Crossfit saved me.

This morning I woke up and felt like crap.  I wanted to stay in bed, bring the blankets to my face, and just sink deeply into the mattress until I disappeared.  The majority of this feeling was because I stayed up way past my bedtime (Roots 'n' Blues festival... totally worth it).  Regardless, it isn't far from the feeling I have felt many times before, and it reminded me of how far I have come.

For the last few years I have felt that way far more than I haven't.  Sometimes in the afternoon or evening when I would get home from work.  Sometimes for entire weekends when I knew I should be doing something productive.  Really, ever since my mom started getting sicker.  There is a lack of motivation that comes with despair.  When you are faced with a situation that is truly insurmountable, TRULY insurmountable, your bed and sleep seem to be the only solution.  At least for me.

When mom died in February, I truly felt at times as if my body was just wasting away with her.  I knew there was so much that I needed to accomplish but I just couldn't bring myself to do it.  I felt despair, exhaustion, anger... the entire spectrum of feelings.  I still feel that way a lot of times.  I have spent time over the past 7 months since she died thinking that I should go to therapy, that a counselor might be the solution to the "normal bereavement" associated with losing someone.  I would call people, do the "interview" that comes with the first time meeting a counselor.  None of it felt right.

Then I found Crossfit.  Sure I have been active over the months since mom died.  It was something that I wanted to try to do to keep me sane while studying for boards.  Exercise has always made me feel good.  But Crossfit has changed my life.  I realize with this post that I am running the risk of exposing the Kool-Aid stain on my upper lip... yes, I have chugged the Crossfit Kool-Aid.  I'm still not "paleo" but I have begun the steady trend toward cutting out gluten.  My aunt Molly would be proud.

What is Crossfit?  I think this video says it well:

This month marks the first time that I literally forgot to be sad on the anniversary of mom's death.  Instead, I was at my local "box" working out with some of the coolest, toughest, and funnest people I have had the pleasure of getting to know.

This morning instead of pulling the covers over my head and letting the day take over, I climbed out of bed and made myself go to Crossfit.  I still feel like crap today... but that is again because I'm not 21 anymore.  What I don't feel is sad, depressed, or lonely.  I have found the best therapy for me and I have learned through Crossfit that there are no bounds to my mental, physical, and emotional strength.

Waves.

Mom passed away on February 12, 2012.  Since then I haven't been able to blog, I haven't really been able to take the time to stop and think about things.  That is until recently.  I have decided to take a short period of time off of medical school to process the loss of mom.  Four months late, but still equally cleansing.

I kayaked in La Jolla, California this week.  My uncle Ted and I try to do fun activities like this whenever I come out to see he and my aunt Molly.  As we navigated the waves in and out of the shore it made me start to think.  Grief is a lot like the waves on the ocean.  To which you say to me "that isn't an original thought at all, Mariah."  This analogy has certainly been made many times in the past.  But what triggered this thought to me was not the ebb and flow of waves, the coming and going of emotion, but rather the tricky way that ocean waves behave.  A wave that looks huge and terrifying can be completely manageable, while a wave that seems silly enough to turn my back to can knock me flat and send water rushing up my nose.  I would welcome a peaceful ebb and flow over the erratic and unpredictable nature of grief.

I think of mom all of the time.  Today it was during a Zumba class that I took with my aunt Molly.  We were dancing in front of a mirror to Latin songs while the instructor lead us in moves that my body just was not made to do.  I thought of the hours and hours that mom and I would spend in our living room doing Richard Simmons Sweatin' to the Oldies.  I imagined that she would absolutely LOVE this class and we would be laughing our heads off every second of the way.  This is one of those manageable waves, the ones that I can dig in and dive through and feel ok on the other side.

The other kind of waves, those hit me when I least expect it.  I am learning now to embrace them and take them on as they come.  I am confident she gave me the strength I need to tackle anything that comes my way whether I feel prepared or not.  I guess most importantly I am learning that every crappy wave that hits and sends me spinning is a chance to stop, think of her, and remember just how glad I am to have had the time I did with her.  

The medically-minded caregiver.

I am inspired today by a professor of mine who has created an informational and open blog about his cancer diagnosis.  He is using it as a teachable moment, and by doing so has touched people all over the world.  You can check out his blog at: http://dbocancerjourney.blogspot.com/  to learn more about his journey.

I don't anticipate reaching nearly that many, but hopefully some of my closer friends who are medical professionals can take note of this blog post for when they are caring for their own family members.  There is a huge burden of expectation placed on the medical professional who is also a family member of an ill person.  In my case, the burden is primarily self-imposed, but it is also evident in interactions with mom's care team.  As a medical student, I am constantly afraid I am missing something medically with my mom.  I feel this way because I am the person most present in her life, and I know (a little) about the human body and the normals and abnormals of disease.  It is probably also because she is such a unique case (her age, her presentation, her progression).  If her pupils look funny or her gait has changed, I am immediately trying to figure out what has gone wrong.  It is a painful and taxing process.  I am sure this is the case for anyone who is in the medical field and simultaneously caring for a loved one.  You know about the mistakes made everyday in medicine.  You know all too well that doctors are incredibly fallible.  You want to protect your family member from medical errors, polypharmacy, neglect, and misdiagnoses.

For me, I am always worried we have missed something big.  That there is an underlying process causing mom's illness that could have been stopped.  That when we do a post-mortem on her we will find that if we had only done _____ test we would have been able to save her memory, that I would have had her for 20 or 30 more years.  It is a painful burden to feel this way, but I am certain that I am not alone in this feeling.

Probably the most important piece of advice I have ever gotten was from a physician friend when I was talking to her about my feeling a loss of control in mom's care.  I sat down with her and was beside myself with grief.  I explained my fears that mom's care team was missing something.  That because she had been moved so much and had been passed off by so many, I was certain she was falling through the cracks.  I told her that I felt like it was my fault that this was happening because I am mom's advocate, her constant in this fluctuating process.

This was when she gave me the very best advice I could have heard at the time: "You can't do everything, Mariah.  When you are the family member of a sick person you must check your medical degree at the door and be the family member.  You cannot try to figure everything out because in the process you will drive yourself crazy.  All you can do is equip your mom with the very best medical team, and step back and TRUST them.  It is NOT your fault if something goes wrong in her medical care, it is NOT your responsibility to catch medical errors, and you can't control everything."

Medicine encourages perfection.  It pulls in people who won't settle for anything but the very, very best. Combine that with the love of a family member, and even more importantly the love of a parent, and that perfectionism runs rampant.  It is important to give to your loved ones, to be there for them, to support them.  I guess what I am learning now is that it is also important to let go and trust others.  That doesn't mean being blind to blatant mistakes.  I will always be mom's biggest advocate and will certainly fight for her to continue to have the very best care.  However, I am working diligently to give up the reigns a little bit.  To be her daughter that just happens to be a medical student, rather than a medical professional constantly on the watch when I come to see her.

Because when I come wearing my "medical professional" hat, I miss moments like this: