A Deeper Reason
If someone had been able to look through my window for a few hours last week, and they knew my diagnosis, they might have expected what they saw: I was sitting on the floor of my apartment, methodically counting out peanut M&Ms and then rushing to wash my hands and the spot where I was laying them out as soon as I was done.
On the surface, it would have looked like typical OCD behavior: counting, sorting, hand-washing. But this time, instead of doing these things to soothe a compulsion like I used to when I was a kid, I was preparing for my Nana’s upcoming 93rd birthday.
I’ve been talking a lot with my new therapist about control. I am the kind of person who wants to control every situation in my life, and when I can’t, I get increasingly stressed. I wrote about this feeling just last week, when I talked about the helplessness and fear I felt when my dog was sick. Thankfully, he’s taken a turn for the better, but I’ve also been feeling distressed lately about Nana experiencing pain in her neck.
Like me, Nana is on blood thinners, so she can’t do much of anything about any pain that she feels. I know, from personal experience, how much I want to take Advil when the need arises. And when I heard that she was feeling pain and no doctor could do anything about it, I felt the same helplessness I feel when it’s me in the patient’s seat.
I know, rationally, that it would be almost impossible to have nothing wrong with your body at age 93, and that pain is part of the human experience. But that doesn’t change the fact that as a granddaughter, I hate that one of my favorite people in the world has to hurt and modern medicine hasn’t figured out what to do. And if doctors don’t know what to do, I figured there’s no way I could do anything about it, either.
I started to feel the same way I did when my dog was so sick last week: helpless, out of control. But then, when I thought back to what has helped me with one of my biggest obsessions throughout my life, I got an idea.
A few weeks ago, I wrote about the fact that my psychiatrist prescribes me anti-emetics in addition to the mental health medicine I take every day. I only use a few anti-emetic pills in a year, but they are always in my purse, something to remind me that I don’t have to feel extreme panic if I don’t feel well. It has occurred to me that, even though I’m getting real medicine from a real doctor, I could just as easily be taking fake pills if I was convinced that they were real. The placebo effect would stop my anxiety in its tracks.
I also remembered a rather funny conversation with my first hematologist where she said that I needed to restrict my eating leafy green vegetables because of vitamin K, but I had no restrictions on chocolate. At the time, I’d jokingly asked her to write that on a prescription pad.
And so, I went onto Amazon and ordered a dozen empty pill bottles with arthritis-friendly lids, then some labels to write on. Then, it was time for the peanut M&Ms.
Peanut M&Ms are Nana’s favorite candy that could fit into a pill bottle, and there was no way I was going to avoid them because of the cross-contamination with tree nuts written on the packaging. I set aside a space in my apartment that would be “contaminated” until I was done, popped open all the pill bottle lids, and got to work.
I put one M&M in each bottle for each day of that respective month. I used 365 M&Ms in total, making a supply of “perseverance pills” for the entire upcoming year. Even though it’s obvious that I’m not a doctor and these “pills” are made of chocolate and candy, I’m pretty sure they will still have the desired effect of reminding Nana that she is immensely loved.
I find it incredibly frustrating that I can’t help with the physical aspects of her life. I live far away, and just like I’m not a vet who can help my dog, I’m not a doctor who can help Nana. But our bond has always been about so much more than the physical, and relying on each other in tough times keeps us both strong.
Every time I leave home after visiting, Nana reminds me of our “special deal” - “You take care of you, and I take care of me.” On the days when self-care doesn’t feel like a priority, or when stress starts to take over, I think of this and try to take care of myself like she would if she could teleport into my apartment. She does the same, and although there are some things we can’t fix, we do our best to support each other in the ways that we can.
I’m still frustrated that I can’t do anything to make Nana feel physically better. But, thanks to these M&Ms that I counted and arranged and cleaned up after so meticulously, I think I can put a smile on her face every day for the 93rd year of her life - and it’ll all be worth it.
Ellie, a writer in the Chicago area, was diagnosed with OCD at age 3. She hopes to educate others about her condition and end the stigma against mental illness.