I am ME, inspite of everything.

I am a kind, loving and loyal person. What I've endured in life caused me deep pain, but didn't define me. I choose to acknowledge and honour my struggles; I can't change them, instead I credit them with being the fire that made gold pure.

I have an unfortunate memory-photographic and crystal clear. While it torments me every now and again, it shows me clearly what a human being isn't meant to be. The only baggage I carry is Anger. Not a crazy, illogical kind. It's got triggers. I've challenged it this year and so far I'm winning. Maybe because my grief has taken the place allocated to anger.

Phase three

My life before marriage was Phase One. Intensely difficult, physically and mentally, but there was Courage and Hope. I got back up and tried again

The last twenty years of marriage, and ongoing, are Phase Two. Free of physical danger, but still very difficult and lonely. I still got up and forged ahead. My Tara became my driving force.

God probably dragged me over Phase One, He then got busy elsewhere in Phase Two...Now I can't reach Him at all. I still join my hands everyday and say thank you; it could have been worse. But I've stopped talking to Him.

I want a Phase Three. I really do. Only this time my grief over estrangement with my Tara, has punched the air out of body, and I can't get up again. Im afraid I may need a mentor, a soft place to fall on, someone who can help me back on my feet and nudge me in the right direction. Maybe what I need is to be able to earn money again, so the fear of being hungry or homeless doesn't cloud my judgement, and allows me to live a life with dignity and self respect.

Maybe its okay to cut people out of my life. It's not because I don't love them anymore, it's because I want to preserve my self respect and human dignity.

I dream of falling into my Mum and Dad's arms, unburdening decades of tears and horror, while they just allow me to sleep in their arms-unquestioning and accepting.

I know it's all imaginary...but I feel beaten...tired...that's all I've got today and it will take me to tomorrow.

Can't shake this one off

Sisters are supposed to be a blessing. Your partner in crime, your back-up, your best friend.

My sister is three years older than me. She was the first child in the family and everyone's favourite. I was one of the many middle ones including cousins that came along, so nothing much to talk about there. My earliest memories have no recollection of my sister being around me. We had a strange family set up. It's called a joint family. Led by my grandfather, who had four children, (including my father), everyone lived in the same large family home till they got married and left.

I attempted to establish some camaraderie with my sister for several years, but was met with disinterest. Later, she had her own set of friends, who alongwith her self-absorbtion filled up her days. For years there was no hostility between us, but no bonding either. At some point, maybe after she got married and left, she entered our lives as the self proclaimed custodian of my parents well being and master bully. The fact that my parents were in dire financial straits, and she was a support,  (being married to a wealthy banker) may have contributed to her rising power and mind numbing rudeness. I put up with it, because by and large I didn't matter in her head, and our paths rarely crossed.

I may have mentioned earlier that my early life in this manic house was distressing and troubled. I never had anyone to turn to. There was just one time when I approached her over a boy-servant exposing himself to me. She did accompany me to our mother to share the same. No one did anything about it, and I just moved on to living the next day...and the next. 

Over the years my sister has been very unkind and judgemental towards me. I always took her harshness with a pinch of salt and carried on. So I don't consider it at all odd that I never spoke to her about any issues or challenges I faced in what I call the second phase of life. 

Recently with the problems with Tara and The Husband, it was very obvious to people around us that there were issues. Out of the blue she called one day, warning me to sort myself out as I was hurting Tara-her niece. I calmly told her to leave it alone as it was complex, and I was still trying to figure it out myself. She wouldn't stop. She poked and prodded and made very sort of judgement I told her to leave it alone as she had no idea of the back ground or the dynamics at play. She said she was always there so I could tell her what the  problems were. Exactly twenty years ago she pushed me out of my parents home. I was lost, cornered and frightened into making a decision for myself. The decision of marrying The Husband. More on that later.

I declined her matter of fact offer, saying that from my point of view I didn't think I could share anything with her. She proved me right within thirty seconds. She launched a searing verbal attack on me like no other. I listened to her acid laced diatribe about how I was difficult and useless, etc. I let it all slide, because it has never been possible to engage in a logical discussion with her. She denies the phrase 'her way or the highway.' Things would have been no different, until her last few words rolled out. In that moment in time, her words turned into slow motion as the full impact of them left a deep scar in me that Im afraid will never heal.

My sister said I was a ridiculous, neurotic, fantasist...and she hung up. I sat there, each of those words wafting into my perception like uncurling smoke from a candle. I processed them in order.

Ridiculous ; Deserving or inviting derision or mockery; Absurd. If even the mention of not sharing something with my sister makes me invite ridicule, it was a good thing I didn't attempt to share.

Neurotic: Mentally deranged; Paranoid. I'm obviously not in my senses according to her.

but

Fantasist: A serial liar, who imagines or makes up events. There is no come back from this one.

I was sexually abused from the age of maybe six...or seven, regularly, by male family members. Fact. It was done, continuously- in public. Fact. I was bullied, continuously, till I was much older, in public. Fact. I was denied an education, which I fought tooth and nail for - and achieved. Fact. I was pressurised into getting an arranged marriage, incessantly. I resisted. Fact. I found my feet, and an outlet in playing sport. I was not supported much inspite of showing talent. Fact. I won tournaments on my own steam, which I did because it gave me scholarship to university. Fact. 

FACT! FACT! FACT! MANY MORE FACTS THAT CAME ALONG AFTER MARRIAGE.

I can be anything, but I AM NOT A FANTASIST.

One more try

Everyone says I'm the adult. Im Mum. If there is a problem with a child, I have to swallow my hurt, self respect  and any other feelings, and open a door for my child to enter. I agree. It's true.

This is a new experience for me. What I will do for Tara, I would not do for any person. If someone disrespects, hurts, or abuses me, in theory, there is no way I would return repeatedly to face more of it. The truth of the matter is, in the past-I have. The reasons, the background etc are too complicated to go into. I did eventually break away from the people who caused me so much agony. Somewhat.

My Tara is the very air I breathe. Only now, it's a grief stricken, quivering breath, not the heady intoxicating loving breath, that made life feel like a reward for living a deeply anguished life before she came along.

With all that in my mind, I planned everything out in my head. Last week, after pick up from school, instead of going into the house, I stayed in the car with her. I had decided not to hide behind a facade of a controlled exterior in case Tara thought I didn't care. I spoke from my heart about how hurt I was and more than anything how bewildered I was, that the two of us who were partners in crime in everything till a few months ago, could now not have any sort of communication other than cold, curt sentences from Tara.

I asked her if anything had happened at school, if someone had said something, or if I had done or said anything different that made her exclude me from her life so abruptly. She sat listening quietly, and after a few seconds of silence I couldn't hold back my tears. I'd cried for hours in my bed every night since November, but I held my chin up every day, hoping to hang on to my self respect. These tears streaming down my face, felt like acid eating up what was left of my dignity. I deserved an answer. I got none.

I drew my breath in, and in that deafening silence I looked at Tara and told her I wouldn't ask her anything else. I only need an answer. Why? With that we went in and the matter ended there.

Dinner was as usual, her sweet banter with her father was as usual, they both watched tv as usual. I was not part of anything as usual. I have survived a lot of situations since I was a toddler. My body and soul were ravaged. I survived it. This pain I feel is worse than that. I did nothing to deserve any of it. If I did, I needed to know. I don't know if  I can come back again and again to face this torture like Ive done most of my life. For that, if I am now crucified for being a bad Mum, maybe I will accept it.

Life goes on. We wake up the next day,  I still fill Tara's water bottle and pack her a snack, I drive her to school and pick her up every day. I still clean her room, do her washing, iron her clothes, I change her bed linen, cook her dinner. I do everything, Im just not her Mum.

What I don't do, is pull her curtains open every morning, block out the sun and kiss her cheek as her arms tumble around my neck for those few seconds of bliss. What we don't do is discuss and analyse her theatrical dreams while she wakes up. What I don't do is lay her uniform out and brush her hair into one pony-tail or two depending on what Tara wants that day. What we don't do is leave for school discussing the songs playing on the radio, or the quiz that is too easy. What we don't do is hug goodbye as she goes into school and hug again when she come out. What I don't do is study for two hours everyday so I can ensure Tara is never lacking support with her school work. What I don't do is rehearse all her Drama and Speech class poems and prose, so we can discuss what the best way to perform the pieces on stage would be. What we don't do is talk about who did what in school, or what a teacher said or what drama played out at break. What we don't do is chat in the kitchen while I prepare her dinner. What I don't do is take photographs of Tara, one for every day since the day she was born. What we don't do is snuggle up on the sofa watching our favourite shows-laughing at the same jokes at the same time. What I don't do is brush her hair again at night, off-loading any cares and concerns on Mum while her hair is done into a little braid. What we don't do is say our evening prayers together and tuck her to bed.

What I don't do is return to her room every night after her father has kissed her goodnight and shut the door, so that Tara gets her final kiss from me, as she whispered conspiratorially "save the best for last, Mum".

Moving meditation

It's been called 'moving meditation'. After one year of learning, I understand why.

Just before the start of my left Frozen Shoulder in March or April last year, I was reaching the end of two to three years of suffering with my right shoulder and collar bone. I had seen doctors, been in MRI machines, had X-rays, finally saw a physio for 12 weeks but the shoulder and collar bone took their own time in getting better. Finally around March 2018 I felt the problem had gone. I was very weak, but nervous about starting any enthusiastic exercise programme that could injure my body again. So I researched a bit and discovered a gentle exercise called Tai Chi. The description suited my requirements. No previous experience was needed and it was suited to all ages and abilities-including the disabled who were invited to practice, seated on a chair. This sounded like a good start for me.

I signed up for a free taster, around the same time my left shoulder started feeling funny. I noticed a catching sensation during my first lesson. I was a complete beginner. I didn't know anything about Tai Chi, but it was gentle enough for me to do. I spoke to my teacher, and told her my left shoulder was behaving strangely, so she kept that in mind through our lessons. Every week the magnitude of pain and freezing in movement increased. But I stuck at it. In a way it probably kept me sane. In addition to the body movements of Tai Chi there is a great deal of memory and thinking involved to remember and repeat the slow but controlled movements. In that one hour my physical pain was deliberately downgraded in importance while my mental focus was prioritised.

At one point I continued the lesson moving only my right arm, while keeping my left shoulder and arm uselessly by my side. I didn't give up. I will give a lot of credit the gentle martial art of Tai Chi.

When I practice Tai Chi, I am a warrior and a monk. I learn the skills of the martial art, while meditating in motion. In a way I found Tai Chi because of my shoulder problems. We meet people, have life experiences, suffer losses and tragedies, have setbacks etc. Life moves in ways we never anticipate. When Frozen Shoulder entered my life, so did Tai Chi. One was an attacker , the other a shield.

Adhesive Capsulitis a.k.a. Frozen Shoulder

If you have it, you'll know it. No...you'll REALLY know it.

It was one year ago, around March or April 2018, as I pulled my seat belt on, ready to take Tara to school. I picked up a book from the seat next to me, and put my arm back to gently toss it on the back seat next to Tara. As I brought my arm back, I felt a twinge on my left shoulder joint. I grimaced, but carried on. This went on for a few days. At that time I was also starting a Tai chi lesson, once a week. I remember thinking, that the gentle exercise will soothe my mind, make me breathe better and work out these annoying twinges and aches.

As days went by I noticed that my left shoulder felt tighter and seemed to catch during the Tai chi class. No grace and beauty would happen in my Tai chi lesson anytime soon. One evening I was playing on the bed with Tara. We rolled around laughing and giggling when suddenly I crumpled up with a huge gasp. That night I couldn't undo my bra, the left hand just wouldn't go up behind my back anymore. I noticed I had to ease my coat sleeve up my left arm  and wriggle about to get my right arm in. I couldn't raise my arm to thank motorists for giving way as I merged, and got honks and dirty glares as they revved past me. A friend taught me to flash lights as a thank you instead. After a while, the arm couldn't lift to open a cupboard door, to turn on the tap or reach for an object.

Within a few weeks the pain went from an annoying twinge to the most excruciating, debilitating and mind blowing kind of pain I have experienced. That pain was accompanied by an alarming reduction in arm movement. I've experienced many terrible pains, but this one ranked up there with the best of them. Everyday life became unbearable, school runs had to be done, gears, hand-brakes, steering wheel and all. I wasn't going to let the home front slip, so continued doing everything-cooking, laundry, cleaning and above all Tara's education and lessons, clubs etc.

Those that know me well, know that I don't cut myself any slack. I genuinely believe that I should be able to do everything I'm supposed to do. One evening I found myself most uncharacteristically sobbing aloud, tears streamed down from my face. I couldn't sleep. My left shoulder had to be raised on two pillows and if I were to turn to my right, I needed another pillow wedged under my arm to maintain a gap between the shoulder and my body. (Pillows and their positioning during a frozen shoulder could be a whole new topic). Tara was worried so called her father to check me out. I screamed at the lightest touch. There was nothing anyone could do. After everyone was asleep, I got out of bed and started researching what was happening to me.

It turned out to be something called Adhesive Capsulitis, commonly called Frozen Shoulder. Just my luck that at present, in the medical field :

There is no known cause

There is no known cure and

It may sort itself out in around three years, irrespective of whether you seek treatment or leave it alone. (Did they say 'may' sort itself out?)

I felt as if the rug had been pulled out from under my feet. This couldn't be happening. I researched further.

Women get it far more than men

It may run in families

The pain would subside after a year

The shoulder remains frozen in the second year

It starts de-frosting in year three.

I cried all night-partly because of the unbelievable pain, and partly because I couldn't get my head around being so unwell for at least three years. In a way, that night's crying was a good thing. I tend to move through the whole cycle of denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance in a hurry - if there is action to be taken at the other end. Not doing anything is never an option for me, regardless of any expert anywhere in the world. I ended up doing a lot of research and reading. I put myself on the waiting list for physiotherapy knowing it will take a few months of waiting before I even saw someone.

Then something alarming started happening to my arm. It became emaciated. What on earth was happening? At the start of the year, I had the beginnings of "bingo wings" that used to annoy me, now one arm was rapidly turning into a twig. Fashion, or the cosmetic horror of my arm was furthest from my mind.  I remembered feeling the same way when I had Alopecia a few years ago and I had crumpled down, sobbing in the shower as bunches of hair just let go of my head leaving large, smooth bald patches. It isn't vanity, this unfamiliar cauldron on emotion is much bigger than that. It is a traumatic feeling that can be best understood when experienced.

Three or Four months had passed. I would like to mention at this point that The Husband offered virtually zero emotional or physical support during this time. A couple of nights when I was in a frenzy of pain, I did ask him to put some pain ointment in my arm, and he obliged. I hated myself for asking for physical help, when there was no voluntary, human support. So I stopped asking. The quality of the pain in the first stage of frozen shoulder is very strange. In addition to the overall pain, there were spontaneous patches of nerve shocks that pulsated - like searing painful shocks -non stop. These were interspersed with the kind of pain you get when a muscular injection goes wrong, only a hundred times worse. Non-stop. None of the usual pain killers made a dent, so I stopped taking them.

Then there was a new hygiene issue. I like to believe that I am fundamentally a clean person. No one told me that Frozen shoulder can make you smelly. That's right. Smelly. Due to the nature of the condition, the arm is almost always pressed against the body, and since the arm doesn't lift, the armpit is, shall we say-not aired enough. No matter how I scrubbed in the shower my armpit wasn't fresh and I felt smelly. That didn't help my mental state.

After a few months I started physiotherapy. At that point the young physio didn't declare my condition to be frozen shoulder. She chose instead to begin by strengthening my rotator cuff muscle, which had just stopped working. I did as she said. All of last year I worked though the pain, surprising even the physio who said that I was among the very few patients she had met who never complained about the pain no matter how much she poked, pulled or prodded. Occasionally tears ran down my face-a combination of the obvious pain and mostly the mental sadness, but I never let out as much as a whimper. I was on a mission. I had to defeat this thing-whatever it was.

I can honestly say that I was a lot more short tempered than usual. I wasn't patient when every week I begged Tara to sit still while I shampooed her hair in terrible pain, then untangled and brushed it for her every day before school and every night before bed, my arm a mangle of pain with every stroke. She didn't co-operate. I barely slept, so when Tara and The Husband didn't appear on the table at meal times I was snappy. Why was no one sitting down together address how they could help in the situation? Why were there no plans of action to adjust a little bit? I had set the routine, made planners for the new school, prepared study charts etc. yet Tara was not doing any of it till I raised my voice. At my lowest why was there so much of obscene taking for granted? Finally, when I swallowed what was left of my pride and asked The Husband to step in and back me up in correcting Tara, why did he step back?

The final straw was a combination of incessant acute pain, and a deep hurt at the lack of compassion or demonstration of any ongoing, proactive concern from the two people I most craved it from. Then, I broke, and the rest if history. November 2018 my estrangement with my Tara began along with gut wrenching crying every night. All that crying caused my sinuses to get inflamed, so I decided to stop crying every night.  It was hard as my sadness was like a bereavement. It was also my replacement of anger. So what does one do? January 2019 I resolved to use my grief and pain to defeat my arch enemy - rage and anger. As of today I can confirm that it's been four months and no visible flare of anger. The crying still happens, but not every night.

I completed one year of my frozen shoulder last month. I can now confirm that the excruciating pain has dissipated. The nerve twinges have disappeared. My arm is no longer a twig and looks like my old arm again. I am now officially in Stage two, so still have lack of movement but the pain is behind me. There are still dull aches and the odd soreness, but nothing unbearable. I have a new physio now, who is working on releasing the tightness and freezing. Apparently my brain needs to believe that my shoulder can move and function. This message has to be sent through my subconscious, and my shoulder has to "believe" it. I thought that Me, my brain and my shoulder were all the same person. Apparently not...what do ya know!

During my research and speaking to other people who've had Frozen Shoulder I think there is a case to be made for a Cortisone injection at the very start of this condition. While there is no conclusive study to back this up, Ive spoken to people who within one or two months of the condition setting in, got guided, precise cortisone injections in their shoulder cavity. Some of them recovered completely in six months. Others had no where the level of pain I experienced. Experts opine that those cases may not have been Frozen Shoulders to begin with. In hindsight, if I knew about the injection at the start, I would definitely have it.

If this is the year of the Freeze, I accept it. It's a vast improvement from the past year of Pain, in so many ways. Next year will be the year of Hope.

My final comment on the Frozen Shoulder condition is that it should be renamed. It is misleading to think that it involves only a freeze on movement. There is no indication in it's name, of the level of pain involved. So whoever does the naming, please make note. To those that will unfortunately get Frozen Shoulder, I send out a great big hug and a message of courage. This too shall pass.