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It’s my party and I’ll sulk if I want to

For those of you who have emailed and IM'd in response to the previous post ... thank you, don't worry, and/or go fuck yourself. Pick whichever applies best. Yes, I am just a whiny-assed crybaby and I am having a big old pity party. I am wallowing in self-pity and feeling very, very sorry for myself. And it is too fair to turn off comments*, so neener!

(*But I loved your email, I love you and your family ... that's what my life was supposed to be, only it got terribly, horribly mangled somewhere along the way. You made me smile, and at the same time released a torrent of soul-cleansing tears that really needed to get out. That at least allowed me to plaster on the happy face and go do the Turkey Day thing. So an extra thank you for saying the right thing at the right time.)

Yesterday's Thanksgiving dinner was certainly an interesting adventure. My parents decided they would rather eat at a restaurant. So off we went. Lo and behold, instead of just our nice little family, they brought along a couple of strays ... a woman from their church and her father. Nice people, but they felt the need to ask all kinds of seemingly innocuous questions, but for us, are hard to answer ... especially in a public place.

Like for my son:
Friend: Are you going to school? What grade?
Son: I graduated last year.
Friend: How nice! What school did you graduate from?
Son: Knoxville Adaptive. It's a school for 'tards.
Me: It's a special education school for students with all sorts of issues. [Son] has severe bipolar disorder.
Friend: Oh. I see. Well. Umm. Congratulations.
Son: (Becomes totally focused on getting just the exact amount of gravy on a piece of turkey for the next 10 minutes)

Or my daughter:
Friend: What school do you go to?
Daughter: Oak Ridge
Friend: Did you just start there this year? (Puzzled because my son went to Knoxville schools)
Daughter: No, I've been in Oak Ridge schools since kindergarten
Friend: Uhh ... ??
Me: She used to live with her father in Oak Ridge but came to live with me last summer. We moved to Oak Ridge so she could stay in the same school.
Friend: Oh, I see. Does your father still live there?
Daughter: Yes.
Friend: Oh that's nice, you can see him anytime then.
Daughter: No, I can't. His psychotic wife won't let me come to the house and see any of my family there and my dad doesn't care. They even made my oldest brother hate me and he won't speak to me. I can't even get my stuff that's at his house. Now I don't care about school at all anymore, I almost dropped out, now I do my classes in the guidance office and I have to take drugs to keep from losing my mind! (Runs off to the ladies room)

She did return after a bit, there was still dessert to be had, and the friend's father engaged her in a conversation about photography, in which my daughter was able to show off her extensive knowledge. Sweet man, he seemed to have a knack for knowing what to say and not say. When not talking about sensitive and personal issues, my daughter can be quite charming and delightful. You just have to know what topics to avoid.

We almost made it through without any major drama. But then my mom just had to ask me if I am OK. Really OK.
Mom: I can see it in your eyes. You are under a lot of stress.
Me: I'm OK, Mom. Really.
Mom: Honey, I worry about you.
Me: Not now, Mom. Not here. (Throat is constricting, eyes are stinging)
Me: (To the rest of the table) This apple pie is heavenly! You must try some!
And all I really want to do is hurl myself into my mommy's arms and have her hold my while I cry my eyes out. But being in the middle of a very nice restaurant, I had to restrain myself.

On the way out though, something happened. Something that put me back in touch with who I really am ...

As we waited for everyone to make their way to the front, to the bathrooms and gathering coats and stuff, I noticed out front that there was an elderly gentleman struggling to get up the steps with the assistance of a younger fellow. They weren't going to make it. I shoved my purse at my daughter and went out to them. The gentleman had been walking back to the restaurant and his legs just decided they weren't going to go any further. He just needed help to sit down. A waiter showed up with a chair, and I directed the younger men to help maneuver the gentleman over and around where he could sit, using body moving techniques that I had learned during my years in EMS. Other than a dent or two to his sense of dignity, he appeared to be OK. But I was concerned because he was a little cold and clammy. Now, he did put forth some extra physical exertion. It was about 60 degrees F, and he was wearing a blazer. He didn't seem terribly out of breath, a little winded but not distressed. I sat with him for a few minutes while he told tales of this and that.

The whole while I was thinking, THIS is what I should be doing, this is where I need to be. Taking care of people. It is what I do best. Being a paramedic was who I am, what I am. A caregiver, a healer, a helper.

I will never be able to go back to that. My physical issues would prevent me from being able to do the job, and I would have to start over from square one in schooling, all the way back to EMT school. Paramedic school is something only a masochist would do twice. It really is a grueling ordeal. But knowing that this is a precious and special part of me ... that urge to help and to give of myself, has brought me back to a place where I think I can carry on. Not like I want to, but I can cope with myself. The rest of it ... well, I came to realize a long time ago that there are just certain people for whom life is just shitty, and I am one of those people. Lucky me. I just have to deal with it. I may not do so as gracefully as I wish I could, but somehow I will ... kicking, whining, crying and screaming the whole way.


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