Moving The Mommy

Mom has very fixed ideas, one of which is about how long a woman should wear her hair at a certain age. Four or five years ago my hair was long. Down to my butt. I enjoyed it. And I liked rebelling against the idea that I should have short hair. But the year after her husband died I decided to cut my hair as a Christmas gift. I buy her a frog calender and some chocolate frogs every year but there's isn't anything much I can give her. I don't really care how long my hair is and it makes her really happy to see mine short. Every year I get the mommy cut.
I also take the tiny stud out of my nose when we are together. This year I forgot. I was sitting at the kitchen table chatting with her when I remembered. She hadn't even noticed and still hasn't.
I've been trying to talk her into moving to Hood River for awhile now. The week before I came she said she would never leave her house. I figured I'd spend the next three months arguing with her.
The day I arrived, before I had my coat off, she announced she was moving to Hood River.
Wow.
I have no idea what changed her mind.
I waited though the weekend to see if she'd change again. On Monday I called an assisted care facility and they just happened to have a one bed room apartment available. Someone came later that day who also wanted it so our timing was perfect.
It's all very good but a bit nerve wracking. Mom has a ton of stuff to go through. Lots to down size. Lots to pack. We will have time but I feel like it might happen really fast. We might be back in the Hood for Christmas.
It will be easier to take care of her there. There will also be new challenges.
Funny thing. I dragged a stack of books and a pile of magazines here. I'll probably be dragging them all back home.    
Oh. And there's a frog calendar, wrapped for Christmas, in my back pack. It will be traveling back as well.        

To Be Clear

This is a response to comments by Daniel in my last post.
I used the term disordered eating in a post recently. I was being a bit sarcastic although I do feel that in the last ten or more years of trying to have less pain after eating I've become a bit crazy in terms of food. Daniel says disordered eating is the cause of obesity. My version of disordered eating has resulted in weight loss because there have been times when I have been afraid to eat. Anyone thinking the resulting weight loss is a good thing ignores the physical and emotional misery I've experienced. All of this may have been about the gallstone and the gall bladder both of which are gone. My digestive system seems to be healing but I'm still a bit nervous.
For me it was the emotions around food that felt disordered. Not the quantity or quality of what I was eating. I eat really well both in terms of quality and quantity. I am more thoughtful about what I eat because I'm older. My digestive system is older. That's probably true for many people of every size.
I am not sure why Daniel chose a post about the difficulty of traveling when airlines make seats smaller than ever and charge fat people for two seats and having a bum knee and needing help with getting across a huge airport to write a comment about weight loss. My weight may have contributed to the wear and tear in my knee. I imagine it did. Standing on it for hours in my working life probably also contributed. When only fat people need knee replacements then we can say there is a direct and absolute relationship. And if that's true ... so what?
I don't really like the term size acceptance. I don't have to make a special effort to accept that I have brown eyes. Why should I have to make a special effort to accept that I am fat?
Oh. Wait. Because other people have lost weight so I should too.
Um. No.
There are people in the size acceptance who would shun Daniel for choosing to diet and lose weight. I am not one of them. I ask people to respect the choices I make for my body. I will respect theirs. If being fat causes a person to worry about their health and a negative impact on their quality of life (by their terms) then dieting is a course of action. If it works for you, go for it.
I have no wisdom about addiction.  Even  with things like cigarettes, drugs and alcohol I watched friends struggle much more than I did when it was time to quit. Food addiction is problematic because you can't not eat. You need to eat to live. It's not something I experience so any judgements I make are hollow.  
I am not addicted to food.
I don't have a defeatist attitude about weight loss. I simply have no interest. I'm interested in living an authentic life. I am fat. If I lose weight as a result of illness that's OK. I'm not trying to be fat. I just am. It's not shameful. It just is.
It is a political identity because there is weight based discrimination.
I am sad when people talk about food as if it is dangerous and themselves as "bad" for wanting to eat. I argue for a shift in those ideas, which includes the idea that a person might be fat if they eat what they want. It seems healthier to me. But lives are complex. I can't really know what's best for another person.              
Daniel has been very kind about my writing. But he has never really understood what I'm saying. I may not be articulating things as well as I hope I am. My disordered eating riff was in no way a milestone. I was a bit of a joke. Why should Daniel get what I'm saying? I have friends who I have known for years who don't get it.
Oh well.  

The Shot

I wrote a post last year about how great travel can be when you have a mother who has money.  Two seats in economy comfort works best for me. It's not really that comfortable but it's OK. I can't imagine having less leg room. I could never afford two seats.
I have always been resistant to AMA medicine. I would still rather do anything alternative. The gall bladder surgery was AMA and needed to be. And I get the cortisone shots for my knee, one of which I got right before I left for Asheville. The doctor said I was more likely to throw a clot during flight so soon after the surgery. Other than some pings and throbs I had no trouble. It was the cortisone that made a huge difference.
In the past few years part of any experience included worry about pain. Walking from the car to the check in desk could be excruciating. It's always hard to figure out which line to stand in and you almost always need to stand for some amount of time. I get a wheel chair but the wheel chair doesn't get there until you check in. It would be better if they met you at the curb. This time my knee held up through it all. AMA drugs. Not so bad. I would not have made it through the terminal but the wheel chair got me through.
In Atlanta I deboarded and was left in the wheel chair at the gate. I had a flight to catch at the other end of the airport. I needed to use the bathroom. I sat there. Helpless. A young woman finally came and took me but was on her way out the door. She left me at the gate. I had enough time to get myself   to the bathroom with my walker and my drugged up knee made it possible to do with out much pain. When I came back the wheel chair was gone. I got to the plane with my walker. It worked out but it always feels so precarious. Needing help. It feels terrible.
I had some really sharp knee pain in flight. I always wonder why. But there is no doubt the shot makes a huge difference.
Mom with money enough to buy two seats and cortisone. Good. Nothing to protect me from being stranded in a wheel chair on the wrong end of an airport but ...
It seems like it should be ... something. More caring? More efficient? More better.