I’m getting there

A lot has changed since my last post, and that’s a good thing. First off, I called bullshit on myself. I have been in such a deep ocean of denial for such a long time, and it was drowning me. I’m finally able to admit that I have been depressed, severely depressed for quite some time. With much urging from my family doctor, I begrudgingly agreed to start taking Wellbutrin for my anxiety and depression. I went to that appointment with an arsenal of pharmaceutical knowledge, and my doctor basically just told me I was a pain in the ass. He agreed that I didn’t need an MAOI – you can’t take anything with those, and if they don’t work, you have to wait at least 14 days to start something new. Point for me! In my best interest , I did admit to him that I had undergone psychological testing (although I didn’t want to), and he spoke with the psychologist. As I expected, she was vehemently opposed to me taking any type of stimulant (to treat the ADHD I’m still positive I have) at that time due to my extremely high anxiety. I was not happy about that at all. As a matter of fact, I got into a teary screaming match with my doctor at my follow up appointment. I’d already bumped up my dose of Wellbutrin (so I could make sure I could sleep at night – who am I kidding – my sleep pattern has been horribly unhealthy for the last 2-3 years). I told him I didn’t want any Xanax or Ativan – I just need to be able to try one of the ADHD meds on the market, as I am still a HOT mess! He said I needed to wait a little bit and make sure I can get my anxiety under control. Needless to say, I left the appointment NOT HAPPY.

As I was too busy acting like a spoiled brat who didn’t get her way, I didn’t notice the gradual, very positive change that was happening inside of me. I was no longer waking up feeling like there was a cement block on my chest (anxiety). As a matter of fact, I would say that my anxiety is 95% under control after about 6 weeks on Wellbutrin. This is HUGE for me. Prior to starting this medicine, I don’t remember a day in the past year or so that I didn’t have insanely high anxiety. I can’t remember a day in the past year that I didn’t have to take deep breath after deep breath all day long just to try and hold it together. I was in such a horrible place that my life was a constant source of stress that I couldn’t escape from. I was short tempered and mean to everyone I loved, and crazy stressed around everyone else, to the point I didn’t feel comfortable anywhere or with anyone. Needless to say, the fact that the chronic stress I was feeling is all but gone actually makes me want to cry with joy! I am a better mom, which is so incredibly important to me. Nothing makes me more sad than the prospect of leaving behind a legacy of pessimism and crabbiness. My kids are happier, and that makes me a little sad (because of what I’ve put them through), but also incredibly happy because I can be the mom they need me to be now. I think everyone, to some extent, takes their bad moods and stress out on those closest to them – I think it’s natural because you can let your guard down around those who love you. I took that to EXTREMES! I have been, for lack of better words, a GIANT BITCH to live with for a very long time. I’m incredibly lucky that my mom and Brian love me so much – I don’t think I would have/could have put up with the amount of shit that I have dished out to them. Again, I’m sad that I’ve treated those people I love the most so badly, but I’m so relieved that I know I can now be the daughter and wife they need me to be. I can see the relief in their eyes in my drastic change in attitude and behavior. I am trying much harder to communicate respectfully with them and it is really helping. Wellbutrin has been a miracle for me – it is certainly paving my road to recovery. I know that there needs to be a lot more involved in that recovery, including therapy. Baby steps.

I still haven’t called the psychologist back. I’m conflicted as to whether or not I should. On one hand, she was the first normal person I have met with regarding my mental health! Big plus! However, I’m still stuck on the fact that I felt she was extremely condescending and not the best listener. Still not sure if she’s the one for me. I know that when I go back to my family doc, he’s going to want to know why I’m still not in therapy. Hopefully, he won’t hold it against me. I know that I need to take this step, but I don’t think I’m quite ready yet. The psychologist told me that in order to heal, I need (1) medicine, (2) exercise, and (3) therapy – none of these are negotiable. I am religiously taking the Wellbutrin daily. However, I have only half-heartedly tried the exercise thing – more in the beginning in order to burn off anxiety (the effects of Wellbutrin were brutal the first week I was taking it – my anxiety was off the charts). I am trying, but only getting 1 or 2 semi-workouts in per week. I am trying to actually schedule that into my day, and I am going to try really hard to stick to that commitment. Baby steps. I think the biggest motivator for daily exercise is the fact that I’ve now gained more than 30 pounds since Mary was diagnosed with cancer last January. Needless to say, I’m a stress eater. That, along with my crazy high anxiety levels and the cortisol that goes along with that, means that I am NOT the poster child for healthy living right now. It’s time to change that.

My reality check came tonight, as I was looking for cute clothes to take on a trip with my hubby this week (which I will get to). 2 pair of pants, TWO PAIR OF PANTS in my closet fit me. That’s it! WTF?! When did that happen?! When did I become a GIANT FAT ASS?!! Seriously, that doesn’t just sneak up on you! I have a closet FULL of cute clothes, none of which will fit on my lumpy, tubby frame right now 😦 Therefore, I’m DONE! I’m done with mindlessly shoving crap in my mouth when I’m bored or sad! I’m DONE making excuses as to why I didn’t get a work out in. I’m DONE short-changing myself! Sadly, I’ve been in such a state of self-pity, telling myself that it’s not fair, after all the shit life has thrown at me, that I’m in this horrible, yucky place. I’ve finally realized that life’s not fair, and that I need to work my ass off if I am going to be healthy and happy, and that’s what I’m going to do! As a matter of fact, I found my inspiration on Pinterest, of all places:

“You are responsible for your life. You can’t keep blaming somebody else for your dysfunction. Life is really about moving on.” ~Oprah Winfrey

This is now the screensaver and wallpaper on my phone and Ipad, so I have to see it several times a day. I need this reminder constantly. It is so true. Life is about moving on. Bad shit happens every day to so many different people. If everyone stopped in their tracks and refused to move on (like I have), the world would be a pretty difficult place to live in. I know that I am responsible for my own happiness, and now that I have caught a glimpse of it, I’m determined to do whatever I can to hold onto it! I feel that the clouds have lifted just enough for me to see the sunshine. Time for me to take the reins and kick my own ass because I know that is what it’s going to take!

I know I’ve been a scary ass BIOTCH to live with, but seriously y’all – it IS your duty (local friends and family) to let me know that NO AMOUNT OF SPANX is going to hide the extra ass I’ve grown! Now that I’m a calmer, more rational me, I am charging you with the job of helping me stay on track! No more fried food (thank God Rodeo is over – did I really eat 3 giant corndogs within a 2 week period?)! No more late night munchies! No more Shack! Mama is going back to healthy eating!

On that note, I’m guessing I need to get my unhealthy butt to bed! Wish me luck!

My next post will include all of the AWESOME stuff that has happened to me lately, I promise!

Just Keep Swimming . . .

Brian and I celebrated our 11th year anniversary this weekend.  It actually fell on a Saturday this year, so we could have hit the town and made the most of it!  However, we spent the entire day with our kiddos, which is not a bad thing at all!  🙂  Samantha had her last game of the season (she cheered this year for flag football), and then we went home and dove into trying to regain control of our home.  Busy bow season, ADD and grief do not make for an organized mommy!  So, the house pretty much looks like a tornado hit it (or 4 – 3 kids and me!).

We (for what seems the eleventy-eleventh time) organized the play room.  Bless my husbands heart, and clear, organized mind – he indulged me in completing one of my ideas.  He assembled a wardrobe that I bought at Ikea and, per my design, hung rods & hooks on the wall and finished with a cute shower curtain to create a “dressing room” for my little divas and their friends (I’m pretty sure Riley digs it too, but he doesn’t want that to get out 😉   ).  I did about 25 loads (I really don’t think I’m exaggerating) of laundry and actually put it all away (which is HUGE for me!).  I really, really hate putting laundry away, but I figured I could at least try to regain some control – at least for Brian’s sake!

After an exhausting day, we decided to, at the very least, belly up to a bar for a cold one.  Yes, I did say that I am swearing off alcohol, but I only had one beer.  It was just so nice getting out with him, even for just a little while.  I really don’t realize the benefit of stepping away from the chaos until I am so overwhelmed that I have to step away (like yesterday).  Everything in my life is overwhelming to me right now – I just wish I could find something that would help with that.  So, we shared an appetizer and each had a beer, and then stopped at the Walmarts on the way home – so incredibly romantic – no doubt about it!  I felt so much better when we got home, though!  I need to push that reset button a lot more often than I do, and I prefer to do that with my hubby.  Life is so rushed and busy most of the time, sometimes it’s difficult to find a moment to just breathe.  I did that last night, and felt a huge benefit from it.  Now, if I could just remember to do that again before I really need it!

We spent today finishing up (well, actually, I still have plenty to do!) our organizing and cleaning, because Brian has invited his boss and team over for dinner tomorrow.  As there’s still quite a bit to do, my stress level is creeping back up.  It’s not too difficult to tell when I’m stressed (because I’m a giant bitch) – because of this and the fact that I’m teetering on the verge of bat shit crazy, Brian waited until tonight to tell me about one of his teammates and his wife.  They have twins.  Twin boys.  8 year old twin boys.  Oh yeah – she’s a NICU nurse too.  Good to know.  Yes, I am extremely grateful that he told me – at least I can try and steer the conversation away from topics that might end with me in  a puddle of tears on the floor.

I’m pretty sure I did not write about what happened in Aruba.  Here’s the Cliff notes version:  we went to Aruba in March on the company’s dime, and it was lovely.  However, I was not dealing with my stress very well at all (that’s about when my HR was peaking at about 105bpm while resting) – I was not handling my friend’s cancer very well, to say the least.  So, I drank a little (okay – I was a lush).  In my defense, I was fortunate enough to share the trip with one of my besties from home (her husband works for the same company), and I made the most of it!  We had dinner with my husband’s team one night – this included his boss and all of the peers that were on the trip, as well as their spouses.  Unbeknownst to me, a very sweet couple had seated themselves across from Brian and myself at the table so they could get kid advice.  It was a pretty intimate setting – as intimate as you can get with 15 people or so.  Thank God we were at the end of the table.  Apparently, because we have 3 young children who are very close in age, they wanted to get some advice.  Their triplets were getting closer to school age, and they were asking about preschool, kindergarten, activities, etc . . .  I’m not sure how he pulled it off, but Brian pretty much caught none of the conversation.  I could feel my fight or flight responses kick in – I felt like I was cornered by something with very large teeth.  It was like she had a check list she was going from.  She, in my opinion, over shared everything from her pregnancy, to the NICU experience (which was absolutely fucking perfect), to the fact that her kids are all fucking perfect with no delays at all.  Please note that this was a really nice couple – we probably would have had fun hanging out with them if my crazy hadn’t kicked in.  I actually started to get tunnel vision, so in lieu of passing out right there, I grabbed my phone and made an excuse about my mom calling, and proceeded to get the fuck out of there.  Brian, still having no clue that anything was wrong, did come out after me.  I tried to explain, but it was clear he wasn’t in the same conversation that I had been.  Don’t get me wrong – he is extremely supportive – he’s just able to “compartmentalize” things in his mind, whereas my mind looks pretty much like the inside of my purse.  He gave me a hug and said no problem in covering for my absence.  I went back to the room and sobbed myself to sleep.  I felt like I’d been run over by a Mac truck.  B promised that no one was the wiser – I still have my doubts.

So, back to the present – I’m sure that my poor husband has been mulling over this situation trying to figure out how to tell me what to expect tomorrow.  He couldn’t have done it any better – he just said it – nice and straightforward, “if you have any Lexapro, you’ll probably want to take it”.  Very true.  Unfortunately, Lexapro isn’t doing a darn thing for me anymore.  I’ll just wear my big girl pants and avoid uncomfortable topics!  I love my husband, and I know he loves me – he has faith in my even when I don’t have it in myself, or I don’t think he would have risked the situation.  I can do this, and probably best without alcohol (dammit!).  I just need to keep telling myself that I’m okay, I got this.  I can live a regular life, with a few hiccups here and there – everyone has them, right?

As my sweet Sami would have told me about 2 years ago, “just keep swimming, just keep swimming, just keep swimming, swimming, swimming . . .”  I might need some floaties, but I can do it!

Bo’s Place

My husband didn’t really like where I ended my story yesterday, so I figured I’d better elaborate!

What we need to do is seek help as a family, and the way to do that just fell into my lap last week.

http://www.bosplace.org/about

Bo’s Place is a non profit organization whose sole purpose is to help children (& their families) learn to deal with their grief. There is probably not a place more appropriate for my family right now, and we’re fortunate enough to have it in our city.

I came to learn about Bo’s Place through a very sweet neighbor last week. I’ve loved talking to her so much that I just regret not walking over & introducing myself a year ago! Let’s call her M. M lost her husband this year to pancreatic cancer. She has 2 boys, 10 & 14, who are trying to work through this with her, and they visited Bo’s Place last week. She said that it felt like just what she needed. Me, I’m a little nervous about the group therapy environment. On the upside, my hour long crying jag would seem a little more normal there than at a concert 🙂

I’m going to give them a call today and set up our orientation. Wish me luck!

My heart will be with M & her family & friends as they participate in their first walk for pancreatic cancer this weekend.

Holidays Always Suck

So, there is really no doubt how very bad I am at this blog thing.  Or, I guess I’m really good at repressing – always have been.  The only thing that’s been constant over the last 7 years is that no matter how hard I try to live my everyday life as a normal, undamaged person, I get a gigantic sucker punch in the gut right about now every year.

I talked to my cousin Kyle last week, way, way later than I should have.  He was working in Texas, and his mom and brother had both told me that he might still be here on Thanksgiving, so I was calling to invite him to spend the day with us.  Had I called him a week earlier, like I should have, I would have already known that he was going to make it home for Thanksgiving after all.  Until I heard his voice, I had forgotten just how bad that first holiday season was (and the next, as it was the first without my dad).  Kyle lost his wife this past year to breast cancer, and today is his first Thanksgiving without her.  I’m so bad about reaching out – as I have mentioned over and over, repression and avoidance should be my middle names.  I asked him how he was, and I could almost feel the pain packed in around his answer of, “I’m fine”.  I told him I knew he wasn’t fine, and that there is no way around it – this year, the holidays are just going to suck ass.  People forget (seriously, they do) that you might still be grieving – the rest, they just don’t want to pry or, are frankly too uncomfortable to talk about it.   I told him that there is absolutely nothing that is going to fill that giant hole right now – either he can dive in and start to deal with it, or he can zip it up in a giant baggie and swallow it (like I did – not entirely recommended).  We talked for a long time – it was good to talk to him.  Sadly, it’s somewhat comforting to be able to talk to someone who has felt the same level of pain that I have.  Twisted as it is, sometimes misery loves company.  We talked about how stupid and insensitive some people can be, among other things.  Sadly, I didn’t have very good advice when it came to talk about dealing with grief.  Obviously, my way is probably not the healthiest.  I did tell him about finding Maya and Rockstar Ronan, and how I stayed up that entire night reading their story, and about reaching out to her.  I also told him I have been writing (if you want to call it that) myself, and that little by little, I have found that some of the tiny shards of glass in my heart seem to have been repaired.  Although reliving this experience sometimes causes me nearly as much pain as it did the first time around, I think I have to do this in order to figure out how to heal.  I encouraged him to look through the blogs and find someone whose situation is similar to his.  Unfortunately, there are a lot of us out here.  However, it is helpful to find someone who has been where you are now, and find out that they aren’t in that place anymore.  I feel so bad for him right now – I know that his heart is shattered right now.  Anyone’s instinct, including mine, is to hug someone and tell them that everything will be alright.  However, unless you’ve walked in these shoes, those words don’t mean a lot to us.  I know that he has to find his own path, just as I am still trying to find mine – I just hope I can help steer him in the right direction.

Brian’s mom and one of his brothers is visiting us in Texas for the Thanksgiving holiday this week.  They flew in last Sunday and they are going home this Sunday.  It has been a really nice visit, especially for Brian.  I’m so glad that the kids have been able to spend some good, quality time with Grandma Babs too – I know she misses them a ton.  It can’t be easy for her to see them so infrequently, especially when my mom gets to see them  everyday.

For the few of you who have hung on with me through my crazy long absences, I’m not sure that I ever finished our story – the hard part of it, at least.  I know that I described our very short time with Colin, which is probably one of the hardest things I’ve done.  Living those moments again were excruciating – I think I can only do that to myself every once in awhile. I’ll try the abbreviated version of what followed, but no promises.

After Colin died, we were in such a strange, horrible place.  We had just lost our first born child – we needed to grieve, to mourn him, to plan his funeral.  However, we had his very tiny, very precious twin brother still residing in the NICU.  Therefore, no time for any of the above.

We spent the next few weeks standing guard at Riley’s side, at the new hospital.  I was such a tangled, messed up weave of emotions.  Unfortunately, I still had to see the same doctors that had been at the previous hospital, as they rounded at this one too.  Tolerance is probably too generous a word to describe my attitude toward them at the time, but I did have to rely on them to save my son if he needed them to.  As for the surgeon who refused to transport Colin (when he was stable enough), I  felt nothing but complete disdain .  I wanted to scream and yell vile things at him; I wanted to stick a scalpel in his eye.  But, I settled with evil stares and allowing all of the hatred to seethe inside of me.  However, there was some refreshing light in that very dark tunnel.  The nursing staff in that NICU was phenomenal.  They were  professional, kind, and empathetic to say the least.  They gave us just what we needed – never too much.  The entire hospital seemed to be run by professional adults; whereas, the one we had just left seemed like a clinical site for a community college by comparison.  Obviously, this definitely didn’t help with my feelings of self blame when it came to choosing the damn hospital in the first place.  I’ve carried that guilt with me for a long time, and at least a little bit of it will probably always be with me.

By this time, Brian had started to go back to work, at least for partial days.  He still spent a lot of time with us in the NICU, but I was there by myself a lot.  I had a lot of time on my hands, which wasn’t necessarily good.  I spent a lot of time just staring at Riley, watching him sleep, making sure he was still breathing.  I don’t think 5 minutes passed that I didn’t have an uncontrollable sense of panic that he was going to die.  I’ve never felt so helpless in my life.  My sweet, tiny, precious boy – if I lost him too, I was pretty certain that I would walk out of the hospital, up to the highway and right in front of a semi.  Looking back, I was so close to the edge, it was a miracle I didn’t fall in.

One of the nurses claimed a very special place in all of our hearts.  I will call her Ann, because she was clearly the angel we needed in our lives at the time.  Ann was one of the first people we met when we had Riley transferred the night Colin died.  She was very professional and direct, but she was also kind and gentle with us.  She saw how lost and scared we were, and gave us all of the support and guidance we needed.  She never took offense to the fact I was hovering over her every time she was with my son.  I oversaw every blood draw, every residual check, every diaper change, every IV change that I could.  I dropped the ball before – I’d be damned if I would do it again.  At least, that’s how I saw it back then.  Not much can fuck you up more than thinking you checked out of the hospital only to leave your fragile preemie in the hands of a stupid, incompetent person whose incompetence probably killed him.  The only time I was not in that NICU was during shift change (no one was allowed during those 30 minutes).  If  Ann was on duty when I returned, she dutifully gave me a full report.  God bless her – she was just what I needed.  I was a total pain in the ass, as I will be every time one of my children is sick and their well-being is in the hands of another.  Sorry all future docs – someone else’s fuck up created a nightmare parent for you!  The only time I left, other than during shift change, was at the strong urging of the neonatologist – he had to place a PIC line into Riley’s heart because his veins just couldn’t take the TPN (his IV nutrition) anymore.  I was really, really pissed, but I think I might have been a tiny bit grateful (though I never would have admitted it) – I think watching that procedure might have just pushed me over the edge.

Back to Ann.  I think she could read the fear on my face like the cover of a book.  I was so scared that something was going to happen to my baby – the only one I had left.  At that point, I think my fear was preventing me from touching and bonding with my son.  She encouraged me to start kangaroo care with him.  Basically, it is skin to skin contact between the newborn and his mother or father.  I had learned about it in nursing school, and knew that it had produced amazing results in even severe cases.  My tunnel got a lot brighter the day she placed my Riley on my chest.  I did have a baby!  I was a mother!  I think we spent most of the afternoon that way.  Finally, I was able to bond with my son.  This leads me back to my frustration with the first hospital.  That NICU was so crowded and the nurses we so busy, we were rarely able to hold our boys at all.   Most of our contact with them took place within confines of their beds, as they were attached to wires and tubes.  The nurses just didn’t have the time, and they made that clear.  I will always hate each and every one of those bitches for that.  I truly hope that they remember what they took away from me.  I never, ever held my babies together, at the same time.  This sounds so stupid, so selfish, but I hate that they couldn’t give that to me.  I feel broken.  Did I really have twins?  I think I did.  I have the ultrasounds, the medical bills and stretch marks to prove it.  I also have a grave stone in Indiana with my sweet Colin’s name on it.  But what I don’t have is one fucking picture of me holding both of my boys.  Isn’t that like the first picture every parent with twins has?  A picture of the new mother, beaming and holding both of her babies.  Well, I don’t, and I never will.  This might seem so simple to people, but it is such an amazing loss for me.  Those stupid, bitchy, inexperienced nurses couldn’t take 10 fucking minutes so that I could hold my baby boys together.   Seven years later, I still hate them just as much for it.  So, when Ann took the time to find a privacy partition, find me a gown, unravel all of Riley’s cords and place him on my bare chest, I wept.  I wept with grief for my loss – I would never, ever hold Colin this way.  But I also wept for joy I was just now finding with my Riley.  She gave me an amazing gift that day – she reminded me that I was a mother, and that  my sweet boy needed me.

I think this is all I can do for now.  Baby steps . . . I’ll just try to start putting them closer together 😉  Please be thankful for your blessings – not just today, but every day.  We never know what tomorrow will bring.