[Wo]Man plans...

Ugh.  So.  I've felt like utter hammered dog shit for the past two weeks.  I'm starting to surface from that (probable CFS attack).  Finally.  Just in time.

Last week, my mom had an appointment with one of the specialist testing centers in town.  Biopsy.  Ten years after she noticed the onset, but still.  And they made an appointment for her for this week--Thursday, at 8:30 a.m.  My mom's about forty minutes from me, and I'm about twenty from the office she needs to go to.   So, I made plans to help: I offered to go up and visit, and pick Mom up on Wednesday and have her spend the night here, then I'd take her to her appointment.  The pixie offered--demanded that we use--her room for Grandma to sleep.  Mom has accepted, and I got busy. 

With my eleven year old daughter's help, I got the house mostly clean over the past two days.  (Yes, my son helped, too, but not nearly as much, and had his own chores to deal with outside.)   All that hasn't been cleaned is the master bedroom and bathroom.  Oh, and the imp's room, but that door shuts.  And will be shut, and will not be opened.  

Then, this morning, I got a phone call: the office had set Mom up with a PET scan.  At 8:00 a.m.  Tomorrow.  Mom got them to reset it later (10:00 a.m.).  My aunt will be bringing my mom here after her scan, and she'll stay overnight, and then I'll take her to her Thursday appointment.  Then, I'll take her home.  

This is something that is...really, really overdue.  Mom said she'd found the lump right around the time the pixie was born, and just...didn't do anything about it.  Didn't mention it until it...well, surfaced.  Just before one of her sisters was diagnosed, and had hers dealt with.  

"Oh, I'm a Medicare patient...they don't care.  They won't do anything about it."  Or "Oh, I'm fat.  They won't care.  They won't do anything about it."  Always something.  

Always a victim.  

My mother has never believed in being proactive.  In pushing for proper treatment.  Mom's always been passive.  I've never understood that.  Never had much tolerance for it, either.  Not for the past thirty years. 

I think I may finally understand where the disconnect between her approach and mine lays, after more than two decades of trying to figure it out. 

I grew up immersed in theology formed by reading nothing but the Bible and the Book of Mormon (yes, I grew up RLDS).  I've read both books for myself, more than once.  It's formed a lot of how I think--well, that, and a few key pieces of fiction.  

I took a lot of things to heart that most of the rest of my family either disregards, misunderstands, or simply missed.  My philosophy roots in the parable of the talents: God gave me a mind, and expects me to use it.  He gave me abilities.  I have no right to not use them.  Refusing to do what I am capable of makes me a lazy servant.  

I'm pretty sure Mom's philosophy roots in the parable of the lilies of the field: they toil not, nor do they spin.  She sits and waits...for what, I don't know, considering I've seen a lot of different signals that she's flat ignored over the past two decades.  But she sits and waits, passively, for blessings.  

She's waiting on praise for having been clever enough to hide her talent from thieves by burying it instead of putting it to work.  

I've got helping Mom to worry about this week. Yes, there are other things I need to be doing, but not the mental or physical energy to focus on more than one thing in front of me at a time.  Right now, it's doing this.  Other than doing this one, small thing (taking her to her appointment), there is not a damn thing I can do, but I will do this, and will find out after her appointment if there's something else I can do to help.