theNest

So when kids don’t get their way or don’t want to do what they’re told, some whine (this is our son), others cry, some throw themselves on the ground and flail, and some just have attitude. None of these describe Madeline – she has her own way of being defiant. She exercises her defiance using the “sit-in” method. According to Wikipedia “In a sit-in, protesters usually seat themselves and remain seated until they are evicted, usually by force, or until their requests have been met.”

Let me explain this a little more. The other night, Garth made chicken, green beans, and bread for dinner. Not bad, hey? You would have thought we were feeding her rocks. She just stared at it and then pushed it away not saying a word. She folded her hands across her chest and gave us a look of “this doesn’t even dignify a response.” Now, we know not to stuff food down our kids throats and if we are having something that is too spicy, too wierd, etc. the kids know they can make themselves a PB&J. We held our ground that she couldn’t have dessert until she ate dinner. She sat peacefully for what seemed like eternity and then came to terms – but it definitely was a compromise. Geez. This happened 3 weeks ago, and since then she has done the same sit-in for eggs and toast for breakfast and pizza (I know!!) for dinner.

Whatever. It finally hit the fan on Thursday that her behavior was not acceptable. It was our 9th wedding anniversary and honestly, the worst day of 2009 so far. Garth would agree. All I am going to say is that kids don’t care if it is your anniversary, Mother’s Day, or birthday. They only care if the day is about them and my mom warned me about celebrations because my sisters and I were equally awful on those days. Anyway, Madeline had a big spelling test to study for and I had tried everything…every approach, every method, used every creative bone in me and she wouldn’t budge. She was actually enjoying my trying so hard…and was mocking me at the same time by not giving in to anything. Grrrrrrr. My patience was shot. I sat her in our big red chair in the living room and said she could sit there but she would lose a day of TV for every 10 minutes that passed. I also told Garth that I needed to be done with the situation for a while to simmer down. So she sat thinking and I worked on LadyBird. I could hear Madeline telling Garth that she was just too tired to do anything, so Garth told her to go to her room and straight to bed whereupon, she settled in for an afternoon nap. What?! That is a reward in my book. She must have been absolutely exhausted because she never takes naps…hmmm. She still lost 3 days of TV which we get to enforce this weekend. Good times.

In the meantime, I was supposed to be finished with both homework duties and working because I wanted to go to the grocery store and get dinner and a small cake to show the kids how we celebrate wedding anniversaries. I had even planned to bring out the novelties we had – goblets, ring bearer’s pillow, favors, etc. Needless to say, no cake this year. Also, Garth went to put dinner in the oven and there was a leftover pepperoni (from the pizza night) in the oven that either caught fire or was near it so it completely smoked out our house. So I went into Madeline’s room to wake her up before the smoke alarm went off and then we headed to Del Taco for dinner (because we had coupons and we’re cheap like that). We bailed but we also warned the neighbors that alarms may go off and left them access to the house.

Upon returning, our house was safe and sound but still smoky. Garth and I capped off the evening with an argument over Madeline and what to do about her. The silver lining to our disagreement was that Madeline was startled out of her “sit-in” and did her spelling and remaining homework with a good heart. By then, I was toast. I went to bed at 8:20. Happy Anniversary!!!

I feel the need to say that our anniversary wasn’t a complete wash. Friday night, Garth and I shipped the kids to their grandparents and went out for a nice dinner to celebrate our anniversary the way it should be celebrated. I have been told by numerous friends that I will look back on that day fondly and laugh. I hope so.

When I was engaged to Garth, I took a position as the activities director at a private and exclusive assisted living home. I took the CA course in directing activities for seniors and my job responsibilities included making a monthly newsletter, working with the residents’ families, and planning, coordinating, and facilitating all events everyday. I led the sitting exercise class and was the official BINGO caller at 3pm – on the dot.

Almost daily, I had an enlightening (and at times, humorous) story to tell Garth concerning the residents. One story I remember involves a resident that formerly held a high administration position at UCSB and boy was she feisty! She was really tall for a woman and had bright red hair. At the time, she was in the beginning stages of Alzheimer’s so occasionally she would repeat her questions. I would answer each time as if she had asked me only once (as I was instructed). Dignity means a lot when you start to lose things towards the end of life. Later on as her condition progressed, she began to get a little agitated and would ask me somewhat irritably, “can someone tell me what the hell is going on here?!” I would casually respond that it was time for BINGO and I could see her relief, if only for a moment. She would say, “I really like BINGO. Can you make sure I make it here everyday? I may forget.” Absolutely. And I did.

At first, I was a little surprised at the amount of cussing I heard from residents because it was a well-to-do establishment. Mostly, it was from the men who got impatient and they would tell someone to move their “fat arse” out of the way so they could get to dinner on time. I was also surprised the first time I broke up a cane/walker fight but I learned to deal diplomatically with such issues that would arise. There were residents that had varying degrees of impairment albeit hearing, vision, and mobility. Some were cranky about aging and the resulting losses and others had a more optimistic disposition. At some activities, I would need to assign seating to separate the ornery ones from each other – if I didn’t fights were inevitable.

I miss it. I miss the community, the residents, and the staff. It was a campus – of sorts – and a family. I was there for most of their waking hours and planned their days to try and take their minds off of pain, and the inevitable, death. They were experiencing the sunset of life. Working with them gave me balanced perspective on life and I learned to slow down and enjoy the process. I wonder…

My parents showed me this picture of a recent family celebration and it made me crack up. That is my dad (the driver) and from clockwise, my Grandma Johnson (88), my Bumpa (83), and my Great-Auntie Ruthie (81) is peeking through to smile at the camera. Notice Bumpa’s cane…in other words, the two in the back should have been seated instead of hitching a ride! My mom was behind the photographer and freaking out. She is yelling at my dad to slow down – which he he was only going about 2-3 MPH anyway – because we wouldn’t want to lose all of our elder family members in a single golf cart mishap! They look like they were having a blast. The best is yet to come…

Today is a kind of anniversary. I was a junior at Westmont College and my boyfriend of over a year and I had mutually parted the day before. We had discussed marriage but I began to have such physical and emotional difficulties I became catatonic toward our relationship. I was in such pain I could not care for him the way I wanted to. He had an idea of the pain but I kept a lot of it from him. He also had doubts (understandably) so we parted amicably.

The day before the break-up, I had moved off campus to share a room that my friend Andrea rented from a professor and his family. (Sadly, that house – along with 13 other Westmont faculty homes – burned in the 2008 Santa Barbara Tea Fire). Moving off campus took me out of the community microscope and it was much easier to hide my pain. I was a shell of myself at 105 lbs. and I hadn’t slept in 3 months. I did what I could to keep my grades up but it was all crumbling. I talked to my parents daily about dropping out of school or committing suicide because I didn’t what was wrong with me and couldn’t fix it. I had been going downhill for months and no one had answers. I was so drained.

I remember walking up the street from the house and sitting on a curb, rocking back and forth. I was sobbing and unable to understand my broken body and mind. I prayed constantly for answers and healing and felt God was deaf. A Sociology professor drove by and just looked at me curiously as if he wanted to somehow help. After I had composed myself, I headed back to the house and called my parents. I usually talked to my mom but she wasn’t home. I feel that God used my dad, who was weary from the last few months of my sobbing phone calls. He said to hang up and call the campus physician and that if he had to drive to Westmont and physically take me, he would.

I called the health center and sobbed the whole time. The health center knew me well as I had so many physical ailments from whatever this was. The receptionist told me to come in immediately. When I went in, the doctor asked if we could try an SSRI anti-depressant that would help me deal with things until we could figure out what was wrong with my body. I went and had the prescription filled for Zoloft and went home to try it. I took it in the afternoon and felt the relaxing effects immediately. It was as if my body was starved for it. I went to sleep for the first time in so long and when I woke the next morning, I was actually hungry! I smiled for the first time in months as I ate a bowl of cereal without wanting to vomit.

As I continued to take Zoloft, I gained a little weight and I stopped crying daily. I didn’t worry about unnecessary things and I got a spark for life again. The physical ailments disappeared too. I was also seeing a counselor who helped me heal and move on with life. Everything had changed. All my plans and perspectives for the future had to be drastically altered – but all for the better. It was all part of the plan.

Garth belongs to a graphic design online chat forum and that was a post. It rings true in our household as we have two of those lovely critters. Don’t get me wrong, I love our cats and they have warmed up to me a lot through the years (cats in general are very picky about who they allow into their lives). But when you hear those creatures heave, you just want to run and hide. I have tried sending the kids in to clean up the messes and all of a sudden the were “too young” for something. Hmmm…curious.

Shrek 2 – Hairball

Don’t you love it when your mind wants to do one thing and your body is like, “It’s not going to happen, Jeeves?” Obviously, I am being facetious here because no one would choose the misery of a mental illness or any other life-altering disease. For example, you know you need to get out of bed and start the day but you are too terrified (for no apparent reason) to budge from the fetal position. Garth and many other people have no idea what this feels like but I can only faintly describe it as being scared for your very life. The heart is racing, sweating, adrenaline pumping, and overwhelming fear and panic consume the body – the body truly believes it is in imminent danger…for no rational reason.

Before I was diagnosed, I had some well-meaning but ignorant people of faith tell me that my heart was in the wrong place and that was why I was suffering so much. I was also told that I was sinning with all my worrying. Really? Thanks but no thanks for those bits of unsolicited and ill-advised statements of faith – as well intended as they were. And by the way, I was way past worrying – anxiety and panic are a whole other category. You see, with worry it is implied that there is a choice and I clearly was not choosing to be terrified of moving from the fetal position. Not to bag on people of faith (as I have faith too) but I only take advice when it comes from Psychiatrists and others who have walked a mile in my shoes. After the dust settled I was able to see God’s perfect love and provision through the situation and the people involved – even those who offered the unsolicited advice. They are the reason why I am so open about my mental illness as I want to help them better understand God through mental suffering.

What really was going on was not a matter of sin and was something out of my reach…the will of my body over and apart from the will of my mind. One doesn’t choose diabetes, asthma, cancer, depression, etc. Nor is it punishment inflicted by God. It is just something that happens because our bodies are not made perfect. Name one person that did not require medical attention at some point in his/her lifetime – I sure can’t. I needed medical help for my anxiety and God provided the blessing of physicians and medications. Once I had the medications, my body “cooperated” a little more with my mind. But, boy does it mess with your head for a little while because there was broken trust between your body and mind. You rely on your body to tell your mind when it is in pain. It gets a little confusing when you have to play the guessing game before getting a clear diagnosis. It takes time to get things back in the groove and for the mind and body to work together for the good of the whole. Somewhere in that messy process, I gained a profound awareness and renewed respect for the mind and body dichotomy.