Milestones
Wednesday, May 7, 2008, by Sherra
I got home late Sunday night from five fun-filled days visiting relatives in Indiana.
As I shared last week, I went back home to Indiana to visit Imogene.
One week ago on Wednesday I surprised Imogene and spent the afternoon with her. She has fallen twice since I was there last year so she spends most of her time in a wheelchair. She has made a remarkable recovery especially at age 92.
She doesn’t go out very much, if at all. Since I was there by myself and was not on a schedule, I made myself available if she wanted to go anywhere. After a little encouragement because I’m sure you know how much her generation “doesn’t want to be a burden” she finally said “I sure would like to have some good food at Gray’s.”
Gray Brothers Cafeteria is a local landmark in Mooresville, Indiana.
Photo of Gray’s sign came from this fun food blog.
Cafeterias are not my favorite kind of restaurants. I actually refuse to eat at them here in Georgia. (Another one of my issues…for another day.)
But Gray Brothers is different. I love it.
PhilBillPaul loves cafeterias so I had to take a picture of our food so I could show him I had his favorite chicken and noodles (and corn and potatoes and a roll and butterscotch pie if you’re taking inventory.)
I found a far better picture of their food at RoadFood.com which is a fun site that features reviews the kind of down-home restaurants we love.
“A tray of lunch, Gray Brothers-style. Clockwise from the bottom left: candied beets, dinner roll, banana cream pie, orange chiffon Jell-O, lemonade, chicken with cornbread dressing.”
- Michael Stern
Imogene had those candied beets (yuck) and jello salad and fried potatoes and strawberry pie with her chicken and noodles. My photography skills really didn’t do justice to our meal.
Yes, it does appear that we might have thought this was our last meal. I’m happy to report it wasn’t. We actually took some beets, jello salad and pie back to her room.
Everything was absolutely delicious and words cannot describe what it meant to me to get to spend the afternoon with her and take her out to dinner.
The waitress took our picture and I’ve already ordered two 5 x7 prints that I’m framing–one for me and one for her!
Life Lesson (LL): In spite of gas prices and a nine hour drive, the trip was worth every moment I got to spend with Imogene and other relatives!
Share a Life Lesson (SALL): Any trip you’ve taken or are planning to take to visit someone special in your life?
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Categories: Food, Life Lessons, Milestones, Moments, Raves
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Wednesday, April 30, 2008, by Sherra
I hope that when you are reading this I am visiting or about to visit Imogene in Indiana.
She’s the only Grandma I’ve ever known as my mom’s mother passed away when I was just six months old.
I’ve been lucky enough to be the keeper of some very special family photos.
Side note: Volunteer to make an album and relatives might give you some precious pictures.
My mom grew up on this farm and I grew up as a city kid who was lucky enough to visit the farm.
Imogene sent me a thick envelope of pictures in 1995 and I love what she wrote and I included it on the album page. Grab a magnifying glass, it’s worth reading!
My cousin Dayna captured the essence of us city kids visiting the farm by writing this story for the family reunion album I created almost 15 years ago.
For a little girl who lived in the city, the farm might as well have been Disney World. There were so many things to explore and never enough time. From the gravel road you turned into the driveway which had a bridge over the pond. Never mind that there was probably only inches of water beneath it, I always held my breath as we went over it because there were no sides to this bridge and you just never knew how good a driver your Dad was! Up the hill stood the farmhouse and many, many other buildings just waiting to be explored. There were skinny sidewalks that surrounded the house and sometimes led to nowhere. There were so many doors and porches on that house it was amazing. Of course, one sidewalk led down to the outhouse which was, to a city kid, unbelievable. The darkness, smell and bugs in the corner were just enough to make you wish you were back home! Then there was that huge big tank in the yard which you never fully understood what it was used for. It was best for telling your little brother or sister that if they hit it too hard, it just might explode the whole farm! What a great place this farm was for me. I can remember every little detail about it as if I were just there yesterday. It’s all in my heart and memory forever.
My Grandad passed away the year I married PhilBillPaul. We continued to have family reunions on Labor Day weekend at my Uncle Jack’s farm for more than 25 years.
Now it was my turn to bring my city kids to the farm. City kids getting to see pigs is a big deal.
But the bigger deal has always been spending time with extended family. The stories. The pictures. The memories.
Here is one of my favorite quotes I included on the album page that was my Grandad’s last Labor Day reunion…
Enjoy the little things for one day you may look back and realize they were the big things.
–Robert Brault
All those reunions were the big things. I always knew that. I still know that.
My mom is the second youngest of seven children who are all still alive.
(I won’t mention names but ages range from 81 to 59…can you hear my slow whistle? It’s impressive, we know!)
13 years and one month flew by and we didn’t miss the irony when she was the first to lose her spouse, my dad, at the age of 60.
Meanwhile, the years continue to pass by and time doesn’t stand still.
I know I’m not telling you anything you don’t know. I hope this will be a soft whisper and a gentle reminder.
Last year as I made my way back home from The Black Hole, I stopped in to spend the afternoon with Imogene. We went shopping and out to eat and before I left I snapped this picture of her standing by my car with my camera phone. At age 91, my bright blue VW Bug matches her personality.
Imogene is funny and spunky and I have always loved spending time with her. To get to spend one-on-one time with her is a sheer delight for me.
Of course, the time I get to spend with her is rare since we moved from Indiana when I was in the 3rd grade and I’ve never lived there again.
Kids and life have a way of getting in the way of visiting.
I’m making the time to visit this week. It is a privilege that I don’t take lightly.
Notice I said I’m making time. It’s not in the budget. It’s not on the schedule. The teenagers will probably think of new reasons for me to take Valium while I’m away. Maybe I should leave some Valium for PhilBillPaul…
But I’m going because I can’t stop time and on my list of priorities, this one is right at the top of my list.
Hopefully I’ll get to see Uncle Jack, Uncle Jerry, Aunt Jane, Sally, Dayna and anyone else interested in seeing me while I’m there. As you can imagine, there are a whole lot of relatives in Indiana. But I’m starting with the oldest and most favorite first. 
Dysfunction still abounds but…
There’s a magical tie to the land of our home, which the heart cannot break, though the footsteps may roam.
–Eliza Cook
And I’m bringing my good camera this time.
Life Lesson (LL): Life is short. Make time, take pictures and don’t forget to write down the stories.
Share a Life Lesson (SALL): Share a favorite story about your grandparents…your memory might help someone create a family memory for their family!
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Monday, April 21, 2008, by Sherra
She turns nine tomorrow.
That last baby we actually planned.
The one that we waited so long to have because having one + two more in less than three years was daunting.
We strategically planned to have that last baby so that the first three would be old enough to babysit. That plan has served us well.
We also knew that we wanted an even number…um, why? I have no idea why except the first three so close together just threw me off balance.
I was sure #4 would round out our family.
I love, love, love babies.
I did know I wanted to rock and hold and nurse and love just one baby.
Side note: I confess that I did pray that there would only be one baby.
I didn’t know I would have to fight Roger Leroy (a.k.a. Mama Jr.) to get a turn to hold her.
I did know that that last baby would be adored by all of us and she would always be “The Queen.”
I didn’t know how hard it would be for her to have five pseudo parents instead of two. You have to have a lot of personality and a good sense of humor to keep up in our house. Obviously, she can hang with us.
I did know we would see the world through her eyes and she would make us slow down and see beauty in the simple things.
I didn’t know she would be my only girly-girl. But still love dirt and bugs and
caterpillars.
I did know that her daddy had more than enough love for another daughter.
He lights up in her presence.
I didn’t know she would test my patience in ways I never dreamed before the teen years even hit. Big sigh…
I did know that our family would be blessed beyond measure to have her in our world. And having an even number isn’t so odd.
Happy Birthday Baby Girl! You are beautiful and smart and funny.
We all love you to the moon…
xoxo
Mama
P.S. For the observant few, oh yes, that is a giant tattoo on her hand.
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Categories: Milestones, Moments, Raves, Toddlers (& babies), Tweens
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Wednesday, March 5, 2008, by Sherra
I’d like to call this the “final” post of my series on The Black Hole.
But I also know that would be a big mistake.
It is ten months after the ordeal that was my spring, summer and part of fall of last year.
I have since found a new holistic gynecologist. He dropped obstetrics some years ago and his focus is on women and hormone balance.
You can check out his website. He has a lot of excellent information on the site. I found the “Resources” page very helpful and printed out a lot of reading material even before my first appointment. It has been a fresh starting point for me and you may find some information that could help you or someone you love.
Having a doctor who is proactive and orders blood work and actually schedules an appointment to go over the results is a welcome change. Sending a postcard or telling you “someone will call” if there is anything to discuss just doesn’t meet my needs.
A annual exam, a pat on the back and a bill to pay is no longer enough for me. Maybe it shouldn’t be enough for any of us.
I can tell you that having a doctor who sits down with you and goes over lab work with you personally and actually listens to you is a giant step in the right direction.
Yesterday was my third appointment with him since September. I will see him again in four months. It is an amazingly good feeling when you know you are headed in the right direction and you have a doctor on your side.
It’s like we’re managing my care together. Frankly, that is what is suppose to happen when you go to the doctor!
Some people might even refer to this as excellent customer service. What a rare thing to find in the medical industry these days.
I don’t have a solution or a cure. I know I’m still prone to depression especially if a boulder gets in my way. I’m not offering medical advice to anyone. You will have to do your own research and find treatment that works for you.
Key words: Don’t miss them - for you.
I’m just one woman who wants to tell the truth and stay real.
I’m feeling so much better. About once a month or so, The Black Hole calls my name and sometimes I still crawl into bed for the day. But it is nothing like last year.
I’m getting back “the me I used to know” which is not necessarily “the me before the head injury” but rather; it is “the me who is in a much better place.”
Depression is an insidious, real disease. It can creep into your life and try to slowly strangle you.
Maybe your family misses the signs.
Maybe your mother and father grew up in the generation where they weren’t allowed to “be depressed” and they were expected to “get over it” and you were taught the same thing.
Maybe you don’t have a Luci or Ann or a friend who will rescue you.
Maybe you think it’s a sign of weakness and you keep telling yourself you just have to “snap out of it.”
I’m here to tell you it is real. And sometimes you can’t just “snap out of it.”
I really want women to not feel so alone. I want them to know we are so much more alike than we are different. I want us to stop hiding from the truth about life and coping so we can help each other when one of us slips into The Black Hole.
Let’s help each other move boulders.
Let’s throw each other a rope.
Let’s save each other.
The End…for now.
P.S. My heartfelt thanks to all of you who have read through each post on this *depressing* subject and for all the comments and personal emails. It really means a lot to me. Stay tuned for a new series next week I’m calling “Little Lessons.” This series should be a lot more FUN than The Black Hole.
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Thursday, February 21, 2008, by Sherra
Today is a day I choose to celebrate my dad.
Indulge me as I take a little trip down memory lane with some good times with my dad…
It was one of the proudest days of my life when I birthed The Grunter way back in 1989.
He is our only child born in the Midwest. Upon learning I was pregnant just seven months after the car crash in Florida, we moved to Illinois so I could be close to my parents.
We didn’t know the sex of the baby and I was quite sure it was a girl.
Ah, but life is full of surprises and we were the proud new parents of a baby boy. Grandma and Grandad got to come to the hospital hours after his birth. We kept the name we picked a surprise too. So when Grandad arrived at the hospital, it was a moment that is frozen in time for me. I introduced him to his first grandson and his namesake (in reverse).
Grunter The meet The Grunter. Okay, not really but I can’t reveal The Grunter’s real name here on the internet. So you’ll just have to imagine. (Something like PhilBillPaul meet PaulBillPhil–say that three times fast.)
We stayed in the Midwest for 8 months after The Grunter was born and we made the most of our months there. We enjoyed Friday night fish dinners at the local restaurants, Bears football and played euchre on the weekends.
My dad and PhilBillPaul always got along great. Such a rare gift when the in-laws love your spouse. Together they had a wicked sense of humor and loved to make my mom and me squeal.
But then we moved to Georgia. Our weekly visits became two or three times a year. We added two more grandchildren to his growing brood which topped out at eleven.
The twins were as big a surprise to us as was having a son! It took him a long time to attempt to hold the girls together–admittedly they were a handful. He was almost as overwhelmed as we were with two babies and a two year old.
We spent several Christmas holidays in the Midwest when the first three kids were babies and toddlers. Later, we opted to stay in Georgia and create our own family holiday traditions but I look back at those years fondly.
He was always genuinely excited when we visited. One year he waited patiently for our arrival so he could show the kids his new hair. On our previous visit, The Grunter had asked him where his hair went. When we walked in the living room, there was Grandad donning his new hair.
My dad always made time to be with my kids. He got down on the floor and read books. He colored with them and he played games with them. He almost always adjusted his schedule when we visited so he could spend time with us. I got to watch my dad love my kids unconditionally.
He taught them to play chess. It took a lot of patience to get Roger Leroy to sit still. Luckily, he had lots of patience.
For six years in a row, we traveled to the Midwest for a Labor Day family reunion in Indiana and would spend some time in Illinois with my parents. It was an easier time to travel without the ice and snow and the chaos of the holidays. And if there is a good time to be in the Midwest, September is a glorious month!
My dad loved golf. Absolutely LOVED golf. He played every day that he could and sometimes twice a day. At his best, his handicap was 4. He was an excellent golfer.
He taught us to play in the 5th grade and made us count every single stroke. I was very proud of that first round score of 56…on THREE holes. In spite of my score, he was also an excellent teacher. He didn’t just teach us how to hit the ball; he taught us the etiquette of the game which was every bit as important to him as a good drive off the tee box.
Out of the four kids in my family, my brother and I are the ones who still continue to play. I have improved a little. My brother has improved a lot.
When my kids got big enough, he promised to take each one to ride in his red Harley golf cart while he played a round. He waited until they were old enough to understand how to sit and watch quietly and enjoy the beauty of the course. It was a magical thing to witness.
This day was Wizzy’s turn. Excuse me, he never let us drive the cart?! In fact, he usually made us walk.
Roger Leroy never got her turn…
Today marks eight years ago to the day that he died. He had just turned 60 in December of 1999.
He passed away 2 short months later in the home he loved with just me and my mom there. We promised we wouldn’t take him back to the hospital he hated so much.
It was my privilege to be there in those final days.
Life is made up of challenges and chaos and of moments and milestones. Every once in a while, there is a perfect moment. Sometimes you don’t get to take a photo of that moment.
But sometimes you do.
My favorite photo in my life is this one.
My favorite video is my dad sledding with my kids when we flew up to Illinois spontaneously for the weekend because The Grunter said he “wanted to make footprints in the snow.”
Be here now. Stop and make footprints. It is so worth it. Make sure you make the time to tell those important people in your life how much you love them. Visit them. Hug them. Call them today.
Treasure the moments. Take lots of pictures. Learn how to use that camcorder. I just cannot express how priceless those moments on film and dvd are to us.
Treasure each other in the recognition that we do not know how long we shall have each other. –Joshua Loth Liebman
This is the last grainy, poorly lit photo I have of my dad. It is one of only two photos I have of him with Scary Baby. She was just one month old when he was diagnosed with multiple myeloma–a particularly painful and hideous cancer.
She was five months old in this picture. Five months later he was gone.
Time doesn’t heal all wounds. If you’ve lost a parent or loved one, then you already know this.
Love and time – those are the only two things in all the world that cannot be bought, but only spent. –Gary Jennings
There is not a day that goes by that I don’t think of him and miss him.
Some day maybe I’ll tell you some bad, funny stories about him.
As I smile and celebrate his life, especially today, I thought this would be a fitting close.
Two years after his death, I made a small tribute album with all the pictures of him with my kids that I could find. The album helps us to
always remember and here is what I wrote on the last page…
I thank God that he was able to see each of my children and he knew that Daddy and I made a good and happy life for our family. Most of all, I am at peace knowing that this man who raised me as his own daughter since I was three years old…this man who I never referred to as my step-dad even though that is what the world might call him…this man who made a life for my mom and me, supported us, paid the bills, created a home and made us all a family…this man who never judged me and quietly believed in me through those tough teen years…this man who taught me the game of golf and so many other things about life…this man knew in his head and his heart through my words and my actions that he was the only dad I’ve ever known and loved with all my heart…
Thanks for indulging me today so I could remember and celebrate
a kind, funny, patient man. My dad.
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Wednesday, February 20, 2008, by Sherra
PhilBillPaul was on his way home–presumably to take me to the hospital or some facility that could help me. The kids were hiding somewhere in the house listening to me cry.
I called my friend Ann to tell her my passwords and important information she could take care of while I went away. Apparently, I was thinking I might be away for a while and someone should answer my emails and take care of other details I wouldn’t be able to while I was hospitalized. Because I’m a planner like that.
I still could not breathe.
I never, ever felt so out of control in my whole life.
Ann told me to take one of those new anti-anxiety pills right then while she was on the phone with me and she insisted she would stay on the phone with me until PhilBillPaul got home.
When she was sure PhilBillPaul was tending to me, Ann then called my OB/gyn and my therapist.
Have I mentioned that my friend Ann lives in Illinois? She was doing all this for me three states and 820 miles away–I hope you all have a friend like Ann in your life…
The OB/gyn offices said to take me to the emergency room. The therapist said to try to wait until Monday because the ER would do very little and might make it worse. It’s always helpful for the professionals to agree and make good decisions on your behalf when you are no longer able to. (sigh)
I had already screamed announced I was not going to the ER to be strapped down and sedated. I have BIG issues about being pinned down.
I took a shower. I crawled into bed and talked to Ann on the phone again because she seemed to be the only person who could calm me down. PhilBillPaul brought me something to eat. I fell asleep.
I slept fitfully and never really calmed down. The exhaustion was indescribable.
Maybe it was the rhythmic snoring that brought me to this place or maybe I just needed something to blame because no one could tell me why I felt this way. I do know that the snoring had become like nails on a chalkboard, or for me, like when someone scratches their jeans and I have to slap them to stop it.
Come to think of it, his breathing had become quite annoying too.
In the morning, PhilBillPaul left to take the girls to a basketball game and The Grunter was still sleeping.
All I remember thinking is this: I cannot stay in my own house another minute. I must find a quiet place where I can sleep. I must not be where dogs bark or kids say “Hey mama” or my husband asks me every half hour “Is there anything I can get you?”
I know that last one sounds really sweet and it was. If you weren’t me.
It was also smothering and infuriating. He just couldn’t fix me no matter how much he wanted to.
So I did what we’ve all threatened thought about but only in our head. Or shared privately with girlfriends but always with a little uneasy laughter because none of us would ever really act on those unspoken or private thoughts…
I ran away from home.
Literally.
I left a note that said I would call when I got to where I was going. I packed a bag of dirty clothes and left.
I had no idea where I was going.
Well, that’s not entirely true. I was pretty sure I was going…
CRAZY.
To be continued…
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Wednesday, February 13, 2008, by Sherra
The nurse at my doctor’s office encouraged me to see the midwife who is well-versed in women’s sleep deprivation, depression and hormone issues. I wholeheartedly agreed. I love the midwives. I delivered all four children with midwives. Sign me up. I need to see a midwife.
She listened. She empathized. She laughed. (I’m still funny even when I’m depressed.) She pointed out anyone would be depressed at the stage of life I’m at with the ages of my children. (That made me kind of sad.)
She sent me home with a NEW prescription that she was SURE would work for me. It was in a different family of drugs than the other two I had taken in the past. I had been properly weaned from the first med and could start the new med the very next day.
She also sent me home with a sleeping pill prescription. I was craving sleep in a giant way.
I took one and lay in bed all night waiting for it to work. No such luck.
Have I mentioned that PhilBillPaul snores like a stuck pig? He has done this for all 20 years of our marriage. I’ve been incredibly tolerant if I do say so and I am saying so now. But at this time in my life, his snoring, or more accurately, my newly developed extreme sensitivity to noise had wreaked more havoc on my sleep patterns.
12 weeks later. Still exhausted. Volatile. Witchy. I called the doctor’s office and talked to the nurse again. She said I should definitely be feeling better by now. Time to start weaning off this drug that wasn’t working and make another appointment. They wanted me to come in and talk to the midwife again.
She was baffled. She couldn’t believe that neither med worked. I asked about hormone levels and doing other blood work to test everything that seemed to be going wrong with my body (and mind). She thought it might be time for a pysch evaluation. I volunteered to check in to a facility where I could sleep for a week or two. She laughed…again.
I left with the names of two psychiatrists she recommended and a new anti-anxiety med that might help on the “really bad days” (until we could figure out what was wrong with me).
Two days later, I had The Grunter pinned to the wall and I was screaming till my throat hurt. I literally fell apart. I could not breathe. I called PhilBillPaul and through my hysterical sobbing I begged him to come home and take me to a hospital that would help me…
To be continued…
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Wednesday, February 6, 2008, by Sherra
I went home from that appointment and I’m pretty sure I crawled into bed and took a long nap. Sheesh, it was a big day for me–showering and driving to the doctor and all. I might have had to stop and put gas in the car. I can’t really remember.
I spent another month in bed considering taking the pills but knowing if I just got a little more quality sleep time, I would snap out of this and everything would be okay.
I made weekly appointments for some talk therapy. I went. The therapist gave me words of affirmation and quality time (my main love languages).
Side note: If you haven’t ever read Gary Chapman’s book, The Five Love Languages: How to Express Heartfelt Commitment to Your Mate
I highly recommend it. It has been extremely helpful in all my relationships, not just marriage.
Okay, I do know she was getting paid to give me quality time and words of affirmation are really part of her job description. But I did feel better for at least an hour or two. She also thought I should seriously consider taking the medication.
I went home from those appointments and climbed back in bed to sleep because I was exhausted from actually going somewhere. And not sleeping at night.
Another month went by and nothing much had changed. So I made the decision to try the pills.
Please understand my hesitation in taking the pills was not because I am anti-meds. If it works, give me two! My hesitation was in my previous experience of taking a short six month ride on another anti-depressant when my dad was dying and Scary Baby was just 8 months old.
That prescription certainly took the edge off and kept me functioning at a time in my life that I really needed to be “present and accounted for.” But it also made me very, very flat. I am the first one to admit that I like to FEEL my emotions–I love to laugh and I’m not opposed to a good cry. With the drug, I did neither.
Side note: I was very, very agreeable and PhilBillPaul liked that a lot. He could barely get me to argue or squeal about anything. Very sad for me. I missed that part of me.
So I decided to make the commitment and started to take the pills as instructed. It takes at least 4 to 6 weeks to get the drugs into your system at the proper dosing.
Nothing…no change. Except I was more tired which seemed almost impossible. Not being able to sleep at night, I was staying up till the wee hours of the morning and then having vivid, 3D dreams that were not peaceful or soothing in any way.
That was the single most disturbing side effect because even though I’m aware that I have many, many issues–sleep was never one of them. I could get a job as a professional sleeper. It is a skill I have carefully honed. I know I need a minimum of eight hours with a nap or two if possible. I’m the person who can sleep standing up if there is no place to lie down.
Except then I was freaking out because I was not getting any uninterrupted sleep. It was much, much worse than the “new, crying baby, no sleep” mode. Why? Because I was a lot younger then. And my babies were put on an excellent sleep schedule and adhered to it. And because if there was one time I was a really good mother, it was when they were infants.
Ten weeks later. I’m not sleeping, I’m farther down in the black hole and it was time to call the doctor again.
To be continued…
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Wednesday, January 30, 2008, by Sherra
Back in 1988, my new friend, Mr. Psychologist, who was helping me cope with the side effects of the head injury recovery process, shared a word picture that helps me even today.
He said, “Everyone has a sack of pebbles they carry on their back. Some have larger pebbles than others. Some have more pebbles. Some have less.”
I then announced “if everyone has pebbles then I have BOULDERS in my sack. ” Remember, head injury patients are prone to ill-timed emotional outbursts and I was a textbook case. These days when I act out I just yell “Coma” so everyone remembers it’s not my fault. It doesn’t really work all that often but can you blame me for trying?
Focus, Sherra, focus.
Okay, so the real lesson here is not that I have boulders and you don’t. I believe we all have pebbles, rocks and boulders and we all cope with them in very different ways.
Your boulders may be bigger and heavier than mine. They come in all shapes and sizes and weights. (Hey, just like people.) We’re not here to judge anyone’s boulders so please, let’s start by not judging mine. We are not in a boulder competition. I repeat, this is not a competition!
Rather, we need to look for ways to help each other see past the boulders, move them, chip them away - do whatever it takes to get that other human being around, over or out from behind the boulder.
Upon realizing that The Black Hole (TBH) was a giant boulder and it was getting in the way of my day-to-day life, I knew I had to do something.
The first thing I did was to make a doctor’s appointment with my OB/gyn. It conveniently coincided with that extra-special annual appointment that we all love so much. I did feel a tiny bit productive multi-tasking like that.
I’m pretty verbal (as if you haven’t already figured that out) and I know the importance of being my own medical advocate. I shared with my doctor who I had been seeing since just after the twins were born, that I was having a hard time “coping” at home and my PMS seemed to be lasting, on average, about 28 to 30 days every month.
Hindsight flash: I wish I had known about this cute little chart I found on the internet recently. I might just order one today. I really believe that knowing the rhythm of our bodies is crucial for our health and well-being.
My doctor listened, nodded, and made some notes on his new hi-tech laptop that held my new paperless medical records.
Then he sent me home with the latest, greatest anti-depressant and patted me on the back and said to call if I needed anything else…
To be continued…
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Friday, January 25, 2008, by Sherra
My journey into The Black Hole was not as easy to summarize as I first thought. Here is the beginning of the story that I will continue to share in the coming weeks. Not because I think the details are fascinating or I am trying to be more depressing, but because if my story can help just one woman who is going through something similar, I want to reach out to her…
I have discovered that I have the ability to muddle through even when life gets hard. It’s part of who I am. A stubborn, hardworking, Midwestern girl who knows bad things can happen to good people.
I have also discovered that it really takes a lot to send me spiraling into “The Black Hole” but spiral is what I do when faced with boulders. (More on boulders on another day.)
So far, three boulders have been put in front of me that have overwhelmed me enough to warrant intervention, professional counseling and/or drugs:
Boulder #1: The car crash, coma and learning to live with a head injury. May 1988
Boulder #2: Helping my mom take care of my dad when he was dying of multiple myeloma. February 2000
Boulder #3: An explosion with a flash fire at our house where PhilBillPaul and I suffered severe 2nd degree burns. September 2006
Lest you think I’m whining, I share these things with you to give you a bit more insight into who I am and let you know that I don’t typically fall apart when life gets hard.
I now realize that the fire was really a post-traumatic stress trigger. It brought up feelings so similar to the car crash “boulder” that it was almost eerie.
Except this time I had three teenagers and a 2nd grader and two dogs and I could barely function. It took all my strength to get out of bed and get cleaned up to “appear to be fine” at a school function or sporting event or anywhere in public.
My semi-rational brain knew that old adage of “surround yourself with positive people” is usually true.
Unfortunately, my irrational brain was working overtime. Positive people were the last people I wanted to be around. They can be very irritating to those of us who are not feeling so positive. Positive people were not invited into The Black Hole. This was a private party for one, thank you very much.
So I started avoiding doing anything that required me to get out of bed or get cleaned up or basically interact with other humans beyond my immediate family.
I was anti-social and preferred to be in my bedroom (in my bed) whenever possible. I answered the phone as little as possible.
I was a barrel of fun to live with.
To be continued…
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Categories: Friends, Life Lessons, Milestones
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