The Five Strands of A Sedentary Empress

Twisted Sister

Have eaten the last available brownie and am craving more. I am actually searching the desk for crumbs and I seem to be coming up empty. Life isn't fair.

Ever notice how you find yourself almost willing to kill for things you don't have in the house, but when you have it the craving isn't there? Like, some nights I find myself edging toward violence when I think of a glass of Coke and I know there is no chance I can have one because we try not to buy it, but right now we have a case of it (M's recent indulgence), and I haven't had the slightest urge to touch it. Then, there's chocolate. Now, I talk about chocolate a good bit but in all honesty, I'm a salt girl. I put salt and butter on my French Toast and think syrup is unnecessary. I will choose popcorn over a chocolate bar every time I go to the movies. It's just that sometimes the urge hits and it doesn't let go until I nibble on something dark and smooth. The brownies I made last night were the result of a three-day craving that I gave in to, and I figured they'd mostly dry out and be thrown away, or that I'd be packing them in the wee one's lunch box, but no, the entire pan is empty and I am largely responsible. I don't even have the good sense to be embarrassed about it. I wanted it, I ate it, I want more. I rarely do this kind of thing, gorge on cake or chocolate like a savage glutton, but these days I take the pleasure where I can find it.

My sister P. called this morning. I knew immediately that she was in one of her moods what with her grumpy voice and quick, hot grunts. I almost told her I had to go because these moods of hers, while she expects everyone to understand them and perhaps find them challenging and above reproach, are actually intolerable and rude in my view. Even in my worst moods, I am not rude to people who are speaking with me. I keep the anger all to myself and direct it at whom I'm really irritated with. I decided to be upbeat instead of immediately capitulating to her tone and obvious need to vent. I talked about my child, gave accounts of her most recent trends toward genius (this is an unspoken competition between us three sisters), talked about my new Twitter habit, the fact that I felt close to tears while watching a documentary on Annie Leibowitz last night because of the brilliance of her work and how it was the first documentary in ages that I thoroughly enjoyed. I heard a lot of 'uh huhs' and 'yeahs' and then I let the conversation go into her court. She started talking about my mother and how recently she's experienced random episodes of chest pains. I knew about this, but then P. went on to say that my mother also had a bout of dizziness in a store and that she even had some pain in her jaw. As of this morning, my mother still (stupidly) hasn't seen a doctor, so P. made her promise to arrange an appointment, only to have my mother call back, almost triumphantly, to say that her doctor is on vacation. This is typical of my mother, actually. She loves to complain but won't see a doctor unless someone makes her go and almost every single time it's been 'nothing'. Now, granted, these symptoms seem fairly frightening, but it can't be that frightening to her if she's elected to do nothing about it. I asked P. to tell me the symptoms again, and I muttered my 'ummmhmmm's' with each one, going through my head for possible illnesses or afflictions. I'm not a doctor, don't pretend to be one, but I was trying to find a way to ease P.'s obvious distress.

"Well, it could be a lot of things, actually, I mean, she'd likely be dead by now if it was a heart attack. Also, these symptoms are pretty much in line with anxiety attacks and she has been under some pressure..."

"Oh jesus!", she interrupted with a very palpable eyeroll, "not everything is related to anxiety you know!"

"Well, yes, I know that, but I'm just saying..."

"That's all you bloody well think about! This is far more serious than an anxiety attack!". She is shouting at me at this point.

"I'm sorry, but I don't recall you possessing a medical degree," I said calmly. "This is just my opinion, and I didn't actually say that this is what is going on, it's just that the symptoms are the same."

"Oh, so feeling cold and clammy with chest pains and shortness of breath are symptoms of an anxiety attack?" she spat out, like it were an accusation.

"Well, yeah. I mean, I've been dealing with these same symptoms off and on for eight years, and yup, if you care to actually read up on it, it's pretty black and white. That said, it could also be something far more serious and she definitely ought to go to the doctor right away."

"Not everything is anxiety you know!", she is shrieking at this point.

"Ummm, OKAY NOW," I roar into the phone. This is where the madness stops, I think to myself. "You do NOT have to speak to me like that. I am an intelligent individual who has spent a great deal of time actually LEARNING about this particular topic, and I can assure you that a great many people go to emergency rooms thinking they're having a heart attack or stroke when it is simply a reaction to intense stress. It is LOGICAL to consider all possibilities before immediately assuming the worst, so don't do your USUAL thing and go for throat when you have no idea what you're talking about. Now, I DO feel that she needs to go the hospital immediately to see what the problem is, but it is up to HER. And yes, I DO think that emotions have a lot to do with physical well being as it is scientific FACT, and most people are acutely aware of the relationship between the two because of the research and education which links them. I am not making it up, and I am not discounting the possibility of our mother being legitimately ill, which I was trying to explain before you jumped down my throat!"

I've had enough of this nonsense, truly. My sister, though I love her, has somewhere along the line decided that the rest of us, and by 'us' I mean her family, are stupid. Through her eyes I'd see myself as a lazy, useless, heartless, quivering, self-absorbed mess, and I'm done with allowing her to influence my self-perception. She's angry, she's dissatisfied and she's holier-than-thou, and I'm over it. I felt my own esteem soar somehow as I stormed through every word. Today, I was not going to let her make me feel sad or rejected by her clumsy and venomous remarks. I was ready to take her down, and I think I still am, actually. I take a lot from family, but lately, for some reason, I'm putting myself first and I'm okay with it. That I'm here, in this semi-precious state of mind, is not my doing entirely. It is the result of years and years of criticism.

"Now," I continued slightly calmer, "I understand that you're worried about her, but I at no time said that this was an anxiety attack. I was trying to say that it is a possibility, just as likely as a heart attack or something else. That is my point of view and I'm not going to change it, so back off."

Silence.

More silence.

Then...

"Yeeeeaaaaaahhhhh?....." I say, in my slightly goofy voice.

"I know," she said quickly, sounding a little upset. "I'm just worried and I snapped, so I'm sorry. It's just that if something happens to her, and she needs care, who's going to look after her?"

Seriously? She's worried about who is going to have to play nursemaid if my mother becomes an invalid? THAT'S what she's worried about? How about she dies and leaves her children and grandchildren behind? What about my father? What about my mother, a woman so consumed with ignorance and delusion but who is always ready to admit that she lacks 'smarts'? Has she considered my mother's fear? My mother's worry?

I said nothing about this. I knew it would be pointless to say anything about her own selfishness because she really would have lost it and this would have served no purpose. No matter, I thought. Instead, I told her I had to take a call on the other line from France (the truth, actually), but that I'd call her back later. Which I did, and she didn't answer. Still licking her paw, I'd imagine.

I'm more angry now about it than I was this morning, which I think is a good thing, really. That I didn't react the way I normally would, which would be to engage in a screaming match which would leave my throat feeling as though it had been rubbed with sandpaper, pleases me. Now, the thing which really bothers me at this moment is the way she so cavalierly dismissed my suggestion of an anxiety attack. I know that this means she thinks I'm a joke, that my 'affliction' is ridiculous and perhaps a crutch to lean on and this does bother me. This has been the major theme of my life for eight years and I don't owe her, or anyone else, an apology for that or for my interest in understanding it. I talk about it because I'm NOT ashamed of it. Maybe that makes her uncomfortable, but that's her problem, not mine. And for the record, I DO believe that many physical illnesses are either imagined or are the result of an emotional problem. Not all, but many. The common headache is largely a physical manifestation to stress. Back aches, stomach problems, skin problems...you'd have to be really obtuse not to see the connection. If this kind of thing weren't real, Freud would have been out of a job.

The end result is that I'm thinking of giving in and calling my mother to see how she is. I'm a grownup and one of us needs to make the effort.