Stress

The word for today is STRESS. I cannot STRESS how much I want to keep this blog as a daily practice, and yet I STRESS about it.

My neighbor has bronchitis and sinusitis--STRESS. Of course I'm stressed she says, I'm the sole breadwinner for a family of four, my co-workers are getting pink slips, my 10 year-old tells me he wants to get a job to pay for basketball camp, my 4 year-old needs a scholarship for kindergarten, my husband to get his teaching certification. I am fortunate. I do not have my neighbor's kind of STRESS.

My mother has a STRESS fracture in her foot. You know what's the worst part, she tells me, I think it's related to my osteopososis. I can't take Flossomax or Boniva, she says, because of my stomach. Both my mother and I experience our STRESS gastrointestinally. We are high-strung, nervous, anxious, fast metabolizers who have a hard time relaxing. I have to wear this ugly black shoe for six to eight weeks, she continues. You know how restless I get, what am I going to do?

Recently, my mother was angry at my father's doctor because the doctor ordered blood tests to check my father's liver enzymes shortly before a scheduled vacation. Doesn't the doctor know we're going away, she wondered out loud, doesn't he know he's causing STRESS. But then, my mother got the STRESS fracture and she and my father agreed not to go on their trip.

My mother got the STRESS fracture the day before I turned 50. She had invited me to visit her and my father in NYC for my birthday. My mother, my father and I were walking around the Central Park reservoir. My mother is a regular walker; she is a fast walker. It was the end of February and there had been some warm weather in NYC. The ground on the trail was pocked after a recent thaw. My parents each set out with a determined stride and did not talk to each other or to me; they walk for exercise, not pleasure or socializing. Sometimes in my family we say too much, but frequently we say nothing at all. As we reached the last quarter my mother and father were a good 10-15 yards in front of me. My father started to open a lead. My stomach was growling, my head was congested, my ears hurt. I thought about trying to catch up, at least to my mother, and then I decided no, this time I'm going at my own pace, a pace with which I feel comfortable. They didn't look back once. The analytical, resentful part of me thought, story of my life...I've fallen behind and they just don't seem to notice or to care.

Later that night I noticed my mother limping as we walked to the a theater. She went to the podiatrist the next morning. At first he thought it was just an inflammation, but when it did not get better in a week, she returned and the x-ray revealed a stress fracture. She is certain that she fractured her foot because she was walking too fast along the reservoir's uneven path. You know your Dad gets competitive with me, she explained, he was showing off how fast he could walk, and I was just trying to keep up with him.

There is a lot of STRESS involved in keeping up. For a while last year I stopped. My stress had evolved (or devolved) into depression and fatigue, a constant weariness and achiness. Years of anxiety had paralyzed me. All I wanted to do was to sleep, walk dogs and play Scrabble. I didn't want to feel any STRESS.

I hate when people say that STRESS is a necessary part of living. I hate the phrases, STRESS management, time management, anger management. I don't want to manage these things. I want them to go away.

But I don't feel stressed about this blog any more, and I don't feel angry or resentful the way I did for much of the weekend. That's because I did my entry for the day. Phew....