One of the most cruel things mom ever said to me: "I Hope This Happens To You"

It has now been 1,390 days since mom died--nearly four years, and yet, her voice and her hateful words still resonate with me.

Twenty years ago, on the day of our housewarming party, the solitary time my mother ever forced herself to visit my home, the words in the title of this post were uttered as she was struggling to climb the 15 stairs to get to my condo. I was standing in my doorway waiting for her, with my dad and uncle and we all were chatting and laughing about something unrelated to her, and my words really don't do justice in sharing it in a blog post because you miss out on the tone of voice and facial expression; however, if you've ever watched The Sopranos, trust me when I say it was with the same intonation as Livia Soprano saying "Poor you." And every day I climb those same stairs and get to the 7th step of 15, I say, "Fuck you Ann, and every hateful shitty thing you've ever said to me."

As part of my self care or trauma work, I want to find someone who has a grandmother or aunt who is well versed in what I'll call Italian witchcraft. It seems outlandish, but I want someone to perform the ritual to remove the malocchio. I view this along the same lines of eating chicken soup when you have the flu, "it couldn't hurt," and if anything, there is merit in having it done for emotional comfort. And yes, I am convinced my mother cursed me.

I am now 32 days out from testing positive for COVID (first time!) and now 80 days out from my DVT diagnosis, and there are days when I am unable to muster up the energy to even bathe. I caught COVID after attending a mandatory meeting, where I didn't give any push back because my boss has got me convinced I am a problem--so even if I pushed back (I do have medical justification to continue doing remote work two days a week), I'd still be seen as a problem ("there she goes again.") 

I am certain I caught it in that meeting, where I was the solitary one in an N95 respirator, in a closed conference room with people who were coughing, though entirely plausible I caught it from someone asymptomatic. My boss, of course, totally in keeping with her character, has not asked me even once how I was doing. Because the reality is, she doesn't give a shit. 

I could have participated in that meeting via MS Teams or Zoom as others did. I think upon a co-worker of mine who died of a stroke 7 years ago. She dedicated herself to 30 years in our office. And now she's gone, and no one ever utters her name. I think to myself if I am bound to have a stroke or my kidneys shut down, I hope it happens at work. I hope it happens at work because I doubt Maharajah is capable of handling that kind of crisis on his own. I also hope it happens at work because MAYBE? it might cause some of the plague rats to pause and think about how their own actions might have contributed to that situation. However, the reality is, just in the way that Val dropped dead, I know by the end of the week my desk will be emptied and my 22 years of service to our organization will be as if it never happened.

I struggle each day to try to muster up the stamina to do what I can to get through the day. And people's casual cruelties continue in the form of my concerns being dismissed. The tediousness of having the same conversation over and over again, justifying my concerns and viewpoint with people who are either trolling me or lack the GIVE A FUCK to pay attention. I already have a clot in my leg and issues with my kidneys, and I'd like to somehow or another get through the next six years until I retire without having a stroke or going on dialysis, thank you very little!

December 29th I saw a shitty vascular specialist whose solitary job I was paying him for was to assess my leg and assess the DVT, and instead, before I even got into the office, he read my file, saw my BMI and decided instead of assessing my leg and DVT, he was going to try to bully me into prescription diet pills. Mind you this isn't the first, nor will it be the last time I've encountered this misognynistic fat bias. I shut him down immediately. And instead, he kept at it. And when he got tired of me pushing back and trying to refocus the conversation back to my leg, he hussled me out of his office and back to the front desk to schedule a follow up appointment and a follow up bilateral ultrasound to check on the progress of the clot. 

I was like a terrier with a bone all day, just chewing on that, and by the end of the day, I went on the patient portal and cancelled the appointment, as there was no way in hell I was going to get the care I needed for my leg if this doctor could not see ME past what he no doubt thinks is an out of control fat woman. He didn't ask me any questions, no family history, no lifestyle questions etc. Just decided to fat shame me.

I saw my new cardiologist recently and that went well. And I went for my TTE and a CT to get my cardiac calcium score (23!). And the RN said the doc suggested I go on statins (my numbers really aren't that high!). I said thanks but no thanks, I want to try to get proper care for my feet so I can keep moving and hopefully my numbers will improve. 

Two more days (2/26/2024) until I see the NEW vascular specialist, and I have already prepared my characteristic 8.5 x 11, bullet pointed list of questions for that appointment, and hopefully I'll have some valuable information from that appointment. I even dare to hope he is able to help my foot pain issues, and if not, I hope he has a recommendation for someone who is a vascular doc with a sub-specialty in feet. And in ten more days (3/5/2024) I see the hematologist, the appointment date is literally three months to the date of the trip to the ER when I got diagnosed with a DVT. 

I dare to hope for some positive transformation as spring time approaches.