Aimless

It feels as if for the entirety of my adult life I have been running full tilt. Parents of school aged children, especially ones involved in extracurriculars, are always juggling responsibilities. Working to pay the bills, working to keep up the house, working to raise decent human beings, and then, maybe, finding time for extended family, friends, and most importantly yourself. Always something needing done, sometimes a crisis to quell, often on the brink of exhaustion. My sweet handsome hunny and I have been married for over 28 years, but never without our children.

The last several years have been kick in the teeth after kick in the ass, and then kicked again while we were down. Loosing parents, a child moving 1,100 miles away, a motorcycle accident, several life changing diagnosis, and major surgery are just some highlights. Helping aging parents and adult children navigate their changing lives in tandem has been an interesting road to travel. All this on top of work, church, and ministry expectations made life overwhelming at times.

Yet now I sit in a boat adrift in a vast ocean, unsure of where I am, let alone where I'm headed.

Our plan to move to Cincinnati has been canceled. Family drama. (Read "bull shit".) The short story is that my sister made it VERY clear that our help was not only unnecessary but also unappreciated. So after over a year to driving between Columbus and Cincinnati almost weekly, those trips came to an unexpected and abrupt halt. Though I talk to my mother regularly, I have not visited her in almost 5mos because my sister made it clear that I was also unwelcome.

A twisted outcome of this falling out is that we are now on hiatus from ministry. My husband gave notice at the church where he pastored in anticipation of moving, a replacement was found, and a send off was given. There are reasons why we feel it inappropriate to return to that church now. As a result we a taking a much needed break. Though, admittedly, it feels weird to me. It's been years since not having weekend obligations, and planning on being somewhere on Sunday morning is just another thing I'm not doing right now.

Our youngest child is now in his early 20s. He lives at home at the moment, but there are plans for him to move out in a couple of months. My husband and I are truly on the brink of having an empty nest. Our son lives a pretty independent life already, and is out of the house frequently, so we've had tastes of our own independence here and there. Add "constant parenting" to the list of things I'm no longer doing, as well as all of the responsibilities that go along with it, like constantly cleaning my house.

For so long life has been chaos. Now, suddenly it seems, there is calm in my world, and I have NO IDEA how to function in it. I feel aimless. Not without purpose, but without direction. I know I should embrace and enjoy the freed up time in my life, especially since it is only a matter of time until we are provided with new marching orders. But it is such a foreign concept, so alien to me, that I don't know how. Honestly, I'm quite out of sorts and don't care for it at all.

Who TF are you...?

Eight months ago my mother had an MRI of her brain that demonstrated the beginning changes associated with Alzheimer's disease. At that time, my husband and I began discussions about the possibility of relocating in a few years to be closer to her as the disease progressed to a point that she could no longer live independently.

Have you ever heard God laugh out loud and say, "Oh, my child. You're so cute. You actually think you have some control"? 

Three weeks ago, my mother landed in the ER, resulting in a traumatic series of events that escalated the symptoms of her dementia. As she slowly came back around to what was her previous level of cognitive ability, she and my husband discussed us moving in with her within the next several months. Gives a new appreciation to the phrase, "that escalated quickly". In the passing of a few weeks, our 3-5yr timeframe became 4-5mos.

Anyone who read my previous entry has an idea of the why. In short, my mother asked us to move in with her, and it makes more sense for several reasons for us to move in with her than for her to move in with us. And committing her to a nursing house for the rest of her life sounds like a death sentence. We can make the move, so we are making the move. What fascinates me is people's reactions when they hear the news.

Most people - good hearted, caring, empathetic people - generally respond with "I'm so sorry to hear your family is going through all of this. What can we do to help?" Right now, the best help is a strong hug and a safe space to cry. Maybe meet me for a glass of wine and let me just talk. We are trying to condense and combine 2 households, so boxes would be great. 

Other people - people whose priorities I can only question - respond with "So you're just gonna quit your jobs and move?!" "What's her prognosis? Like, how long is she gonna live after this event anyway?" "What other options have you considered?"

I beg your fucking pardon. My MOTHER has come to the conclusion that she should no longer live alone and has flat out asked us to move in with her, and I'm supposed to consider "other options"? And what concern is it of yours if we DID decide to just quit our jobs and move? And her prognosis is NONE OF YOUR FUCKING BUSINESS!!! Who the fuck are you to question our decision? It's MY mother, and OUR FAMILY will collectively decide the best course of action, thank you very much.

As if this entire life upheaving event weren't difficult enough, people we thought gave a shit now question our decision making abilities. We are breaking under the weight of what looms before us and people think of my mother like a pet that should be euthanized. Who the fuck are you? When someone decides to put their dog down, no one asks what other options they have considered. Most people would reassure them that they're doing the right thing by alleviating their beloved pet's suffering. So why is the decision to move in with my mother to improve her quality of life open for discussion? Who the fuck are you?

A perusal of the New Testament will show that Christians are charged with caring for widows and orphans. My mother is a widow who needs taken care of. Who the fuck are you to question? When Mom finally does go home to the Lord and I am left an orphan, will compassion be withheld until the appropriate level needed can be ascertained, after all of the options are weighed, and it is determined to not be a hindrance to you in any way? Who the fuck are you to put qualifiers on a plain and simple command from Christ?

We have not asked anything of anyone in regard to this decision, except to be understanding that a life changing diagnosis generally precludes a major life change, and maybe be a shoulder to cry on and a  listening ear. We certainly did not ask for anyone else's input before or after making the decision. 

An Empty Nest?

Most married couples dream about their lives as empty nesters. Days of the freedom of not being tied to a dependent's needs and coming home to the clean house I left this morning sound glorious. I once told my husband that I was worried for the empty nest because we had never been married without children. What would we talk about? He said we would find something. Now I worry that we will never have an empty nest, and not because our son decided to be a basement dweller.

Earlier this year, imaging demonstrated the signs of early stage Alzeimer's in my mother's brain. A more recent visit to a neurologist officially diagnosed her with mild dementia. The next day (literally), Mom ended up in the ER due to crippling pain in her back and leg. She was unable to stand up straight and could barely walk to the car. Several days of heavy pain meds escalated the symptoms of Mom's dementia, resulting in hallucinations and delusions. Surgical anesthesia 2 days in a row escalated the symptoms to another heightened level. More heavy pain meds tipped the scales to her becoming combative, making wild accusations because of her delusions, and landing her on the psych floor on very different medication. 

It was an eventful 2 weeks.

As Mom came out of sedation on the psych floor, she was back to the level of crazy she had been on those first pain meds, with periods of lucidity mixed in. Some eye opening conversations were had during those lucid moments. She learned that my sister and BIL had NOT robbed her blind, emptied her house, or snatched her dog right our of her arms. (Considering she knows that I'M the one taking care of the dog, one would think she would have accused ME of that one.) She learned that there had not been a break-in at the hospital, that the cops had not been running through the halls, and that she had not been arrested by Nazis or spent the night in the county lockup. She also came to the conclusion that she should no longer live independently. Then she asked my husband if he and I would move in with her.

The few people I've talked to about this have known be for many years and never thought I'd ever leave. So it's understandable that they would ask if there was a possibility of moving Mom here. There are several reasons why that makes less sense than us moving in with her. First, there is still an adult child living in our house. There are no real bedroom options for her. Second, we live in a bi-level house with lots of stairs. Mom has had 3 lumbar fusion procedures in 6mos. Probably shouldn't be doing stairs. Third, people with dementia function much better in familiar surroundings and adhering to a regular routine. For HER sake, we will be relocating to Cincinnati.

Am I happy about this? No. Am I being incredibly selfish to feel the way I do? Yes. She took care of me and my family for YEARS. Now it's my turn to take care of her. I knew earlier this year that this would be a possibility as the disease progressed, but I was expecting years from then, not months. 

When are my husband and I going to have that coveted empty nest now? Likely when we're too old and decrepit to truly enjoy it. 

Parents Raising Parents

 I was 6 weeks shy of my 19th birthday when I gave birth to my oldest son. I was a child raising a child, and I often say that he and I grew up together. Those early years were a challenge, to say the least. Aside from us being very young parents trying to raise a child at the poverty level, I suffered from suicidal depression and almost hurt my baby twice. 

There are some advantages to having children earlier in life, though. Our youngest graduated high school when I was 43, an age at which some of our friends were wrangling the demands and schedules of multiple school aged children. I now have freedom of time and finances that wasn't possible while raising children, as well as the relative good health to enjoy it. Being a young parent increases the likelihood of being a young grandparent, with energy and stamina to truly enjoy those young years - though I am perfectly content to wait for those precious grandbabies while spoiling my precious grandfurries. And I am honestly incredibly thankful that neither of our boys followed in our footsteps of unintended early parenthood.

So, here am I, now, at a crossroads.

Have y'all seen the meme asking the question, "Is anyone else having a hard time raising their mother? That lady don't listen."? Well, my mother listens - but she doesn't always remember.

For a little over a year now, Mom has been demonstrating signs of age related forgetfulness. She IS 70, after all. But even age appropriate signs of mental decline are red flags when there is a rampant family history of dementia, so I made mental notes when Mom asked me a question more than once or had forgotten we had already discussed a matter. A few weeks ago, however, that table was turned when she brought up a situation she believed she had already told me about but that I am 100% CERTAIN she did not.

At some point in the late summer or early fall last year, Mom had 2 separate episodes of misinterpreting what she was hearing. The first occurred when her youngest grandson was visiting. He was sitting on a step facing away from but talking to his grandmother when she suddenly couldn't understand what he was saying. She heard his voice, but the words no longer sounded like English. She said it sounded like he was speaking Russian. Well, I am here to tell you with absolute certainty that my 11yo nephew does NOT speak Russian. The second incident occurred not long afterward while she was conversing with a friend, and, once again, it sounded they were speaking Russian.

Why was I JUST hearing about this 4-5mos after the fact?! Because she honestly thought she had already told me.

Thankfully, being a retired nurse, my mother had the wits to recognize that these episodes were a matter of concern and scheduled a consult with a neurologist. The day she'd had her consult she called to "update" me on the situation that I had no idea was happening. It took a minute for me to wrap my brain around not only what was going on episodically, but also that she TRULY BELIEVED she had already told me. Oh, and she didn't want to me tell my siblings until more was known about what had caused the episodes. Considering the fact that I am not in the habit of regularly communicating with either of my sibs, that wasn't going to be an issue. However....

My sister lives 6 houses away from our mother. Mom's house is on the corner, my sis's house is in the cul-de-sac. There's not even a street that needs to be crossed for one to get to the other. I, on the other hand, live 2hrs away and require highway travel to be of any physical use. The initial concern was that Mom could be having focal seizures, but let's not tell the kid she lives closest to and would be the quickest to respond in the case of a true emergency.

Fast forward a few weeks. Mom has had an EEG and MRI of her brain. I have no point of reference for an EEG beyond understanding the usefulness of the test. The report of the results may as well be written in Russian since I wouldn't be able to understand it anyway. But the MRI, that is more my territory. Per the radiology report, Mom has damage to the speech center of her brain consistent with micro-strokes or focal seizures. At the time of this writing, the jury is still trying to sus out which is the more likely. Also, per the rad report, Mom's brain shows changes consistent with the early stages of Alzheimer's disease. Oh, and don't mention it to my siblings, yet, because Mom hasn't figured out how she's going to tell them.

The crazy train has officially left the station with my mother on board.

On one hand, my mom IS 70. She is almost a decade older than her mother was when she began displaying signs of dementia. (Her sister/my aunt is not a good comparison since her crazy has been chemically enhanced by way of rec drug use for longer than I've been alive.) She always strove to live as clean a life as she was able, never smoked or used recreational drugs, and enjoys alcohol only occasionally. She retired from nursing with a Master's degree in anesthesia and has remained physically and mentally active in her retirement. All of these life habits play in her favor and, along side modern medications, can significantly slow the progress of the disease.

On the other hand, Alzheimer's is a cruel and merciless mental decay that wreaks more havoc on the hearts of their loved ones than on the patient themself. Over the next however many years, I will watch the person my mother is now deteriorate and die, most likely before the vessel in which that person resides. And if there were a third hand to throw into the fray, heredity dictates that I, too, will likely rot mentally while causing heartache for those who love me.

Ironic sidenote: Last week I was invited to participate in a research study that intends to decode the DNA genome to determine risk factors for specific health maladies, mostly cancer markers and familial links to high cholesterol and heart disease. The consent for participation does state that ancestry will be determined, and that the results could reveal information that is unwanted or hard to hear. I wonder if Alzheimer's and my stupid connective tissue disorder will show up.

When Mom's husband passed away years ago, she decided to move closer to one of us kids. The 3 of us live in different areas of the state, and she did look at options near each of us, ultimately settling on being close to our sister. I don't know what criteria Mom used to make the decision, but I would guess some of it had to do with the fact that my sister has the youngest of the grandchildren and the most able-bodied spouse, all of which could help Mom with general upkeep of house and home. But my sister has proven that she is either blissfully ignorant to or refuses to acknowledge the level of care our mother will be needing over time. 

Less than a year ago, when Mom had shoulder surgery my sister was creeped out at simply helping her get dressed with her arm in the sling. In the weeks before the surgery, I contacted my sister to ask what care, if any, she had planned on helping with. She had thought of making extra portions for dinners to share with Mom and helping her with personal hygiene, but never considered care of the animals - feeding, walking, one is on insulin - or assisting with the everyday activities of living life. So I took a week+ of FMLA to take care of Mom post op. Either my sister needs to get her head wrapped around and be willing to do what is needed for Mom as this disease progresses, or else either my mother or myself will need to be relocated.

Kids raising kids. Care for the caregiver. These are concepts society is both familiar and concerned with. But parenting parents isn't as visible. Yes, it falls under the overall umbrella of "care for the caregiver", but "parenting parents" feels so much more specific. I am fortunate in the timing of events in my life. I am no longer responsible for children in my home, nor do I yet have grandchildren, so I am able to focus on mothering my mother if that is what is needed in this moment.

Side Quests

The journey to wholeness continues. But seldom, if ever, is a journey a straight and easy path. What fun would that journey be anyway? And how would one become stronger if never under stress? The saga of any conqueror is full of side quests. At least, that's what Monty Python leads one to believe in The Quest for the Holy Grail.

My journey began at a doctor's appointment with the intent to find wellness. We discussed my cold sensitivity, my surmising about bipolar disorder, and the fact that my age dictates that I am past due for several unpleasant health screenings. A referral to a psychiatrist to more adequately assess bipolar disorder and a battery of lab work to investigate the cold sensitivity were granted without issue.

The result of the psychiatric assessment was treatment for hypomanic bipolar disorder. The gradual increase in the medication messed with me with every step up. The introductory dose caused a mid-day energy crash for several days. The moderate dose gave me wicked brain for almost 2 weeks. I was still dealing with the brain fog when it was time to step up to the current maintenance dose. The maintenance dose has plagued me with sleep interruptions and nightmares - because I need more help experiencing terrifying dreams during the far too little sleep I get on a good day. To make a crummy situation crappy, I don't feel any improvement in my mood with the medication.

As for the test results, all were within normal ranges. As were a second round, testing for less obvious reasons for cold sensitivity. Most likely, the cold sensitivity has more to due with my connective tissue disorder as there is a correlation between the disorder and nerve damage within the skin. So unstable joints and a heart murmur aren't enough for this fabulous condition. Now I get to be cold for the rest of my life. 

Now, Side Quest #1.

My mom has been experiencing pitting edema (swelling that leaves an imprint if pushed on with a finger) in one leg and foot for several months. She can't remember the last time she could actually see the bony part of her ankle and there's an area at the base of her toes that looks almost bruised, but she's had no known injury. After a lack of results from working with a podiatrist, she was referred to a neurosurgeon with the idea that her symptoms were stemming from damage within her spine. Her recent MRI did determine degenerative disc disease throughout the lumbar region of her spine. She has yet to attend her follow up appointment with the neuro, but the prognosis looks initially like surgery.

As was evident when Mom had shoulder surgery, my sister, who lives on the same street as our mother, has NO CLUE was to expect nor any idea how to care for Mom post-op.  I, who lives 2hrs away, was the one who took a week of FMLA to take care of Mom after her surgery. We are still waiting for the next step of this side quest to be revealed.

Side Quest #2

Our son in Texas has had a piece of shit week. In a 7 day stretch, the poor kid has called us multiple times in a panic and on the brink of a meltdown. Twice he was actually in the midst of a meltdown. To a point where I couldn't understand the words he was trying to say. We had to talk him back from the ledge each time. The short story is his car broke down several times in a single week and one of the repair guys did him dirty by installing a faulty radiator. $1400 and an awful lot of calming and reassuring later, he was then fired from his job for missing work due to his car. Truth be told, I know this kid and his personality - because it is exactly like mine - so I have no doubt that played a role. But the nitty gritty is that because he was melting down as a result of just not being able to deal with the stress of everything falling apart all at once, he no-call-no-showed and was let go. He did have an interview already scheduled for the next day, so there is hope. If you're a praying person, please add him to your list as he desperately needs something to go well for a change. We are still waiting for the next step of this side quest to be revealed.

Side Quest #3

I have had tingling in one arm intermittently, yet daily, for 5 months (as of the time of this writing.) I have experienced thoracic outlet syndrome twice before, and chiropractic care combined with deep tissue massage were able to resolve the issue within a few months. This tingling doesn't feel the same as TOS, and the chiropractic care and deep tissue work aren't making a dent. So I finally asked for a referral to my neurosurgeon, expecting imaging, an exam, and a recommendation for steroid shots.

Yeeeeeaaaaah. I'm never that lucky.

As anticipated, there was imaging, and more of a consult than an exam. The imaging was shocking, horrifying, and downright depressing. The abbreviated version is that I have degenerative disc disease throughout my entire spine, most significantly in my neck at 3 levels, as well as signs of arthritis in the same area, and the severe loss of disc height has lead to bony malformation (essentially bone spurs) of the vertebrae. The only real treatment? Cervical spinal fusion.

Yes, major surgery is the only option to truly correct the damage done. Unfortunately, because insurance companies dictate the flow of care instead of doctors and patients working together to determine the most reasonable path to wellness, I get to endure 6 weeks of physical therapy that in no way is able to improve nerve impingement due to spinal degeneration, as well as an EMG and NCT (I'll let you look those up.) Then, should PT prove unhelpful and the testing prove nerve issues, the insurance co MIGHT cover an MRI in order to determine that the tingling is, in fact, a result of destruction of spinal integrity and that conservative therapies were a 6 week waste of time.

And the best part? This is most likely due to my connective tissue disorder.

My fucking, life altering, enjoyment killing, freezing cold, never ending injury inducing, heart damaging, spine destructing connective disorder. How did I get so lucky?

Another fun aspect to this latest blow is that I know how this surgery is performed. I've done intra-op imaging for these cases - ironically, with the neurosurgeon I see. The only comfort is knowing how he functions in his OR - he is generally unrattled, even when the case goes less than smoothly, and he always does right by his patients. Those are reasons why I chose him. But in a gruesome nutshell, they slit your throat, move the trachea and esophagus over to one side, put spacers between the vertebrae where the discs used to be, then put a metal plate linking the damaged vertebrae together on the front of the bones. What's not to gleefully anticipate? 

However, we are still waiting for the next steps of this side quest to be revealed.

The Journey Continues

 Hypomanic Bipolar Disorder.  I've known for a long time that I am a special brand of crazy, and I was 100% ready to hear that what I have been experiencing was natural for a middle aged woman on the cusp of The Change. But a half-ass mental disorder?  Ordinarily, I'm a go-big-or-go-home type of person. So a less than full blown mental disorder is almost insulting.  ALMOST. 

In the medical world, the prefix hypo refers to underactivity.  Think hypothyroidism, when a person's thyroid is not producing enough hormone, which results in a specific set of symptoms.  Hypomania is similar concept. The mania I experience is significant enough to warrant an attempt at treatment, yet it falls short of what the world thinks of when someone says they are bipolar. In a nutshell, my mania last for only a few days at a time, where classic mania can last from a few weeks to a couple of years in extreme cases.

It interests me that the distinguishing verbiage between type 1 and type 2 bipolar disorder only addresses the mania aspect of the condition.  There doesn't seem to be a defining factor that separates the depressive stage between the types.  Maybe it's assumed that the depression is less intense given that the mania is less intense.  But we don't have different wording when it comes to diabetes.  There is only type 1 and type 2, not hypopancreatic or hypersugar diabetic disorder. And there are SEVEN different types of Elher Danlos Syndrome, tho type 1 and type 2, as each are actually called, are full body conditions whereas the next five are specifically named for the area of the body that is effected.

I don't know how classic bipolar disorder is medicated, but I know what I am taking.  When I investigated how the medication functions physiologically, I learned that it blocks areas of the brain that seem to be overactive (maybe it will help the ADHD?) and is used to treat epilepsy. With this in mind, I'm very unclear as to what section of my brain is overactive.

The med I am on is the kind that needs to be graduated over time until the maintenance dose is reached. When I started the introduction dose I experience a midday crash where all I wanted was a nap.  Not exactly conducive to working in an area where invasive procedures are performs.  After starting the step up dose, I experienced wicked brain fog.  Again, a hinderance to my job.  I am now on the maintenance dose and thus far I have not experience a midday crash or brain fog.  But I have lost my appetite to some degree.  This side effect can continue as far as I concerned. I have a very hard time believing that the part of my brain that effects my energy lever is "overactive", but I DO believe that the area that craves food is.

By the time I follow up with the psychiatrist I will have been on the maintenance dose for 3 weeks. I wish I knew what to expect from this dose over the next week or so.  I only hope I don't get fired. 

A Different Kind of Second Fiddle

 Anyone who follows my FB page is familiar with my lamentations about always playing second fiddle.  Like being the overlooked middle child - playing second not only to the Golden Child first born son of an Italian father, but also to the baby of the family.  Or how I have enough vocal talent to make the choir but never enough for a lead.  I have exactly enough of just about everything to land somewhere beyond above average but short of extraordinary.  I've been borderline anemic and on the cusp of low calcium and potassium, as well as having JUST enough thyroid stimulating hormone to avoid a "Hypothyroid" diagnosis, but never low enough to warrant treatment of any kind. I have a knack for taking "unremarkable" to a level that gets me noticed only occasionally.

A few years ago, I finally gained a level of self-awareness to understand that some of my behaviors are out of line, but I seemed to lack either conscious control of my actions or any level of give a shit.  When my oldest was diagnosed with ADHD, OCD, and ODD (oppositional defiance disorder, it's an impulse control issue) 20 years ago, the counselor suggested that he came by all of those traits honestly and that I may want to consider pursuing diagnosis for myself.  As an adult in my mid 20s at the time, I didn't see a reason to seek a diagnosis. I saw the traits in myself and accepted that. So I chalked up my attitude and lack of impulse control to a mash up of those conditions.

As my son grew older and matured some, he seemed to outgrow the need for meds, and by high school he stopped taking them all together.  By that point, I had actually questioned if he had been misdiagnosed and was truly on the Autism spectrum.  I didn't understand Autism enough to recognize the differences between high functioning and his combo of labels when we were seeking help for him. But as I came to know other children with Autism and to understand the way their minds worked, I wondered if we had taken the correct path for our son.  By then, though, he had developed successful coping mechanisms and was doing well in life so I didn't pursue it.

That decision came back to bite me years later when my son came to me about believing that he may have high functioning Autism. He has not yet pursued an adult diagnosis, and I live with the regret that I didn't follow my instinct and have him assessed when I first suspected the possibility.

Wondering about my son's diagnosis then lead to me considering my own quirks. Do I truly have ADHD? I'm still on board with that.  Am I truly OCD?  Most definitely.  Do I truly have ODD? I think it's safe to say that I do. But are these stand alone diagnosis, or are they parts of a greater whole? 

As I have aged, I have noticed that some of the traits of these conditions have become more intense. I become much more agitated now when things aren't just so - the way I want my kitchen or bathroom to be cleaned, for example.  I've never let my husband fold my laundry because his way leaves things wrinkled, but I have become much more picky about how even I fold my clothes. In recent years I cannot stand the feel of my husband's fan blowing over any part of my body while I try to sleep, though it never used to bother me. Traffic has always been a rage inducer, but the vehicle I've had for just over a year has seen triple digits more than all of my other vehicles combined, and I do not care. I have always been a talker (you're shocked, right?), but now I seem to suffer from diarrhea of the mouth.  I know I'm doing it.  I know I'm probably oversharing and putting people off. But I cannot control it. 

I would love to blame all these changes on being a middle-aged female who is likely dealing with the hormonal flux of perimenopause, but I am not convinced. I have no doubt that hormones are a factor in the equation, but not the answer. With a history of intense depression and periods of equally intense energy, I began to wonder if I am bipolar.

Then one slow night at work, I decided to look into the possibility.  I googled "signs of bipolar disorder" and scrolled through the results. Now, before anyone accuses me of confirmation bias in order to self diagnose, I was simply curious to know if I was looking in a worthwhile direction. It was then that I discovered that bipolar disorder now has 2 types.

Bipolar disorder type 1 is the classic manic/depressive characterized by wide mood swings and lengthy periods of time spent in both the manic and depressive phases.  While manic, some people engage in dangerous behaviors that could result in physical and/or psychological damage.  Others may display less dangerous though no less detrimental behaviors. I know of a person who spent 10 months in a manic phase that nearly resulted in bankruptcy in both their personal and professional lives.  And the depressive crash is every bit as fierce.  Thoughts of suicide to atone for actions taken during the manic phase are not out of the ordinary.

Bipolar disorder type 2 is differentiated by way of lesser intensity.  People with type 2 usually experience less severe mood swings, display fewer dangerous tendencies, crash into a less extreme depression, and the time spent in each phase is not as prolonged.

On that slow night at work, I took a screenshot of the general characteristics of traditional bipolar disorder, sent it to my husband, and asked him, "Without telling me which ones, how many of these traits do you see in me?" The number he returned was just under half of the list. Next, I sent him a screenshot of the list for type 2, which is also known as hypomanic, and asked the same question.  His answer was all but 2 traits on the list. His follow up message asked what this was all about. I told him that I thought I might be bipolar and he had just confirmed it.

That was over 5 years ago. And the thought has been lingering in the back of my mind since. It was a situation where I felt like I demonstrated enough traits to give the idea consideration, but not enough to convince me.  Yet, as I have aged and come to experience some characteristics more intensely, the idea was brought to a frontal space. I finally decided to ask my doc about the possibility of pursuing a diagnosis.

When I spoke to my doc, I was fully prepared to hear that I was barking up the wrong tree.  By the same token, I was also prepared to ask for suggestions as to which tree looked most promising.  All I knew for certain was that I didn't like how I felt, I felt like I had no control over my impulses, and I was making people uncomfortable at times. And I didn't want to continue to feel this way. After analyzing me by way of a litany of questions, they felt that I demonstrated enough red flags to have me fully assessed by a psychiatrist.  That assessment took place a week ago - and I am now being treated for hypomanic (type 2) bipolar disorder.

A friend of mine has a child who lives with hypomanic bipolar disorder, and I discussed my thoughts about the possibility with them.  I told them that my phases manifest in physical energy.  My manic phase presents as a tidal wave of uncontrollable, highly intense energy - which plays in my favor if I need to clean my house or do yardwork - often resulting vomiting conversation that does not need to happen and an absolute lack of control in the matter. Consciously, I understand what is happening, but my reptilian brain kicks in and the situation is 100% outside of conscious control. And since every action has an equal but opposite reaction, the energy crash can be debilitating, with me spending many hours in a recliner trying desperately to will myself to take care of at least one of the myriad tasks staring me in the face. No dangerous activity (unless I sass the wrong person at work and end up on disciplinary action) or extremely dark mindset, only heightened passionate energy and a wicked crash. This friend said that is how their child experience hypomania.

To bring this rambling story full circle, I cannot even have the full-blown original version of bipolar disorder - I have the second type. Once again, I am playing second fiddle - displaying just enough promise to continue to live in the less than. The only difference here is that I am actually being treated. And if the treatment is ineffective, I am prepared to accept that I have, in fact, been barking up the wrong tree. If that is the case, I'll grab my hand-me-down fiddle and move on to the next lackluster tree in the park of mediocrity.

Dance of the Firefly

 I worked a double shift today.  Only few hours into that double, my husband informed me that both he and our younger son were diagnosed with bronchitis.  This on the heels of our older son’s sinusitis diagnosis.

With 3/4 of the people in the house on antibiotics and in bed, here I sit on my back deck, in the black of night, alone, with every passing moment drawing me nearer the witching hour, praying that the nagging ache in my back, hip, and leg quiets enough that I may sleep sometime tonight, and I catch, out of the corner of my eye, the momentary flash of a lightning bug.  I can’t help but smile.  

Do you remember, when you were young, spending an evening catching lightning bugs with the neighborhood kids?  Did you put them into a jar with holes poked into the lid so the bugs didn’t suffocate?  Did you release them in the morning?  I do, and I did.  I would even put blades of grass and small twigs into the jar so the lightning bugs had something to do besides sit on the floor of their prison - tho, I didn’t realize as a child how cruel it must have been for the bugs. 

I spent my earliest years growing up in one of the fastest declining urban areas in the country, but you don’t understand such things when you are wrapped in the protective blanket of innocence in youth. Our small intercity lot had a plum tree in the far corner of the back yard, a pear tree so close to the house that my brother would reach out his bedroom window to snag a fruity snack, and a raspberry bush behind the garage that we raced to in the mornings during their season to get to the berries before the birds did.  We were blessed with great neighbors on both sides, and just past the house to one side of us was a wooded area with a tiny walking trail and vines we had no business swinging on but did anyway. Across the street was another small cluster of trees flanked on one side by a vacant lot and the other by a small field that no one claimed and, thus, was never mowed.  Doesn’t sound quite urban, does it?

Most summer nights that small, unkempt field, the little wooded area, and the empty lot magically manifested into a stage, a theater in which one could witness a dance as old as time - the dance of the firefly. Our front porch was a prime location to watch the one of nature’s finest masterpieces. I would sit on that porch mesmerized, watching the myriad of tiny lights pulsing in and out, floating as if tossed by gentle waves. Few moments in my life seemed as peaceful as sitting in the dark watching my own private lights display. 

I live suburban now, in a condo community with lots so tiny that if I stood between two houses and reached my arms out I could touch each simultaneously, and lightning bugs are a rare sight indeed. And yet, every now and then, I catch a fleeting glimpse of yellow in the darkness that surrounds me, reminding me that there is still something good, something bright, and something simple that can bring only joy into the night of my world - the dance of the firefly. 

All I Did Was Get Out of Bed: weeks 3&4

Saturday April 3:  Got my ass handed to me at work today.  Feeling rough no matter what pain-controlling measures were attempted.

Sunday April 4:  Easter.  The day Christ was resurrected.  I believe in a God of miracles.  Maybe He’ll see fit to work a miracle for me and resurrect my broken body.  Or not.  Today sucked.  After running my tail off yesterday, I am REALLY hurting.  Even the smallest movements cause crazy pain.  Thankfully, today was much less busy and I was able to skip out a couple of hours early.  Not sure how tomorrow’s overtime shift is gonna go.

Monday April 5:  Feeling somewhat human today.  Donated blood.  Worked an abbreviated OT shift.  Maybe there’s hope that I may stabilize at some point.

Tuesday April 6:  My only day off this week.  Feeling OK.  Been walking the dog for the last week and today took her for a longer walk at a park.  Def felt the stiffness afterward, but the pain has calmed down quite a bit overall.  Do I dare to hope?

Wednesday April 7:  Doing alright.  Last night was the first that I was able to roll over in bed without the lightning bolt in my back – though, it still didn’t feel great.  Pain has concentrated to left side.  Wore the TENS unit to work but hardly used it.  Still taking meds on the regular.  Work didn’t kill me.  Def improving.

Thursday April 8:  Still can’t move very quickly, and still need to pay attention to how I move, but the pain is much better.  Took the TENS to work, but never put it on.  Still taking NSAIDs.  Progress!

Friday April 9:  See above.

Saturday April 10:  Woke up feeling OK.  Still taking meds preventatively.  Ran errands.  Spent a lot of time in the car, as well as getting in and out of the car.  Much walking and cleaning the house.  Feeling really rough this evening.

Sunday April 11:  Major backslide.  Woke up in wicked pain again, but it was different somehow.  Back to using the TENS religiously 30 on, 30 off.  Got the J&J COVID vaccine in spite of already having heard about the severe reactions.  Took a nap, then readied for dinner guests.  Enjoyed fabulous food with a fabulous family, then sat for quite some time chatting with my friend while the guys played board games.  At some point, I noticed pain radiating down the side of my leg.  Odd, but chalked it up to stiffness from sitting for so long.

Monday April 12:  Holy shit!!  What the f*** happened?!!  Major pain when rolling over in bed again.  Woke up in pain every bit as excruciating as it had been 3 weeks ago, but different.  Thought it was pain and stiffness from being sedentary and decided to walk the dog to see if it loosened up.  A quarter-mile into a 1-mile loop I was crying from the pain in my hip.  Terrible nerve pain radiated down the side of my thigh and made every step horribly painful.  Couldn’t take a full stride without agonizing pain.  Husband unnerved to see me in tears – doesn’t happen often.  Got to chiropractor’s office right after they opened.  God bless Dr Ryan.  Poor man was completely befuddled.  In short, not only was the left SI joint still subluxed, but so were the left hip joint and pubic symphysis – so NOTHING about the left side of my hip/pelvis was stable.  Cried out in pain and teared up more than once during the adjustment.  Absolutely NOT going to work today.

Tuesday April 13:  Newest development – knee buckling.  Are you f***ing kidding me?!!  Still have searing pain in the left hip, as well as intense nerve pain running down my IT band and lateral quad, and now my knee buckles if I move too quickly or downward, like down stairs or the slant in my driveway.  Saw a different Dr at the chiropractor’s office who was just as befuddled about what the hell is going on.  SI joint and hip still out, but pubic symphysis holding steady.  Def not getting back to work today.  Kept my hair appt, though, since all I had to do was sit for about an hour.  Easier said than done.  Informed my stylist that I had hurt myself and needed to move very slowly.  About screamed when she leaned the seat back to wash my hair, had to bring my knee up toward my chest and hold it there as long as I was reclined.  Leaving the salon, my knee buckled as I stepped off of the curb, I couldn’t recover, had visions of face planting on the asphalt, reached out to steady myself against a total stranger’s car.  Got home to find out that not only does my knee buckle when going DOWN the stairs, I now have loss of strength to lift myself UP the stairs with my left leg.  Can we cut the f***er off now?  PLEASE?

Wednesday April 14:  Radiating pain seems to have eased some, now the quad feels stiff and like it’s riddled with trigger points.  Still dealing with the knee buckling and pain/loss of strength when going up the stairs.  Discovered that I have loss of feeling in the front of my left leg from just above my knee to just above my ankle.  I am officially done.  Saw the third Dr in the chiropractor’s office, who has been treating me for 13 years and been informed of the latest enigma my body is pulling off, he is also stumped.  Seriously, can we just cut the f***er off now?!

Thursday April 15:  Should have been on my way to Gatlinburg with my mom today.  That’s not happening now.  Not feeling nerve pain down my leg today, but still dealing with numbness and knee buckling.  Regained some strength for lifting myself up the stairs on my left leg.  Still not perfect, still painful, but I will take the little victories wherever I can find them.  Still can’t take a full stride without intense, sharp pain in the hip.  Still get very stiff if inactive for too long.  Lateral quad still achy.  Decided to try foam rolling and found many very painful spots – may have invented a few new 4-letter words.  Husband keeps asking if he can get me anything, I tell him “a new hip and leg.”  Decided to see how long I could go without pain meds today and didn’t do half bad.  Really feeling it this evening, though, so took the PM stuff.  Here’s hoping.

Friday April 16:  Do I think it?  Do I dare allow the words to leave my person?  The last time I did all hell broke loose.  Am I actually recovering?  Feeling pretty good today, all things considered.  Still get a jolt when rolling over in bed, still numb in the front of the lower left leg, still stiff thru the lateral quad, knee is still buckling.  BUT, no intense nerve pain, stride length is getting longer before the catch in the hip, a little stronger today lifting myself up the stairs on the left leg.  Can do a forward fold and roll myself back up to standing with no pain in my back.  Still get super stiff when inactive and take a minute to get moving without pain, still need to be very mindful about how I move, but got thru the entire day without TENS or meds.  Do I hope?  Better shut up before the shit hits the fan again.

All I Did Was Get Out Of Bed: an episode in the life of a middle aged person with joint hypermobility syndrome - weeks 1 & 2

 Saturday March 20:  Woke up with an ache across my low back/hips, thought it may have been delayed onset muscle soreness from my strength workout 2 days before, or the ache I experience with my menstrual cycle, though the timing as slightly off.  As the day progressed, the pain increased significantly and radiated up my back along my spine – definitely NOT DOMS or menstrual pain.  Very confused about cause since I have no memory of hurting myself.

Sunday March 21:  Woke up with intense pain in low back, broke out my TENS unit – 30min on, 30min off from the time I got dressed until I got ready for bed.  Could not bend from my hips without pain; left more so than right.  Eventually figured out that I could do something like a one-legged squat on my right leg to reach items on the floor.  Reaching across my body in either direction hurts.  My posture hasn’t been this perfect since high school choir seeing as slouching is excruciating.  Messaged bosses to ask permission to come in late tomorrow so I could see the chiropractor – granted.  Tried to get some sleep but rolling over in bed sends a lightning bolt thru my back.

Monday March 22:  Chiropractor confirmed what I suspected – both SI joints subluxed, as well as L5 at the S1 junction.  TENS unit is still my best friend, as is ibuprofen.  Tried to work my scheduled double, bailed after 11 hours when the workload died down.  Had great fun trying to explain to people who are unfamiliar with my connective tissue disorder that I literally woke up this way and have no idea what caused the injury.

Tuesday March 23:  Definitely over did it yesterday, called off today.  Back was screaming.  No noticeable change in symptoms.  Continued to use TENS and NSAIDs religiously.  I can’t walk my dog, but my new hiking shoes came today (pout).

Wednesday March 24:  Chiropractor is still stumped, as am I.  Did a seated workout, even that with modifications.  Made it to work today with the TENS and meds.

Thursday March 25:  Managed a very low impact, low key workout and some yoga.  See comment about work from previous day.

Friday March 26:  Chiropractic visit, we are all still baffled.  In addition to the stifling pain in my back, this evening I discovered something creeping out of the opening of my vagina.  Cuz I don’t have enough going on to panic about, now I have something that is supposed to be internal trying to escape via an already existing orifice.  Need to let this new discovery settle in my brain before progressing.

Saturday March 27:  Decided to google vaginal mass and followed the rabbit hole to something that looked probable – pelvic organ prolapse, specifically uterine.  This would explain not only the weirdness happening in my lady parts, but possibly the back pain if the ligaments that anchor the uterus to the abdominal wall were pulling the vertebrae out of alignment.  Took a pic of what was trying to fall out, looked like a seahorse.  Looked up pic of uterine prolapse and wasn’t convinced that’s what it was but decided to schedule with my GYN to rule it out anyway.

Sunday March 28:  Maintained status quo throughout the day.  Rolled over in bed that night and suffered such a sharp, stabbing pain that I cried.  Managed to get out of bed and limp down the hall for more ibuprofen.  Husband saw me limping and crying and asked if I was OK.  I said no.  He asked if I needed to go to the ED.  I said hell no, I just needed meds and to go back to bed.

Monday March 29:  Scheduled to work another double, talked to bosses about the weekend’s findings.  Asked if I had permission to leave if I could get an appointment same day, was told that if I couldn’t I was to go to the ED.  I’d rather give myself the hysterectomy, but was threatened with being hog-tied, tossed into a wheel chair, and driven to the ED by one of the bosses.  Couldn’t get an appt Dr until Wednesday, told the boss I would walk to the ED.  Registered at noon, walked out of waiting room at 4pm without ever having been roomed.  Found out later that they had tried calling me once at around 440pm and again around 930pm FOR VITALS! – not even to room me.  I work for this hospital, sometimes in that ED, told them when I registered that my boss sent me there because of the pain I was experiencing, they noted on the trackboard that I was an employee, and they still would not have roomed me after 9 HOURS.  Explained to my husband that this is why I won’t go to the ED unless I am bleeding profusely or have a bone visibly sticking out of my body.  He quipped that if I had let him take me the night before maybe I would have been roomed by 4 that afternoon.  Informed bosses that I left the ED without being seen, and that I would not return until I had been checked out by my GYN on Wednesday.

Tuesday March 30:  SSDD (same shit, different day)

Wednesday March 31:  Finally saw the GYN, who concluded that I have an insignificant vaginal wall prolapse that is very common in women my age who have had multiple vaginal deliveries, and it requires no intervention.  It definitely is not contributing to the severe back pain.  Chalk it up to coincidental timing.  Pain level remains high even with several chiropractic visits and constant use of TENS and NSAIDs.  Must continue to be very cautious of how I move, and rolling over in bed still sends a jolt thru my back.  Still no solid answer as to how this whole shenanigans came about, but all are certain that the main underlying contributor is my damned connective tissue disorder.

 Thursday April 1:  SSDD.  Mother is not happy with me for deciding to go back to work tomorrow, thinks I need more time off to rest.  Reminded her that the last time I subluxed my SI joints it took 10 months for them to stabilize.  I don’t have that much PTO.

Friday April 2:  Back to work after almost a week off.  I have good days and bad days, and today was decent.  Pain was manageable with TENS and meds.  Got thru my shift no worse for wear.

TO BE CONTINUED...

The Choice

One day, while his family sat around the dinner table talking about life, a young boy asked his mother, "Why do people say being gay is a choice?"

Mom took a moment to consider how to answer the question.  Being a Christian woman, and the wife of an ordained pastor, she had her own struggles with reconciling the belief in a loving God who forgave all of her sins against Him with notion of a hateful God who would not offer that same forgiveness to all of His children.  After all, the book of Matthew says "every kind of sin and slander can be forgiven, but blasphemy against the Spirit will not be forgiven."  Every kind of sin.  Should that not extend to the "sin" of homosexuality?

Setting aside her own internal conflict with the matter, Mom also understood that this is an impressionable child, a young mind waiting to be shaped and molded by the influences around him.  How could she answer the question in such a way as to suggest a notion of understanding and acceptance toward all people who do not live life the way their family did?

Finally, Mom responded with a question of her own.  "Do you believe God makes everyone the way they are?"

"Yes," her son replied.

"Do you believe that God makes mistakes?"

The young boy responded with a strong, "No."

"So, you believe God made every person the way they are for a reason."

"Yes," he said again.

Mom looked lovingly at her young son, and said, "Maybe the choice is this:  They must chose, just as we do, whether to live the life other people tell them they should, or to life live true to who they believe they are."

Every one of us has this choice to make.  Will you live true to what the world says you should be?  Or will you live true to who you believe you were created to be?  I was created to be a beautifully broken and willfully disobedient, yet deeply loved and forgiven child of God, who has commanded me to love the rest of the beautifully broken and willfully disobedient family.

1 Corinthians 5:11

Believe it or not, I DO read my Bible.  In fact, I have read it in its entirety multiple times, which is a fact that tends to surprise people.  Perhaps I don't come across as a person who would actually study scripture.  I'm never sure how to respond to someone who is taken aback when they learn that I have read the Bible through even once, let alone close to a dozen times.  Sometimes I want to ask if they have ever read it entirely, if they just stick to the New Testament, or worse, if they only read what's displayed on the screens as part of the Sunday sermon.  I can't remember the last time I heard a sermon from Lamentations or Leviticus.  With all of the online options available these days, owning a physical Bible is no longer a requisite to reading it, so asking if they own one is impertinent.  Even if a person does own a Bible, that doesn't mean they read it, or even have any familiarity with it, or even know where it is in the house.

What about me that makes it so remarkable that I would have read the Bible all the way through, anyway?  I participated in 3 years of Mormon seminary when I was in high school, during which we studied the New Testament, the Book of Mormon, and the Doctrine and Covenants and the Pearl of Great Price.  I was no longer a practicing Mormon the year I would have studied the Old Testament, but I read it on my own.  Another fact that surprises people is that we used the King James Version - as teenagers.  And the most shocking fact of all - this was not the first time I had read the Bible through.  I completed my first cover-to-cover reading when I was in middle school.  It took 2 years to struggle through the KJV, but we were encouraged to independently study scripture by our church leaders.

Since rededicating my life to Christ as an adult, I have read the Bible through 8 or 9 times ~ I honestly can't remember how many for certain ~ in at least 5 different versions, even revisiting Old King James.  I have a personal goal to read it through every year, sometimes starting in Genesis and moving straight through to Revelations, sometimes following a predesigned chronological reading plan, sometimes jumping around between the Old and the New Testaments.  I couple of years I didn't quite make it all the way through, but I finished up in the first part of the next year and then started over again.

One of the benefits of reading the Bible multiple times, and in multiple translations, is that each time I read it I do so with different eyes.  I'm always a year older and, hopefully, a year wiser.  This allows me to catch details I may have missed in earlier readings, or interpret the same scripture I've read so many times before in a new light.  A case in point...

Some years ago, as I was reading the book of Numbers in bed one night, I started to giggle.  My husband asked what could possibly be funny in the Old Testament.  I had come to the story of Balaam and his donkey.  The third time the donkey saw the angle of the Lord, she laid down in the middle of the road and refused to move.  When Balaam got off of the donkey to beat her, scripture says the donkey spoke.  This did not strike me nearly as funny as the next passage, where it says, "And Balaam responded..."  I found this very nonchalant response to a suddenly talking donkey to be quite amusing.  I thought to myself that if I were disciplining my dog and he suddenly turned to me and said, "But MOOOOOOOOOOOM...", I would not have answered the dog, I would have checked myself into the loony bin believing that I was suddenly hallucinating.  How many times had I read that passage and never seen the story in that light?  This is why we must never cease our study of scripture ~ ALL of it.

Right now, I'm reading 1 Corinthians and I have come across a verse that troubles my heart.  5:11 reads:  "But now I am writing to you that you must not associate with anyone who claims to be a brother or sister but is sexually immoral or greedy, an idolater or slanderer, a drunkard or swindler. Do not even eat with such people."  But isn't that exactly what Christ did?  Aren't those the exact people Christ hung out with?  If the reason is because these people have already professed faith in Christ, would shunning them really encourage them to repent?  Wouldn't it be more effective to surround these folks with positive influence?  Does Paul think the entire community so fragile in their young faith that they would be easily corrupted by these tainted believers?  What context am I missing here?  And how many times have I read this verse before and never seen it in this light?

Unfortunately, the online commentaries I have read regarding this chapter shed no light on a deeper or historical context as to why such harsh instruction is necessary, only the reasons these verses justify judging and condemning those who behave in these ways.  I get the idea of keeping the community pure, and that it's much easier to throw out the damaged goods than it is to clean them up and repair them, but it seems contrary to so many of Christ's parables.  The one about the lost sheep, for example, where the shepherd rejoices at finding the one sheep that wondered off, or the one about the widow rejoicing after finding her lost coin.  Neither of these parables address the cleansing of the dirt the sheep or coin picked up in their wayward travels.  They once belonged to a master, strayed, and were met with joy at their return.  Sounds like the story of the prodigal son to me.  I fail to understand how ostracizing someone, essentially casting them out of the community, fosters any hope of a return to the ways of righteousness.

And so I am conflicted in my heart about this verse.  Maybe next year, when I am another year older and, hopefully, wiser, another nugget will be revealed to help me understand the deeper meaning.

A Lesson of Love and Sacrifice at Conkles Hollow

To celebrate our 20th anniversary and my recent graduation, my sweet handsome hunny planned a getaway to a nearby state park.  He pulled out all the stops and spared no expense for my enjoyment.  He rented a cabin with a hot tub, planned a fantastic day hike, even arranged for a couple’s massage at the cabin.  After a frustrating start to the week with a power outage at the cabin due to a string of storms that ravaged the area, flooding the driveway to the cabin and felling a tree across the most direct route to the main road, the week improved markedly.  Even on the rainiest day, we settled in to relax with a movie marathon.

Though, when the rain broke that day, I did suggest checking out a nearby state nature preserve.  Spending a lazy day lounging on the couch with the love of my life does wonders for the spirit, but the hips get stiff and creaky, and I knew I needed to move a little or I would regret it in the morning.  My husband was up for it, so we took a short drive to check out Conkles Hollow State Nature Preserve.  Looking at the map, we saw that there were 2 trails available at the preserve.  One was a short 1/2 mile out and back again "gorge trail".  The second was a 2.5 mile loop "rim trail".  Considering that I had spent the majority of the day sitting, proven by my fitbit woefully stating a mere 600+ steps for the day, I suggested the longer trail, thinking 2.5 miles really wasn't too long and should only take an hour even if we lollygagged.

"Rim trail" is an uncannily appropriate descriptiion.  This 2.5 mile trail skims the rim of tree-lined and rocky cliffs.  And for city slickers like us, the trail is technically challenging.  A fairly steep initial incline leads to an often narrow footpath that seems to be only inches from a 200ft drop and is further complicated by the rocks and tree roots jutting up and criss-crossing the path.  There are rocky outcroppings where one can stand and gaze out over miles of tree covered hills in Hocking County.  There are areas of shallow water run-off that cross the trail and lead to a small waterfall.  Even on this gray day, it was strikingly beautiful.  But the fact that it had rained quite a bit over the previous couple of days meant that all ground surfaces were wet and slick or outright muddy, making getting a decent foothold tricky at times.

Personally, I loved it.  I walked out on those first few outcroppings to have myself a look at the gorge below and the miles of tree-covered hills sprawled out in front of me.  I looked down the crags in the cliffs that cut into the trail.  I was enjoying the challenge of the rocky, root stricken terrain.  I felt nothing but exhilaration as I took what I calculated to be the surest footing, even if it was only a foot from the rim.  Then I noticed my sweet love lagging behind.

At first I thought my quicker pace was due to my better physical condition and agility than his current state.  Truth be told, we have both fallen off of the peak-health-pursuit wagon, but he fell longer ago and harder than I.  Though I have gained some serious weight while being in school, blaming hours of sitting on my duff studying and stress eating for the packing on of unwanted pounds, I have managed to continue with a regular workout routine.  I run, cycle, walk the local nature trails, and cross train.  Not only has the love of my life traded a physically active job for one behind a desk, he has not compensated for the change with regular physical activity elsewhere.  And let us not forget that the man is a chef by trade.  He doesn't know how to cook a bad meal, making it even more challenging at times to behave with the calorie count.

As we trekked along, I began to realize that the real reason for my sweet love's slower pace was anxiety.  He was long ago diagnosed with anxiety disorder and has been medicated for it at different times in his life, but is not currently. In 20 years of marriage, it never occurred to me that he would be so uncomfortable about being so close to a 200ft drop off without a barrier.  I slowed my pace to more closely match his, asking often if he needed to stop for a moment and if he was going to be ok to finish the hike.  He unconvincingly tried to assure me that he would be and we pressed on.  As we continued to hike, I mentioned that I would love to bring our teenager out here, that this might be a good short but challenging trail for us to hike together.  My husband said he definitely would not be joining us on that hike, that he wouldn't be able to see our son on this trail so close to the edge of a such a steep drop off.  That's when it hit me.  My love was not only struggling with the anxiety of being in what he perceived to be a situation flirting with death, but he was also struggling with the fear that arose while watching me flit along the edge of a cliff.  

Taking this sudden realization into account, I started actively seeking optional paths that were a safer distance from the edge of the rim.  Because of the natural layout of the terrain, the further footing was often slightly higher than the path closer to the rim, and frequently more studded with rocks and roots.  As I traversed the further footings, I chuckled at a thought that came creeping into my mind ~ the higher road is usually not the easier one, maybe because it is the road less traveled.

In more ways that one, both of us were taking the higher road on that hike.  My husband sacrificed his peace of mind, experiencing fear and anxiety on an intense level for a prolonged period, in order to complete that hike with me, knowing how much I wanted to do it.  I gave up the adrenaline boost of flitting along the edge of a cliff, fought the desire to venture out onto every outcropping, resisted the urge to look over the side of the cliff where the water was falling, and generally battled every ounce of my risk taking spirit because I knew to continue taking those risks would unhinge the love of my life.  By the time we reached the trail's end 90 minutes after we had begun, we had both apologized to each other multiple times ~ he for not being a better hiking partner, I for putting him through such mental anguish.  Granted, neither of us had been on this trail before, so how would either of us had known what it would be like?  Nonetheless, each felt badly that the other had a less than optimal experience.

Love and sacrifice.  My sweet husband loves me enough to battle his inner demons in order to finish that hike with me.  I love him enough to battle my own inner demons in order to attempt to ease his burden.  He sacrificed in his love for me, and I in my love for him.  It's things like this that people need to understand when they ask how we have been able to remain happily married for 20 years.

Confession of a Fair-Weather Christian

I don't know how much of a confession this really is, but I am a fair-weather Christian.  I profess a love for God and Christ, and I willingly give Him praise and glory when things work out in my life.  But give me one frustratingly sleepless night and praising God is the last thing I want to do.

Insomnia is a horrible state.  I would be willing to call it a mental disorder in my case since it is more often than not the continual racing of my brain that prevents sleep from coming.  Have you ever been so bone-weary that you don't even have the energy to fall asleep?  Been there.  How miserable it is to drag through the last few hours of your day, wishing for nothing but a nap every time you yawn, and then not being able to fall asleep when you finally turn off the light.

This is an all too common occurrence in my world.  I have been an insomniac my entire life.  I have very early memories of being awake all night playing with my toys in the dark so as not to wake my  brother, with whom I shared a room at the time.  By the way, that ploy seldom worked.  More often than not, the commotion woke him.  As a young teenager, I would spend my sleepless nights lost in books.  Despite dyslexia, I would devour a novel in a night or 2, since I had nothing better to do.  As an adult, I have gone through phases of how I handle insomnia.  As I age, the effects of a single sleepless night are much more devastating than they had been in my younger years, and multiple sleepless nights leave me pleading with people around me to keep an eye on me so that I don't do something stupid.

Extreme exhaustion can do strange things to people.  Much the same way that a panic attack or depressive episode can create a warped lens through the individual sees their world, extreme exhaustion can cause an altered mental state in which the individual may not be able to use rational or logical thinking at the highest degree, or in my case, at all.

Which brings me to last night's insomniac attack.

Ordinarily, despite the fact that I run my tail off most days, I utilize pharmaceutical assistance in order to sleep.  Some nights I forget.  Last night, I forgot.  But last night I also drank the better part of a bottle of wine, so one would have thought that the alcohol would have done the job.  That would be a negatory.  After tossing and turning for 2 hours, utilizing every mental trick in my proverbial bag, I decided to get out of bed and spend my wakefulness being productive ~ I did homework.  Woo hoo.  After 2 more hours, I decided to try to sleep again.

By this point, even if I had fallen asleep the instant my head hit the pillow, I would have gotten less than 2 hours.  Alas, it was not meant to be.  Lying there dodging invasive thoughts and praying for rest, my prayers eventually turned into gripes, then into full blown curses.  The book of Lamentations has nothing on the thoroughly pissed off, ridiculously exhausted complaining that I was doling out. Four-letter words were the order of the wee hours of that morning, and I think I may have even invented a few new ones.  I let God know that I "fucking hated Him for torturing me".  Ironically, earlier that day I'd had a praise song stuck in my head, and the fact that it is a bit of an ear worm was part of the reason I had trouble falling asleep.  As it continually tried to creep back into my thoughts, I became more and more angry, reminding God that I had no intention of praising Him at the moment, that I wanted Him and the rest of His trio out of my head.  Like an entitled teenager throwing a hissy fit, I demanded that everyone get out of my room and leave me the hell alone!  Any guesses on how well that went over?

At some point, I managed to drift off into a fitful, restless nap, waking much too soon in order to assume my duties as mother to a teenager who refuses to get himself out of bed in the morning.  Per usual in the wake of an insomniac attack, I have managed to drag myself through the day.  I even read my scripture and devotional, in spite the overflow of aggravation with God's lack of mercy on my drained soul the night before.  What really sucks is I still won't sleep tonight without pharmaceutical intervention, regardless of exhausted I am.  A racing mind is a terrible thing, and a frustrated, wearied Christian mind is definitely the devil's playground.

Family Matters

I should be doing homework right now.  I've got a paper to write and a chapter to read, chapter review questions to answer and an exam to study for.  Yet, here I sit, not doing any of it.  My sick teenager was in bed by 730 this evening, which is the other place I could be right now considering the sinus crud I've been fighting the last couple of days.  Yet, here I sit, not getting any real rest.

It's not as if I would sleep anyway.  My mind is racing, which is nothing unusual.  As a lifelong insomniac, I have always had trouble shutting my brain down.  Tonight I am plagued by an internal conflict, one which I cannot win by any of the choices before me.

Today I was informed of our grandfather's passing.  Considering I have had no real relationship with the man for several years, this news was not particularly upsetting to me.  My heart hurts for those who mourn him, but I mourned the loss of this relationship years ago.  In fact, I'm not even 100% certain of the last time I saw our grandfather.

It seems to have been our grandfather's wish to be cremated.  If this was not his wish, it is that of his surviving children.  Initially, I was told that there would be no memorial service.  In a weird way, this made some sense since I had found out via facebook that there had been a large 90th birthday party for him back in July.  I only know about it because a relative posted pictures.  That relative has since unfriended and blocked me, which I find fascinating since that relative sent me the initial friend request and I can't think of any reason I may have given them to unfriend and block me, but whatever.  So, the real family sort of had their chance to remember the good times of his life while he was still with them.  But then I was informed by someone else that there was to be something of a memorial in a couple of days.  Hence my dilemma.

Do I go to the service to merely put in face-time to a family that has essentially ignored me for years, or do I not?

Truth be told, I feel no obligation to be there.  In fact, I feel it to be almost hypocritical to "pay my last respects" to a man I have not respected with my time or presence in many years.  Some might say I have an obligation to comfort the family who mourns.  You mean that family that has ignored me for the last several years?  The people who have had countless "family" events - bon fires, holidays, fairs and festivals - that I was never invited to?  The ones who drive literally right past my house en route to my brother's but never think to call to say, "Hey, I'm passing through.  Do you happen to be home?"  Please explain to me why I should pour myself into people who do not seem to even care that I exist.  Would they care if I was at the memorial?  Would they even want me there?

But then, if I DON'T go, will I be labeled the schmuck who didn't come to her grandfather's memorial?  The rogue grandchild who continues to disrespect her grandfather, his family, and his memory?  The defiant child who refuses to support her father in his time of loss and mourning?

Probably.

Therein lies the conflict.  Do I continue to be true to myself and be outcast (tho, let's be honest, that has already occurred) or put up a false front for the benefit of people who probably couldn't care less.  Fabulous choices, yes?

God bless my husband.  He assumed we'd be making a whirlwind trip in a couple of days and was quite confused when I ask him why we should.  I suppose I didn't realize that he didn't realize the extent of the hurt I feel.  But when I thought about it, I realized that there are so many things about how my family has treated me that he doesn't know.  All of the get-togethers that I found out about by accident because someone mentioned off-handedly that I missed a really good time.  Well, maybe I could have been there had I known about it.  All the shin-digs I was never invited to because someone didn't think I could get a Saturday off.  Well, if I'd been given some notice I may have been able to finagle it.  None of these situations surprise me anymore, so they are not worth mentioning when they occur.

But they still hurt like hell.

So again I ask someone to explain to me my obligation to hold people who have kept me at far greater than arm's length.

Because it's my Christian duty?  Because it's what Christ would do?  Maybe.  But I have absolutely no problem admitting my fallen human state and to the fact that I will NEVER in this lifetime reach Christ's level of selfless righteousness.  He knows better than anyone that I must often be dragged kicking and screaming in the direction of His righteousness because it is the last place I want to be.  I am quite content, at times, to wallow in my humanness.  I will freely admit that this is one of those times.

Even before I began this writing I knew what my decision would be.  The misery of the whole shenanigans is that neither decision will bring me peace.  Just like our most recent election, there is no lesser evil ~ simply a different evil.  And evil never brings peace, only conflict in its wake.

A Funny Thing Happened On The Way Home From Cincy

It had already been a long day in the car.  The round trip to my sis's house is close to 4.5 hrs, and we needed to travel from there another 30ish minutes out and then back before heading home.  Per the usual division, James was riding back with Joshua and Ty was riding with me.  As I was passing the time listening to a podcast, Ty was playing a game on his tablet.  Par for his course when he gets frustrated with a game, Ty began to vocalize his discontent.  I turned off the podcast to ask him about what he was playing.

Anyone else play Plague Inc.?  From what little I learned about the game, it seems to be one of strategizing an infection capable of eradicating life on earth.  Why my child is playing something that seems so dark is anyone's guess.  As his infection progressed, he asked me what anemia, hemophilia, and necrosis were.  (These are things he is going to become WELL acquainted with when he gets into nursing school.)  And as the infection progressed, I became more curious about this game.

The creator of the infection can customize it, make it evolve and adapt as it progresses and causes more fatality.  The creator can also cause it to originate anywhere on the map.  One trend we noticed through his failed attempts at the wanton destruction of life is that he couldn't get the infection into Greenland.  First I suggested that maybe the infection couldn't survive the extreme cold.  He hadn't considered that and made the adaptation when the game allowed.  He still lost that round.  When I suggested starting the infection in a county close to Greenland, he took a look at the game map and saw that only Norway and Iceland had any real contact with Greenland and decided on Norway.  He lost that round, too.  Then he decided to try originating the infection in Iceland.

Did I mention that the creator can also name the infection?  I don't know what name he had been using, but he said he'd had better luck when he used the name Ultron.  I told him if he really wanted to use a name that struck fear in hearts of men he should call it Mom.  He said, "Or Banshee."  (As an aside, Banshee is the "b-word" Ty IS allowed to call me.  It's an inside joke, and almost a term of endearment, so don't ask and don't judge.)

So Ty originated the Banshee infection in Iceland and watched its painfully slow progress the rest of the drive home, which really wasn't too much longer.  Once home, I put the game out of my mind and moved on to other things that demanded my attention.  Until, while running an errand, I got a text from Ty.  I hope you will find the following conversation as entertaining as I did.

Ty:  IT FINALLY GOT INTO GREENLAND!!!
Me:  Congrats!!!  Where'd you start it this time?
Ty:  Still on the round where it started in Iceland.  It took forever, but it finally got in.
Me:  How's it spreading otherwise?
Ty:  Rapidly, actually.
Me:  Nice to know we have successfully brainstormed an infection that could possibly eradicate the human race.
Ty:  We're probably on a watch list now thanks to this conversation.  Congratulations, Banshee has wiped out all life on earth.  Didn't know you were that powerful.
Me:  Never underestimate your momma.

Apparently, I am an all powerful destroyer of life.  Who knew?

What Is It About Me?

In so many ways, I am becoming Ebeneezer Scrooge.  Certainly not in the more-money-than-I-know-what-to-do-with way, or the mean, stingy, miserly way.  No, I am becoming Scrooge-like in the generally-hating-the-holiday-season way.  As much as I appreciate the birth of the man who would willingly die on the cross for my sins, I've never been much of a birthday celebration person.  And with all the hype and hoopla surrounding the anticipation of the holiday season, the day itself always seems anticlimactic, like is was far more work and worry than it was really worth.  But more than the seeming aggravation of the season, it is the obligatory family shin-digs that I dread the most.

Anyone who knows me or has been following my writing is aware of the strained relationship I tend to have with family members.  If not, a brief whirl-wind tour of family history may illuminate the rest of this story: my brother broke my leg, my sister got me turned in to Children's Services, and my father forgot he had daughters.  Sounds like a fabulous family get together scenario, yes?  Don't get me wrong.  I am capable of loving my family in spite of their perceived ills because they are family.  That doesn't mean I particularly enjoy spending tons of time with them.  Which works out for everyone because I seem to be little more than an afterthought to them in most regards.  For example...

My brother lives in a very small town where everyone knows everyone and it seems like everyone gets along.  The neighborhood collectively has a big brew-ha every year for Halloween, and for years now the family has been invited.  Except for me.  Well, that's not entirely true.  Several years ago, I was told in advance this was happening and was actually able to make it.  Since then, I have known this tradition continues, and I have known that the rest of my family attends, but I have never received another invite.  Pretty much yearly, after the fact, my sister mentions that the kids missed seeing us at the Halloween event.  Well, maybe if I had been given information about when it was I could have been there.

This is just one of MANY such scenarios, as is evidenced at every family shin-dig I am obligated to attend.  As I am sure happens at most family gatherings, memories and reminiscings of good times past are enjoyed around the table.  In my family, this is the point in the conversation that I fall quiet because I have nothing to contribute to the happy memory being shared since I have no idea what they are talking about.  Birthday parties and bon fires past are remembered with great fondness while I am reminded yet again that I am out of sight and out of mind.  Listening to the kids talk about when they have had overnights with my brother or sister causes me to question why my own kids were never offered the same experiences.  Watching my sister's kids fawn all over my brother while they hardly seem to recognize me drives the point home.  Overhearing about comical interactions over facebook reminds me that I have more FB friends that are in-laws than blood.

But why?  What is it about me that makes me so invisible, so unnoticed, so forgotten?  Is it simply a matter of the so-called "middle child syndrome"?  Is it because both my brother and sister were wild kids and therefore demanded parental attention and, since old habits die hard, that is simply where the attention continues to be focused?  Actually, in my heart of hearts, I believe I know the answer.  But even if I am correct in my supposition, I still don't understand why it makes me a black sheep.

So as if the holiday season itself weren't stressful enough, I am doubly burdened by the knowledge that I will be forced to endure the hurtful reminders that for the rest of the year I am not even on the family radar.  Sometimes I wish they wouldn't feel obligated to include me in holiday events, since, with the exception of my sister's invites to her kids' birthday parties, they feel no obligation to include me in anything else.