Week Eight....

We took the dog to the vet this week. Turns out she needs to lose about 30% of her bodyweight.  Her arthritis is getting bad and any weight we can get off her would be advantageous. Apparently, her Royal Canin is ultra packed with calories, so we've cut back to about half of the norm, and substituting her meds wrapped in pill pockets instead of cookies for treats. We learn how to give her injectable meds tomorrow.  Good times, really.

My recovery is going slow. All told, I had about 1/3 of my colon and some other bits removed, but I am recuperating as expected. The doctor said that on a 1-5 scale, one being what they normally see/do, and five being all heck breaking lose, I was a four. My body, now having an entirely different road map on the insides, just feels weird.  My appetite is blah, and my system is still quirky, trying to determine the rate in which it should be processing what little I am eating. I'm down over ten pounds in eight days. 

Emotionally, however, things have been horrendous.  Youngest, also recouping and struggling with his life's choices, constantly texted me about how bad it was at home, how unhappy he was, and how it was all my fault, being a terrible person and all. He ended up coming to see me for 3 hours, I talked him down as usual, he left levelheaded, and ended up heading to a friend's house, returning home and sleeping in his car in the driveway. I was discharged two days early, explaining to the doctor that it was far more stressful being away from home than at home, and that I'd follow the protocol. That was Friday.

Saturday night at 2:30 am, Youngest called that he had broken down.  He called AAA, and I headed down to get him as he was only about 20 minutes away. His car has been in the shop since, and at 5:30 Friday evening we were informed that it would need to go to the dealer to be fixed. So, all week I have towed him around, appointment to appointment, running errands, putting out fires, talking him off the ledge.  While I am happy to do this, it's exhausting.

Gut wrenchingly, mind numbingly, exhausting.

I love that he's finally down to only socially smoking pot 3 times a week, and that he left all of those "friends" behind. He rid himself of his social media accounts so he could start over. He's working hard to find a new path, self-teaching what he needs to pass the first of many certifications he needs for personal training, and well as getting CPR/AED certified. 

But he's depressed.  He's always five seconds away from a full-on panic attack. Today I found him trying to book tickets to anywhere because someone he has never met got pulled over and arrested for their own stupidity, and someone else texted him that his name was being thrown around in connection to it. So somehow, he was involved with a guy he's never met, who's in trouble for something Youngest's never been involved with, at a time when he was at home sleeping because he has no car, which could all be verified with cameras if necessary. It took over an hour to get him calmed down enough to think clearly and stop pacing the kitchen.

And this pacing, this irrational spiraling down the rabbit hole, happens every day. Every. Stinking. Day.

I heard the term Forever Mother the other day, and while it was in regard to children with special needs, I thought the term fit the dance Youngest and I do quite well. He has the ability to be independent, to live on his own, but mentally he just can't. It's like he's stuck behind this giant wall and without my help and guidance to go around or over it, he'll just bang his head against it.  As if he already knows how to get past the obstacle, but gets so overwhelmed once he's faced with it, he just shuts down, regardless of how capable he is of dealing with it independently, he just can't seem do anything until he's coached from the sideline. 

I spent an hour tonight talking him though his plans. Explaining that, while he has trauma from his childhood, it's time to move forward and stop destroying the few people who are still supporting him.  Reminding him that while he may feel his life has been terrible, it has not. That starting over takes time.  That he won't be alone forever.  That someone will love him for him. That it's okay to trust people. That loyalty is a good thing.  That while you may not be proud of your choices or ethics, you can always change the rules in which you live by so you can be proud.

That there is tremendous merit in falling down and getting back up.

The circle of conversation was endless, and had I not needed another dose of meds, I'd likely still be down there, forever mothering.

Until next week my friends....