Ground rules for dealing with a "well-meaning" parent

The following is the email I wrote to my mother regarding my upcoming spinal fusion surgery. I'm sharing it here because this is as much a list of rules for me as it is a clear message to her.

Dear Mother,

I will only be telling you the bare minimum. The more I tell you, the more you will worry. You'll freak out, and I will end up expending energy calming you down instead of taking care of myself. 

I will tell you when the surgery is when I know. It is not scheduled yet, because of an insurance delay. It will be within the next few weeks.

Please do not question the fact that I need surgery. This invalidates my suffering.

Please do not ask for exact details of the surgery. All I am going to tell you is that it will fuse two of my lower vertebrae, which have been weakened because the disk has broken down.

Please do not take the day off work when I get my surgery, they way you did when I got on a plane for the first time. Staying home and wringing your hands all day will not change the outcome.

Please do not expect me to call you the minute I regain consciousness. I will call when I call. I'll have Matt update you. 

That's all I have to say on the subject.

My mother is the type of person who catastrophises even the smallest misfortune or change of routine. I have striven not to be that kind of person. However, when I am faced with my mother's classic behavior, I am not always able to respond in the most constructive way. I either get angry with her, or I start to worry more, myself. Ultimately, I end up taking a lot of time and energy to soothe her fears when I should be taking care of myself. I have learned over the years that, in order to avoid this situation, the less information I give my mother, the better.

She can lament and moan and plaster the back of her hand to her forehead, crying, "Why? Why? Whyyyyy?" all she wants, but she will do it on her own time. And I will not waste my energy on convincing her that the surgery is, in fact, necessary, and not some grand conspiracy of the medical profession to slice people open at the slightest opportunity (in reality, I'm having trouble getting approval from my insurance.) And if, gods forbid, there are any complications, all I will tell her is, "Well, it's just taking a little longer so that they can make sure it worked." 

Am I worried? Am I scared? You bet your sweet bippy I am. I've never gone under the knife for anything, and I have never gone under anesthesia. I'm concerned about all kinds of things. I am confident that I will be in good hands, professionally and spiritually. I still need to reserve my energy for taking care of myself, not pacifying my chronically-alarmed mother. After all, it is I who will be having the surgery and enduring the pain of recovery. I'm the one who's doing all the work. Much as her behavior may contradict it, my surgery is not happening to my mother. It's happening to me.