Hierarchy of Importance Lie

 

Perhaps, I have done the unforgivable. I chose my life over that of my mother’s.

My decision didn’t happen overnight. It came about as, over time, through my cancer diagnosis, I learned the hierarchy of importance lie. I encountered how, in the eyes of my mother and in the eyes of those influenced by her elderly, vulnerable adult self…

Her life was more important than mine.

Yeah. Let me explain.

Over ten years ago, my mother had a stroke that landed her in a care facility.

Since then, I did my best to care give Mom. I anticipated her ever-changing health needs. I attended her doctor’s appointments, quarterly care conferences. I bought her flowers, cards, gifts. I called her twice a week. Before I knew it, I stopped taking care of myself.

Cliché, isn’t it?

Years of this. Challenging these years further was the fact that Mom and I already had an enmeshed mother-daughter relationship.

Not surprisingly, when I was my mother’s caregiver, she often criticized my decisions for her care, health and safety-wise, because they were not enjoyable for her.

Mom would also often laugh at my attempts to help her. Again, years of this were just status quo par for the course.

And then I received my 2017 Breast cancer diagnosis.

For that was the beginning of tests, surgery, and treatment. Oh, and of being terrified in a particularly cancer-y kind of way.

Once again, cliché.

Now, in that framework, cue other people’s assumptions. Some came from the care facility. Some came from “interested parties.” Most came from my mother herself.

And here is where I encountered the concept of the hierarchy of my life and my human value, stacked against that of my mother’s. The revelations were disturbing. And perhaps, even, more common than any of us can realize.

Trap Number One: It’s Not That Bad (I Can Do This):

When I was first diagnosed, I was convinced I could do this “caregiver with cancer thing.” Yeah sure, life-altering and life-threatening change.  Just let me call my mother two days before my bilateral mastectomy and see if there is anything she needs?

 I’d downplay my terror whenever I’d interact with her. Once I was diagnosed, it would be months before I’d be able to see her. Two months of testing, then, my surgery, and exactly six weeks of healing there. And then, a course of radiation, lasting another six weeks. I could not travel. It was about healing and minimizing stress.

And, as I revealed to both my mother and the care facility about my treatment approach, I caught a bit of minimizing from both. Because I did not undergo chemo, there was a held assumption that my cancer “wasn’t that bad.”

Not that bad? Really? I had life and body-altering surgery that removed my breasts. I had radiation that burned my skin. I feared death, as uncertainty took more of a hold on my daily life.

Yet it wasn’t so much their attitudes, as it was my own internalized one that created the most pain and difficulty. In the early days of my diagnosis and treatment, I had believed that my little surgery and radiation was not that harsh. “It wasn’t that bad.” I was, after all, still in better shape than my elderly mother, right?

Wrong. Because cancer. Life changed. My future changed.

And, as much as I may have fought that reality, it wasn’t going to lessen, simply because anyone else, my mother and myself included, tried to downplay its impact.

Are you, in any way, with any loved one, downplaying your own cancer impact?

Is someone else’s life more important than your own cancer-diagnosed life?

Be honest.

Trap Number Two: Mom Will Understand:

 My mother will understand that my cancer diagnosis is serious.

Mom “seemed” to have accepted this reality. In the early days, she said things like “your health is important” and “take care of yourself.”

Yet I soon discovered that was lip service. She expected something quite different as she said those things.

I kept in contact with her by phone; I participated in her care conferences via speaker phone as well. I sent her cards, gifts, and personal care items in the mail. I did this while I had my surgery drains in. I did this while I had T-Rex arm mobility and I could not use a can opener. I did this while my irradiated, burned skin was peeling. I did this while I was processing my different body and life.

I wasn’t fully grasping this absurdity yet. When I finally visited my mother for her birthday. I coordinated the party plans, bought a sheet cake, and attended her big day. The event went well.

“Happy Birthday!” A good enough effort?

I think you can guess my answer.

Mom asked When would my husband and I see her again? I’m all better now. After all, she had proof. I was at her birthday party.

Let me find that big hole of mine again, so I can just keep digging.

Mom asserted, “You had surgery and radiation and you don’t have cancer anymore.”
I swallowed a bitter pill of realization here. There was only room for one vulnerable adult, needing care and, guess what? It wasn’t me.

I felt hopeless. In my efforts to not scare her, had I made Breast cancer “no big deal?” Had I perpetuated the hierarchy lie that her life was more valuable than mine, as I jumped through hoops despite my diagnosis? Had I done that?

Trap Number Three: Mom Will Change Her Behavior:

Yes, Mom seemed to be unwilling to accept why I wasn’t back to being her healthy daughter, catering to her needs. Her passive-aggressive comments soon impacted my stress levels. At routine checkups, doctors and nurses commented about my racing pulse. I was ever-aware of stress and recurrence. Cancer could happen again if my mental state continued to poison my physical being.

I soon found myself hating my sweet, elderly, vulnerable adult of a mother.

How’s that for Daughter of the Year?

A more insidious reality I was falling for, however, was that I was also unwilling to accept that I was not back to being her healthy daughter. I was not accepting the changes to the status quo.

Instead, I was crucifying myself for being a “bad daughter.”

Why?

Maybe because it was easier than looking at the personal changes I needed to make? Because it was more comforting to believe I was wrong, instead of accepting that the both of us needed to stop the unhealthy codependency and unrealistic expectations? Perhaps it was because I was just too scared of my mother’s disapproval? More frightened of that than even my own death?

This was not working. I had to stop making cancer okay for her.

For whom are you making your cancer experiences “okay?”

What are you afraid will happen if you put your cancer/health needs first?

Take Care of You- Your Mission, Should You Choose to Accept It:

As diagnosed caregivers, we must prioritize ourselves. No easy feat.

For, because of the vulnerable loved ones in our lives, all focus goes to that individual. Somehow, it’s just assumed that we, as caregivers, will stay healthy indefinitely. There is no such guarantee.

Therefore, don’t be surprised if/when you simply cannot. No judgment, no shame.

You and I are called to live a life which has meaning and health, in spite of caregiving and/or cancer. You just cannot sugarcoat it. Give yourself permission to live instead.

Copyright © 2021 by Sheryle Cruse