As a working mom, the days are long and hard. Here's my story of how one missed call reminded me that it's all worth it. Sometimes thinking about the scary stuff makes the hard days easier.
It’s a Wednesday afternoon.
I just finished drafting up an article when my son wakes up crying from his nap. I carry him downstairs and we start our mother and son dance party. He’s 1 so it’s more like I dance and he wanders around the carpet while I try not to step on him.
I press play on my favourite BTS dance workout and we start bopping around like silly monkeys. Every so often, I’ll have to press pause to pick him up from the dangerous part of the room with the cords and outlets and put him back to his designated corner with the colourful foamy playmat and mountains of plastic toys.
Just some additional deadlifts and bicep curls eh?
My husband comes up from the basement to watch my son while I continue working out. I’m almost finished when YouTube decides to run an ad before the last song. I glance at my phone and I have a missed call from my doctor.
The ad ends and I resume my workout. Thoughts begin to run wild as I try to focus on mimicking the instructor’s graceful movements while my arms flail frantically and my feet stumble awkwardly.
I start spiralling and ruminating about the what-ifs
Why is my doctor calling?
The kids aren’t due for their checkups. They’re all up to date on their shots and measurements. We saw our doctor less than a month ago.
Then I remember. I had a pap test at that time.
There are 2 minutes left in the song…
They only call if something is wrong. What if my results are abnormal? And I’m positive for cervical cancer? Then I’ll get a referral to see an oncologist. They’ll tell me to do chemo and radiation therapy and I’ll lose my hair.
Thank goodness I still have health insurance from my job.
But then I’ll be so sick and weak that I won’t be able to play with my kids, take them to school, take them anywhere…I’ll be on bed rest, no appetite, no energy, a tired shell of a body full of bad guys trying to kill a worse guy.
I just need to be poisoned enough to survive.
But what if I don’t survive? What about my kids?
And I die. I think of all the moments I’m going to miss out on. I look over at my son who’s a quarter way between his playmat and the dangerous cords. He has yet to experience his quarter-life crisis. Get back to your safe zone where there are still rainbows and the floor is foamy soft!
I’ll miss his first day of school, his first best friend, his first date, his first kiss, his first heartbreak, his first job, his wedding, his kids…
What about my daughter? I’ll miss out on everything. I won’t be able to be her role model, to empower her to make her own choices, to guide her in finding herself in this chaotic world. I won’t be able to share with her all my stories and life lessons.
But wait, I guess I do have some of them written here. She can read this when she’s older. That’s the least I can do for her. I need to keep writing. I’ll continue writing until I can’t…until my fingers hurt and I can’t sit straight.
Then I’ll get one of those audio to text apps that transcribe as I speak. I’ll record myself until my voice breaks.
Then I’ll film myself making all the different facial reactions I can have and my husband can play them for her at each of her milestones and life stages.
Happy face when she stands up for herself.
Proud face when she defies gender and cultural stereotypes.
“It’ll get better” face when she experiences heartbreak, loss, pain or failure.
“You can do it” face when she’s struggling to accomplish her goals.
“I love you and good night” face at the end of every day.
Worried face when she’s doing something I wouldn’t do.
Disappointed face when she’s not listening to her father
Speaking of her father…
What about my husband? How is he going to manage as a widower? As a single parent?
He might do some emotional eating at first but he will get through it. He’s resilient and he’ll bounce back to his fighting weight. He’s got support. His family will help. My parents and my sisters will be here. They’ll all chip in, watch the kids, cook some meals here and there. He’ll hire a cleaner, maybe even a nanny.
But then what about those tough nights? Those lonely moments? When the kids are out and he’s by himself.
He’ll find someone great. He’s a total catch. He’ll mourn me for a bit but I’d want him to move forward. He needs to find someone to share his life with. I trust he’ll find someone wonderful who will be a positive influence on my kids.
15 seconds are left in the song as I hold onto that thought, swinging my arms and marching my feet heavily.
The song ends.
The longest I’ve ever been put on hold
I pick up the phone and listen to my voicemail. The woman says to call them back as soon as I can. She has a slight Cantonese accent and her voice is muffled. Instead of trying to listen to it again, I call the doctor’s office.
I’m put on hold.
More thoughts riddle my brain.
If I died, things will work their way to where they need to go. It’ll be fine. With or without me. I can die peacefully without worrying.
But wait, is that necessarily a good thing?
Does that mean I’m not needed?
Oh, I’m not going there.
Never mind I’m good. I’m overreacting. It’s nothing. Maybe the kids have to go in for a checkup that I wasn’t aware of.
The receptionist answers. He says nonchalantly,
“Oh yes this is about your Pap test. I’ll connect you through to our clinical nurse.”
I start to panic. My face is expressionless as I tell my husband,
“They said it’s for my Pap test. Why would they call me unless it’s something? Right?”
I hadn’t said anything to him up until this point. I didn’t want to drag him into my internal freakout, me as Jack and he as Jill, tumbling down the rabbit hole together.
The Muzak seems to go on for ages as my husband’s face starts to rumple, standing still, holding my son. It’s silent, too silent. Only the eerie song plays on my phone’s speaker as we wait.
The nurse answers in a chipper tone,
“Oh hey Katharine, how are you?”
I respond anxiously,
“I’m fine. How are you?”
Her tone is casual,
“Oh good. So I just wanted to let you know that your Pap test came back normal and your next screening is three years from now.”
I chuckle nervously with a big sigh,
“Oh haha. I’m so relieved. I thought you guys don’t call unless it’s something. You know, no news is good news in healthcare?”
She responds friendly,
“Oh no, we changed our process. We call either way.”
I give a weak laugh,
“Oh okay. Thanks! Good to know! Bye.”
I hang up. And my husband and I are finally able to breathe again. He says,
“I thought about if you died and how I was going to take of the kids by myself.”
I respond,
“That’s exactly what I was thinking.”
I go take a shower and I start to reflect
I start to think about the events of the day; it had been a stressful one.
It started with an argument with my daughter before she left to go to my parents. I was trying to help zip her jacket up and she wouldn’t let me. She ended up throwing a fit, tears, red-faced, waving her clenched fists and yelling at her overbearing mother,
“Stop it, mom! I don’t need you. Why do you have to help me? The next time you cannot help me.”
Her tantrum completely defeated my intentions to hurry things along. She left later than usual, giving me a weak smile and an insincere apology.
For most of the day, my son was in a cranky mood, needing lots of attention from me. I barely had a moment to myself. If I wasn’t holding him, I was changing his endless poopy diapers, picking up the trip hazards he creates with his toys and running around trying to clean up the little bits of crud and fluff on the floor that he seems to enjoy eating more than the meals I lovingly prepare for him.
So by the time I started my workout, I was already exhausted but glad he had napped so I could write for an hour.
It was a hard day with the ups and downs of a working parent. Being stretched to my limits is a regular occurrence and my patience often runs thinner than the inner thigh area of my jeans. Although it’s zapped most of my energy to care for this family, feeding, washing, keeping things on track, those 2 minutes of spiralling reminded me it really is all worth it.
Sometimes thinking about the scary stuff make the hard days easier
It’s these moments where we learn and re-learn how to appreciate our family, to remind ourselves that nothing in life is of absolute certainty and to not take the simple joys for granted. It’s not to diminish or minimize the struggles we face when we have tough days; it’s just that our darkest days make the dim ones shine a little brighter.
Although it took a missed call to visualize a dark moment, it doesn’t mean practicing gratitude only happens unexpectedly. I wrote this story down as a reminder to myself that it’s the little things that matter, that I do have a wonderful life, full of people I love and relationships that cherish me.
My daughter comes home
She stands there fully dressed in her winter gear. She whines,
“Mom, please help me take my jacket and boots off. I need to pee real bad.”
With that, I rush over, give her a quick peck on the forehead and tell myself,
“I’ll always be needed but my family doesn’t always need me.”
And that’s what’s going to get me through the next hard day.
So Readers, have you ever experienced a ‘missed call’ moment? Where did your thoughts lead you to?
