I found myself at a crossroads: the idea of me contacting my abusive mother to tell her she may the same medical condition I did was utterly unthinkable. But the idea of me keeping this entirely to myself when I do believe she has lived in chronic pain her entire life, also made me deeply uncomfortable. Now what?

For my first attempt, I casually mentioned to my sister that the abnormal nasal anatomy I was having surgery for was probably genetic. But this is also the sister left me on read for three weeks when I messaged her that I was having surgery. Yeah, that was probably not going to work.

But then there’s Petunia (not her real name). Petunia has been friends with my mom since kindergarten and we had been penpals for years because letters are awesome. My mother has also seemingly never mentioned to Petunia that I went no contact. So, that adds a layer of weirdness. Anyway.

When Petunia’s latest letter arrived, I decided this was it. I wrote her a two and a half page letter detailing all of the health symptoms I was having (highlight the ones I know my mother also has), what the original problem was that caused the issue, what kind of doctor I went to, and yes, that this condition can be genetic. I also threw in how I have been making strides since surgery with some of my health problems disappearing.

What happens now? Don’t know, don’t care. If my mom laughs this off like she has done with all other medical issues she has had, that is her choice. At least I got the information to someone who I know will talk to her about it and that is all I can do. If the effort dies after this, so be it.

Sometimes I wonder what life would have been like if my mother does have this problem and she had gotten it treated years ago. Then if she saw the signs when I was a child and I didn’t have to go through 40 years of chronic illness to figure it out myself.

But I also know that wondering is pointless. Because no matter what I wonder, reality stays the same.