My mom was the nicest person I ever knew.

After she died, I learned from my therapist about the enneagram and am convinced that Mom was a Helper (Type Two — The Enneagram Institute) like I am.  She used to go to multiple stores to find things I added to the grocery list.  She listened tirelessly to my stories.  She really, really cared about people and almost never asked to put herself first.  Like me, she didn’t know many strangers and did a lot of things by herself because she wasn’t going to miss something she wanted to do just because nobody else would do it with her.  And then, like me, there would come times when all of her selfless sacrifice felt oh so unappreciated and unnoticed, and she would break.  When Helpers are healthy, we help and we need nothing in return.  Maybe we would like to be thanked.  Too much helping without any recognition is a bit grating.  And when we are unhealthy, we sulk.  We resent.  We become martyrs.  “Nobody loves me, nobody cares, all I do is for nothing, nobody would miss me if I wasn’t here, but on the other hand nobody could do this without me . . .”

I had a boss call me a martyr once.  He wasn’t being insightful, or kind.  It was a criticism, an insult.  I deleted his contact information this week – not because of that comment – but because our relationship is only supported by me.  I don’t even know if you call that a relationship.  I think you call it memories one person is hanging onto.  I still know his contact information by heart after working for him for 12 years, but not having it saved it will remind me when I try to text him that there is a reason he isn’t in my phone anymore. 

I wish I could share insights with Mom as I discover ways we are similar.  She used to get her feelings hurt and cry and it made me so sad, but sometimes I also thought she was overreacting and I didn’t know how to help.  I just knew she was legitimately sad.  Sometimes we would have wonderful talks where I really understood her, even when I was young.  I would like to tell her so many things I think I understand now.  The other day I was reorganizing her and Dad’s house in my mind – how it could function better for them if they were still there.  So pointless, as we sold it 8 years ago and they are both dead, but I remember that space so clearly. 

Mom died when I was 37.  I’d only been married three years and was starting to learn firsthand about marital relationships, and I could empathize and understand my mom in ways I never had before.  I think I have gained insight about her and myself that would help her and make her feel less alone in ways she may have before.  But I also think when we lose someone, we see more of them in ourselves because we can’t see them anymore.  I see more of Dad in myself now than I did when he was alive . . . or, I see him differently in myself.  I have a kinder view of him.  We can never be combative anymore.  I’m glad most of our head-butting faded in his later years, anyway.

This week was rough.  April 26^th was 10 years since Mom died, and I thought about it all day.  I also had a busy week at work and a few medical things going on that mostly just annoyed me, possibly more than they would on a different week.  I decided to change dermatologists because the last few office visits have made me want to quit going back.  This time, I had to pay more than $200 at the front desk before I was even seen and was told it’s because I have a high-deductible plan.  Then I got to see the doctor, and thus started the barrage of questions/comments I could barely answer before the next one started.

“Oh, I see you have makeup on.”

“Oh, yes, I forgot.”

“Do you wear it for work?”

“Yes.”

“If you refuse to take it off, we’ll have to have you come back for a separate face exam.” 

Um, file that away under things that is not going to happen.  Lady, I’ve been coming to you for YEARS.  When have I ever refused to remove my makeup? 

“Usually I make a note on my calendar not to put on makeup for these appointments.  I just forgot.  I’m not refusing to remove it.”

“OK, thanks.  Here, wipe it off with your left hand while I examine your right hand/arm.  You have on toenail polish.  Do your naked toenails look like these photos [of skin cancer]?  I see you have some color.”

“Oh, yeah, I got burned in Mexico in the shade.”

“You wore sunscreen?  You know, the spray isn’t as good as the other kind.”

“You know, seeing as how I got burned in the shade, I don’t think sunscreen was my problem.  Just a gift my Dad gave me, the ability to get burned through things.”

“You should look into sun-resistant clothing.”  She told me a brand, but I don’t remember it, because what I was hearing is that she sees sun-worshippers all the time and isn’t interested in our bullshit stories about why we have color.  But my story was true!  I spent my entire last day of vacation ALONE in a shade bed (my friends weren’t that interested in avoiding the sun) and woke up to pain on my legs because apparently the material of the shade bed wasn’t sun-proof.  This was the most painful sunburn I ever remember, and I will worry about it until I am so close to death from some other means that I don’t have to worry about skin cancer as a potential cause.  I showed everyone at work my legs, and I think all of them hated me for it.  I made a deliberate effort on vacation to find shade, as I usually do, given that shade is where I don’t get burned (and it’s cooler there).  Apparently Mexico has very strong sun that burns through fabric. 

So, I didn’t care for that encounter with my doctor and decided not to schedule again.  I decided to find another doctor.  This woman wants me in the office 3x a year, which I cannot afford, so we’d settled on 2 and more recently I thought I should go down to one since I’d never actually had skin cancer.  I’m just fair-skinned and have a lot of spots.

And then, on the day Mom died (10 years ago), she left me 2 urgent, annoyed messages, wanting to discuss my biopsy results.  The attorneys I support have let me know my cell phone goes straight to voice mail most times they call me in the office.  The doctor said she would call me the next day at 7am.  I had my phone in my pocket and when she called almost an hour later than she told me she would, I still missed it. 

Here’s what I know: I’ve had countless skin biopsies and when they are nothing of concern, you get a message saying so.  “Hey there, your biopsy just showed a precancerous mole, keep up with the sunscreen, bye!”  At my office visit, I pointed out a pink spot on my left arm (not one of the sunburn sites from Mexico) and my dermatologist said right away, “How astute.  I think that’s basal cell carcinoma. Has it been bleeding?” 

“Um, no. I would have been in here a lot sooner if I had a bleeding spot.”

I called her office back after the third missed call and said, “Look.  My cell phone doesn’t work in my office.  I’m getting ready for court and my phone is in my pocket and I STILL missed the call.  Here is my direct line.  Tell her to leave me a detailed message, even if she has to tell me I have cancer.  No more of these, “PLEASE ANSWER WHEN I CALL” messages.

She called my cell phone again.  It worked.  She said, “Oh, did you get my messages?”  Oh, and it was basal cell carcinoma on my arm.  So, now I join the rest of the Lynn family in having some kind of cancer.  I’m not super worried, but, damn.  What a week for that, and so much for me not actually having skin cancer.  I’ll go to a skin cancer surgeon and hopefully that’ll be the end of it.  The sun can’t hurt a Leo!  Come on.

In other news, I also have uterine fibroids and I need an MRI and an embolization.  I didn’t really understand how an MRI works, although I’ve had one before.  I made the mistake of trying to schedule it while I was at work, and I’d like to send the poor girl who went through that with me a basket of her favorite things.  She explored different locations and times (because I have to fast) and then the surprise news that I must remove all metal from my body, which I rejected because I have some cartilage earrings that I never plan to remove, and she said very timidly, “Well, then, they won’t do it.”  She gave up on me then.  I told her I would talk to my doctor. 

My gynecologist (we’ve been together since around 2005 and I trust him 100%) said, basically, go to the consult and ask your Qs, but an MRI is probably what has to happen, which is why he told me to get one.  I’ve already had 2 ultrasounds.  Once I calmed down, I thought how silly it would be to deter what my beloved medical provider thinks should happen over some silly jewelry that, honestly, causes me minor pain on a regular basis.  Today I had the consult and – heads up – CMC Main has changed a lot.  It’s being demolished and rebuilt in parts.  I missed the parking deck (which is in a super obvious and convenient location on the right of the entrance street) and went to where I remembered parking before, which is now a building with an arm at the parking lot that required a human to let me in.  I went inside and the man at the desk told me not convincingly that radiology was on the 2^nd floor.  I went to the 2^nd floor and the receptionist there was texting and either didn’t know I arrived or didn’t care.  I said, “Hey.  Is this radiology?”  She looked at my paperwork and said, “Oh, no.  You need to go to the main building.”  Curse words!!!  I walked . . . quickly . . . and it’s very humid today since we’ve had a LOT of rain.  Then I found out CMC Main has a security guard when you enter.  Once I could figure out which line to go through next, I talked to yet another person who confidently directed me to the elevator that would take me to radiology on the 4^th floor.  Everyone there was fantastic, so much so that I decided for sure to let go of my cartilage earrings (I’ll get them back in after my ears get some rest and a good scrubbing I can’t do with them in) and proceed with the MRI and the embolization, although it seems kind of creepy once they explained how it works, and I also didn’t know I would need recovery time and a driver on the day of the procedure. 

So . . . that has been my week.  If anyone wants to come entertain me during my not-yet-scheduled recovery period and put my earrings back in, I’ll consider it.