I can’t believe summer is drawing to a close. It was rather a mixed bag this year but I still feel like I’m not ready for the hectic back-to-school and work schedules to begin. I managed to survive my six weeks of radiation in fairly good shape. Yes, I was tired but the fact I had to drive 30 minutes to and from treatment every day (Monday – Friday) all while swim team practice was going on was the real pain. The treatment itself was painless and short, although overall still unpleasant in terms of a big machine moving into and out of my personal space. For the final session, I brought two of my boys with me and they got to throw confetti in my face as I came out of the room – a big selling point! It was a great feeling to complete that phase of treatment and have our schedule open up and become much more relaxed again.
A few weeks ago, I started working with a holistic doctor that specializes in cancer recovery. She put me on a baseline nutrition/exercise plan while we are waiting for lots of lab work and testing to come back. I already feel so much better as far as my energy goes. It was fairly eye-opening to see how deficient I was nutritionally. As we get results from my testing back, we’ll hone in and customize the plan more and more, adding supplements if safe and needed
A couple of weeks ago I managed to sneak away to LA for a couple of days to visit my dad, which was a real treat. We went to the theater, ate out, and just generally relaxed before I returned home and had to start back at work again. I must admit that returning to Texas was a bit of a slap in the face as far as how busy life is going to get again. I don’t do well with full schedules, homework, waking up at the crack of dawn to get everyone out the door, all while trying to work and keep my sanity. Even when we simplify, the very nature of working while having four kids is very difficult. If it were up to me, we’d leave the suburbs, live on a farm and home school!
Having cancer has really put my priorities into perspective. My time is precious and I don’t want to waste it on things that drain me or don’t bring me peace and fulfilment. Because of this, I’ve decided not to return to school to continue my masters. I have zero desire to return and I know I’m making the best decision for myself and family at this time. It is simply too much on my shoulders to realistically manage. Thankfully I was not that far into the requirements so it’s no real loss and I’ve felt a lot lighter since making the decision. If I take any classes at all, I’d like to relearn how to play piano or take another writing class, or study classical music, even perhaps get involved in theater again, etc. Certainly not anything related to nursing. I want to get as far away from that as possible.
Tomorrow, I start my oral cancer medications, and I’ve got to say there’s a bit of anxiety attached to this. It turns out my monthly injection isn’t that that bad. The big needle isn’t very painful and it’s quick. I put either ice or numbing cream on the area first so that helps. There’s one other injection I get every six months I believe and then the two oral pills I start tomorrow. I was also worried that I’d have to go off of one of my bipolar medications but it turns out all we need to do is adjust the dose so the plasma level is consistent on the new med, which hopefully goes smoothly once I get into the swing of things. I have a big feeling of loss with starting these new meds for some reason. Perhaps it is the unknowns of how they will make me feel. Maybe it’s the uncertainty of how long I’ll have to take them exactly (I know 3 years at least) and then what follows from there? Then there’s the fact that taking them makes me feel like a cancer patient all over again when all I want to do is put this behind me and move on with my new post-cancer life. I’m feeling pretty good right now and don’t want to disrupt how I’m physically feeling these days. I am hoping my new exercise and nutrition regime will help soothe any bad side effects I may have from it. I will let you know how it goes.
I think that about catches you up! I didn’t take that many pictures this summer unfortunately but here are a couple!
The good news – I survived my surgery! Overall, it was a positive experience. The surgery center was great and the staff put me at ease. I was scared but not as terrified as I was for my chemo port placement even though this was a larger procedure. They managed to perform the oncoplastic lumpectomy, a sentinel node biopsy where they removed 4 lymph nodes, and even removed my chemo port. The only slightly embarrassing thing I remember was asking them before I went to sleep if they wanted me to sing them a little song. I remember them saying, “Awwww! Let’s hear it!” I don’t know if I actually sang the entire thing or not before I fell asleep.
Next thing I knew I was being wheeled out to the recovery room telling all of them in a rather drunk fashion that they had done an amazing job. They were laughing and told me that the surgery went great and all 4 lymph nodes came back negative. I went home about 1.5hrs later with a pesky surgical drain attached to me, but overall felt pretty good. I had a lot of pain from the lymph node removal for about a week and a half but it slowly seems to be getting better and is much improved now.
Now for the harder news. Thursday, I had three different doctor appointments. The first was with my oncologist to go over the pathology report. The great news is that all the margins came back clear from my surgery and the data back on the cancer was reassuring this time. Chemo had worked its magic and it had gone from being 2 large and aggressive tumors all the way down to one 4mm spot of cells that had lost their mojo for spreading viciously.
Now I need to explain that I had always looked at my cancer journey as having three distinct phases. 1 – chemo, 2 – surgery, 3 – radiation. Then came the next era of a couple of meds for a certain number of years and lots of healthy lifestyle changes. I was excited to embark on a new cancer-free journey. This way of approaching my treatment has allowed me to compartmentalize things and get through it step by step. I was rarely overwhelmed because of this strategy. I went to the see the oncologist that morning with naive excitement, pen and paper in hand to take notes. The receptionist said I was glowing at the reception desk and I told her that I was excited to be back without having to do chemo and finally move on. However, once there I felt like I was dealt blow after blow. My medications will not be simple and it has created a very long 4th phase I was not anticipating. For the next 3 years, I have 4 very strong medications to juggle that come with a long list of heavy-hitting side effects.
Two large (and painful from what I hear) injections I need to receive every month for 3 years. If I get my ovaries removed, I can eliminate one of them. I’ll very likely need them removed either way after the treatment is done so this is something I’m seriously considering once everything settles down.
An infusion I need to receive every 6 months for 3 years.
An oral pill I need to take for 3 years.
I was crushed. None of them were the meds I thought I was going to be on and had heavily researched. The appointment was an hour long of listening to the regime and side effects but also of the strong research that supported taking them. I am so grateful for my oncologist and medical team. I trust her experience, intelligence and compassion. There is no question there. But to be expecting one thing you thought would be easy and then learning it’s actually going to be another long, difficult process was crushing for me. I was so excited to be nearing the finish line after months of difficult treatment. I was sad and deeply disappointed. It’s like seeing the finish-line of a marathon and then the officials decide they’ll just move it across state. I sat there as she spoke trying to process what she was saying. David, who saw me freeze with my pen and paper, quietly took the notebook from my lap and began writing all the notes for me. Then I learned the medications also have a drug interaction with one of the meds I take to manage my bipolar disorder and there is no alternative in its same class to replace it with. This was another blow altogether. I have been stable for a very long time and doing well. To lose an entire class of drugs that I have relied on for over 15 years is also challenging and unpredictable. I want to do all I can to stay cancer free but I also need to ensure that I am able to take care of my family in a healthy way. Balancing my physical health and mental health has never been so complicated.
The appointment lasted so long that I missed Colin’s presentation at school that he worked so hard on. I had been looking forward to it and he was excited that I may be able to see it. My heart sank even further when I realized I would never make it back across town to his school. At this point I felt defeated. Missing Colin’s presentation was the straw that broke the camel’s back for me. Once I realized I’d never make it to the school, I allowed them to squeeze me in downstairs to begin the process of radiation since we were running behind on it. I’ll have it every day for 6 weeks. That’s life. Then I went home, scarfed down some food, and headed to the surgeon’s office for my post-op visit. She was very pleased with the way it was healing and so am I. You can barely tell I had surgery except for being about a cup-size smaller in my right breast, which I actually prefer. If I want, I can get the other breast reduced to even them out later on.
Yesterday morning I woke up as I did in those first few weeks after learning I had an aggressive cancer. For those first few moments everything is good but then you remember the news you had been given the day before and the sinking feeling returns. Yes, there is so much to be grateful for and that is not lost on me. Not even for a second. It does not, however, ease the sting of what’s to come.
I know I will adjust. I know I will get my positive mojo back. And I know that I will process this and get my ‘bring it on’ mentality back. But for now, I am mourning the uncertainty of the next few years. If I can’t allow myself to grieve during the process of a cancer diagnosis , I will never truly recover. I know I will never have my care-free, pre-cancer life back. I have grieved this. Cancer, like motherhood, has fundamentally changed me and the way I view the world. It has softened, shaped, and shifted me in a way that needed to happen. Now it’s time to pick up the pieces, readjust my outlook, and move forward again. Grief and gratitude can coexist, and so I let them.
Things I’ve learned since being diagnosed with cancer.
1 – When you’re afraid, reframe.
One of the first tests I had done after it was confirmed I had cancer was a bone scan. I was terrified for more reasons than one and was shaking as the technician injected my veins with some sort of radioactive substance. I hated that I was being injected with something that I didn’t understand at the time and I hated feeling vulnerable and having no idea of what was coming next. The man who did the injection was an ex-military member, huge, and very intimidating to look at but he ended up being one of two angels in disguise I met that day. He was so kind, made me laugh, explained the process, and showed me the machine. After the injection I had to wait two hours as the substance circulated through my body. When I came back, he helped me onto the machine and because I am claustrophobic, he stayed with me in the room. The machine, however, turned out to be rather slow so he eventually needed to tend to some other duties and asked another technician to sit with me. I was motionless on the table and in complete silence because I was too afraid to talk in case it messed up the results. Once the bulk of the machine was well past my face and over my abdomen however I managed a little whisper and asked the technician if I was allowed to talk. He laughed and said yes. I started asking him questions about the next test I would have to get in a couple of days, which was an MRI. The MRI also terrified me because I am extremely claustrophobic and I told him this. The man was quiet for a moment and then said thoughtfully, “You just need to reframe the way you look at it and be thankful we have such amazing technology. It’s saving a lot of lives.”
His wise words have been like a hand to hold through some pretty scary moments for me. I made it through my MRI, CT, and other tests partly because of his words. Did I like it? No. Did I want to have it done? No. But nevertheless, I am grateful for it.
2 – Support will come to you from the most unexpected places
I never expected that friends I rarely spoke to would pop up and cement themselves so firmly in my corner. It has taught me a very important lesson (and one that I’m still working on), which is how to receive help. I am learning how to lean in and connect because people are there who are reaching out and actually wanting to help. And you don’t have to know them very well to be there for them. It’s not always going to be the people you expect. So the next time I may be too shy when wanting to pay it forward and help someone, and thinking why would I be a comfort for them when we rarely connect, I know that won’t be true. Reach out and do it anyway.
3 – And in the most unexpected ways.
Help, support, and love doesn’t have to be a big grand gesture. It’s the tiny little happy icons that pop up on my phone every few days from a friend that let me know she’s thinking of me. It’s the meal that the neighbor brings, the cheerful card that comes to me every few weeks, or the hand massages that William and Colin like to give me, or David letting me go to bed early every night while he cleans up the kitchen, or one of the many other countless ways I have seen so many others help out. Basically I have learned that I, myself, don’t have to extend some massive gesture to others to be helpful. I can offer what I can in whatever capacity I am able to give.
4 – Bad things happen, but I still have power over my health.
I considered myself a healthy person before I was diagnosed with cancer but shit happens and there you go – I have an aggressive cancer at 43 years old. But I am NOT a victim. I can act. I can research, change, grow, adapt, and become a better version of who I was before the diagnosis. I want to be here to see my children and grandchildren grow up and I will do everything in my power to help that happen. And you know what? I still have the mindset of a healthy person… just a healthy person who happens to be getting treatment for cancer, which is why I think I’m handling the harsh treatments so well. In other words, I refuse to be passive. When bad things happen, get into power mode, take ownership, and do the work!
General health update: The cancer is responding to the chemo very well and the tumors have shrunk considerably – well enough that I can get a lumpectomy rather than a full mastectomy. I have 4 more treatments of chemo out of 16 to go! Surgery will likely be the end of April or early May. Then 30 rounds of radiation (I think), then I don’t know. I’m trying to take it one step at a time! I meet with my oncologist at the end of march to talk about the options and full plan. I also think I have to be on a medication like tamoxifen for 5-10 years. BUT everything is going quite well and moving in the right direction and looking great! Keep the prayers up, please. They’re helping!
At the basketball game last night. Nathan rarely lets me take his picture these days!Owen’s school play. He was the cat in Space Mice!William saved up all his money and bought an electric bike. I have mixed feelings about having allowed this. He’s very responsible but there will be strict rules around it!Colin at one of his many swimming competitions. He’s doing great at the butterfly and freestyle!
Nobody wants to write a post like this but I’ll go ahead and write it as hiding from things is not necessarily something I find to be helpful. Two weeks ago, I found a thickened area in my breast that wasn’t necessarily a lump, but strange nonetheless. I oddly wasn’t too concerned but called my doctor for an appointment that same day. He ordered a diagnostic mammogram and ultrasound and I was able to make it to that appointment the following week. I went in for the mammogram and waited for the radiologist to read the results. I sat in the room and watched as other women left one by one. Then they called me back to take more x-rays of my right breast. After those x-rays they wanted an ultrasound so I went back for the procedure and then returned to the waiting room. By now I was starting to get uncomfortable. All the other women had left and I was alone in the room. A nurse called me back into an office so the radiologist could meet with me. Now I knew I was in trouble. I sat in a tiny, tiny little office that had a box of Kleenex next to my chair and thought, “Oh shit. This isn’t going to be good news.” A warm and comforting nurse came in along with a cold, clinical radiologist and he very bluntly stated his findings, which he said were highly indicative of malignancy and then walked out of the room. I was left stunned. My instructions were to get biopsies competed and the nurse was giving me instructions on how to do that. I couldn’t comprehend anything she was saying. A wave of panic came over me and I looked pleadingly at her.
“Please will you make this appointment for me,” I said. “I cannot navigate a phone system right now.”
“Oh sugar. Let me see what they have.” She scrolled through the appointment times. “It looks like they are booked up until the end of next week.”
I started crying. “I have children,” I said. ” I need this appointment immediately. I want it tomorrow. It cannot wait.”
She looked at me so sympathetically and whispered, “I have the direct number of the nurse that works over in that department. Let me see what I can do.”
And as God would have it the other nurse said that she could get me in the very next morning. She then hugged me and said, “My honey breast cancer is not a death sentence. This will not be easy but it’s treatable. You can go on having a long and happy life, remember that!” I hugged her tightly and left.
Once I managed to find the car, I called David in a haze of panic and confusion. I knew nothing about any oncologists or medical care for cancer in Austin. I had no family living nearby. What if we didn’t catch it early enough? Am I going to die? What about my children and husband? What will this mean for them? What am I doing wrong in my life to lead me to this? How will we get through this? Will we get through this? Truthfully, I don’t remember much about the rest of that day. I was mentally exhausted and fell into a deep sleep that night.
The next day was even more unpleasant. I do not like medical procedures at all. I find them terrifying. David came with me and I must say that I was surprised with how well I handled it. The doctor took 14+ samples of tissue. I sang lullabies to myself as he was injecting me with lidocaine and taking the samples. I only screamed, “Mother fucker!” once when he took a sample that was accidentally outside the lidocaine area. He gave me rest times and offered to let me come back to do it in two sessions. I told him there was no way in hell we were doing that. I wanted it all done today. We took samples in two masses and one lymph node. We pretty much knew the masses were malignant but were holding our breath for the lymph node.
There was no hiding the anxiety or inevitable sense of the hardship that was coming. We went ahead and told the boys. It was a horrible conversation to have and I can’t bear to recall it.
Thankfully we had to go to San Antonio for a swim meet for the weekend, which helped distract us. It was a very emotional few days for all of us. My breast looked like it got hit by a truck from the biopsies. The rollercoaster of emotions going through me was crippling. Finally, my doctor called me Tuesday morning that the lymph node tested positive and he was waiting for the other pathology results. I went from feeling helpless to charging full steam ahead to get a handle on things. I found an oncologist by asking my neighborhood friends for help. I was overwhelmed by the amount of love and support I received. I had my first oncology visit this past Friday and I absolutely adored my doctor and have found a surgeon who I will meet with next week. The whole network of people and the cancer center I am at have been wonderful. I went from feeling terrified, helpless and overwhelmed to feeling terrified but supported and taken care of and ready to fight. David has been by my side at every appointment and has been beyond supportive. I could not imagine going through this without his unshakable love and take-charge attitude when I am too overwhelmed by life. My dad and sister and brother say they are ready to come out and help and stay with me the second I need any help, my mother reached out, and David’s family has been a wonderful source of comfort as well.
The cancer is stage II and treatable. However, I still have a bunch of scans and tests they need to run so hopefully we don’t get any surprising news on that front. I start chemo in 2 weeks and should get my port placed sometime next week. After chemo is all done, I’ll have surgery. I’ve decided to completely overhaul my nutrition and begin exercising so that my body is better ready to handle it. I’m getting half a dozen calls a day and they are all telling me where and when I need to be for what test and what I need to do and I just show up ready to act and get the ball rolling on my treatment.
Just say the word ‘cancer’ and your entire lens on life will immediately shift focus. With stunning clarity I saw the version of myself I wanted to become not just for my family but for myself. I imagined a stage with old versions of myself stepping into the background, having taken their final bow and new leading roles stepping forward. I’m choosing to see cancer as giving me a second chance at living my life. I told my children, when they were crying one night, it was like being on a ship at sea in the dark. You have to look for the lighthouse. It will always be there for you. Just keep on looking for the light. Cancer will also force you to confront all your deepest fears. Mortality? Any and all things medical? Leaving my family behind? My children growing up without a mother? Take a big whiff. Those are deep fears and they’re breathing down my neck every night. Yet at the same time now is the chance for me to be the mother to myself that I never had growing up. Kind, patient, caring, and loving to all those scary parts. My prayer is that as my family moves through this difficult time, we are put together again more beautifully than before.
I’ve been fairly private on this front for the past year regarding my ongoing struggle with bipolar disorder. Behind the scenes, I’ve become a host for Postpartum Support International, leading a group for women in the perinatal period who struggle with bipolar disorder and am partnering back up again with Bipolar Support Club International this time as a wellness coach, which I am very excited about. I’ve doing Podcasts, writing articles, and it feels deeply satisfying to be working behind closed doors and face to face with others who are truly struggling. Not to mention I have always deeply admired people who have the ability to reach out and ask for help rather than my own tendency to withdraw inward. But over a year ago, I slipped over the edge after desperately trying to cling to whatever surface that was left for me to grasp. The fall seemed to be happening in slow motion. In my mind, there always seemed to be enough room for me to be hopeful that I could regain control until it became painfully evident that I could not. I was exhausted but rather than hit the floor, I seemed to just enter this state of free-fall where I lost perspective of any sense of time or space or reality around me. I landed in a psychiatric hospital and oddly the only thing that kept me from losing my sanity even more was that this was at least a familiar place to me.
I knew how to present myself (or so I thought), what to do and what not to do, and what to say to the people that mattered. I was left in a holding room for about 6 hours on my admission and this was honestly one of the hardest parts. I thought they had forgotten about me several times and I started to feel desperate and panicky. I shook the doors and shouted, asking for someone to come help me and at least tell me what was going on. I was ignored. I began looking for ways to escape, although I knew that would lead to nothing good and an even longer stay, so I abandoned that idea after a deep struggle not to act on the impulse. Finally, a nurse heard me as he walked by and as calmly as I could I told him I had been locked back here for hours and to please find out what was going to happen or when I was going to be allowed to a room. He kindly apologized and went to find out what the problem was and told me they were preparing a room and it should only be about another 20 minutes. 2 hours later I began shaking the doors again and found him walking by a second time. “You’re still back here?!?!” He apologized profusely and asked admissions what the problem was. A woman came to talk to me and with every ounce of self-control in me I told them the situation as calmly as I could. She explained shift change was happening but she would alert the nurse to come get me as soon as possible. I commended myself for not smacking her on the spot and considered this progress made and a sign that I was obviously cured.
Ten minutes later my admitting nurse made her appearance and took me back to the ward. She was very kind and my anger melted away as she began talking to me. By now it was 8pm and it had been a long day. I completed the intake interview with her, complied with a brief body search, curled up in a freezing cold room and went to sleep.
The next morning, I awoke and learned that I had been placed on a detox ward because the other units were full. I was surrounded by people who were there to get clean but were otherwise functional, social, and motivated to utilize the support. I on the other hand was isolative, unable to communicate with the other patients due to my mental state, and hanging on by the thinnest thread imaginable to keep any semblance of composure. I walked along in silence with the group to the cafeteria and tried to eat, but only managed a few bites. A few people asked me what I was there for and I mumbled something about being having bipolar disorder, which was received with a few understanding nods. After arriving back on the unit, I sat in a chair and waited to see some sort of practitioner so I could explain this was all a mistake and I could surely be released that afternoon. However, since I had arrived on a Friday and a holiday weekend at that, I saw the Nurse Practitioner. When she called me back to the office, I thought to myself that now my chance to shine. After all, I knew exactly what needed to be said in order to make it look like I was not as sick as I was. I had, after all, been in much worse shape than this so how hard could it be? The interview lasted a whole 5-10 minutes and I got hit with statement that there will be no discharges until after the weekend when the doctor can see me. Still, the interview went well and I came out thinking that I had survived the situation and perhaps even came away looking half way decent. If I could just make it to Monday, I would be ok. I then retreated back to my room and got directly back in bed.
This routine played out for days. Mornings were not as bad as afternoons. Every day after lunch a panic and deep heartbreak would consume me. I wanted to see my children. I wanted to go home. Anxiety would overtake me and flashbacks of the events that occurred up until my hospitalization played over and over in my mind. Panicked and explosive texts to David that I was going to die, complete inability to take care of, feed, or bathe my children or myself, screaming and rocking myself back and forth in a corner of the house for hours believing that I was dying of a rare blood cancer that I had brought on myself, and complete reserve and belief in the fact that if I killed myself, the misery would be over for everyone and they could be free again. I had felt trapped with no way out and the hospital triggered that same feeling. I was too scared to ask for anything to help with anxiety for fear they would see the simple need of it as a bad sign. I had no control over anything. Nothing. I felt at the complete mercy of people who didn’t even know me. The Nurse Practitioner upped one of the medications I was on but in hindsight it was a weak decision. Still, it helped a little and over the days in between begging to be released and the medication having some effect, I was able to participate in groups a little and occasionally talk to my peers.
Once I was finally able to see a doctor, I was feeling quite confident in my ability to prove to her I was ready to go home. She, on the other hand, was not as easily convinced. I remember her looking at me curiously and telling me that she’d like to keep me for a full 2 weeks. My heart sank. I desperately wanted to begin working on repairing the damage I had done to my family. I worked hard to fight off tears and the sense of crushing disappointment I felt. She paused for a moment and then said, “The NP spoke highly of you and it is her testimony I have ultimately decided to go off of. The team wants you here until next Friday but I am willing to let you go tomorrow if you see your personal psychiatrist the day you return home. I also expect to you to have your therapist set up for this week as well. Please have them call the hospital and confirm these appointments in order for your discharge to take place.” My heart leapt and I immediately got on the phone to set everything up. Release of Information forms had been in place so both the therapist and doctor were able to call to confirm my appointments. The hospital slapped yet another Bipolar I diagnosis on me this time with a psychotic depression episode after it and prepared for my discharge the next day.
The next morning David arrived to pick me up. His dad had flown out from Hawaii the day I went into the hospital to help with the kids while David worked. He took them to swim team each day, brought them home, fed them, bathed them, and put them to bed. When I arrived, John was still there thankfully and his presence was a huge comfort to me. I felt like I was still on very shaky ground and not quite able to stand on my own two feet again. He helped me with the kids, talked with me, and is just the kind of man who makes you feel like everything is going to be alright. He never preached or gave me advice. In fact, the day I got back from the hospital he and I drove to the pool for the kids to go swimming the most he asked me was, “So how are you feeling?” which in all honesty was about the most personal thing he had ever asked me before. I still hadn’t quite worked out the answer to this question so all I was able to say was that I was confused. I had been great at my job when I worked as a psychiatric nurse and yet there I was not able to maintain a drop of stability over my own life. John laughed quietly to himself before saying, “Elizabeth, that is exactly the problem. Your patients don’t belong to you. You can stay detached. But with your own family you are immersed in that life and perspective gets lost.” Then he told me a story about the power of breath and breathing through pain or singing of that’s more your thing. That’s all that he and I said about it and that’s all that needed to be said. The rest of the time I listed in fascination to his Airforce stories, watched as he played basketball with the kids, and devoted his presence to being there for us. What greater gift is there anyway? The gift of presence.
After John returned to Hawaii, my family and I surveyed the damage. I had dropped out of school, lost credibility at work, and had a very delicate foundation of reality to stand on at best. Slowly as the months went on, we were able to put the pieces back together but not without several speed bumps. My recovery didn’t get stronger and stronger and stronger. It took about 9 months of continued instability to reach my old self again. I now have a team I work with consisting of a bipolar specialist, my regular psychiatrist, and therapist who would all love to see me back on lithium but I just can’t bring myself to do it again. They really do love that drug and while it worked well for me, the dose necessary to keep me stable carried with it side effects that were just too difficult to tolerate at the time. If things ever head south or too far north again, I’ll consider it but as for now I am doing well. I’ve re-enrolled in school with a firm promise to my family to pull the plug on it if I start to destabilize. I’m back working at a place I love and seems to keep me in a therapeutic state of mind, which is good for me. I’ve been functioning well at home and able to take care of my family and find joy again in my life.
I don’t tell this story for sympathy, shock value, or validation. I need none of those things. What motivates me to share this is to help people to see that mental health/wellness/illness deserves compassion. It’s become almost hip to talk about it now. Everyone relates to anxiety or periodic depression but as soon as you mention that you hear voices or say the word bipolar or schizophrenia or schizoaffective, etc., everybody awkwardly shuts up. We don’t deserve to be dismissed or looked at as the problem for all the violence in society. But we do deserve to be listened to without fear. And for me, World Bipolar Day is a good place to start.
Of all the weeks for David to travel back to Hawaii, it had to be the one where sick kids and emergency room visits have filled the days. To be clear, I am thrilled he gets to go home and have some kid-free time with his family BUT I can’t deny that I was a bit apprehensive about being on my own to lead the pack from Tuesday through Saturday. However, with my most recent bipolar episode behind me and a somewhat fragile stability holding firm, I decided that I could handle it and that he could go enjoy himself in the sun.
TUESDAY
Dave left early Tuesday morning before any of us were awake. So, for the first time in quite a while, I got all the boys up and ready for school on my own like I used to. The first day went great and everybody got to school on time. There were no tears, yelling, screaming, or traumatized individuals leaving the house. On Monday Nathan was sick with a fever that lasted all day. By Tuesday, the fever had resolved and he was back to his normal self but still had to stay home another day. We spent the time by watching a movie and ran errands that needed to get done for the week. Tuesday evening was more of the same and we all had a relaxing evening before the kids took a bath and went to bed. I was looking forward to getting them all back in school the next day so I could tie up some things I had to get done before officially withdrawing from grad school for the year.
WEDNESDAY
Then came Wednesday in all her terrible fury. I dropped all the kids off at school in the morning. We were a little later than the day before but everyone still made it on time. Owen clung to me so tightly while I was dropping him off that I almost decided to keep him home because he was so sad. But in the end, I left him at daycare driven in part by the fact I still had things I needed to get done and wanted to get them out of my hair for good. I got home and took a leisurely time getting ready since everyone was out of the house. No sooner did I sit down to work than the phone rang. It was Owen’s preschool saying he had diarrhea and I needed to pick him up. Somewhat irritated over my plans being interrupted again, I picked him up and took him home. He seemed fine to me for a while until I learned the hard way why they had chosen to call me about the diarrhea and send him home rather than keep him. Defeated, I turned a movie on for him and sat down to do some mindless work on the computer (ex: research what kind of planner stickers I should buy). I see Owen sitting on the coffee table and the next thing I know he is getting up off the floor crying. There was something odd about his cry so I immediately got up and ran over to him. To my complete horror he had blood literally pouring out the back of his head. I raced to the kitchen and grabbed a huge wad of paper towels and applied firm pressure to it while keeping him pressed against me. Owen was panicking and in pain, there was blood everywhere, my heart was racing, and my alarm just went off to go pick up the boys from school. I had no idea what to do, especially if I couldn’t get the bleeding to stop and we were nowhere near that point yet. I reached for my phone and called my neighbor, whose son I also picked up from school. Through Owen’s screams, I frantically tell her I can’t get the boys from school and could she pick them up? She graciously said it would be no problem and to just worry about Owen.
About 10 minutes later I was able to get the bleeding to stop but all I saw when I took the towel away was a mass of bloody, matted hair. I was terrified that if I tried to wipe away any of the blood to get a closer look, it would start bleeding again. Owen was still crying saying he was scared and that it hurt. I did my best to comfort him and decided a trip to the ER was in order. And since the wound had not started bleeding after the towel had been off for 5 minutes, we could get there ourselves.
The car ride calmed Owen and I only began to have one inner meltdown when Waze took me a different way and I missed my turn twice. There was construction around the parking area of the ER and I didn’t see any free spots right in front so with a complete “screw it” mentality, I made my own spot and went in through the front doors. It was not an encouraging sight. The ER was packed. We waited… and waited… and waited. A few hours went by. I imagined my car was likely towed at this point, my phone would die soon thereafter, and I’d have no way of reaching anyone. Eventually we were called into triage. The nurse there was very nice and managed to clean the area enough to see that staples were going to be in order and she put lidocaine jelly all over it and sent us back to wait some more. Our neighbor insisted on keeping the boys and assured me everything was going fine and not to worry about anything other than Owen. With this reassurance, Owen and I sat together, hungry and exhausted, but okay.
Finally, we were called back to an exam room and everything went quickly from there. A very friendly Physician’s Assistant came in and assessed his wound. After cleaning it up he estimated it would take about 5 staples. Owen was so brave. I think he’ll tell you the worst part was the cold water running down his neck when it was being cleaned. The staples were a little uncomfortable but Owen held still all on his own and it was over before he knew it. Afterwards a cherry popsicle and discharge paperwork completed the process. As we walked out the door, I was half sure my car would be either towed or at the very least, I’d have a hefty ticket. To my great shock and relief, I had neither! Six hours after the event occurred, we arrived safely back at home.
Our neighbor walked the boys over to our house and after looking after them for the entire afternoon and evening, even brought dinner for Owen and myself – to say I was touched is an understatement.
THURSDAY
I spent the entire day hovering over Owen to ensure there were no further accidents or ER visits. If I could have wrapped him in bubble wrap, I would have.
FRIDAY
This day I was sick with a bug while I simultaneously trying to keep an eagle eye on Owen from the couch. I was exhausted, my stomach was in knots, and had a splitting headache. The only thing I could think about was how I was going to make it through the rest of the evening and get the boys up and ready at 7am for their 3 soccer games in the morning. It was another dreadful day.
SATURDAY / MY BIRTHDAY
My alarm went off at 6:30am and I was completely unaware that it was my birthday. I tried my best to get out of taking the boys to soccer but Colin looked so completely crushed when I asked him if he would be upset if we just skipped it this week. I begrudgingly got everyone ready and out the door for the first game at 8am. I believe I made it until almost 10am before I got my first Happy Birthday text. I was partly shocked that I had completely forgotten, touched to receive a nice message and saddened by it all at the same time. David was due to be home around lunch time but only for a few hours before he had to go to work that night, which meant he would be sleeping most of the next day. I had basically another day and a half to go and I wanted to throw in the towel. This is not how I wanted to spend my birthday. The rest of the day passed as expected. Soccer games finished, David came home and we all grabbed lunch and then he left to go to work soon thereafter.
CLOSING THOUGHTS
I had such high hopes for this week. I wanted to do fun things with the boys like go get ice cream late on a school night, watch funny movies together, and just generally enjoy the time together. This is clearly not what happened. I do not want to come across as ungrateful, angry, or resentful and perhaps if it were not my birthday, I wouldn’t be so sad about it all. But here’s to my 41st year and I’m hoping 41 and 1 day will look a little bit brighter.
I find myself in the position of having to apologize, yet again, for the long absence in my writing. Truth be told, I’ve actually written a number of posts over the months but deleted them all within a day. It has been a challenging 8 months but I think that things have finally turned a corner for me.
Back in December, I found out one of my best friends was murdered. She was such a bright light and losing her was crushing. I was heartbroken and it took me a long time to regain my footing and stability afterwards. Even now, I have a very hard time speaking about it. On top of that I was working full-time at a very demanding job and I found that I was unable to be there for my 4 kids and work at that pace at the same time. My family suffered badly and my mental health went down the toilet. After talking with my husband and crunching the numbers, I finally gathered the courage to quit my full-time position and ask if I could scale back to 2 days a week. Thankfully, they said yes and it has been a tremendous weight off my shoulders.
So now here I am! In the past month we took a vacation to visit family in both California and Hawaii, got a puppy (Frosty), and the boys started school. The vacation was a nightmare to put it bluntly. We went to Disneyland (aka Utter Hell), and then flew to Hawaii where we had to pay a small fortune for a rental car and split time between staying with family and two different hotels, which meant unpacking and packing our stuff up constantly. I know this must seem like whining but when traveling with 4 young children, EVERYTHING is a massive effort. However, seeing family was wonderful, we went crabbing, attended a beautiful wedding and Hawaii was as beautiful as ever. In California, seeing my dad was as wonderful as always but overall, the trip was too much for me. To make things harder, we got back home from Hawaii at 12:30am and then had to drive 2.5 hours so that we could pick up our puppy early the next morning. I didn’t sleep more than one hour for 3 or 4 nights in a row and I was NOT in a good state. When we finally did get home with Frosty, it took me almost two weeks to recover.
But allow me to show you these lovely pictures with smiling faces so as to create the illusion that everything was enjoyable and effortless!
Overall, I am in a MUCH better place now and I’d like to say ‘I’m back and here to stay!” but anyone struggling with mental illness knows better than to say that. I guess all I can hope for is that I continue to have more room in my life to devote to the things I love such as my family, writing, and whatever else life brings!
You’d think I’d be used to my life being defined as a ‘comedy of errors’ by now. All I need to do is say, “I have 4 boys.” and women look at me with sympathetic eyes and a sorrowful expression while David is usually greeted with enthusiastic smiles and a thumbs up from other men. It has been this way for years and in my mind, I’m completely at peace with the chaos, fist fights, and screaming that comes with the territory. Yes, that wonderful place in my mind where nothing bothers me and I am the picture of cool, calm serenity. I handle every shriek, little fist thrown, and tear with a smile on my face. Ok, Ok, Ok! I am nothing even close to that but it’s the effort that counts… although I’m a little short on that too,
Saturday was a beautiful day. I mean completely breathtaking. David and I had the idea to drive to the Lyndon B Johnson Ranch as a fun excursion for the day and because I truly, truly love it there. It’s my happy place and if I could live anywhere in the US, it would be a home built somewhere on that ranch. I excitedly grabbed my camera gear and went to find the boys. As soon as I tell them we were leaving for the day, the reaction was mixed. Most of them met the idea with some mild element of curiosity except for our second son, William. The first question out of Will’s mouth no matter where we are going is, “How long is it going to take to get there?” Anything over 5 minutes is met with a shriek and that he can’t handle getting to the car because his legs don’t work. Considering this place is over an hour away, William put up quite the dramatic fight. On the way, things were less than peaceful. This is nothing new but nonetheless annoying. William and Colin were play/real fighting in the back seat. Sometimes they were laughing (which was fine – but borderline too loud), other times they were screaming and crying (which is not fine and way over the top too loud). After having to lay the law down, we managed to drive to the ranch without much of a hitch, the only problem being I really needed to use the restroom. For whatever reason, we entered from a different spot and found ourselves on a slow-moving driving tour of the ranch. All of this would have been well and good except for the bathroom component. Some cars pulled over to take pictures but we were made to forge ahead until we reached the gift shop where there was a bathroom waiting for me. I exclaimed that we would have to do the driving tour all over again so I could get the pictures I missed but David said we could just walk up the road since the best part was the field with the cows nearby.
Now I will interject that this was not my favorite idea. No, there were not a lot of cars that day but I was sure that this was against the unspoken “rules” and that we were not allowed to walk back on the driving tour. But David insisted this would get some energy out for the kids and that nobody cared. So I decided to make the best of it and take out my camera to change the lens, even though I was grumbling under my breath the entire time. Then, to my dismay, I saw that my camera battery had completely died! I was crushed! All the beautiful pictures I was planning on taking would now have to be taken on my phone and there was nobody else to blame other than myself. I am pleased to say however, that the day was simply too beautiful to be disappointed for long!
The walk to see the cows was typical for our family. Nathan was tormenting William, who was screaming and running away before trying to sneak back and get his revenge, which just kept the same cycle going over and over again. Nothing I seemed to say or do stopped the madness between those two. When we finally arrived at the cows we stood there staring for a while before trying to get a couple of pictures of the boys all together. This was our big mistake. Getting these four to stand in a ditch and stare at a camera proved to be too much for them. William didn’t want to stand next to Nathan, who was scared of the ants. Colin hopped right in the ditch but didn’t want to pose for a picture. Owen can’t stand anywhere for long but he seemed to be faring the best out of the four of them. In the end, this is the best we got.
The rest of the trip was spent going on the trails, climbing on vines, catching lizards, listening to Nathan talk about politics, hearing William scream that he was tired and that his legs couldn’t make it back to the car, Owen screaming at Colin for scaring him, and me dreaming of living on a massive ranch, in the open fields, where nobody cares how loud we are… thank goodness for daydreams.
Please forgive me for the lack of posts. I’ve no excuse other than my older kids being home with school closed and therefore more of my time being used up. I’ve witnessed a variety of reactions to COVID-19 and the resulting quarantine we are all under. For some, the result has been deep anxiety and panic. For others, such as myself, I’ve been oddly calm. The cancellation of school and all related activities has apparently been right up my alley. I love homeschooling, extra time playing outdoors with my kids, and the general slowing down of life. We’ve spent plenty of time riding bikes, playing in dirt, hiking, and doing puzzle and much less stressing about school mornings, getting to swimming on time, and my husband being stuck late at work. We’ve no doubt been using screens more too but I find I’m not as worried about it because of all the other things we are doing too.
It also helps that Spring finally sprung and wildflowers exploded all over our area. I find Spring intoxicating and it does wonders to lift my spirits. I was speaking to a therapist the other day about how much better I feel with a slowed down pace of life and warmer weather. She kindly reminded me that I needed to find another way to recharge my batteries other than an enforced quarantine related to a worldwide pandemic. Too true! It’s sad that this is what it took to get me to slow down and recharge. Advice noted and when this all passes, I will need to make some serious changes to ensure I don’t get so run down again.
Not all is roses though. I’m reminded daily, if not hourly, of the suffering going on in the world and all around us. But for those of us with mental health challenges, I also know that I need to create a boundary for myself. If I spend too much time reading the news or allow myself to get consumed by anxiety, I’m not going to be able to take care of my family. It’s only a matter of time before this hits closer to home and our community. We are prepared for that and take extra precautions to keep us all healthy. In the end, all we can do is take one day at a time, and that is exactly what I am doing.
New Years is my favorite holiday. There’s something about reflecting back upon the year that’s about to pass and setting my intentions for the future that fills me with hope and motivation. I’ve decided self-acceptance is the name of the game for 2020. Last year was full of facing some hard truths about myself and learning how to best set myself up for success. This year will likely be more of the same, but I hope to bring some more self-compassion to the picture.
I’ve learned, for example, that I am just not a Christmas person. I never look forward to it and find the whole ordeal extremely stressful. I can’t wait to put the decorations away when it’s all said and done. This year, I followed suit with my plan to order the food instead of cook it myself, as I did for Thanksgiving. This helped immensely but I still found myself irritable, depressed, and just wishing the day would pass as quickly as possible. It’s the same way year after year and I’ve always pushed through but never did anything to make a positive change. After yet another dismal experience this year, I realized something. Instead of staying home, opening gifts, and cooking a big meal, I would love spend the money on an experience instead. If taking a trip is not in the budget, then even getting away for the day would suffice. Going to a nearby National Park, packing a picnic, and spending the day hiking or climbing trees with my kids sounds perfect. Each of my boys can draw straws to see which sibling to buy a gift for and then receive one from mom & dad or Santa and that’s it. We can spend the day focusing on what the season is really about rather than worrying about getting a turkey in the oven, what’s on TV, cleaning up the aftermath of the morning, and all the other hassles that have become enmeshed with what should be a sacred day. I’ve been like a round peg trying to fit myself in a square hole for so many years that the idea I could actually change something never occurred to me. I opted to beat myself up for being so miserable instead of working with myself and accepting that no matter how hard I try, I’ll never be signing up to sing Christmas carols.
My goal is to bring this awareness to other areas of my life I want to change. What do I want and what can I realistically handle? This is key when you are living with a mental health condition. There’s no sense in setting a goal like getting up extra early to exercise before everyone else wakes up when getting solid sleep is so critical for me. I’ll need to find another time. Ultimately, when we bring compassion to self-awareness, we get acceptance. And isn’t that our highest goal?
Please forgive me for the lack of posts. I’ve no excuse other than my older kids being home with school closed and therefore more of my time being used up. I’ve witnessed a variety of reactions to COVID-19 and the resulting quarantine we are all under. For some, the result has been deep anxiety and panic. For others, such as myself, I’ve been oddly calm. The cancellation of school and all related activities has apparently been right up my alley. I love homeschooling, extra time playing outdoors with my kids, and the general slowing down of life. We’ve spent plenty of time riding bikes, playing in dirt, hiking, and doing puzzle and much less stressing about school mornings, getting to swimming on time, and my husband being stuck late at work. We’ve no doubt been using screens more too but I find I’m not as worried about it because of all the other things we are doing too.
No Ordinary Moments 