It is two years since my dad fell ill. I think this day for me is more significant than the day he actually died, because by the time he died there was nothing much of him left to die.
I feel better. I still think of my dad constantly. I think of him so much that it seems odd that he is gone; it seems like he ought to be here. Maybe I’ve gone into some kind of denial.
But I’ve felt a shift in my grief lately. I can write again. I can write about him again. I have dreams about him and they are peaceful dreams. The night before I got new glasses, I dreamed that he and I were walking where I was a child, near the opticians–near the old sushi place and the bumpy tree.
I see his face in my son’s face sometimes, when I look for it. And when I love my son, part of that love is the love I had for my father.
I don’t read the brain tumor forums any more, and I’ve been leaving all the Facebook groups devoted to grief and brain cancer too. Somehow instead of helping (like the colon cancer forums did), the brain cancer forums hurt and irritated me. I guess it is because they were never particularly helpful. First of all they are called “brain cancer” forums, but all anybody talks about is GBM GBM GBM, as though no other cancers matter. Secondly there are just about no patients on those forums…only frantic caregivers and a large amount of poor medical advice given by nonmedical people attempting to feel important. And my dad seems to have been in the bottom percentiles as far as how people did with his cancer, so (although I am happy for them) it is really just depressing to log on and hear that everyone else with his cancer is for the most part well, whereas my dad has been gone so long that I think of fathers as something that other people have.
I probably have PTSD to some extent. I fear for my own health and the health of all of my loved ones. I hope that someday I can learn to live life normally again, without anxiety that disease and a horrible death lurks around the corner.
I was idly reading somewhere about whether a soul exists, and if so where it is when someone is dying and unconscious, or where is a baby’s soul when its mom is pregnant. And someone said that during those times the soul comes and goes. It was a nice thought.
On another note regarding my own health, it is seven months since I delivered my son, and my blood glucose issues remain. I tested my A1c at home and last month it was 5.0 (normal) and then exactly a month later it was 5.9 (strongly prediabetic). I have no idea what to believe, or what to do. I am supposed to see my doctor again in two months. I feel weird because with the gestational diabetes I was seeing the doctor twice a week.
I am still nursing, but my son has started solids and nurses much less than he was a month ago. I did manage to almost exclusively breastfeed for six months.
I have lost 28 pounds from my pre-pregnancy weight, putting my BMI at 25–the high end of normal. I feel good. Unfortunately my blood glucose does not seem to have improved and in fact if anything, has become worse. That scares me.
I read /r/loseit sometimes and the people there talk a lot about how after losing weight they noticed a huge difference in how people treated them. I haven’t really noticed that at all. A lot of people do remark “oh you lost a lot of weight,” but if anything I find it sort of embarrassing because I guess they must know how overweight I was before. I just say “yes…I was pregnant, and now I’m not, so I put the baby down!”
But then some people go on and say “no, but you have lost weight even compared to pre-baby.” Which is true. But I don’t really want to explain that I had gestational diabetes and that now I seem to have pre-diabetes.
Anyway, all my old clothes are now loose and I am not embarrassed when I see photos of myself–from any angle. Those are nice “non-scale victories” (a word used in online weight loss communities, apparently.) I never realized how ashamed I felt of being fat, until now that I am not fat any more and have a data point to compare to.