 24-7, so I can even THINK of moving from bed. Why? Because my brain is swollen. Yes, swollen. I take steroids all the time too, to keep it from swelling too much. But, this is what matters, not some petty nonsense. If it makes silly girls feel better to hate someone whose life consists of this, then more power to them. I hope they enjoy hating me if it gives them a weird version of power.

Yes, don’t forget that there’s a child here, a child who was (and is) afraid his mother wouldn’t (won't) come home from the hospital. Actually, his biggest fear was that they would cut out the part of my brain that remembered to love him. Imagine, for a second, your child saying these words to you. So, small people whose biggest concern is that they can’t recognize that they are rotten, I’ve got no time for that; I’ve got a baby who I have to comfort.  

Cruelty may hurt, but love and kindness carries. And, I argue, that kindness and kind people are far more prevalent. I see it every day; I only saw cruelty twice. That’s proof enough for me that kindness is the most powerful force in the world, and I continue to believe in it. Furthermore, I believe in it so strongly, that I don't doubt for a moment that, one day, mean girls will one day be kind girls. And when they are, I'll be right here.

This is so cute and so accurate, let's pretend that the person who created it didn't use the wrong "your." It should be "you're." There...I feel better :)