I slept like a baby. I didn't wake up until 7:30 and went back to bed. I'm still feeling the impact of that muscle relaxant I took. While my leg and back were in A+1 condition, I stayed within easy distance of the driveway, walking back and forth about a football field in either direction. As I walked, I worked on stretching out that right psoas. Doing so changes my gait. I feel lopsided, but when I watched my image in the window as I walked, I looked just fine, straight in fact.
I had an appointment with Shelly, my therapist in Ohio, at 10 am. I made sure the phone was adequately charged; it was a little low when I got up. While I had time, I did a few housekeeping chores. I feel up to it now. While I'm sleepy, I feel so much better. I was looking forward to doing housekeeping, gardening, and those exercises the doctor gave me to even my hips.
Because I had noticed that my pulse rate was close to 90 regularly, I wanted to deal with it in the therapy session. Very interesting. The image that came to mind was me cowering in an enclosed area with a plexiglass top. My mother loomed over the lid, anticipating when she could poke the cover again, sending sound vibrations through my body and making me miserable. I could see the glee on her face. I was always cowering, always focused on having to anticipate her next attack.
There's not much question that my mother had a sadistic streak. In 1966, when her mother was in a nursing home, an incident confirmed that it made it clear to me for the first time. My grandmother was fading fast; her ability to understand what was going on was weak. At some point, she addressed me as if I was my mother. I was 25 at the time. She was slipping back in time. My mother pushed her to get her facts straight. One could think of many reasons to do such a thing: help my grandmother regain her bearings or force her to recognize my mother, who was frightened to see her mother not know who she was. But no, I could feel her glee. I told her to stop, "You're being sadistic."
After we left there, we went to a restaurant to have dinner. My mother started yelling at me on the way over. She said I had accused her of being a sadist. I hadn't; moreover, it hadn't even occurred to me. The situation between us was so bad that I walked away and hitched home, several towns away. I was expecting to get home and have her tell me never to darken her door again. It didn't take me long to see that the lady had protested a bit too much. It was clear that she saw this tendency in herself and didn't feel great about it. She didn't throw me out; she had calmed down, and we never talked about it again.
In defense of my mother: she had suffered a medical procedure for the first 6 months of her life that could easily be described as torture. That she didn't do worse to her children is a miracle and a testimony to her essential goodness. It is not to my advantage to see her as evil, as most therapists I worked with wished I would. That was their need; it did nothing for me.
So back to the image: I'm cringing; she's looming over the plexiglass lid looking down on me, anticipating the pleasure of triggering my agony and watching me writhe when someone to her right calls her name. "Margaret, why don't you come over here?" She's torn between joining the other person and remaining with me and getting her kicks. She chooses to go to the other person.
That person is a combination of my dad and Mike. No surprise, I always saw a physical resemblance between the two men. My dad says, "Why don't you leave Betty alone and stay here?" It's an invitation rather than a command or criticism. My mother looks over toward my container, torn between listening to this man and continuing her behavior with me. This behavior is addictive. My dad, it is clearly him at this point, looks at her lovingly. He, like I, has always known about her problem and loves her anyway.
Next, a group of men forms a circle around her and my dad, preventing her from leaving and coming over to me. Then her mother joins the circle and says, "Ricka (R-ee/k-ah), genug," in German. "Ricka enough!"
My grandmother was aware of my mother's cruel streak. She suffered it as I did. I would watch my mother humiliate my grandmother. There was nothing any of us could do to protect each other. My mom was a force of nature. This need to act out was uncontrolled and uncontrollable. More than that, she would tell me that if anyone in the world was ever angry at me, I deserved it. She removed even my right to protect myself. Or, she tried. I always have protected myself, but my actions haven't always been appropriate for the situation. I assume this is no surprise to anyone given my background.
When the session was over, I tested my blood pressure and pulse. My pulse had dropped to a steady 89 to 72. Life is still scary, and I am sure I have more work to do, but this step is in the right direction.
There had been a phone call while I was on the phone with the therapist. They left a message; it was the physical therapist. She told me that the doctor hadn't said what my problem was. This is a problem. The doctor said she would order work on both hips because PTs can only work on what the doctor orders, which is often limiting to the point of rendering the work ineffective if not counterproductive. I made an appointment for Monday after Bikram. We'll see. I'm open to seeing what they have to offer. Unfortunately, my experience with PTs hasn't been the best. From my point of view, they have no idea of how the body works.
I thought it might be better to apply the thick rubber blocks to Yvette's ceiling rather than the floor. If applied to the floor, it raises the level of the flooring too much. I spoke to the installer. He said the insulation would work better if applied to the floor because when applied to the ceiling, the joists wouldn't have any protection.
I had the name of the material on the estimate. When I looked it up, I got a roll of some rubberized product but not the one he had shown me. I wanted to check to see if the material would hold if applied directly to the joists and then have the drywall attached. Would the glue hold, or would it all come down from the combined weight?
Since I couldn't find the product online to call the manufacturer, I called the flooring company. One of the salespeople told me that the product she had ordered was 5/18 of an inch and came in a roll. Now I remember the blocks he showed me as 2 inches thick, and there was no way it could be rolled. She told me that the blocks I saw on the counter were only 3/8th of an inch. I was shocked. I said this is not the product we discussed. She told me that the product I had looked at was much more expensive. I'm sure it is. He told me that it had an R factor of 67. It is like cement. I can think of several reasons why the rolled product might be better, but he never discussed that product with me. He switched products without telling me. Oh, boy.
I lay down shortly later for a nap. I was drained. I had plans to go out, get my blood drawn for my kidney test, and go to Costco. I also wanted to stop off at the flooring store. I'll have to do all that tomorrow. There is always tomorrow. Ah, I thought I can do Bikram tomorrow. It will be useful to get back into my routine.
I went down to the bottom of the property to pick more limes for my limeade. Our tree runneth over. I pick up most of the limes I collect from under the tree. A few are ripe enough and within reach for me to pick off the tree. By the way, ripe limes are yellow, just like lemons.
Elsa got a bath- not her favorite activity. But she survived. While I was setting up for the bath, I felt something on my neck. I flicked at it, not expecting to be rewarded with finding a bug, but- my lucky day, it was a small centipede. I wasn't interested in biting me as long as I was just a surface to crawl on. I wasn't as opened minded about it. I washed it down the drain.
After Elsa had her bath, she raced back and forth around the house. I don't know what benefit she gets from that behavior. I took my shower after I had washed the girl. I did MELT, and then I sprayed the shower pan with Clorox. The river stone gathers mold, and the Clorox kills it off nicely. I closed off the bathroom to make sure Elsa didn't get in there while I was spraying. Then I took her for her early evening walk. The sunsets early these days. I'm going to need a flashlight when I go out around 6 pm soon.
I came home and worked on the blog and played some FreeCell. Yvette came home while I was working. She had treated herself to a movie today. I told her about my experience with the flooring people. She also thought the idea that the salesperson switched products on me was inappropriate. The man's wife's response to my confusion was that the other product was much more expensive. Nonetheless, I think it should still be my decision if I am going to use it or not, not his without consulting me.
Yvette came up. We shared our day. I told her about the work I did in my therapy session. I find that I am often involved in defensive discussions with people I anticipate I'm going to have trouble with. Nowadays, the man at the carpet store, the therapist that Yvette and I are planning to see, and now the physical therapist I have an appointment with on Monday. Yvette is the type that walks away when there is a conflict like that. I'm the one exception to this rule.
As I have asked her more direct questions about what she means when she says and doesn't say certain things, our relationship has already improved. I realize that I engage people because I have hope that we can work things out if we only discuss it. I held out that hope with my mother for most of my early life. Silly girl. In my adult life, therapists often go into negative countertransference with me. I have found that if I speak up in a group, some people have no compunction about telling me what a terrible person I am, and others that come and tell me that I am the only person in the room they find entirely trustworthy. It's weird. I asked Shelly if she saw me as a self-involved person, never taking others' needs into consideration. She said never. But she also said I don't sit nicely on the top of the bell curve in my behavior. Many people find me confusing. Think of the woman who criticized me for offering a place to stay to a widow who was being booted out of her home. Different standards entirely.
Yvette offered to come with me to speak to the salesman at the flooring store. Wonderful offer. She's not as good as Mike, but she's here and willing to do what she can. I can't ask for more.
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