Self Care

This week I was at the dentist getting a dental crown replaced, and she discovered a small cavity underneath the crown when she took it off. “I can just remove that small cavity right now,” she said reassuringly. (Dr. Ramdath at The Smile Atelier is a terrific dentist if you are in need, by the way.) Her wording really spun off my thoughts — whether cavities are removed or whether they are filled — and I began wondering if the cavity Sarah left behind would be removed one day or filled.

I’ve had several appointments to catch up on my dental stuff since Sarah died, and I’ve also had a full physical exam, pap smear, mammogram, and colonoscopy since August. Everything is normal. Prior to Sarah’s death, I did not “practice good self-care.” In fact, being told to “take time for myself” or “practice self-care” were among my least favorite and most laughed-at bits of wisdom to receive from others. Sarah had so many appointments, so many needs, so many out-of-the-blue issues, and she needed us 24/7. Even the typical moms I know talk about how hard it is to find time for themselves.

This was a source of tension between my own mom and I while she was still alive and cognizant. Almost every phone call would end with her saying “Please tell me you are going to take time for yourself.” And I would get frustrated, or just agree and tell her yes in order to appease her, but not even really know what that meant. Now of course, I have almost nothing but time for myself, my work, and for Max and I. And I “practice” good self-care.

I do see that my behavior was in some ways self-destructive and self-defeating. There was the winter and spring of 2013, ten years ago, when I did not seek out medical help for what turned out to be a strep/pneumonia infection, and I ended up in the hospital ICU with meningitis for 7 days in May (Not to be confused with the 1964 movie thriller Seven Days in May starring Burt Lancaster). I have seen this type of event with other special needs moms I know, who have ignored cancer signs or severe anemia.

I think a lot of people believe that families with severely disabled children receive monetary support from the government, as well as support staff or nursing care to come in and assist them, also provided by the state. I suppose there must be some states that furnish those things (I believe California is generous), but my state does not. We do have particularly strong public schools, and my husband and I had our work here, and we never wanted to move anywhere else. I believe Sarah benefitted from always living in the same house all her life. I hope she’s still here.