They believed it

I spent many hours on the telephone with girlfriends when I was a teenager. I'd sit on the floor in my mother's room leaning against her bed. We didn't have much to talk about, and many times we'd just eat snacks and watch tv together while on the phone. I'm not a big conversaltionalist, never have been.

One time I remember talking to my girlfriend Mary Anne on the phone one day when we were out of school due to a snow day. She and her sister were raised by a single mom who worked at the GE factory in the next town. Their house was quiet. In my house were six kids and two parents, an assortment of family pets and always someone's friend over. I always thought my personality was so different from my siblings that I must have been adopted. I was a quiet, introspective child, didn't talk much. My siblings are loud and boisterous and talk a lot.

So I was sitting on the floor with the phone in my ear and our conversation was dull as usual. It was snowing outside and cold and I was bored. I wanted to liven things up. I made a loud noise opening a drawer of my mother's bedside night stand. I gasped out loud. Mary Anne asked me what was wrong. I inhaled loudly. I told her I found some papers that looked important with my name on them. She asked me what they said. I told her something about blood type and something about adoption and something about sealed records. She completely believed me. The next day at lunch time in the cafeteria she told our other girlfriend that I had just discovered yesterday that I had been adopted. My other girlfriend didn't believe her. I told her I saw the paperwork and it had my blood type on it. Something about that made her believe. For the rest of that school year, my two girlfriends believed my lie. I expanded on it at odd times, told them I understood now why I was the only blonde in the family.

My mother tells everyone she named me after Mary, the mother of Jesus, because she wanted a girl so badly. I created a fantasy world where my mother adopted me out of fear she'd never have a girl. Once she did, she got pregnant with my sister. Why did I create such a bizarre story and expand on it over time? Maybe because I was the odd one out in the house. My siblings excelled and took first place in science fair exhibits, piano recitals, ice skating. They all had talents and outlets for those talents. I could sing, but my mother had been on the stage and sang opera so I couldn't compete there. I could ice skate but we couldn't afford lessons when I was growing up. I could play piano but taught myself and still have trouble with the bass notes because I never took lessons. Again, we could not afford lessons when I was growing up. But lessons were affordable for my younger siblings. And they got honors and praise for their efforts. That made me disappear even more.

The fact is the only paper I found in the drawer that day was a receipt from a drugstore. I was lying, or perhaps creating for myself another world in which I was the star rather than the one who blended into the background. Psychologists would probably have something to say about my desire for attention. But I did not attempt to get attention at home. It was best to keep quiet, stay out of trouble. But at school my girlfriends looked up to me as their leader, their star. This story seemed to lift me a little higher in their regard but I'm not really sure why.

The day before school ended for the summer, I told them I had made it all up. They didn't believe me. They thought I was lying.

Insomnia

Last night I went to bed at a good time, overtired and ready for a good night's sleep. Yet here I am for the last two hours surfing the net, reading, writing, and playing word games and totally wide awake! Why is it that every now and again, something wakes me up in the middle of the night? Was it a busy day? Oh yes definitely. Too much information to process in a sixteen-hour period and my mind cannot settle down even though my body is screaming, "Get some sleep! You're gonna regret this at work tomorrow." My husband was snoring. Loudly! He was the first one to wake me up. Then my dog started crying outside the bedroom door, so I got up and put her out. And waited in the chilly night while she explored the back yard at 2am. Then I tried to go back to sleep. I hit the couch but it was no use. My mind is too active. I need sleep. I crave it. There is a full day of meetings scheduled tomorrow, today actually. But I'm awake. Why?

Perhaps it is the uncertainty we live in. Economics. Downsizing. Layoffs. I stopped watching the news when my company's stock price went down from the thirty-dollar range to single digits. Perhaps at the bottom of this insomnia lies a fear unspoken or unmasked. It sits there waiting for me to peel back the layers. Thinking about it and pondering. What is this fear? Why am I wrestling with these negative thoughts? Why do I fear for my job? Yes, I am qualified to do my job. But many others are too. Yes, I am ready for a change. But I like my boss. I like my work. I don't want too much change. Maybe fewer tasks, more time to write - I blog at work, too. But I can't share that one because it is inside our firewalls. So many people at work are worried. I worry with them. It is inevitable at my age (I am older than the president!) without a degree (which is why I am at Queens) and a lack of math-ability (call it math dyslexia, poor training in elementary school, math fear, whatever! I don't do numbers) and I'm working in a financial services company, it is more than inevitable, that I will get a pink slip one day. I'm working my tail off to add value wherever I can. I've learned a lot on my own. I've networked. I've taught others. Yet with every transition, every re-organization, I find myself wondering if it will be my turn.

Maybe that is why in the middle of the night, I awaken, toss and turn, fire up my laptop and check into Facebook, read what my friends are doing. Try to forget that my workday is drawing near. We could see a lot of changes with today's announcement. I told my team not to lose sleep over it. No heartache necessary, we're learning to deal with change on a regular basis. And I'm not usually the fearful one with reorganizational announcements. They come so frequently of late. I don't know why I'm even thinking these irrational thoughts. It's not normal for me. Maybe because we had to write about our fears last week. They are bubbling to the surface and in forefront of my mind. I'm thinking about things that make me fearful. I've been out of work before and don't want it to happen again. Not until I can make it on my terms.

I'm dragging myself off to bed now but afraid I won't be able to sleep.

Write about Fear

Writing about my fears is easy. Facing them takes guts. Fears are personal, intangible. Fear lives within. No one sees it. When I was asked to write about fear, I hesitated. I moved my pen across the paper. Should I share this personal journey? Should I open up? I tried to think about my childhood fears. Sitting in a dentist chair. Waking up suddenly from a nightmare. Or what about some of my adult fears? Finding out my husband was having an affair. Universal fears. Things that touch the human condition, shake the soul. Should I share? Ok. Pen on paper scratching an outline of a fear I experienced.

2003 - a year that was supposed to be my bellweather year. My oldest son graduating from college. And not only graduating, but with honors, summa cum laude! And his major was aerospace engineering. Tough courses. Math and science. I am astonished a guy with such a mind came out of me. He was also getting married a week later. I was busting with motherly pride. It was the last year of my forties and life was really good.

Until.... I was drifting off to sleep one night in that twilight time of not asleep, not awake. I was doing a self exam like every woman ought to do regularly. There was something that should not be there, just a pea-sized thing. Hard. I ignored it and went to sleep, but it was gnawing at me. I slept fitfully. I din't tell anyone for three weeks. But it was there. I would not steal my son's spotlight. It was his year! He had worked so hard for this. I kept silent. But like all things ugly I sweep away, push out of sight, toss in the garbage, this would not disappear. I felt it during graduation, through the wedding, at the reception. There was this thing that I knew I had to face.

Finally, the whirl of life slowed and I called the doctor. He got me in that day. Time for an ultrasound now. I saw it on the screen. It was bigger and nastier and darker than it felt. It looked like a gargoyle without a face. Just this black spot looking back at me with a vacant stare. My fear caught me in the throat. The technician glanced sideways at me. She knew I knew, but she would not speak. I saw their looks. She left the room to get the doctor. Decided to do a biopsy right then.

My husband was nervous but quiet. We lived silently with our fear for another week while the biopsy was shipped out to be examined microscopically. It was not necessary to go back to hear the results. I told my husband what I expected. He was introspective as we sat in the room waiting. My doctor arrived with a large manilla envelope and stoic face. She was guarded, "This is not the news I want to deliver to anyone. It seems to be news I am sharing more and more."

A woman hears she has breast cancer. Is that the greatest fear of life? I think there are worse fears. Losing a child is a mother's worst fear; losing a breast is bad but not as bad. I lived through the cancer, the surgeries, the chemo. I am free. I am a survivor. It was a year I would not want to relive. It was a scary, fearful time. But I embraced my fears and learned about cancer. I learned mine was only stage two. Survivable. Life goes on. Happily I might add. I'm back in school determined to get this degree, maybe more.

Fears come and go. What do we do with them? Face them. Embrace them. Accept them. Nothing is as bad as it seems. Change is inevitable. The experience did not kill me, but made me stronger. Sounds cliche. But aren't cliches formed out of universal experiences.