03-01-2010, 11:47 AM
More of my story... This week I'll continue to go through the responses so far on this thread.
My Mom had polio at some time in her youth. It left her with limited vision in one eye, and I suspect is the reason for her having a sometimes awkward gait.
In a recent conversation, my uncle was surprised to learn of this.
Some people who had childhood polio go a couple of decades without symptoms, then experience a post-polio syndrome at around age 40. The major symptoms are extreme fatigue, gradually increasing muscle weakness, and joint pain. Other symptoms include difficulty breathing, and troubled sleep.
The current theory is that when the polio originally damaged nerve cells, adjacent cells took over the functions of their "fallen comrades." After twenty years or so, they're unable to keep doing their neighbor's work as well as their own.
I believe my Mom had post-polio syndrome begin within a couple of years of my birth. Not sure if this started either shortly before I came along, or in my infancy.
Throughout my life, Mom has had an extremely low energy level. She can get up and get a few things done, then needs to go back to bed for a long nap. Sometimes she isn't able to do even a few things. When I was young, post-polio syndrome was little known. Even today there's not much treatment other than rest and kindness. However, when I was young, Mom only saw doctors sporadically. Most of the time, she turned to Mrs. Eddy's book to try to find inspiration and healing.
Sometimes TV ads will show a mother in a fantasy situation, such as in a land of unicorns. Sometimes ads show energetic Moms who had a lot of pep to take care of their families. That seemed like every bit as much as fantasy to me. Wasn't it obvious that what Moms can do is some morning work, then need to rest in bed most of the day, then some evening work, than usually an early bedtime?
As a kid, the best possible thing would have been for someone - anyone - to have told me that Mom's fatigue and irritability had medical causes and nothing to do with me. It would have helped me to have known that Mom was unusually sick, unable to do as much to take care of me as anyone would have liked.
It would have helped me to know that her inability to be present with me was not at all because I didn't deserve care and help and nurture. It was because she was unable to provide that care, for reasons unrelated to what I needed or deserved. It would have helped me to have known that her sense of despair was not because I was too inconvenient to exist with needs, but might have had something to do with her own guilty feeling that she had failed to study Mrs. Eddy's words enough to be healed.
It would have helped to have known that Mom was disabled, so of course, our friends, relatives, church members, and neighbors were asked to help us out now and then.
But, of course, that would have meant revealing the shame of illness and need, the humiliation of not being self-reliant, to people who had to be rejected for making Mom unhappy. Of course, they only made her unhappy through what must have been a desire to hurt her by not caring. And it might have meant the ultimate pain: acknowledging that one made a mistake and should choose something else to try.
As a kid, I was very confused about how I could stop making Mom hurt so much. I knew it had something to do with not having any needs that would inconvenience her. I needed to stop making her have to be upset at my disturbance when she needed her rest. Beyond that, I couldn't figure out how to be good enough so she wouldn't have to hurt and be sad. How to be good enough so she wouldn't have to be so troubled by my needing my Mother's help?
I now think that my Mom is a young or adolescent soul in Michael's terms, and I'll discuss forgiveness later. Thank you for the wonderful food for thought. It's quite tasty and I'm still chewing slowly. More to come soon.
My Mom had polio at some time in her youth. It left her with limited vision in one eye, and I suspect is the reason for her having a sometimes awkward gait.
In a recent conversation, my uncle was surprised to learn of this.
Some people who had childhood polio go a couple of decades without symptoms, then experience a post-polio syndrome at around age 40. The major symptoms are extreme fatigue, gradually increasing muscle weakness, and joint pain. Other symptoms include difficulty breathing, and troubled sleep.
The current theory is that when the polio originally damaged nerve cells, adjacent cells took over the functions of their "fallen comrades." After twenty years or so, they're unable to keep doing their neighbor's work as well as their own.
I believe my Mom had post-polio syndrome begin within a couple of years of my birth. Not sure if this started either shortly before I came along, or in my infancy.
Throughout my life, Mom has had an extremely low energy level. She can get up and get a few things done, then needs to go back to bed for a long nap. Sometimes she isn't able to do even a few things. When I was young, post-polio syndrome was little known. Even today there's not much treatment other than rest and kindness. However, when I was young, Mom only saw doctors sporadically. Most of the time, she turned to Mrs. Eddy's book to try to find inspiration and healing.
Sometimes TV ads will show a mother in a fantasy situation, such as in a land of unicorns. Sometimes ads show energetic Moms who had a lot of pep to take care of their families. That seemed like every bit as much as fantasy to me. Wasn't it obvious that what Moms can do is some morning work, then need to rest in bed most of the day, then some evening work, than usually an early bedtime?
As a kid, the best possible thing would have been for someone - anyone - to have told me that Mom's fatigue and irritability had medical causes and nothing to do with me. It would have helped me to have known that Mom was unusually sick, unable to do as much to take care of me as anyone would have liked.
It would have helped me to know that her inability to be present with me was not at all because I didn't deserve care and help and nurture. It was because she was unable to provide that care, for reasons unrelated to what I needed or deserved. It would have helped me to have known that her sense of despair was not because I was too inconvenient to exist with needs, but might have had something to do with her own guilty feeling that she had failed to study Mrs. Eddy's words enough to be healed.
It would have helped to have known that Mom was disabled, so of course, our friends, relatives, church members, and neighbors were asked to help us out now and then.
But, of course, that would have meant revealing the shame of illness and need, the humiliation of not being self-reliant, to people who had to be rejected for making Mom unhappy. Of course, they only made her unhappy through what must have been a desire to hurt her by not caring. And it might have meant the ultimate pain: acknowledging that one made a mistake and should choose something else to try.
As a kid, I was very confused about how I could stop making Mom hurt so much. I knew it had something to do with not having any needs that would inconvenience her. I needed to stop making her have to be upset at my disturbance when she needed her rest. Beyond that, I couldn't figure out how to be good enough so she wouldn't have to hurt and be sad. How to be good enough so she wouldn't have to be so troubled by my needing my Mother's help?
I now think that my Mom is a young or adolescent soul in Michael's terms, and I'll discuss forgiveness later. Thank you for the wonderful food for thought. It's quite tasty and I'm still chewing slowly. More to come soon.