The Machine

 I remember when my mother got diagnosed with obstructive sleep apnea. She came home with this Machine. It roared like a white noise maker, sometimes "bubbled" - and she put on this mask every night. The first time I saw her with it on, I took one look at the mouth-mask that changed the shape of her profile, together with the black velvet-like straps that held it on, and I couldn't help but think of Bessie the cow with her halter on, waiting to be milked.

 I burst out laughing. I laughed until tears started spilling out of my eyes.

So when I went to the doctor at the end of summer this year, and mentioned to the doctor how tired I was all the time and how I never seemed to get much real deep sleep, he ordered blood tests for me to rule out thyroid and organ function problems, and he also referred me to the local sleep clinic. He informed me that it was likely that I had sleep apnea - and that those people who got treatment noticed an increase in their alertness level, and many of them lost weight because the stress was less during the night from trying to get enough oxygen. 

The blood tests came back normal. I took my sleep study home on September 11, a weird contraption that was a band around my upper chest, a nasal tube like you see in hospitals and an oxygen monitor that you clip on your finger for the night. (The thought crossed my mind, regarding the date, that my own "twin towers" might get hit - that my laughter so many years ago was coming back to bite me!!) To my surprise, I was able to sleep that night. (Preconceived notion of a machine being too intrusive? Gone.)

When I took the diagnostic machine back to the clinic, I picked up a brochure with all the models they had in it, as well as some information about what CPAP is (Continuous Positive Airway Pressure) and how the new generation of machines is so quiet. (Another preconception dismissed.) 

A week later I got a call from the clinic with my results. Yes, I had obstructive sleep apnea (OSA), and could I come in on November 27, 2025 to pick up a CPAP machine? I made the appointment and put it on my calendar. Two. Whole. Months? 

The same day, I got a call from my doctor's assistant, who had received my test results and wanted to know if I had any questions. I wanted to know more details. So, I learned that my OSA was moderate, with 24 episodes of apnea and/or hypopnea (there's a word - it means snoring!) per HOUR.

Blink. Blink. Processing.

That night, I  put my diagnosis on Facebook and a dear friend of mine, who also has OSA, commented, "Welcome to the Snuffleupagus club!" I laughed - at least she didn't say the Bessie club... 

Yesterday, after 2 months of counting off the weeks, then the days, I picked up my machine. (Technically it's not mine yet; I have it on a 30-day trial). My appointment lasted an hour. Laura Lee (not Secord) went through my results, asked questions, let me ask questions, and then brought out the Machine - in a smart, black, canvas-looking case. She showed me how to put it together and what to do with each part. The mask was made of medical-grade silicone (so no acne or skin irritation!) and the air supply hooks to a strap that goes over my head; the hose hooks to a 360 degree elbow-joint (made of hard plastic) that allows me to turn over in bed with no problem, and the whole thing is held on my head by a strap that goes under my hair at the back of my head. She turned the Machine on after she fitted me for the mask, and there was no sound. NONE. My tongue went automatically to the roof of my mouth as I breathed normally through my nose, just like babies do! Laura Lee had to tell me the machine was on. I didn't know.

Huh.

I didn't feel suffocated.

Huh. 

I learned that I have to use distilled water in the machine to humidify the air that goes through the mask because the air by itself would dry out my nasal passages and my throat. 

Huh. 

(Note to self - those big bottles of distilled water are soft-sided, so be careful when putting water in the reservoir. I won't say how I found out...)

Finally, bedtime! I kissed hubby goodnight  . . . 

And I turned the Machine on and found a comfortable position. 

Free image from Pixabay!

The next thing I knew, it was 1:00 and I'd been asleep for an hour and a half! I unhooked the hose, went to the washroom, and got back in bed and reattached the hose. Aside from turning over in bed, I slept.

I usually wake up around 10 or 11 in the morning.

This morning I woke up at 7. SEVEN!!  More refreshed than usual (which is NOT refreshed!) And I laid awake with the Machine still on, until about 8 o'clock. 

And I got up.

Huh.

When I checked the sleep summary on the Machine, it told me that I averaged 13 apnea / hypopnea events per hour last night. (Down from 24 in my diagnostic test.)  When I checked my Garmin app (which measures stress levels and heart rate etc., through my watch) my stress levels had gone down significantly from all the previous nights. My heart rate was in the 60s (not the 80s) ... 

Huh! 

My jaw dropped. 

Blink. Blink. Processing.... 

And so begins my journey with the Machine. It's much easier than I thought to adjust to, and I like the results so far! Could this be ... part of self-care?

Huh. 

I go back in a week to get my machine read, and to adjust the flow of the air, as well as to make sure the mask still fits properly. 

But for today, I think I'll go do something else that is good for my self ... maybe get a haircut.

 

Getting Back to Normal

 COVID-19 is certainly unlike any other virus; don't let anyone tell you it's just a bad cold or a bout of the flu. It is AWFUL. It hits just about every system in the body: respiratory, circulatory, digestive, and neurological. It saps strength and weakens the body. I had a mild case of it, and I would not wish it on ANYone, including politicians (which is saying something for me). 

Hubby got hit harder. He was in bed for four days straight, lost his senses of smell and taste, lost his appetite, and even with Paxlovid (R) which we both took, he felt so weak that just the trip to the bathroom was exhausting, even after he no longer tested positive for the virus. 

Image by Miriams-Fotos at Pixabay

He still can't smell much, and can only taste the strongest tastes of sweet, sour, salt, and bitter. He cannot taste eggs or potatoes or even lasagna. Not yet. And it's been 2 months since he tested positive. He is back on his feet and able to carry on his activities but ... nothing except super-spicy, sweet, or salt tends to flicker his needle. It's been frustrating for me, as I enjoy his appreciation of my cooking. And he clearly misses not being able to enjoy simple meals. Oh well, we're told this part will pass.

In the middle of our recovery, we found out that our dog Bullet (3 years old, male Pomeranian) had grade 3 luxating patella (dislocated kneecap) in his left knee (hind leg). We took him to an animal hospital on the mainland to get the surgery done - and so now HE is recovering. He is doing far better than we expected, and we hope that by this time next week, he'll be putting his full weight on his leg. He's already putting SOME weight on it, and his flexibility has not suffered. He'll just need to strengthen those muscles through which they had to cut to reach that kneecap area.

It has been, as you can imagine, a stressful time for all of us, including me. Thank goodness for my therapist, who has kept reminding me to use the relaxation and grounding tools I prescribe for my own clients, in this situation, to avoid stressing out. And at our last session, she told me to remember the good that I do and the treasure that I am to people - not only to my family and friends, but to my clients as well. I really needed to hear that. It's easy to get overwhelmed with the path ahead, but if I take it one day at a time (sometimes one hour at a time) I get through it and I am often surprised with how well things turn out. 

Despite my aversion to the term "normal" for the most part, I can get back to my own equilibrium - if that is 'normalcy' for me, I'll take it. And perhaps I will (and so will the dog) get even better than normal. 

That would be amazing.

Transition

The last several weeks has been a time of transition, of moving from one way of doing things to something completely different. The next seven weeks will be so as well, a continuation of the changes that have slowly been happening as I get ready for my first time living alone in my 57 years. 

No, my husband and I are not separating; there is no problem in our relationship. In fact, were it not for his support and encouragement, I would not be even considering what I am about to do. 

After months of trying to secure a practicum in my province of residence, and doors slammed in my face at every turn, I found a placement - but this one is in a neighbouring province, and with a counseling agency that wants me to stay on with them after I graduate with my Masters degree. That means that I have to move - temporarily - to an apartment in a city that is two hours' drive (and an expensive toll bridge ride) away from the house I have lived in for the last nearly 29 years. My practicum begins on September 5, 2018.  That is less than seven weeks away!

Anyway, since my family needs to stay here, for a lot of reasons, I must live alone in what amounts to a strange city, on a reduced salary, and live like that for almost a year. Then, the agency will start to pay me, and for another year, I will be working two jobs part-time, until I retire from my current job in the fall of 2020. After that, I can go to full-time with the agency, which will speed up the process of me getting enough experience to launch out on my own. Once I can do that, I can move back in with my family. 

Which brings me to the meantime, this period of transition, this intense, can't-wait-but-no-it's-too-fast time where I have been picking away at things that need doing. Like finding an apartment (cha-ching $$), getting it ready to be lived in (MORE $$), being sure to maintain my quality of homework and assignments (the time requirements this term are SO much higher than ever before!), and trying to find time in there to sleep and eat and MAYBE fit in some self-care and activity. 

Social life?  What's that?

About a month ago, I had to go on stress leave from work because all the stress of all of that PLUS having to be at work for eight hours a day was just too much for me to take and I was approaching burnout. I am feeling a bit more like myself these days, but I still have to deal with that transition period that I am going through, from this place to that place, from here to there, from together to alone. The changes are happening more and more quickly; I have started to get a feel for where things are located in my new place, and I have familiarized myself with my newest friend, Siri (that's the electronic assistant on the i-Phone that can look up directions on Google Maps and talk you through traffic. What a great feature that is for reducing stress!) 

And yesterday, I even got some groceries so they would be there when I moved in - all stuff that won't spoil (canned goods, rice, cereal, boxed meals, and some cleaning supplies.) It makes the reality seem more real... that, and all those trips up and down those stairs to my 2nd floor apartment lugging heavy bags and boxes. 

Transition from "our place" to "my place" - transition from "our" to "my." Fears that I won't be able to handle the winter alone. Excitement at starting the final year of my graduate school journey. Sadness at leaving my loved ones behind and knowing that I will have to get used to sleeping alone. Anger at the system in my own province that cannot accommodate my educational needs. Determination to do my best. Nervousness (and a sort of joy) about working with real clients and making a difference - hoping that it is a positive one. Trepidation at driving in the city and possibly getting lost or stranded. And more, so much more. 

I am so very grateful. My family has been so supportive and helpful during this transition. It feels like they have worked harder than I have to make all this work for me, knowing my physical limitations. They have trudged up and down those stairs to my apartment more times than I have (so far), and worked together to put furniture together (mostly my daughter who seems to have inherited my father's ability to see with his fingers and thread a screw without even looking!). They have popped up and down my step-stool to put up brackets for curtains, change light bulbs, and so much more, WITHOUT the benefit of air conditioning, fans going full blast. 

I am truly blessed. And as I ponder this, the clock is silently ticking away, bringing me ever closer to the reality that will be upon me soon enough. Soon I will be poised on the beginning of a new and different journey, one that will change my future. 

Am I ready? I guess I will have to be. I'm just ever so glad that the future only comes one day at a time.

Press Pause

What a whirlwind the last three weeks has been! I have been in a city that is three thousand miles away from my home, knowing only the people I have met online through my master's program, and often depending on the kindness of strangers, or if not strangers, people who are new to my experience. 

Three weeks ago today, I left behind my office desk with a note on it to not give me new work because I wouldn't be back until nearly the end of July, and I went home to do my final packing. In a way, it was like I pressed "Pause" on my work life.  That world would no longer occupy me for a period of three weeks. And so it has not.  I have become immersed in the atmosphere of students desiring earnestly to develop their skills, just as I am. 

Academically, this has been intense - there has been such a strong component of hands-on practice in what some have dubbed "Summer Intensive" (as opposed to Summer Institute, which it is really called).  I can literally feel my mind expanding as I have gone through these few weeks. I chuckle when I remember how the smallest of skills posed such a problem for me at first, and then, looking back, I wonder what all the fuss was about. My confidence in my abilities has increased exponentially. Yes, academically, it has been a good experience. It will stand me in good stead in my practicum, but that won't happen until 13 months or so from now.

As challenging and invigorating as that has been, physically, it has been exhausting. It took me a few days to realize that I was lagging behind other people and feeling out of breath all the time because I was 3,500 feet higher above sea level than I was used to being! Altitude sickness includes symptoms of fatigue, shortness of breath, acute insomnia, headaches and joint aches ....and I had it all!  It lasted for almost two weeks! About a week after getting here, I was given the opportunity to book a place in residence (on the campus). It turned out to be a good move for me, as I could devote more time to self-care than I had in months. And now, a lot of those aches and pains have disappeared or vastly reduced. I can enjoy the walk to and from class now, and it doesn't tire me out like it used to. And I have even gotten some sunshine in the process! It's like I have finally been able to press Pause, to gather my legs under me, to get my bearings physically.

Emotionally and relationally, this period has been difficult.  I have been confronted with just how much of a jerk I can be sometimes (even moreso when I am feeling tired, weak, and lonely), which has led me to begin to re-evaluate my approach to communication in relationships. That was - and is - a hard (and emotionally expensive) lesson to learn. I have had to press Pause, to reflect on a lot of things surrounding my insecurities and fears about how to be a friend and whether I have the ability to be true to who I am and say how I feel without being afraid of making someone mad at me. I sense that this will be a long Pause. There is a lot to work through.

And then there's the homesickness!! WOW have I ever suffered from that!! Especially in the last week, I have been (as my prof described to me) "off" - not quite on my game, if you will. And that has simply been a function of homesickness combined with the stress of public speaking without the benefit of either raised stage or microphone.  (Let me tell you, that is a totally different ball game...) But mostly it's just been that being away from my loved ones is wearing on me, and I just can't wait to see them again!!  I went to timeanddate.com to create a countdown for not only the plane landing back home, but also for it taking off from here.  What's that you say? I got it bad? Yeah you bet!! 

Health-wise, this has been a pleasant pause. I am strengthening my lifestyle choices regarding eating and activity level, and have learned that I CAN look after myself (and yes, medication helps) and eventually beat my health challenges. My sugars are ALMOST back to normal and I feel less draggy and tired than I was two short months ago when I was first diagnosed with diabetes. I can foresee a day when things will be completely under control and I will be able to get back to activities that I had to give up because it was just too uncomfortable and/or tired to do them. (Golf, folks. I was talking about golf.  And horseback riding. Tsk!) 

Photo "Stone And Sand Background" courtesy
of gubgib at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

And now I get ready to press another Pause.  After this weekend, I will be officially finished this course and won't have to start another until September - and even then, instead of two courses, I will only be taking one. August is a month I look forward to simply because it is a breather from the constant need to stay on top of a pretty intense school routine added onto an already full plate of work and home (not to mention sleep, nutrition, and activity).  One less thing to focus on gives me a slight break in that routine. I'm thankful for that; it will give me a chance to reconnect with my friends and spend time with my family.

That way, when September comes and I release that Pause button, I will be energetic enough to dance to the music again. 

The Road to Self-care

So okay, NOW I can talk about this on my blog. I had to make sure that everyone in my household was in the know and aware. And not overreacting. Because it's no super big deal.

So here goes: I am in the process of getting diagnosed with type 2 Diabetes (late onset, or what the old-timers used to call "shugar dye-a-BEET-us") I've been monitoring my blood sugars ever since this morning, so I can show my log book to the doctor on Thursday. He'll have the results of my second A1C (blood glucose, fasting) test, which he needs to confirm the diagnosis. He and I both expect it to be around the same as the last one, so yes, unofficially it's diabetes mellitus (the medical term.)

Then we'll talk about treatment (probably pills) and he'll probably refer me to a nutritionist. I've already made adjustments in timing, portion control and content of my meals and snacks. (Been doing a LOT of reading at the Canadian Diabetes Association site and at the Mayo Clinic site).

People are going to ask me if I'm okay - that's natural. The truth is, I haven't been okay.  The last 8 months has been simply awful: no energy, lots of fatigue, thirsty all the time, and ravenously hungry ... really irritable before meals and falling asleep while studying - and elsewhere. I just thought it was stress. Well, it WAS stress in a way, because prolonged, intense stress can raise blood sugar - but there are also other contributing factors, of which I have three: a family history (my dad's mother), a personal history of gestational diabetes, and morbid obesity. I get it that people will be worried about me and wonder what this means for my health.

 

Photo "Bowl Of Muesli For Breakfast With Fruits"
courtesy of Serge Bertasius at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

 

But for the most part, for me, the diagnosis of diabetes comes as a huge relief.  Finally, there's an explanation for how I've been feeling. Finally, I know what to do about it AND I am motivated to do so.  And best of all, my entire nuclear family is on board with getting more active and eating better (in fact, they are looking forward to it!) - talk about moral support! 

 

Having diabetes forces me to look after myself, not to skip meals, not to snack on empty calories, and not to sit in my chair and think of excuses why I should stay there.  Wow.  Not to lose weight (although if that happens - bonus!) but to keep my sugars under control so that I don't end up with heart disease and kidney problems.  

 

I even heard my husband say to me last week (echoing my own secret thoughts), "You know, honey, maybe this is a blessing in disguise."  It surprises me to say that I think he is right!  I can say that I have been scouring diabetes websites, looking at food lists, poring over supermarket flyers, thinking about meal planning, and getting my head around being more active and just making that part of my every-day routine.  

 

I have spent the last seven years trying to take care of my emotional self, and I have been growing in that respect more and more; now, it is time to take care of my physical self. I'm on the road again. Hopefully the skies will be sunny and the breeze warm.

Fighting to rest

As my daughter would say, it's been "a day." Generally she says it when it's just been one thing after the other to make stress mount and things go wrong. 

I'm already dealing with some pretty intense personal stuff, as well as trying to be a support to my daughter as she deals with the realization that she can't get any resolution for her knee because she's WAY too young for a total knee replacement, as well as a new diagnosis of fibromyalgia (from a neurologist just this week) and all the emotional roller-coaster that goes with it (the high of finally getting a diagnosis followed by the crash of the reality of an incurable illness.) 

And not to be outdone, work made us do mandatory overtime. I was just about to do three hours tonight when the boss announced today that we had to do 12 more this weekend. HAD to. Yikes. 

Some of us have lives outside of work. Just saying. 

With such a lot (and a lot more I'm not even mentioning) going on, it's hard to find that time to rest and practice self-care. Sometimes, I have to fight to get the rest I need. I have to elbow in there and carve out time for me - or ASK for time for me. It goes against every guilt trip I ever went on (whether booked by me or someone else) but it is so very necessary to take time out and do what I like to do instead of what I'm expected to do. Or what someone else needs me to do.

Photo "Massaging Shoulder As Very Stressed"
courtesy of Stuart Miles at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

Those who have an addiction (as I do) to looking after everyone else ... tend to be on the bottom of their stuff-I-gotta-take-care-of list. Sometimes I don't even get to BE on the list. That's not good. My counsellor used to tell me, "You can't give away what you don't have.  Look after yourself, and you'll have something to give to people who need it." That's great advice. I even take it sometimes. 

But lately I've been having to fight to get space to just be. I've therefore had to make some really tough decisions that free me to have that time and that space to devote to the things (and the people) who matter. It's kind of scary, but I know it will be better in the long run. (Of course mandatory overtime doesn't help - but it is what it is). I find myself counting the days until I take my annual vacation  - it starts September 4. Only 8 more days to work (that is, every day for 8 days, some days more than others). And then I get to rest - until school starts again (on September 9) and I add graduate studies to the mix. Oh well - I'll take what I can get. 

In the meantime, it's not forgetting to "Just Breathe" and lots of the Serenity Prayer ... and remembering to do something nice for myself every day. Sometimes even every hour on those stressful days. 

It's a start.

A Breath of Kindness

It's been a week of lasts. And it's been a week of firsts. 

This was the week that the last of the insurance money I was hoping for, came to me in the form of a check for the value of my youngest daughter's car before the crash.

This was the last week that I had to dread another car payment coming off my bank for that same car that I had co-bought with her (she in one province, I in another) ... a car in which she was killed a month and a day later. Every time that I had to record that amount in my check register, another piece of me died. Now, nearly 18 months after her death and some 35 payments later, the insurance company sent me a check to pay her loan in full. 

This was the last week that I had to pretend that it didn't happen, that she was somehow still with me, tied to me by that payment every two weeks. 

That is hard. And it's also a relief, which brings me to the firsts.

This week, for the first (and hopefully the last) time, and at the suggestion of my financial consultant at my bank, I ended up having an appointment with a bank employee from a different bank who specialized in estates. She heard me, expressed her condolences, and walked me through the process of paying out that loan. 

"I want to make this as painless as possible for you," she said. Her eyes said what her professionalism could not - "I know how I would feel if I lost my daughter." 

For the first time, I was grateful for this poky little Island with its rural mentality. It had always niggled at me a little bit that everyone has to know each other's business and heritage here. I'm a private person, and that kind of interest in family bloodlines seems ... almost incestuous somehow. But ... this woman across the desk from me remembered me from 30 years ago, remembered my name and remembered that we lived in the country, "down east" as she called it - referring to the east end of the Island and the part that (on the map) looks like it's on Island's underbelly. She was a bank employee back then too, working for a different bank, where we just happened to have our mortgage. And now I just happened to be sitting across from her, thirty years later. 

2009 Hyundai Accent

I don't believe in coincidences. I had prayed, before I left to go to my appointment, for God to go before me and to make the rough places smooth. I believe that He had been working ahead of time (even 30 years in advance!), knowing I would pray that exact prayer at that moment, so He did go before me, much more than I had even meant when I prayed. Thirty years more.

The bank employee even put a rush on the request and stopped payment on another auto-debit that was to come off next week, the day before the payment request was auto-initiated by their computer. (I just happened to mention to her that the next payment was due to come off next week so should I be concerned about it? A flurry of activity from her and it was taken care of. Just. Like. That.) 

She told me that the loan was thus-and-such amount of money, which meant that there would be some money left over after it was paid. And she made it possible for me to be paid the balance left over. In cash. WITHOUT filling out reams of paperwork and WITHIN the rules of the bank itself. I remember standing at the wicket, with her walking another bank employee - a teller - through the screens to process the transaction, watching as the teller counted out the money on the wicket counter and handed it to me - plus the loose change in my other hand. I had the sensation that this was happening to someone else and that I was just watching it unfold ... a curious sensation.

It wasn't the paying off of the loan or the payback of the remaining money that touched my heart, though. It was this lady's willingness to go the extra mile to prevent what could have easily been the beginning of an ordeal for me. 

But it wasn't. It was the beginning of a new chapter in my life instead. 

I kept remembering what my daughter had said to me the day I arranged the loan with the car dealership, and her sitting across from the dealer almost all the way across the country from me. She'd been homeless for a couple of days and she was highly motivated to get a job and "make something of herself" - (she was ALREADY "something", but she had to prove it to herself, I guess.) Anyway, she was on the phone with me and she said to me, "I'll pay you back someday, Mom. I swear." And she meant it.

Well. I guess, for the first time honey, you paid me back. I just wish it wasn't this way.

And besides ... you gave me so very much just by being you, taught me so much about life by the way you lived yours. And that can't be measured in dollars and cents. 

It just can't.

Coming up for air

I almost drowned once, when I was 13.

My class had gone to the pool, a fun afternoon booked by our teacher, and my classmates were trying to see how close they could come to breaking the pool rules before they got yelled at. 

I sat on the edge of the pool, watching them, hoping nobody got too close because ... well, because it was a miracle I was even there. I was terrified of the water. 

Not the water at the beach where you could touch bottom. Not the shallow end of the pool. No, I was scared spitless of the place I was sitting - right in the middle. Even dangling my feet in the water was too much for me. 

I hugged my knees tighter. They were getting more rowdy. 

From behind, a guy rushed past me - and in so doing he brushed past me. I lost my balance, over-corrected and landed on my back in the water. 

I panicked!! Thrashing around, I could not tell where the bottom was. I didn't know where UP was!! I tried gasping for air when I felt my face break the surface at one point. But then I went down again and couldn't seem to figure out how to get back to the side! 

Photo "Sinking In To Water" courtesy of
koratmember at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

Arms reached into the water. Hands tried to grab my wrists to pull me up. I felt their touch. My first thought was, "They're pushing me down! I'm going to die here!" I struggled to get away from them. The water, by this time, was full of bubbles from all the activity. I was past thinking. I needed OUT. Without knowing it, in my own confused mind, up was now down, and down was up.

I dove; it got darker. My lungs were bursting. I had to get away.

Suddenly, someone grabbed my swim suit by the shoulder strap, and pulled. Hard. I couldn't escape .... and then I felt the back of my head break the surface of the water.

Knowing instinctively that I was in the grip of forces beyond my resistance, I stopped struggling, and was vaguely aware of muffled shouts getting louder through the water in my ears. More people grabbed my arms and someone lifted me up to the side again, coughing and spewing pool water from my mouth and nose. The expressions of concern and fright were lost on me. I could have died.

In those thirty to forty seconds under the water, I was extremely vulnerable. I could not save myself; all my efforts only had the opposite effect from the one I wanted. 

When I stopped struggling - those trying to help me easily got me out of trouble. 

I don't remember who brushed past me. I don't remember who pulled me out. All I have are sensory memories - sights, sounds, touches - and my interpretation of them, skewed by abject fear. 

Since that time, there have been times when I have been in situations where I have felt as though someone bumped me back under the water again. Panic sets in, and I wonder if I'll ever get out. And I have to remind myself - again - that it's best in this situation if I just stop struggling and let myself be helped, whether by someone I can see ... or not.

The Only You

We were at our weekly team-builder: a half-hour of social interaction over treats provided by one of the groups in our team, when I saw her standing nearby in a small group of about four people, chatting. Our eyes met - and I wandered over.

Actually I had wanted to chat with her for a couple of weeks, because I'd been thinking about her. She'd recently finished a degree program and obtained her Master's, a process I'm only beginning. As things got busier and busier outside of work, with my classes and my preparation, reading, projects, and the like, I found my thoughts wandering to how she must have felt during her program.

A few seconds into our conversation, she said, "If I had any advice to give you, it's this: don't forget to look after yourself. Sleep. Eat. Exercise." 

I grinned, and let her continue. "It's really easy to get so involved in your studies that you fall prey to the 'just one more page, just one more chapter' kind of thinking. Don't let it happen. Take a break, even if it's for ten minutes. Do something you want to do. Don't give in to the temptation to just grab something at the drive-through, eat healthy." 

I nodded. Her words made sense. 

They carried the message, even though she didn't actually say the words, "You are the only you that you have. Take care of you, because if you don't, you won't have anything left to give." 

A nice pot of soup - steaming away

Her words came back to me yesterday as I struggled with a difficult decision ... it doesn't matter what it was. Yet I found myself tempted to sacrifice my own future, my own sanity even, for the sake of something that - truth be told - was better left to work itself out. 

Yes. I had to let go. AGAIN. But it didn't make it easy. Not one bit. 

If I hadn't, I am sure that I would have bankrupted myself, or landed in a psychiatric ward somewhere because I was trying so very hard to be strong when that situation was not even my situation to control. 

Was it hard? OHHH yeah. 

Once I had finally made that decision and let go, the stress level went from 95% down to 30%. I felt the muscles in my neck and shoulders, which had been getting tighter and tighter over the last several days ... start to relax. My stomach started to un-knot and the nausea subsided. I could take a full breath again. And the only thing that had changed about the situation was my attitude toward it - and toward myself. The crux of the matter was - I was the only me I had. I still am. 

If that means that I have to set boundaries and stick to them - if that means I have to say no to a request, or sacrifice a B+ and settle for a B- to look after myself, then I need to do that. 

Thank you for reminding me of that, my friend.

Being Super

It's so very tempting.  The allure of striving for perfection is strong.  It can be overpowering.  We want to be perfect.  We want to be the best, do the best, achieve the most, be super-caring, super-loving, super-capable.  We want to do it all, to fix it all, to give all.  We might even succeed ... for a while.  

But strength runs low.  We make mistakes.  We fail.  We think we know what's best, and we act on it.  And then ... disaster strikes.  We end up with the opposite of what we wanted to accomplish.  People we've tried to help get angry at us, rebel against us, and make the very choice that we warned them about.  And we wonder what went wrong - and either blame the other person / people for not doing what we knew was best, or we blame ourselves long and loud, hoping someone will stroke our egos and tell us we did the right thing and that the other person really IS at fault.  

The problem with expecting perfection from ourselves (and inevitably therefore from other people) is that we aren't perfect.  And we end up being incredibly disappointed when we prove that we AREN'T perfect.  

Of course, we give lip service to the fact that we aren't perfect ... but often we act as if we don't believe it.  And in disappointment and disillusionment, we berate others - and maybe even ourselves - when things don't pan out according to plan.

We aren't Superman.  
Trying to be Superman only leads to burnout.  And burnout is NOT pleasant!  We wind up incredibly weary, resentful, and even bitter. Been there, done that. For decades.  Not only does it make US weary, resentful and bitter, but it makes the ones we try to help incredibly weary (from fighting us off), resentful against us, and yes, bitter that we never let up or cut them a break.  Some people NEVER recover from that.

I'm not saying that we shouldn't hold high standards, or strive for excellence.  But excellence isn't the same as invincibility.  Expecting the best from someone (or believing that they[*] are capable of good things) isn't the same as nitpicking when they step out of line the least little bit, jumping all over them if they say, think, believe, or do something that is against our own standards. 
    [*um, including ourselves*]. 

Trying to rescue people - and I'm sure you've heard me say this before - is akin to trying to be God to them.  It's God's job to redeem, to save, to deliver, to rescue.  Not ours.  In a similar way, we can't expect other people to rescue us, to meet our emotional needs.  That's God's domain; we're asking our loved ones to be God to us.  They can't.  They're human.

We're human.  

But we can still be super.  Not the way we might think, though.  We can be "super" (that is, we can behave with integrity, compassion and maturity, being able to respect ourselves and gaining the respect of those we love) by:

- accepting the other person's choices, even if we don't agree with them.
- not trying to manipulate, hint, guilt, or intimidate others into a certain behavior, emotion, or belief.
- not trying to control the other person's outcome or "end result." 
- refraining from giving advice.
- NOT JUDGING.
- listening for understanding: this requires not assuming we know it all, and being quiet long enough for the other person to speak, and not jumping in to offer our two cents' worth.
- letting the other person make his or her own mistakes and also letting that person bear the consequences of those mistakes. 
- keeping the other person's confidence - that means NOT "sharing" (gossiping) with other people ... even in the guise of a "prayer request."
- privately praying for, and openly caring about, the person - but not pushing our beliefs on them.
- making sure that they know that we love AND RESPECT them.  And showing it.

The bottom line is, whether we admit it or not, we are absolutely powerless over other people.  We are even powerless over ourselves, truth be told.  We can't be perfect or expect others to be perfect.  But by letting go of our need to control them and to control their (and our) outcomes, and trusting God to look after all that, three things happen.

The incredible pressure of bearing the weight of the whole world on our shoulders, rolls away (what a relief!) and peace replaces it.

We get our loved ones' respect and trust.

And we get our own: self-respect, self-trust.

I'd say that's pretty super.

Bouncing back

The past while, I've been struggling with a few physical symptoms (sore throat, coughing, sniffles) that have sapped my physical strength and left me running on empty, especially near the middle of the afternoon and the end of the day. 

I'm not really sure if it's just overuse of the vocal cords (lots more singing last Sunday than I've been used to) or if there was a bacterial thing going on, or if it was a virus.  But I've been fighting it for almost a week.  Hm. Sounds viral.  Anyway, I've been looking after myself as much as possible and the symptoms seem to be improving (more or less). In the meantime I wait. Get enough sleep. Take vitamins.  Drink liquids.  Eat soup.  Sighhhh.

It probably shouldn't surprise me that it takes as long as it does to "bounce back" from something as small as a virus.  I've been "bouncing back" from all kinds of things (big and small) in the last few years and every time, it amazes me that the simplest things can sometimes be the hardest to experience.  Real emotions for example.  It took me a long while to admit to myself that I even had them. Then even longer to experience them and not hold back just to be "nice."  I'd been "nicing" myself to an early grave, clamping down on them and not letting them out when they so desperately needed to be let out!!

When my life gets out of balance, when I am letting people walk over me or I am trying to run their lives, that's when I get worn out, super-tired, and extremely irritable.  It's very stressful to be on either end of that spectrum.  If I'm letting people walk all over me, the stress is from resenting the fact that they don't even take me seriously, they don't care how I feel, like that.  If I'm trying to manipulate the situation and control the outcome, then I have assumed a burden that is not mine to bear: that of the controller of all things (hm, I guess that would be God!!) This is extremely stressful, and it's how I lived my life before He taught me how to let go.  

Letting go allows me to bounce back sooner.  It gives me more stretchability. It helps me to grow, to learn, to develop.  

I could learn to live with that.

Forgetting it

"Do you remember when..." can be the start of something beautiful, the shared memory of a wonderful time spent together.  Or it could produce just the opposite (such as sharing where we were when a horrible atrocity happened, be it the assassination of a president, the advent of a hurricane, or the crumbling of twin towers and the loss of some three thousand lives). Or it can be the start of a pathway to resolving a long-standing feud or grudge. Or starting one.

Memory is God-given.  It is a tool to remind us of better times and to help us learn from the worst times, to use to help others who are struggling with the same issues we once faced (or still face).  It might not always be pleasant. It might even hurt.  But it's better than the alternative.

Great article on Alzheimer's safety here

When a person starts to lose his or her memory for whatever reason, it can be a frightening, even confusing and distressing thing for the person or for his or her loved ones.  Ask anyone with any kind of dementia (whether Alzheimer's or permanent brain damage from decades of alcoholism!) The reasons are immaterial. Whether someone "can't help it" or "brought this on themselves" by a lifestyle or an addiction ... matters not: once the memory starts to go, it's too late to go back and fix it, so judging serves no purpose.  Forgetting where something is: from car keys to cell phones to where you parked the car to even where a particular store is located - can cause panic and stress.  Forgetting where someone lives when you've been there dozens of times before is frustrating.  Forgetting where you were going when you're half-way there is confusing.  Sitting in a parking lot trying desperately to remember why you came to this store (or how to get home) ... is horrible.  

And it's horrible to watch someone you love going through this memory loss process.  The short-term memory goes first.  Living in denial that there's anything wrong, the sufferers often blame those around them for hiding things, keeping secrets. Or they forget small things that inconvenience others, and then berate themselves when the truth comes to light.  

As the memory loss expands, the baser fears start to come out - and show their true character, which they may have been able to conceal from some people until that point.  And then the long-term memories start to go. Gaps develop in the memory that are small at first - then whole incidents, certain types of behaviors which they deny they ever did or said.  They accuse their loved ones of lying about the past, making things up, contradicting them.  They remember incidents differently than the way they actually happened.  The result is a lot of upset for them and for those who are closest to them.  Eventually they may not even recognize the people who've known them all their lives, a tragic state of affairs.  Some even revert to a child-like state and live in that pre-traumatic era for the rest of their lives, relying on others to meet their every daily need because they are incapable of doing it themselves. 

Witnessing the permanent effects of memory loss on someone's life has made me rethink expressions like "forgive and forget" and "wish I could forget that whole year..." and "forgetting those things which are behind..." all of which refer more to an intentional forgetting - a choice (though the incidents are remembered and can't be forgotten) to not let those unpleasant events define who I am in the now, even though they are a part of my history and I can draw upon them to help someone out of a rut they might be in today.  

I've come to realize that the memories I have, the experiences I have had, can be (as they say in the recycling world) "repurposed." I'd like to think that (whether the memories I have are pleasant or painful) I have lived the life I have lived so that someone, someday, would be able to look at the beautiful things that God has done in my life in spite of the pitfalls, and say to themselves, "She has something special.  I'd like to know what it is."

That would be something to remember.
 

Up in the air

It's been an interesting couple of days.  An opportunity arose a week ago, right in the middle of my interpersonal saga at the office (see previous posts).  This opportunity allowed me to apply for a temporary "acting" position for the summer months. 

I spent all weekend working on my application, making sure all my T's were crossed and my I's dotted.  And yesterday, I sent in my application; with no exaggeration, I must have read it through, edited it, added to it, and compared it against what was required three dozen times in the space of those six days.  I contacted people for references, and alerted them they might get a call before the end of the week.  

Here's where I found this photo

Yesterday morning as I was getting ready for work, I heard the still small voice of God probing my consciousness about this process.  "So.  How do you feel about all this?  How would you feel if you got the position?"  

I checked inside.  "Scared.  Excited of course, but scared... I guess that's kind of a good thing..." 

I could feel Him smiling. "And?  how would you feel if you DIDN'T get it?" 

This one kind of surprised me.  But I searched my feelings and discovered that although I'd be disappointed not to win, it wouldn't be devastating for me - and I wouldn't resent or be jealous of whoever DID get it. My response told me once more that I had grown in the last three years. 

When I got to work, I got the last of my "ducks" lined up, put a few tweaks into the application, read it through five or six more times and breathed a prayer.  "Your will, God.  Your will."  And I sent the application.

There have been times - many times - when there has been a huge question mark about something I wanted or something that might or might not happen.  In the past, I would stress and worry, and not let it go until I knew the answer. I'd not sleep, and I'd fret and stew about it, and eye suspiciously anyone whom I might see as my "competition."

But with this - and I hope this is the beginning of a new normal - the fact that the answer is (so to speak) "up in the air" doesn't make me lose any sleep. I'm perfectly fine with whatever happens.  

Go figure.

Change in Plan

It's a glorious day. The weather couldn't be better, especially here, especially for this time of year. Hubby and I had planned to spend some time together this afternoon while the kids went and did something else together.

But the plans fell through; one child assumed the other would like to do something specific and it didn't work out that way - yet tickets had already been purchased.  My husband - gallant man that he is, agreed to use that non-refundable ticket.  Which leaves me without my planned (and anticipated) afternoon with just him.

Even a couple of years ago, that change in plan would have been way too much for me to take. I am naturally the kind of person that has to have things planned out several days in advance and things have to follow a certain pre-set itinerary; deviation from that normally sends me into a tailspin.

But I've been learning much about acceptance, about unhooking from what I want and focusing on WHY things happen (in other words, the purpose for a particular activity) and on WHAT is really important.  So while I was disappointed at not being able to spend that particular time with my spouse, I was able to unhook and understand that our daughter spending some time with her dad was going to pay dividends long into the future, and that one of the errands that my husband and I  were going to do together as a couple (and it had to be done during that exact time period) could almost as easily be done by me.  Not as much fun, but there you go.  I realized that no one person actually stayed up late and schemed over how to mess up Judy's day.  The plan just changed, that's all.

And I didn't get freaked out (read: afraid) or angry.  That amazes me.  

Someone I consider very wise said once, "Don't let a bad moment turn into a bad day."  That saying has come to my rescue many more times than I thought possible - and I expect it will in the future, too.  

A lot of my time has been spent lately in the negative spiral thinking pattern I mentioned briefly above (the plotting-to-wreck-Judy's-day thing) - not actually consciously thinking it of course, but half-expecting people to treat me like that because I felt that I had this thick black cloud over my head with lightning and rain coming down from it.  But most people don't actually do that (and if they do, that's THEIR problem!) - my life isn't cursed, and people can like me for who and what I am.  Allowing myself to unclench, to loosen up, to breathe, to relax and enjoy the moments as they come without fretting about what's going to hit me next, and without punishing myself for what's past, has been a valuable skill in the last few weeks especially.  Plus, it's helped me (after a bit of a bumpy start) to begin to cope with some pretty major changes in some parts of my life.  

A change in plan doesn't mean that things have to come to a screeching halt or even go backward.  It just means a bend in the road - even though I can't see what's ahead, I know Someone's passed this way before and knows the way.  And I'll be okay.  

:D

God-whispers

Those unspoken prayers - the ones we don't dare pray but which our hearts cannot help but feel - are the most potent. 

This past weekend, my heart was praying such a prayer.  I was tired.  Bone-tired. Weary. Fed up.  I felt unappreciated, attacked, undervalued, and like I needed to be constantly on my guard.  I'd even taken over a day off last week with symptoms that mimicked a cold - stress-related fatigue was all it was, apparently.  All weekend long I "vegged" and slept when I needed to.  Even with the extra sleep, I was not looking forward to being with people and avoided it until the last possible minute.

So ... I dragged myself to work this morning, dreading another week - yes, I saw the whole week stretching interminably in front of me instead of one day - another week of doing my best only to have it questioned, of pouring my heart and soul into my work only to have someone criticize it.  

As I usually do after an absence, I checked my plants to see if they needed watering.

And I saw a flash of a color I didn't expect - white - nestled among the leaves of my peace lily.  One tiny blossom was starting to emerge from the depths of the plant - a peace lily's quiet way of saying, "I like it here." 

From :
http://www.mybestcanvas.com/detalii_produs/Peace-Lilly-Bud/1323034280

Now, this plant was one with which I had a special affinity.  Once a large and luxurious plant with plenty of foliage and lots of beautiful white blooms, it had slowly become pot-bound and I had to perform surgery on it last summer.  I divided it into four plants and gave three of them away; I kept only one.  It looked so small and alone - in my own mind, a shadow of its former self.

Like I have been feeling of late.  Insignificant, lonely.  Plain.  Overlooked.  Stunted. I wondered if it would ever recover.  Or if my own inner transformation would become visible, if it was only a figment of my imagination.

And then, today.  

I hadn't been expecting the still, small whisper of the Divine.  But as I peered into the depths of the leaves where this small tip of a bud was forming, I heard it.  

"You are not alone.  There is hope." 

Old scars just are

"All she ever talks about is crap."

I'd trusted this person with how I was feeling, what my world was like, what my innermost thoughts were.  Now, months and several revelations later, as I lingered by the grate which allowed conversation from the kitchen to be transmitted to the upstairs, I heard those words.  Betrayal, like a double-serrated knife, pierced my insides and then twirled them into a hot knot of confusion and doubt. 

I was sixteen.

I found myself thinking about that moment lately - as circumstances surrounding my work situation have been changing, and there is more focus on the mechanics of what we do instead of the good that we can do - which leads to things taking twice, three, even four times as long as they could. Suddenly, everything I write is being scrutinized because somebody I never met had something to prove to a superior. The totally reactionary and unnecessary "100% quality review" process is extremely subjective and it's extended beyond grammatical and punctuation errors.  And the whole time, the end client waits while we argue over semicolons and commas, whether to include this phrase or not, even whether to give a client the requested benefit or not.  That same sense of betrayal is there, rising higher and higher in my psyche.  Gut-wrenching.  Suddenly what I've been doing all along - and I was told by this same person for years that it was high quality work - isn't good enough. 

The result is an incredible sense of sadness, of fatigue, of a lack of motivation, a growing dread of going to work, even physical symptoms like joint ache, muscular pain, and headaches. My subconscious mind has my body convinced that my job site is not a safe place for me anymore.  I wonder how many more in my section are feeling the same thing to one degree or another.  My sympathy for our clients with work-stress-related psychological problems has multiplied.  With nobody to consult who can effect change, nobody to talk to about these feelings except the catch-all provision, "You can always talk to Employee Assistance," there is nowhere to turn; I feel trapped.  Guilty too - since I get the message, "You should be glad you even HAVE a job."  

Yeah, unemployment sucks.  But there are worse things.  

Even my recovery tools - skills I've learned in my new lifestyle of growth and rigorous honesty - seem inadequate to deal with this situation. Being honest and telling the truth could get me in trouble - not good in today's oppressive atmosphere of looking for ways to save salary dollars.  Being grateful feels like shoving my head in the sand.  Doing the next right thing ... well, I can't even do that if my judgment is going to be questioned.  The only recovery tool I have that even comes close is acceptance: "sitting with the pain." "Accepting what is." Yes... yes, I suppose I could do that. 

Perhaps the pain is worse because it hits me in one of those old scars.  Perhaps it's just a natural and normal reaction to this kind of treatment.  

I can accept that old scars just are.  They will hurt and get deeper when they are re-wounded.  They don't have to define who I am, though.  I can still hold my head high because of the good I have done.  I can continue to do the work that I was trained to do, I can continue to help the clients, and I can roll with the punches until the inevitable happens: the end clients will wonder what is taking so long and complain.  And then the reactionary pendulum will swing in the other direction.  I know that; I expect it. 

Now, the trick is to get from here to there intact, the only way I know how.  One day at a time.

Sea of Tranquility

I nudge my scrawny, 10-year-old body between two spruce trees, avoiding the prickles and dead twigs protruding from the bottom, and I pause.  I see a carpet of green grass, ringed completely by evergreens so thick that it is difficult to see past, and tricky to navigate on foot.  I allow the safety of this place, its beauty and quietness, to seep into my tired spirit.

My brother had shown this place to me a few years previous.  He called it the "Sea of Tranquility" - named after the same place on the moon - a flat place which was ringed in, protected.  I had visited here several times since.  

I pad silently into the circle.  The summer breeze plays 'in and out the window' between my bare, scabbed knees, war scars from learning to ride a bike.  There is just enough breeze to keep the mosquitoes away.  The sun soaks heat and restoration into my skin.  Here, the only sounds are the distant chirping of a cricket, the buzz of a couple of grasshoppers singing to each other, and the occasional bird chirping from one of the trees.  So peaceful.  So different.  

I lie down on my back, and lift my thoughts above.  The clouds are playing slow-motion tag, and I watch the birds swooping to catch flies on the fly, above me. My tense muscles start to unclench.  My soul drinks Creation in, like a desert traveler coming upon a natural spring.  Yet in the back of my mind I tell myself, "Mustn't stay here long.  She'll wonder ... and then I'll be in for it."  

The uncut grass blades tickle the backs of my legs.  I rub my calves together to take the prickling feeling away.  Slowly, the miracle of Nature soothes my thoughts, salves my troubles, and gives me just a little more strength.  The mental straitjacket loosens enough for me to catch a breath of the divine.  I allow myself to feel the caress of comfort.  I am not aware that I have begun to smile until a few minutes later, when I catch myself doing it. I close my eyes.

I hear a dog bark; it jolts me from my reverie.  I don't know how long I've been here, but my stomach lurches suddenly in panic.  Not because of the dog; I know all the dogs and they like me.  Not like her.  

I roll over onto one elbow and tuck my knees under me, rocking back onto my feet again.  I take one last look around and fill my lungs with freedom, enough to last me until the next time.  As I breathe out, my spirit says "Thank You," and my heart is resigned to what awaits me.  I tighten the straps around my heart once again, and squeeze past the trees, heading back the way I came.

If Only...

Summertime finds many people crossing days off the calendar at work or elsewhere as they wait for an anticipated trip or just their vacation.  I've caught myself counting down the days to my vacation in my head as it gets closer and closer.  

I don't think there's anything wrong with looking forward to upcoming events.  At the same time, it's possible to live so much for a future happening that a person can forget to enjoy today.  

Another danger is the one that involves wishing for a change in circumstances or in someone's behavior or personality, to the extent that it robs a person of enjoying the present events or company.  I still catch myself doing it. Sometimes when people say something like, "It's supposed to be sunny tomorrow," I occasionally blurt out, "If only it would stick around all week!!"

If only.  How many years have I wasted with "if only."  Never satisfied with my lot in life, never satisfied with how people were behaving, wanting to fix people, change circumstances.  It has robbed me of a lot of joy along the way.

One of my favorite scenes in the "Star Wars" trilogy (okay, I have a LOT of favorites, but this is one) is in Episode V when Yoda nearly gives up on his potential protégé Luke, saying, "For many years have I watched this one.  Never his mind on where he was! what he was doing!  always he had to be looking away to the future..." The scene - when I see it - reminds me to be present wherever I am and not to be wishing my life away.  

When I live in the now - when I concentrate on being thankful for what is, instead of wishing for what isn't - my stress level goes down, my contentment goes up and I'm better able to handle the stresses (and the joys) of the moment.