A few weeks ago, I went to my 25th college reunion. It was a hectic time of year, and there were so many reasons not to go: playoff/championship games for my sons, graduation prep, camp packing, and I was missing the Bat Mitzvah of the daughter of my dear college friend. But I had been looking forward to it for years, and I did not want to miss it. After a busy Friday morning at work, I drove to my friend’s house in Croton. Prepared for the fickle weather in Ithaca, we both laughed at the huge quantity of clothing we brought for two days, and we were on our way.
The ride up was beautiful, and it gave me a dose of what I had been pining for: rolling green hills, endless blue sky, and long stretches with no buildings in sight. My heart skipped a beat as we drove towards downtown, passing the familiar street signs of our off-campus apartments. It was a mixture of excitement, apprehension and curiosity about whom I would see, how I would feel when I saw them and vice-versa.
We had a great time. It was fun to see the people we both expected and did not expect to see, roam through Cornell’s gorgeous campus, buy clothes from the store to bring home for our kids, and eat, drink and laugh at our favorite places in Collegetown. Many of the alumni from our year did not bring family like they had done in the past, which allowed us to be more flexible and spontaneous.
For me, the most surprising part was the content of many conversations we had. I did not feel myself compelled to speak much about my family beyond a brief description, or even to show photos from my phone. I hadn’t seen many of these people in 25 years. Our conversations were often brief, because someone else would pop in from the side and we would start up another topic. During the past 25 years, we all had experienced successes and failures, we all faced challenges. Some of had spouses and children, but not everyone, and I did not want to probe. My readers know that I am 150% invested in my family, particularly the high-maintenance medical care of my children. It was refreshing, for the first time in what seemed like forever, to answer questions about me. “Did you end up becoming a doctor? Where do you live now? How are your sisters? Remember that time when…” It was me before MD, me before marriage, me before mommy, and notably, me before my childrens’ diabetes and other health issues. It was profoundly liberating.
This brief detachment from diabetes was therapeutic and unfamiliar. While our parents had watched our children for a weekend or two in order for my husband Adam and I to get away, we were constantly interrupted by the multiple phone calls about blood sugars and insulin dosing. The planning alone for these excursions was exhausting, and often created more stress. Leaving the children in Adam’s capable hands for 48 hours gave me the freedom I needed.
The MDmommy part of me has always known the importance of “Me” time, and I advise new mothers to leave their babies with a capable caregiver for brief periods when they can, to regain a sense of self. Diabetes is so tricky that the closest I have come to a real separation was my yoga class, when I notify the school nurse to contact Adam for emergencies. For mothers, especially those with children who have chronic needs, do yourself a favor: take a break, longer than just a Girl’s Night Out, and don’t wait eight years from diagnosis/onset to do it…