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I don't usually do the serious introspection, gut-spilling, and angst in this journal, but I'm going to make an exception because I have to get this shit off my chest.
I have this unreasonable and unhealthy fear that those close to me will die. It comes and goes, manifesting itself as anxiety. I suppose it is general anxiety about everything in my life, but at the root of it all is this paralyzing fear that someone I love will die. Sometimes it makes me physically ill. I very nearly asked my doctor about seeing a therapist or counselor about it. I know I shouldn’t feel this way, but I do. I honestly believe I fear the death of someone in my life more than my own death.
I suppose all this surfaced yesterday evening because my mother sent me an e-mail about my grandfather. A couple weeks ago he had a colonoscopy. They found two polyps, which were biopsied. Yesterday, the doctor told him that he has colon cancer. They were quite optimistic about it, all things considered. Apparently, it is in stage one, and the doctors believe they can remove all of the cancer. They don’t believe it has spred to any other organs or areas of his body. Of course, my grandfather is very shaken up. I think my grandmother and mom are too; they are just hiding it.
After I opened the e-mail, I did a bit of searching on medical websites and found some information about the treatment and prognosis of colon cancer. If found early, it is treatable by surgery, which they do plan on performing on my grandfather. From what my mother said, they caught the cancer early enough that they don’t anticipate it being a problem after surgery. He’ll just have to return for regular checkups to ensure he doesn’t have any more polyps. It’s just that the word cancer is scary. There are so many horrible and painful images attached to it.
And, as if this wasn’t enough to spur me into the depths of my neurosis, Jason’s grandfather has been in the hospital for well over a week. He nearly died when his blood went septic the night he was admitted. He was just recently removed from ICU and placed in a room of his own. They are still worried about the infection and will be putting a cathater in his neck to provide a central line to his heart for additional antibiotics. He needs a great deal of care -- care that Jason’s grandmother and mother cannot provide. Jason’s grandmother has health concerns of her own, and Jason’s mother has responsibilities and complications in her life which prevent her from dropping everything and devoting herself to caring for him. They want to help, but can’t. An assisted nursing facility is the only other option. None of them are very happy about it, but they have hope he will be able to return home after a six-week stay. I don’t know if that will happen. He’s had so many complications due to his severe diabetes, and I just can’t see him going back to the way he was before this episode. Each time he’s been admitted to the hospital in the past two years, he’s come back worse for the wear. They can’t even find a viable vein in his arm or chest to administer medicine. Jason doesn’t think he’ll make it through the end of the year, and, as much as it pains me to say it, I don’t either. To tell you the truth, I don’t think Jason’s grandfather wants to make it through the end of the year. He’s had so many health problems in the past two or three years that he’s lost nearly all of his independence, which has been very hard on him.
Anyway, is there some disorder where one obsesses over the deaths (be they imaginary or imminent) of loved ones to the point where her life becomes a quivering mass of anxiety and fear? I’ve been doing quite well lately. I used to live on the verge of panic attacks when Jason was ten minutes late from work. Thoughts of fatal car accidents or muggings would flash across my mind. Sometimes they still do when I’m going through a stressful patch. For a few months about a year ago I even made every effort to follow him everywhere (except work) so I wouldn’t worry while he was gone to the grocery store or post office or radio station or some other innocuous place. I’m not that bad now. Really. He went to the record convention on Sunday, and I actually declined the invitation in favor of sleeping in. That’s progress, right? I still worry, but I don’t feel like I can’t breathe anymore.
A few years ago Jason’s sister was dating a boy named Josh. He was only nineteen. She claims that she didn’t know about his drug problem until the night she found him submerged in a bathtub full of water. He had overdosed on meth, curled up in the fetal position, and slid beneath the water level. She couldn’t revive him, nor could the paramedics when they arrived. I remember going to his funeral and watching all these kids sobbing over their friend who hadn’t even lived for two decades. Jason’s sister was an absolute mess. I felt so bad for her. I hate going up to the casket at funerals, but Jason’s grandmother wanted to go, and she asked me to walk with her. It was so weird to see Josh like that. I didn’t even know him all that well, though I suspected he had a drug problem from the way he acted. I even told Jason that I didn’t think Josh would be good for his sister. He had been over to our apartment just a week before to use the internet to apply for a job. It was surreal to see him lifeless and in a coffin. It was also unsettling. I wonder if this incident has had a larger effect on me than I originally thought. It was around that time that I began obessing over and fearing the deaths of those in my life. I hardly knew Josh, and I know no one I keep close to me would overdose or something along those lines, but still... To see someone on Thursday and get a call that they are dead the following Sunday is disturbing, no matter the method.
Sometimes I wish I could die before anyone I love dies. No, that isn’t a suicidal thought. I suppose it is just me voicing my inability to cope with the subject and reality of death. It’s nothing I’d act upon, but the thought has crossed my mind, and it does disturb me, as I suppose it rightly should.
I’ve been reading R.A. Salvatore’s series of novels about Drizzt Do’Urden. Actually, I’m been muddling through them for the past few months. At any rate, in the more recent novels, Drizzt deals heavily with the loss of friends, people whom he loves. Instead of sadness and despair, he lapses into anger and vengeance. He eventually comes to realize that one needs to grieve and accept what has happened, then look back on those years (or even months) with that person as fond memories and good times, not just as something one has lost. That seems so hard. It sounds nice and proper and healthy. I’m just not sure how one could get to a point where s/he is able to do that.
The guilt of moving on without that person is a whole other can of worms that I don’t think I should open in this particular entry. I suspect LJ would cut off my ramblings as being far too long to be contained in a single post.
In short, the news about my grandfather bought on this entry (and confession), but I have faith that the doctors know what they are talking about, that they will operate and remove the two cancerous polyps before they advance any further. I just wish he didn’t have to go through this because my mom said he’s worried and “freaked out.” It’s weird to hear that my hard-headed, stern, independent, sturdy grandfather is freaked out. It throws my world askew when I’m the one who is the voice of reason. I thought about calling him after I got the e-mail, but he goes to bed early and gets up early. With the time difference, I’m sure I’d have woken him or my grandmother. I’ll probably try to call them while I’m at work today. I don’t know what to say, though. “Everything’s going to be okay?” The doctors are telling him that. What good is it going to be if I say that as well?
I have this unreasonable and unhealthy fear that those close to me will die. It comes and goes, manifesting itself as anxiety. I suppose it is general anxiety about everything in my life, but at the root of it all is this paralyzing fear that someone I love will die. Sometimes it makes me physically ill. I very nearly asked my doctor about seeing a therapist or counselor about it. I know I shouldn’t feel this way, but I do. I honestly believe I fear the death of someone in my life more than my own death.
I suppose all this surfaced yesterday evening because my mother sent me an e-mail about my grandfather. A couple weeks ago he had a colonoscopy. They found two polyps, which were biopsied. Yesterday, the doctor told him that he has colon cancer. They were quite optimistic about it, all things considered. Apparently, it is in stage one, and the doctors believe they can remove all of the cancer. They don’t believe it has spred to any other organs or areas of his body. Of course, my grandfather is very shaken up. I think my grandmother and mom are too; they are just hiding it.
After I opened the e-mail, I did a bit of searching on medical websites and found some information about the treatment and prognosis of colon cancer. If found early, it is treatable by surgery, which they do plan on performing on my grandfather. From what my mother said, they caught the cancer early enough that they don’t anticipate it being a problem after surgery. He’ll just have to return for regular checkups to ensure he doesn’t have any more polyps. It’s just that the word cancer is scary. There are so many horrible and painful images attached to it.
And, as if this wasn’t enough to spur me into the depths of my neurosis, Jason’s grandfather has been in the hospital for well over a week. He nearly died when his blood went septic the night he was admitted. He was just recently removed from ICU and placed in a room of his own. They are still worried about the infection and will be putting a cathater in his neck to provide a central line to his heart for additional antibiotics. He needs a great deal of care -- care that Jason’s grandmother and mother cannot provide. Jason’s grandmother has health concerns of her own, and Jason’s mother has responsibilities and complications in her life which prevent her from dropping everything and devoting herself to caring for him. They want to help, but can’t. An assisted nursing facility is the only other option. None of them are very happy about it, but they have hope he will be able to return home after a six-week stay. I don’t know if that will happen. He’s had so many complications due to his severe diabetes, and I just can’t see him going back to the way he was before this episode. Each time he’s been admitted to the hospital in the past two years, he’s come back worse for the wear. They can’t even find a viable vein in his arm or chest to administer medicine. Jason doesn’t think he’ll make it through the end of the year, and, as much as it pains me to say it, I don’t either. To tell you the truth, I don’t think Jason’s grandfather wants to make it through the end of the year. He’s had so many health problems in the past two or three years that he’s lost nearly all of his independence, which has been very hard on him.
Anyway, is there some disorder where one obsesses over the deaths (be they imaginary or imminent) of loved ones to the point where her life becomes a quivering mass of anxiety and fear? I’ve been doing quite well lately. I used to live on the verge of panic attacks when Jason was ten minutes late from work. Thoughts of fatal car accidents or muggings would flash across my mind. Sometimes they still do when I’m going through a stressful patch. For a few months about a year ago I even made every effort to follow him everywhere (except work) so I wouldn’t worry while he was gone to the grocery store or post office or radio station or some other innocuous place. I’m not that bad now. Really. He went to the record convention on Sunday, and I actually declined the invitation in favor of sleeping in. That’s progress, right? I still worry, but I don’t feel like I can’t breathe anymore.
A few years ago Jason’s sister was dating a boy named Josh. He was only nineteen. She claims that she didn’t know about his drug problem until the night she found him submerged in a bathtub full of water. He had overdosed on meth, curled up in the fetal position, and slid beneath the water level. She couldn’t revive him, nor could the paramedics when they arrived. I remember going to his funeral and watching all these kids sobbing over their friend who hadn’t even lived for two decades. Jason’s sister was an absolute mess. I felt so bad for her. I hate going up to the casket at funerals, but Jason’s grandmother wanted to go, and she asked me to walk with her. It was so weird to see Josh like that. I didn’t even know him all that well, though I suspected he had a drug problem from the way he acted. I even told Jason that I didn’t think Josh would be good for his sister. He had been over to our apartment just a week before to use the internet to apply for a job. It was surreal to see him lifeless and in a coffin. It was also unsettling. I wonder if this incident has had a larger effect on me than I originally thought. It was around that time that I began obessing over and fearing the deaths of those in my life. I hardly knew Josh, and I know no one I keep close to me would overdose or something along those lines, but still... To see someone on Thursday and get a call that they are dead the following Sunday is disturbing, no matter the method.
Sometimes I wish I could die before anyone I love dies. No, that isn’t a suicidal thought. I suppose it is just me voicing my inability to cope with the subject and reality of death. It’s nothing I’d act upon, but the thought has crossed my mind, and it does disturb me, as I suppose it rightly should.
I’ve been reading R.A. Salvatore’s series of novels about Drizzt Do’Urden. Actually, I’m been muddling through them for the past few months. At any rate, in the more recent novels, Drizzt deals heavily with the loss of friends, people whom he loves. Instead of sadness and despair, he lapses into anger and vengeance. He eventually comes to realize that one needs to grieve and accept what has happened, then look back on those years (or even months) with that person as fond memories and good times, not just as something one has lost. That seems so hard. It sounds nice and proper and healthy. I’m just not sure how one could get to a point where s/he is able to do that.
The guilt of moving on without that person is a whole other can of worms that I don’t think I should open in this particular entry. I suspect LJ would cut off my ramblings as being far too long to be contained in a single post.
In short, the news about my grandfather bought on this entry (and confession), but I have faith that the doctors know what they are talking about, that they will operate and remove the two cancerous polyps before they advance any further. I just wish he didn’t have to go through this because my mom said he’s worried and “freaked out.” It’s weird to hear that my hard-headed, stern, independent, sturdy grandfather is freaked out. It throws my world askew when I’m the one who is the voice of reason. I thought about calling him after I got the e-mail, but he goes to bed early and gets up early. With the time difference, I’m sure I’d have woken him or my grandmother. I’ll probably try to call them while I’m at work today. I don’t know what to say, though. “Everything’s going to be okay?” The doctors are telling him that. What good is it going to be if I say that as well?
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From:
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As for the fear/anxiety that you're having, its a common thing that a lot of people have (I do sometimes; I too have had the same thought of dying before everyone else so I don't have to deal). But at the extent you're having it, counseling might want to be something you should do some research on. I hear of it helping more and more people today - friends that I never thought needed it.
Besides, it seems very specific with you and it looks like you KNOW where its stemming from; the incident with Josh sounds very feasible. Maybe just a little help in the right direction is all you need, especially if its recurring. I've thought of it myself, just for your garden variety panic attacks (and if they were more frequent, I probably would; I've gotten much better within the past year).
It's just a matter of finding the right person/doctor to talk to. Thats probably the hard part ...
Eh. this reply is getting long; shoulda emailed ya. Let me know if ya wanna talk about it.
From:
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From:
no subject
Hope both Grandfathers recover well and you can calm down before you chain yourself to Jason and require cell phone reports from him when he goes to take a leak!
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From:
Just my two cents
There's no perfect solution to problems with anxiety, but there are things you can do to make it better. I would caution you though, about being choosy if you go the "therapy" route. Cognitive behavior therapy is said to be really helpful with anxiety, but "talk" therapy doesn't always help-- you are an intelligent person and you have already thought a great deal about your fears and realize that they are to some extent irrational. Just sitting down with a professional and telling them about them and having them tell you what you already knew may not provide you with much benefit.