Email
shaunalacow@gmail.com
For an ex-ER nurse, one of the most humbling and embarrassing things for me to admit is I am a chronic pain person. I don't really know why as ER nurses we look down on chronic pain people. Was it because they required more work? Was it because we are a bunch of "fixers" and it was an un-fixable ailment? Sometimes it was because of the drug abuse and being conned, but not all the time. Now that I look back on my time in the ER and how I judged a lot of the patient population, I don't know why I cared about that aspect of their health. I guess I was just burnt out.
The upside to all that experience is it makes me a more mindful patient. I know what a slippery slope pain medications can be for pain that really will never go away, so I stay away from narcotics. I can see now why people turn to heavy pain medications who do not have this insight. Chronic pain is kind of a hopeless plight and is consuming. I had no idea until I was in the thick of it, so I thought I would share what it is like to be a chronic-painer with you.
Most of the time it is like a small pebble in your shoe on a hike when you can't stop. You re-adjust your steps, you shake your shoe, but no matter what, it can be felt the whole time and is aggravating. Is it the worst pain ever? No, but let's just leave that pebble in your shoe for a year and you aren't allowed to take your shoe off. Your upbeat attitude starts to falter. Every once in a while, that pebble turns into a goat head and you have to stop, but only for a moment. On your hike people will stop with you for a short period of time, but really, everyone is on a nice hike and you just encourage them to go on. You assure them it will get better and you will try and catch up. The goat head settles back down into a pebble, and you hike on. You try and catch up to your friends, but you realize that you just can't keep the same pace anymore.
This is how it goes for the rest of your hike - pebble to goat head, pebble to goat head. No one really sees the debris in your shoe and while they love you, they question what is really going on. They also wonder why you can't just "power through it"? Maybe if your foot was tougher it wouldn't bother you? Maybe you are just too sensitive and need to learn to "cowboy up"? You have tried both, but now you are tired and your spirit is drained. You wonder if you will ever know what it feels like to have normal feeling shoes again. And then you begin to lose heart. This is when you start to mourn the loss of your own health, and it can happen at any age. Even at 37.
Right now I am two weeks from knowing if a knee replacement will help. If it is not the right answer for me, then I am as mobile as I will ever be. No more hiking, snowboarding, running in the park to get a kite in the air with Natalia. No more long days at Disneyland, no more walking on the beach because I can't tolerate the uneven sand, no more high heels to look sexy for my husband, no more dancing at the holiday parties and possibly at Natalia's wedding. My knees will get worse, not better. These are the things I am mourning and how my life is changing.
I have had people with very good intentions tell me "Remember, there are people way worse off than you." To which I found this lovely quote "Saying someone can't be sad because someone may have it worse is just like saying someone can't be happy because someone else might have it better." Everyone's journey is different, everyone's pain is her own. My pain never stops me from fixing my hair or doing my makeup before I go out. I really don't want people to know how terrible I feel on the inside. Of course, my daughter can read my face like a cheap tabloid magazine and knows right away whether my day is bad or not. It kills my heart not being the mom I want to be right now and that I can't hide it from her. In one of her school papers she wrote for me to get a new knee as one of her goals for the year. I cried and cried right onto the construction paper.
In two years I will be a nurse practitioner. The good news is this has brought more empathy into my heart and will help me be a better care giver. It took me 9 years to max out being jaded and prejudice, but only one year to help chip all that hardness away, so I guess it was a pretty good trade when you think of it. Hard, but efficient. Once I'm done mourning my high heeled shoes, and so forth, I'll revamp the things I do with my family, rest more than any 30-something ever should have to, and realize there isn't a damn thing I can do differently for this pebble in my shoe.
Up until a few months ago, I didn't know, nor did I care what a "tween" was. To tell you the truth, I still have no idea what this creature is lurking in my house. This is Wikipedia's definition: "A tween is a person who is between the ages of 10 to 12 years old.[1] The term is often described in popular media as referring to a preadolescent (usually female) who is at the "in-between" stage in their development when they are considered "too old for toys, too young for boys". Okay, some of this is true, but some of it is downright misleading. It is more like "they love to play with toys and talk about boys non-stop". I should go back and edit that Wikipedia page.
So let me tell you about my journey with a tween, where it started, and some truth to it all because, quite frankly, I have been lied to. We all have.
I have this amazing, beautiful, articulate, quirky, and very funny daughter. Gradually a year ago Jeremy and I started noticing subtle changes in the tides. A mood swing here, a bit extra tired there, a tad bit over dramatic. No problem. I mean, we knew puberty was inevitable because a few physical signs had started up at age 8. Of course we panicked and took her to her pediatrician as a husband and wife team wanting to know what the hell was going on with our sweet baby and why was her body changing already?! She was just now finishing chapter books and ten finger typing, dammit! We were assured it was normal. A bit on the earlier side, but normal. Okay. We breathed a sigh of relief, grabbed a couple of dum-dum lollipops on our way out (you know they choose those because they think parents are morons sometimes) and felt pretty good again.
Now here we are, living in a house with a 10 year old tween. If ever there was a time to NOT have an early achiever, this would be a time to opt out of that first prize. It is a circle from Dante's Inferno. I am going to preface this with my mommy disclaimer: I love my child in a fierce momma bear way. She is my precious life and I will love her little soul until the day I die. Okay, now let's get real.
First, no one told me that all the Freud garbage I learned in Psychology 101 and Nursing Theory actually had some merit. Let me explain: Natalia will constantly pick a fight with me, not Jeremy and feels that she is in competition with me at all times. I confess that sometimes I regress to her level and play the "I want to have the last word" game, but she really does pick at me specifically. Thank goodness I have a fantastic spouse who will back me up and tell her to cut it out.... eventually. Like any guy, he glazes over at the first site of female drama. He's heroic, but he ain't dumb. Now do I think it is because Natalia is "interested" in Jeremy. No. Freud is a nut when it goes that far, but there is some same sex aggression going on here.
Second, the mood swings will make you a captive in your own home. You will rejoice at going to Wal-mart because it is unlikely the cashier will shout "Oh my gosh!" and just stomp off mid checkout leaving you to wonder what you just said. No one at the gas station will correct your facial gestures while tearing up because you looked cross while pumping gas. I even listen to classical music right now because there is no talking going on during the music. There is so much chatter at my house that I don't even want to hear a human voice while listening to music. I live in a land of tween emotional land mines.
Third, in the early phase of having your tween you will be convinced your child has a serious mental illness and is going to be the next Charles Manson. Yes, we took her to the pediatrician AGAIN and pretty much preached on all this bipolar sounding craziness, the narcolepsy vs. insomnia, the angst over school crafts and shoes that make her "toes look big". Are you feeling me? Her pediatrician agreed that Natalia is a bit high strung and since mental illness parades through both Jeremy and my families like Shriners on mini bicycles, we are going to put her in some counseling. Actually let's be honest. I just can't referee these emotions anymore. We are tapping out and calling in a professional. I can't be the lifeboat if I'm also the sinking ship.
No one told me that I only had 10 years before I had to tell her how to shave her legs (the tutorial was today, thank you very much), what it is like to start your period, questions about actual sex instead of the anatomy lesson I got away with when she was 6. No one told me that you can be the most supportive and loving parents in the world and your daughter will still tell you things like "I want a different chin" and "I think my belly sticks out too far". I had been led to believe that if I cheered her on enough, she would just love herself as much as I love her and wake up in these tween years completely enlightened instead of feeling lost and awkward. Nike will lead you on that if she plays sports she won't join a gang or pierce her nipples in 8th grade. Okay, now I'm being a bit dramatic, but they really are selling us some lies and preying on our mommy guilt.
My friend Carrie has a daughter about the same age and is going through a lot of the same issues. I had an epiphany one day and shared it with her, so I thought I would share it with y'all too. As much as I no longer know who my daughter is, neither does Natalia. She spent the first 9 years figuring out her favorite color, food, animal, music and was getting settled into her parent sheltered independence when one day she started slipping away from the "she" that she knew. The world just opened up to her and became such a bigger place, full of uncertainty and possibility all at the same time. Jeremy and I were struggling to stuff her personality back into the "child Natalia" where he and I felt safe. Now all three of us realize that it is going to take a lot of time to get to know the new Natalia. It is like starting over again. Remember how scared you were when you first brought home your brand new baby girl? Just imagine if she could actually speak English. Now you are getting it - emotional, demanding, and has no idea what she wants or needs, but now can articulate.

Sometimes to get through the emotionally hard parts I have to remind Natalia that I have never been a mom before and that I am literally winging it. I reminded her today that I am having to read books to understand what a "tween" is and that sometimes I don't even understand what she is trying to say to me. She asked me "Well, what is a tween?" and I was like, "I still have no idea!" Sometimes I'm brutally honest with her and let her know that although I love her dearly, I really don't like her sometimes because she just talks so ugly to me. I remind her that she would have no friends if she spoke to them that way. She is good about apologies.
So, this is my unsolicited advice: Tweens kind of suck. They have no idea what they are doing and are like bipolar borderline personality disorder people off their medications, so cut them a little slack, but set up good boundaries. They need them so desperately because they are so scared about this whole new world that just opened up to them. It's also okay to not like your child sometimes. This is why I put myself in time out. I have more control over my actions than I do hers, so I just leave the situation, go to my room and cool off until we can both grow up and talk like normal humans again. My last advice is this: Next time you and your daughter are together in a good moment, look up the YouTube videos for Katie Kaboom from Animaniacs. It will sum up your daughter in a quick 2 minute animated short and you will both get a good laugh.