Going through another phaze

FazeFour

FazeFour

Member
For fourteen years I ignored my career, first as a behavior specialist, then as a phlebotomist, and took menial jobs with flexible hours so that I could take care of my parents. Soon after my Dad died from the last of a series of strokes, I left Mom in the care of two of my five siblings, and moved to a small town in the Sierra Nevada foothills. I had agreed to manage my cousin's little liquor & grocery market up there, and moved into a small cabin he owned, located just behind the market. Within a year after settling in, Mom moved in with me due to what I'll call mismanagement of her care, and remained with me for the last four of those fourteen years.

While caring for my parents, in addition to ignoring career advancement opportunities, I also ignored my health problems. Problems in my spine, primarily; scoliosis, degenerated discs, osteoarthritis, compression and related nerve pain. Up in the foothills, I had just begun seeing a doctor about those issues when Mom moved into the little cabin with me. I insisted she move in with me because I wasn't willing to live in her house again, where one of my siblings and a few of Mom's grandchildren frequently broke into her medications safe, stole property from both Mom and I, and generally made life a heartbreaking, spirit-draining, chaotic mess. The alternative was to place her in a senior care facility, and Mom could only afford the worst. I think she would have become homicidal...and she's quite capable.

When she moved in with me, I had to reduce my work hours, resulting in a loss of upwards from $1200/mo, and I again made Mom's health a priority. She has cardiac problems, dementia, an aortic aneurysm, severe arthritis, and liver disease, so requires six doctors; the primary care doc and five specialists; and most of them saw her on a monthly basis. That left little time for me and my spine. Besides, I was, at the time, a good candidate for corrective surgery, which would have put me out of commission as a care-giver.

About three years ago, I reached a point where I could no longer take care of Mom. My wretched spine finally disabled me. I also couldn't work. By then, one of my siblings had successfully recovered from a long-term substance addiction, and agreed to care for Mom in the old house (Mom and Dad's house). Also by then, I was no longer a good candidate for spinal surgery (to correct the scoliosis and replace some discs). But I am finally seeing doctors for my back and neck problems. I recently had a procedure called RFA, where they shoot a chemical cocktail deep into the spine to burn specific nerve roots to death. The lumbar region was done. The nerves will eventually heal, and the procedure can be repeated. As the results have been good, I'd say a 75% reduction in pain, I'll do it again, but only if the relief lasts longer than a few months. They're preparing to do my cervical spine next.

I don't really bother asking myself IF I wasted my last productive years taking care of my parents, but I do ask myself why. And the answers vary. Dad was a treasure, but Mom was not a very good mother. In fact, she made her daughter's lives a bit of a living hell. But I think she probably did the best that a narcissistic manic-depressive with an inferiority complex could do. I never wondered why she was so afraid of dying (she believes in God, the Judgment Day, Purgatory and Hell, and all that). It's good to know she has a conscience, at least, but it is sad that she's so afraid of what will happen to her soul when she has to pay for all her "sins."

Despite her cunning mean streak and pathological underhandedness, I took very good care of Mom. About that I used to wonder why, as well. For a long time I wondered if I, too, was worried about God's judgment, or my soul's redemption - deep down, even though I am an atheist. It was confusing until I realized that I felt, quite simply, she deserved good care. In my opinion, anyone in her situation does. Her "sins" are between her and her God. Between me and Mom - well, we both did the best we were able to do.
 

You're very kind for doing what was best for your mother. We were caregivers in our home for my husbands parents, and happy we didn't put them in a nursing home. Your last productive years weren't wasted. Hope you can find some relief from your own pain...hugs.
 

I don't have a caregiving story of my own, but can share a similar story related to my sister's care for our paternal grandmother. My sister is a saint for the care she bestowed on someone who can accurately be described as mean-spirited, petty, ungrateful and cantankerous. My sister cared for her until it got to be too much and finally had to move her to a nursing home, where she finally drew her last breath. My sister put up with a lot from our grandmother in her final years, but she has a huge heart and never begrudged the time spent.

Hope that your pain can be treated successfully. My dad has spinal issues and is in constant pain. Sadly nothing has really helped him despite trying everything.
 
Took me around 13 years to complete my first novel.

I just completed my second novel in under four months!

This has prompted me to make an observation.

I started the first novel in 2001, about a year after I moved to my parents home to take care of them - Dad had had a stroke, and Mom couldn't take care of herself, let alone a stroke-impaired husband. In 2003, I left to go to school in Burbank. I won't go into all the actual reasons, but it wasn't due to a burning desire to take a phlebotomy course. I left my sister and her then husband and family in charge.

During the 18 months I was in Burbank, as I was attending phlebotomy school and had a full-time job, and primarily because I lived with my third husband (and 3rd ex), I did not work on my novel. In early 2005, I was urgently called back to take care of my parents. I got a new job, not as a phlebotomist. After four or five months to clean, paint, wallpaper, make small repairs, clear brush and piles of debris from the yards, mow them, and plant some pretty things at Dad and Mom's house, I settled in and returned to writing that first novel. Or, I should say, rewriting it, as it was clearly rather a mess. But the story had real potential, and the characters were pretty awesome.

Over the next couple of years, with the full-time evening job and full-time care-giving, my windows of opportunity for being focused and creative primarily occurred after midnight and before 8am. Almost nightly, I would write like crazy from around 1am until 3 or 4am, or 6 or 7, when exhaustion would finally catch up with me. During those hours, while stewing nicely in my creative juices, Dad would ring his bell as many as four times.

"Hey, Dad, what do you need?"
"Nothing."
"Well, you rang your bell."
"No, I didn't."
"Ok. Well, do you have to use the bathroom?"
"I don't know."

You get the idea.

In 2007, Dad passed away. I moved. I got a new job. Within a year, I moved again when I found a job at a little old market up in the foothills, and a little old house nearby. I started going out to the local cantina now and then, mainly with my one and only co-worker and good buddy, Dave. Got engaged and un-engaged to my English beau, Rob. Got a dog. And I did a complete rewrite of my first novel, shaving off a bunch of nonessential bullshit, fleshing out some of the characters, defining my protagonist's intentions and the aim of the work itself.

Then, for her sake and safety, Mom moved in with me. That was in late 2009, I think. Not positive, it's all a blur. I had to reduce my hours, so I could dedicate more time to her care. I showed her around the little town of Paradise, introduced her to Dave, and gave her a tour of the little market where I worked. I re-homed my dog. I found Mom a new doctor, and hospital, and a bunch of specialists, and a new hairdresser. We went to lunches at Annie's Kitchen, and out for bi-weekly massages. I got Mom up to see the deer in the yard, and on the morning of the first snow in my little old house near the little old market. And I worked on my novel during occasional tiny windows of opportunity, usually for a few hours after midnight.

By 2014, my bones failing, Mom moved back home, and I moved in with my oldest son and his wife. Aside from jotting down ideas and random character notes, I didn't work on my first novel again until, finally, I moved into my own place. With no distractions other than my own health concerns, trying to stretch my very modest retirement benefit, the grandkid's overnight visits, and providing transportation to a granddaughter attending an out-of-town college, plus the uncomfortable feeling that my best years had "suddenly" slipped away, I got back to work on that first novel.

Frankly, I was kind of sick of the damn thing by then. However, I rewrote several chapters, added several more, even introduced a couple of new characters, and finished it. In June of 2015, my first novel was complete, and by early November it was uploaded to Amazon/Kindle - and I couldn't remember a time when I felt so empty and aimless.

Until I started my second novel.
 
SifuPhil said:
LOL! I wish it were that ... I've also thrown typewriters (remember those?) - MUCH more therapeutic but also a very expensive therapy.

The bonfire I started with my rejection slips got out of control one time as well.
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Two words, Phil...ANGER MANAGEMENT ...but isn't this sort of "angst" part of the writer's lot? Just use those rejection slips for scratch paper for your next novel...umm..put down that typewriter Phil...:eek:mg1::eewwk::eek:mg1:
 
The traditional anger management tool of writers for centuries has been alcohol and drugs.

I've already BEEN through that phase.

I've tried orange juice and M&Ms, but it just isn't the same.

So now I eliminate my anger by beating up strangers once a week. Keeps me in shape as well - some of those nuns can get real frisky.
 
Shame on you Philly, The Sisters of St. Ignatius Mary Elephant will see you after class.
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SifuPhil said:
The bonfire I started with my rejection slips got out of control one time as well.
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I don't have to endure rejection letters. I self-published the first one on Amazon/Kindle. I'll probably do the same with the new one (if it passes muster). Since the first one went public on Nov 7th, I've only sold four copies, but that's not too horrible considering I didn't do any marketing whatsoever. Thank goodness I'm not in it for the money, just the self-satisfaction, a feeling of accomplishment. I sent the first one to two beta readers before publication, and both of them gave very positive feedback. The new one is with a beta reader now. Good or not so good, I can hardly wait for her critique. No fame and fortune for me, I'm sure, but I really enjoy the process.
 
FazeFour said:
I don't have to endure rejection letters. I self-published the first one on Amazon/Kindle. I'll probably do the same with the new one (if it passes muster). Since the first one went public on Nov 7th, I've only sold four copies, but that's not too horrible considering I didn't do any marketing whatsoever. Thank goodness I'm not in it for the money, just the self-satisfaction, a feeling of accomplishment. I sent the first one to two beta readers before publication, and both of them gave very positive feedback. The new one is with a beta reader now. Good or not so good, I can hardly wait for her critique. No fame and fortune for me, I'm sure, but I really enjoy the process.
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I've found the marketing was the big bugaboo for me as well on my self-published stuff. I'm basically a lazy creature, could never be a salesperson (would never ask for the sale) and am definitely not a social media person.

My traditionally-published book did far better, because beside having to do a few radio and TV spots they did all the heavy lifting.

I love the feeling of accomplishment as well, of bringing my "baby" into the world, but unfortunately I'm a mercenary - I'm in it for the money as well. :(
 
I may go with a POD agency down the road. I haven't gotten a poor review yet, but I want to feel better about my writing first. I am my own worst critic.
 
FazeFour said:
I may go with a POD agency down the road. I haven't gotten a poor review yet, but I want to feel better about my writing first. I am my own worst critic.
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I think we all are. ;) Something to do with that writer's insecurity thing ...

I checked out Lulu a while back and thought their system was quite good for POD. Things may have changed, but they might be worth checking out if you haven't already.
 
My few attempts to write consisted of creating 50 different blogs, deleting entries, reorganizing my entries for continuity & giving into my OCD tendencies. Most of my attempts are reminiscent of how Sean Connery taught his student in 'Finding Forrester'. I start typing after awhile I look at what I typed. It usually made no sense, ramblings of an old man, so I closed the file without saving. I'm just thankful I never tried to make my living at writing. It's the same with music with my tone deaf condition, I was asked by my 8th grade chorus teacher to do us both a favor & not sign up for 9th grade chorus. I did take a few Viola lessons, really, but the music world breathed easy after that failed endeavor. I stuck with computers for over 40 years & made a fairly good career with them, glad I did.
 
Son_of_Perdition said:
My few attempts to write consisted of creating 50 different blogs, deleting entries, reorganizing my entries for continuity & giving into my OCD tendencies. Most of my attempts are reminiscent of how Sean Connery taught his student in 'Finding Forrester'. I start typing after awhile I look at what I typed. It usually made no sense, ramblings of an old man, so I closed the file without saving. I'm just thankful I never tried to make my living at writing. It's the same with music with my tone deaf condition, I was asked by my 8th grade chorus teacher to do us both a favor & not sign up for 9th grade chorus. I did take a few Viola lessons, really, but the music world breathed easy after that failed endeavor. I stuck with computers for over 40 years & made a fairly good career with them, glad I did.
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I'm a compulsive re-writer, always sure "there's a better way to say that." I think I'm getting better about that, though. Learning to tell a good story rather than one that's perfectly worded.
 
Writer's block blows...but then there are those lovely moments when the story writes itself. It can be sort of frightening sometimes. Have you ever unearthed a forgotten paper and like " Whoa, hey this is pretty good!". Maybe it's been several years or the vodka that helped you write it...but it's almost a mystery where inside of you it came from. I've done short stories. You folks are inspiring me to start submitting things.
 
Fur, don't set yourself up for sorrow - self-publish. You'll grow a beard trying the traditional publishing route.

The only way I would ever consider that again would be if they threw sacks of money at me as an advance. It would make up for all the things I'd have to compromise on again. Self-publishing, at least you can create and sell what your true vision is, without it being adulterated.
 
Still sick...bleh. Think I'm on the mend, though, finally. My temperature is down, at least. The chores will have to wait another couple of days. Nice that the cats don't mind a little dust.
 

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