It Still Counts

I was awake around four this morning. Those who have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder will understand when I talk about re-experiencing and how that interrupts sleep cycles and causes all sorts of nasty stuff like irritability, anxiety, fear of crowds and public places, and hypervigilance (the obsession with staying safe and keeping your loved ones safe). And the ones fortunate enough to have benefited from therapy know that talking about their trauma is a necessary part of their treatment because they process it instead of blocking it out.  

So I guess I had better warn my readers that I am about to describe a traumatic experience. If you can't deal with that right now, you are welcome to stop reading at this point. If you want to continue, you might want to grab a tissue. Especially if you're a parent.

Four years ago today seemed like any other day I had spent since my youngest daughter moved to Alberta and eventually ended up on the street, living in her car.  I was always wondering if she was safe, doing everything in my power to give her the tools she needed to get even half a chance out there. 

The previous evening she had asked for some money so she could sleep in a motel and have a shower to be ready to view an apartment the following day. I agreed and sent it.  

But she never got there.

All morning I was texting her from work, reminding her of her appointment. No response. I tried calling her again and again. No response. I gave up around 12:30 because I figured she was on the road by then.

She wasn't.

I remember what I had for lunch because I was eating it when the phone call came from my husband at 1:10 pm.  He told me that she had been in an accident. No, she wasn't okay. It was head-on at highway speed. She had died instantly.

I felt as if someone had drop-kicked me in the stomach. My breath came in gasps - I wanted to scream the words but they came out in disbelieving sobs instead. "Oh my God.  Oh my GOD!  My baby! My baby is ... DEAD!  Oh God!"

Suddenly the world seemed very, very small. There was barely enough room in it for me to breathe, almost like those scenes from horror movies where the camera gives an extreme closeup and there's a delay, an echo, in the words and actions - and they feel jerky, disjointed, surreal.

"Do you want me to come pick you up?" he patiently asked me after I stopped talking ... if you can call what I was doing talking. 

"Up, oh yes, pick up. Yes that would be good."

"I'll see you in about 20 minutes. Okay?"

"Umm, yeah. Okay.  Umm, drive safe," I said automatically. 

People at work had formed a small crowd around me, I noticed as I hung up the phone. Someone handed me a tissue. Apparently my face was wet. I can't remember who all was there, but I know there were concerned faces all around me.  I heard voices expressing sympathy - but they sounded like they were coming from the other end of a metal tube. 

I was still clutching what was left of my lunch - a spoonful of peanut butter and a couple of dried mango slices - as my manager suggested that I go to her office. She guided me there, sat me down in a chair, and waited with me for my husband to arrive.  She expressed her condolences, and asked if there was anyone she could call for me to let them know. I obediently gave her the number for the church I attended. She called them and told them the news while I ate the rest of my lunch - which felt drier than usual in my throat - because all I could think of was that I needed to keep my strength up, that my family would need me to be strong. So it became all-important for me to finish eating. Strange what trauma will do to the mind.

As we waited after my manager hung up, she leaned over and hugged me, rocking a bit, and started to sing softly in my ear, "Come to the water, stand by My side, I know you are thirsty, you won't be denied...I felt every teardrop when in darkness you cried, and I want to remind you that for those tears I died..." - the chorus of a song that (there was no way she could know this) I sang with my brothers as a teen. Of course that helped to set off a fresh wave of tears. I appreciated her expression of caring; I needed it!

When my husband arrived, those with clearer heads met him at the door. Others ushered me downstairs to meet him. One dear lady took charge and arranged to have someone drive us home - my manager took the front passenger seat and let us sit together in the back - while someone else drove behind us in a car and followed our van back to our house. 

These memories are fresh for me today because - well - it's one of those anniversary days. As I think back and remember, and relive those moments and the grief that overwhelmed me during those days and weeks that followed, the one thing that overarches everything is the one thing that heals the most: the love shown to me and to my family from all who knew us. And I mean all, from my best girlfriend who took my daughter's death as hard as I did, to the co-workers who all were so affected by it, to the doctors who worked in our area at my work, to those who came to the wake and to the funeral, to the hundreds and now thousands of people who have read my blog post about it (look in my archives on this blog for my October 24, 2013 post). 

Image "Snowflake Background" by oana roxana birtea
at www.freedigitalphotos.net

Those who know her story (which I told in that post I mentioned) know that she lived her life by the motto, "Every Snowflake Counts" - which to her didn't mean that everyone is unique and special like a snowflake, but that every bit of good that a person does, no matter how small, is helpful. It counts. There is nothing insignificant. 

It still counts. Folks who know me well, know that 2017 has been particularly hard for me emotionally, partly because if my baby girl had not had that accident, she would have turned 25 this year. So this anniversary date is a bit more raw than one might expect after four years. Grieving is not something that one ever stops doing; it takes a different form after a while, but it never goes away. 

My friends have been so supportive and so compassionate - and so patient - toward me and my family. To them I say, it still counts. Your love and your kind thoughts and words do not go unnoticed; I appreciate every bit of good that you intend and that you do and say. And I just wanted to say it.

Thank you. Thank you all. :') 

The importance of self-care

As busy as life is working full time and fitting in all the other important things into the day (add to that school for most of the year for me), it is easy for me to assume that retirement will give me more time to do those things that just got "fit in" before. However, watching my hubby the last 7 years has taught me that retirement doesn't do that at ALL!! In fact, retirees have LESS time to fit everything in because everyone thinks they have time on their hands to do extra things, and their days easily fill up with errands, projects, visits, and appointments. Self-care is just as important (perhaps even more so) for the retired person as for the career-minded person. 

For those people who are mentally and emotionally drained by spending time in social situations with others - even if enjoying that time (like me!) - sometimes that means letting opportunities pass by for activities that they might really enjoy but they have just no energy to spend on those things because they need to spend that energy on getting through the rest of the day. I find the explanation known as "spoon theory" quite fitting to describe this phenomenon.

Photo "Mix Spoon It Multicolored On White
Isolate Background" courtesy of jk1991
at www.freedigitalphotos.net

Spoon theory was invented by a lady who has lupus (Christine Miserandino) to describe to her best friend what it was like to live with a debilitating sickness.  It has since been used to describe what it is like to live with any chronic illness (including mental illness).  And, while I've never been officially diagnosed with a mental illness, I'm sure that I would be diagnosed with several if I were to seek a referral to a psychologist: the ones that come to mind are social anxiety disorder, complex post-traumatic stress disorder, agoraphobia, seasonal affective disorder, and maybe one or two others.  

Spoon theory says that every day, someone who has a chronic illness starts the day with a certain limited number of "spoons" - units of energy - that they get to spend on activities that require mental, emotional, and/or physical energy to do.  Getting out of bed isn't just getting out of bed, it's opening the eyes, screwing up the courage to roll over, to sit up, to put one's feet on the floor, to stand up.  Depending on the degree of effort, that might cost three spoons instead of just one. And so it goes.  Cooking breakfast costs a spoon.  Driving to work in tourist traffic at rush hour is at least one if not two spoons.  By the time one gets to work, half the spoons for the day are probably already gone.... and there's the rest of the day to re-plan.  If one runs out of spoons for the day, one can borrow from the next day's supply - but then that next day will be that much more difficult with fewer spoons to start with.  

Other people don't have to think about how many spoons they have. They just do things willy-nilly, and seem to get by with spoons to spare at the end of the day. Those with a chronic illness, though, have to plan every move, and often have to change plans ... sometimes without notice.  This can lead to them being judged by their non-sick friends, especially if the illness is "invisible." That is, the common perception is that if someone doesn't LOOK sick, they aren't. Whether these friends mean to do it or not, they can be quite judgmental, even if they try to be nice about it.  They spread shame and guilt as if running out of energy was a deliberate choice designed to make them feel bad.  "I'm so disappointed that you couldn't find the time to spend with me," I've heard people say.   

Wow.  Just ... wow.  

It is just as much self-care to refrain from spending spoons as it is to actively go about replenishing them - and there are things that replenish spoon supply - in whatever way works for the one who is running low.  For me, that looks like sunning myself (in the summer) with my music playing, or laying down in a quiet room with a white-noise machine going to drown out the constant ringing in my ear, or watching a feel-good movie, among other things.  But it also looks like staying away from outings that I know will drain me - anything with anyone outside immediate family: the more people, the more draining it will be - and from topics of conversation that require a confrontational stance: politics and religion come to mind.  (That one is HARD to manage because everyone seems to have a different opinion and I'm no exception! The last time it happened, though, it took me three days to recover to where I felt ready to face a full day again ...)  If someone is constantly bringing up topics that drain me, I am learning to stay away from that person.  The mere knowledge that I won't have to be exposed to those things tends to give me a bit more energy - strange, I know, but it is true - and at the end of the day, I might find a spoon in my pocket that I didn't know I had. That is a rare and special find - because while I can save a spoon or two for the next day, I can't save up a whole lot to use later.  I made the mistake of thinking that earlier this year ... and the results were disastrous.

The bottom line is that self-care is so very important, and at the same time, so very under-rated.  There are lessons I've learned about it that have been hard to learn; I am still learning others.  One of the most crucial lessons for me was that self-care, contrary to popular religious and cultural belief, is FAR from selfish.  It is often the kindest thing one can do for one's family and friends, because someone who doesn't practice self-care will NOT have any reserves left and could end up damaging people who are near and dear, sometimes irreparably.  And another learning is that it is okay to (1) say no, and (2) ask for help.  It doesn't mean that I'm less of a person; it means I am becoming aware of my limits and I am trying to stay within them. 

So if I use a spoon to spend time with you, know that (1) it is a good day for me and (2) if someday I can't, it's not your fault ... and it's not mine either.

Listening without preconceptions

"Great spirits have always encountered violent opposition from mediocre minds."
 ~ ~ Albert Einstein

There are many different applications of the above quote. While I have been considered by some to have a mediocre mind from time to time (and the realization that the other person views me this way is not a pleasant thing), I have occasionally been on the other side of the saying too. 

I was reminded of it a few months ago, when someone mistook my identification with and support of those who suffer from depression and suicidal thoughts to mean that I was suicidal myself. I wasn't, of course. But I feel things deeply, and I was going through some pretty intense emotional stuff at the time, so the person's interpretation of my statement, "I can understand why some people actually consider committing suicide," to mean, "I'm thinking of killing myself," led to a very uncomfortable confrontation which I did not ask for, and which I was not at all prepared to handle. 

The person's over-the-top reaction made me feel as though I was being bullied; it only added to my emotional angst.  Had I truly been suicidal, I believe that this person's reaction would have pushed me over the edge. I told her so the next time I saw her (she cornered me), and she dismissed my confrontation as me being "offended."  Hmm, yes I was offended - deeply - and I felt it was necessary to tell her that the way she handled my emotional state was inappropriate and heavy-handed. Yet she totally missed the point and continued (condescendingly) to believe that she was a caring person, one who had my best interests at heart.

That was not my perception at all. However, after I got over my initial reaction to being verbally assaulted, I was able to reflect on the situation and learn some very important lessons. 

First, I learned to never reveal my deeper emotions to people whom I do not totally trust.  This person had not earned the right to speak to me in such a controlling and intimidating way. I should not have let her know any of what was going on inside. 

Second, I learned (through watching her behavior) what NOT to do when someone has revealed that they are struggling with some heavy stuff.  I learned that one does NOT command, talk down at, or otherwise force a conversation, that when I talk to someone about emotional issues, I need to get my head on the same physical plane as theirs. If they are sitting, I sit. If they are standing, I stand - I meet them face to face, not from a position of "less than" or "more than." I need to phrase my reactions in terms of "I" statements instead of "you" statements (for example, "You should," or "You have got to..." which immediately puts the hurting person on the defensive.)  I need to listen to them and not to fill silences with a constant stream of talk, talk, talk.  And I need to ask permission to have the conversation in the first place, or do any other kind of intervention, at all times treating the person with respect. 

None of that happened in the situation I described.  I felt more like a kid called into the principal's office for something he didn't even do: condemned before I even started, and not believed when I proclaimed my innocence.

Photo "Psychologist Listening To Patient"
courtesy of David Castillo Dominici at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

Finally, I learned that (too) many people are uncomfortable with strong emotion expressed by someone else; they don't know how to let it be what it is, or to deal with it (especially so-called "negative" emotion) on a personal level, and they want so desperately not to feel uncomfortable. Therefore, they will do or say ANYthing to get it to stop, even if it means emotional bullying. This is where my adaptation of Einstein's quote comes to bear: Those with the capacity for great or deep emotion are always going to encounter violent opposition from those without that capacity (either by choice or by design). So, my soul, be careful - guard your heart because it is the most precious commodity you have. Do not let it be pulled into mediocrity, or dismissed by those who cannot hope to understand. Feel what you feel, yes, but choose carefully how and to whom you reveal those feelings. 

If that sounds arrogant, so be it. For me, it is all part of self-care.

The whole experience has been an important part of my understanding of what a professional psychologist is and what he/she does. These lessons will stand me in good stead when I become a therapist someday. 

Rainbow Tears

It's been said that when there are hard circumstances that make you cry but there is something right in the middle of the situation (perhaps unexpected kindness or some unforeseen blessing) that makes you smile in gratitude - the tears you shed are "rainbow tears."

 

I've had a lot of reason to shed that kind of tears in the last year and a bit. As most of you know, our daughter Arielle moved "out West" last summer to make her mark in the world. Things didn't turn out the way she expected, but there were some wonderful moments, particularly on September 17 when she had an amazing spiritual experience that transformed her emotions and melted her lifelong fear of being alone. But her circumstances were such that she was soon homeless, living in her car, getting more and more fatigued ... and on October 22 she had a car accident from falling asleep at the wheel - and she died.

 

And then the rainbow tears started happening thick and fast. People were so. incredibly. kind. Such an outpouring of love and graciousness that we never expected in our lifetimes, was immediately and consistently shown to us, lavished on us, healing us. People gave of their time to sit and listen to us talk. They loved us, prayed for us, thought about us, told us they thought about us, and those who were able to do so donated money to either our named charity, to the Gideons, or to help pay off her final expenses. To each and every one of those people who reached out to us, we owe a deep debt of gratitude. That love helped us, made it easier to be who we are, to be honest about our feelings.

 

Photo "Fountain" courtesy of dan at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

 

And last night, I found out that a dear friend's child was in a serious car crash. The young person survived, but the injuries are severe - potentially life-changing. And the love and outpouring of caring that was lavished on us is now abounding toward my friend, her child, and the rest of the family.

 

I was talking to my friend earlier today. She was saying that she realized that this must bring back memories (and it does, oh yes!) and some "why"s.

 

It's strange but .... I never once entertained that thought. I was just so grateful that another mom didn't have to bury her child. So instead of what she expected me to say, I expressed my gratitude. And as she shared with me what the next days will hold, and what progress has been made since only two days ago, I was able to show my emotional and prayer support to her and her family.

 

And I found myself shedding some more 'rainbow tears.'

Every Snowflake Counts

"Whooopeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!" I would hear as the door banged and her kitbag hit the floor. 

Then the door would bang and she would be off playing until supper, charging her emotional battery with social contact with everyone in the neighbourhood. 

She was "more."  More sensitive, more demanding, more fun, more intuitive, more compassionate, more comical, more ... everything. Many were the times she cried when someone else cried because it hurt her to see people sad. She could laugh longer and louder and harder than anyone I have ever known, and you'd find yourself laughing in spite of yourself, wondering what the joke even was. 

When she was about six years old, after a few snowfalls where her dad had gone out to shovel yet another foot of "partially cloudy" off the driveway, she decided to get dressed and go out to help him. She got me to help her on with her snowsuit, shoved her boots and mitts on, and with all those extra layers toddled down the stairs like some pink Michelin-tire man on his way to a rescue mission. Her dad handed her the lightest shovel and she worked beside him until she was out of wind, her face beet-red under her scarf. The little muscles were so sore and she was so tired and sweaty that she had to give up. In frustration, she started to cry. When her father asked her why, she replied, "Because I wanted to HELP you!!" 

"That's okay, honey," he said to her. "You DID help me. You really did. The snow you shoveled, every single bit of work you did, is less snow that I need to shovel. I appreciate everything you did. Because every snowflake counts."  

She burst into tears and fled into the house. 

What he didn't know was why she cried. She told me because I asked her, and she told me with tears streaming down her face!! It meant so much to her for him to say that. She never forgot it, and from then on, it became her motto. 

Someone would be frustrated with doing homework. Or trying to help with dishes, or baking, or raking leaves. Or trying to make someone understand. Or whatever. 

"Every snowflake counts," she would say to them. 

This past June, after many failed attempts to make a life for herself here, she decided to go to Alberta, to the 'land of opportunity' - or so the myth goes. It's great for someone with a high school education and someone out there with whom to stay while they got on their feet. She had neither. 

The only things she had were the clothes and supplies she took with her, a few hundred dollars from her parents to pay for gasoline, her computer, and her phone. That phone would be a lifeline between her and home, an anchor when times got rough - for her and for us. 

We texted. A LOT. Every day, several times a day. I footed the bill for her to get a 2nd hand car. At least she had transportation, and for a time, a job.

There is more to her story; I don't need to tell it all here. (Other parts are found on my other blog, http://idol-smashing.blogspot.com ) All you need to know is that on September 19, a little over a month ago, she was evicted from the place she was staying after her landlady kicked her out for breaking house rules. She found herself out on the street that night, living in her car. 

For a month she was homeless. She kept in touch with us, charging her phone in her car, living hand to mouth, with regular influx of cash from me to keep the car gassed up in order to survive and be somewhat safe. So many tried to help her; she was afraid to get help thinking that she would have her phone stolen, or someone would hurt her or try to separate her from her boyfriend whom she met up there. 

Two nights ago, she had run out of funds again. I'd given her some money Sunday night to get herself a cheap motel room. She had felt so refreshed the following day and yet had to sleep in her car again Monday night. So Tuesday evening she asked me for money so she could have a motel for the night again. She had an apartment viewing the following morning and wanted to be rested for it, showered, looking her best. 

I sent it to her.

She was so pleased, so relieved. She thanked me profusely. In the short text conversation that followed, she told me, "I'm so tired of this life (she meant lifestyle) Mom. I just want a home."

She had claimed the funds and was on her way driving to a suburb of Edmonton that night (for a cheaper rate in motels) when she swerved suddenly away from the side of the road and crossing the center line. Her fender clipped the fender of a pickup truck, knocking him off the road (the driver was fine). But there was a van right behind him - and they never saw her until it was too late. 

She was killed instantly on impact. 

Her boyfriend escaped - miraculously - with his life. He had a busted ankle and a compound fracture of the lower leg. Of the three people in the van that her car hit, only one had serious injuries - but thankfully was not paralyzed. 

The police came to our door yesterday around 1 pm with the news. When they had left, my husband called me.

What happened next was a flurry of activity. I was aware of people standing around me as I cried out loud. Kind hands led me to my manager's office. Someone made a phone call for me. Someone else met my husband at the door and people drove us home. We were held, hugged, supported, loved. And fed. Even though we didn't feel like eating. We still don't. Still the food comes, and with it, expressions of concern, caring, loving concern.

It all heals. All of it. 

Before I say what I have to say next, let me say this. I've heard people say to me that God took Arielle. 

THAT IS NOT TRUE. God DIDN'T take her. He would not be so cruel as to TAKE her away from us.

He welcomed her. He welcomed her HOME. Not the home she was expecting of course. Not the home ANY of us were expecting.

But BETTER. Safer. More permanent. 

Last spring, before she left for Alberta.
At breakfast - on Saturday morning.
Arielle. My belle.
1992-07-16 to 2013-10-22

I have two more things to say. Two things only. 

The first is that a day and a half before she was evicted, our little girl had a personal encounter with God - so real and so powerful that it transformed her heart and made her not feel lonely or alone, for the first time in her life. She was that excited about it!!  She couldn't wait to tell us about it. She told her story to me, then to her father, and then to our dear friend Dorothy, who had been her babysitter and a second mom to her when she was growing up. And it was REAL. We could tell. This was no passing fancy. This was whole. True. Pure. 

I can't say it changed her, not in a way that denied who she was.  But it was MORE. It burned away the impurities. It refined her, strengthened her faith, and turned the direction of her life around. Something that had only been a glimmer or a spark in her growing up burst into flame and became a luminous beacon that sustained her (and, truth be told, US) throughout that last month or so of her life. She got a job. She was on the upswing in her life.

The second thing I have to say is this. You may feel that what you are saying or doing to support us, the seemingly feeble and trite words that you think you are offering, do very little to help. You may feel helpless, powerless in the face of such tragedy. I know because I've felt those same feelings in my life when having to comfort someone who has known similar circumstances. 

And now I'm on the other side of the equation.  
And I am telling you THIS.

You have no idea the power that those little actions, those little words, those inbox messages, those Facebook comments, those hugs and well-wishes, what they all mean. You have simply no idea unless you've been there. But even if you don't have that experience (and I would not wish it on my worst enemy!!) YOU NEED to hear my words and know this deep in your hearts.

What she said to us, I now say to you.

Every. Snowflake. Counts.

Take it all down

Today has been a difficult day, and it's not over yet.

There's a relationship that's broken in my life. It's been broken for years and over time, it has gotten more and more broken.

I tried to fix it starting a few years ago. However, the dynamic of it was such that anything I tried to do, backfired.  The history - and there was a LOT of history - got in the way.

Now it seems broken beyond repair. Lines have been drawn in the sand. Boundaries set and breached, over and over and over. 

In desperation, looking for some sort of sign, a prayer on my lips and an aching in my heart, I turned on the TV and thought maybe I could just put my mind in neutral and quiet the revving motor, the chest pains, the loss of appetite, the anguish. 

What I saw was an episode of a well-known Canadian home renovation show. The host was examining a floor that had water leakage problems and nobody knew where the leak was coming from. After excluding the obvious suspects, he decided to rip up the floor.

It was a beautiful hardwood floor. Shiny, glorious. "Take it all down," he said. "We'll find out what's causing this problem." 

Out came the crowbars. Up came the wood - splintering in all directions as the workmen did their duty. It was ... obscene. All that beautiful wood. 

"Danger" courtesy of
Michelle Meiklejohn at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

But underneath ... underneath it, someone had put plastic between it and the concrete slab. The concrete was cold; the wood was warm. The plastic made a perfect place for moisture to condense and cause the problem. 

Just a piece of plastic. Put in the wrong place.  Dear God.  

That's when my sign came. 

Sometimes, to fix something that is very wrong, everything has to go. It all has to go out the door, and be done right  -  and the right way too  -  from scratch. 
 Time to make a clean break. Splinter even the good things so that they are unusable, clear it all out, lay a good groundwork and do it right this time.

In my relationship dilemma, I believe that means (although I am scared to death) making a clean break as well. The way things have been going is not good; it is time to put an end to it, to say goodbye, to remove the source of the situation and lay the proper foundation: one based on each individual taking responsibility for his or her actions. 

No more who did what to whom first. No more majoring on minors. No more trying to do the same thing, over and over again, expecting different results. 


No more enabling. No more wheedling. No more manipulation. No more intimidation. 

That's going to take some hard work. And the hardest of all will be when the relationship crowbar comes out. When we (with much fear and sadness) say goodbye to what was. 

Even if it hurts. And it WILL hurt.

A LOT.

Back to the wall

The last time it happened, I was at a meeting of a rather large number of people stuffed into a rather small room, barely big enough to accommodate the conference room table and the 25 or so chairs around it; there were over fifty people there, so there were chairs along the walls.  I sat in one of those, one chair away from a storage table that was there to hold supplies or whatever the presenters wanted to store.  It was located half-way down the length of the main table. Half of the people sat to the north of this table, half to the south.  A friend of mine, my neighbor at work, sat beside me.

I was okay while folks were giving speeches and presentations. And then it happened.  The catered food was brought in, set on the table next to my friend, and they devised a plan for people to come to the table.  They laid out the rules and got everyone to stand up in order to form an orderly line.  But depending on whether people were on my end of the table or not, they followed the rules.  Or didn't. Folks on my end of the table were so close to the food they could smell it so they just decided to go in the opposite direction. Nobody knew what was happening - but a few more got the idea and started to push past me toward the food table.

The result was chaos in my little corner. I was in the middle of a human maelstrom. People were stepping over each other's toes, jostling each other's elbows and bumping into each other in their eagerness to get to the pizza boxes before their favorite kind of pizza was all eaten.  

HERE is where I got this photo!

The monster struck so fast that I didn't have time to think; it was just suddenly there ... and I reacted.  It felt like a hard, calloused hand grabbed my throat and started to squeeze.  I began to hyperventilate, couldn't get enough air. My skin felt like ants were crawling over it.  

Someone else pushed by me.  All I wanted to do was leave - I felt like I couldn't breathe unless I got out.  But there were 25 or more people between me and the door in a little passageway wide enough to only accommodate ONE person if there was a clear path. There wasn't.  I was stuck and I knew it.  I couldn't get out.  

I think I lashed out verbally against someone who crossed my path at that point.  Something about sitting down and waiting until the pigs got finished at the trough, I think.  The person thought I was angry with her.  I barely had the presence of mind to say it wasn't her.  Instinct trumped common sense. I was wildly looking around for a way to close myself into a bubble, to retreat into someplace safe for me.

Finally I saw my chair, sitting about four feet away. I dove through a hole in the crowd and flung myself into the seat - my back to the wall.  Something about knowing the wall was there behind me and that nobody else could approach me from that direction, allowed the grip around my throat to loosen a bit.  Just a bit.  I let my neighbor know I needed to sit - my voice came out more like a squawk than my normal voice; she looked alarmed at my appearance.  "Aren't you going to get some food?" I shook my head swiftly.  "Not right now," I squawked out.

I swallowed. Hard. Self-preservation still flailing around inside of me, I forced myself to close my eyes.  Slowly, the voices around me became muffled and indistinct.  I made myself breathe slowly, evenly. One voice was a little closer than the others, and her voice rose in tone at the end of what she said.  She was asking me something. 

I opened my eyes.  "Did you want me to get you a piece of pizza?" my neighbor repeated.  


"Um - I - well..."


"There's chicken and spinach pizza and Hawaiian pizza right here beside me.  I could grab you a slice of one of those."

"Um."  The simplest decision was agonizing. "H-Hawaiian I guess.  Thanks." I managed a wan smile and returned to my breathing. Five breaths.  Six.  Seven.  The knot in my stomach started to loosen.  The hand around my throat was still there, but it wasn't squeezing. 

I heard her voice again.  "There.  At least you'll get something to eat." She handed me a slice of pizza, still warm even after all that. 

Deep breath.  "Thank you," I said, and called her by name.  

She had helped me anchor myself, keep my back to the wall, retreat to a safe place. She looked after me while I was looking after myself.  

I'm not sure if she knew how much she helped me, or even what it was she was helping me with.  And I'm not sure if I ever told her how much I appreciated her kindness in the midst of my inner storm.  

All I remember thinking is that I survived it.  That time.

When what's bad is good

Well, we're home again and everyone is almost back to normal.  Except hubby, who had the procedure (see yesterday's post) as planned, though not on time.  

Part of his procedure resulted in him having a severe case of (what was it Bones said on Star Trek IV?  "acute upper post-prandial distension"??) er, uhm, otherwise known as "gas cramps."

The nurse who looked after hubby when he was coming off the sedative was very concerned that he get in the optimal position to relieve this pressure post haste, since it is very painful.  (I can attest - slightly different circumstances but the same pain...)

Yet in the hospital he could not seem to permit himself to do it, even as groggy as he was.  On the way home, with every pothole, every road repaired poorly, every crack in the pavement it seemed, he was in agony.  So when I got him home, my only instruction to him was to go to bed, lie on his side, and rest.  Which he did - for hours.  And (pardon my having a little sport here) every so often the sweet sibilant sounds of escaping air proceeded from those sweet lips that had never ever told a lie. In other words, it was "toot good to be true." 

Honestly, I never thought the sound of flatulence would sound so sweet to my ears than in the last few hours, since it means the reduction of pain and suffering for someone I love dearly.  That's the rare occasion when what's bad is good.


This is a good 24 hours.

Soon, all this will be a memory we can laugh heartily about.  Butt until then, I console myself (and him) with these words of wisdom:  "This too shall pass." 

It's a matter of love

All right, I admit it. I'm steamed.

Yet again I've had to leave a church service of a church that claims to be "scent free."

It's not like people haven't been told before. Again and again the announcement, "Please refrain from using scented products; there are people in this assembly who are sensitive and we want everyone to enjoy the service." Yet week after flippin' week they come to the church wearing their precious fragrances. One person even told me to my face (as she was reeking of body spray or hand creme or something) that she didn't wear perfume. Whew. I couldn't get within fifteen feet of her!

For the record, just because it doesn't SAY perfume on the label in the front, doesn't mean it doesn't contain perfume. Shampoos, hair care products, deodorants, body sprays, lotions, detergents, drier sheets, "air fresheners", and more - all have toxic chemicals in them. Parabenzoates (derived from benzine, a poisonous petroleum product used to clean machinery.) Aldehydes (from the same family as formaldehyde - i.e., embalming fluid.) Known carcinogens. And people put that stuff on their bodies, let it soak through their skin?

I did. For many years it just wasn't on my radar. That's partly why I have this disease. It's called "Multiple Chemical Sensitivity." MCS. Exposure leaves me with headaches, disorientation, lack of concentration, fatigue, and eventually, migraine. The sooner I can get away from the source, the better. But where can one get away from something that's so pervasive? So I inform, educate, and keep doing it because there are actually people out there that have no clue that the "scent free policy" adopted by their workplace or their school or clinic - or their church - actually applies to them. After all, they "don't wear perfume."

After I began suffering with this, I made some changes in my life. I changed detergents to something where the only two ingredients were soap flakes and Borax. I changed my drier sheets out for a cloth one with metal fibers so that I'd get rid of static cling without the scent. I switched to a scent-free brand of cosmetics. I thought I was scent-free too, until I went to the clinic in a neighboring province to get a specialist to assess me. As soon as I walked in the door, the lady behind the desk said, "We're detecting a scent from you. Please change over there and put on this johnny-shirt and this robe. And when you put your clothes in this bag, tie it and we'll keep it here for you. Thanks!"

Whoa. Wow. I guess I needed to rethink some things. So I started purchasing brands that were on their list of approved products. I did find a fragrance-free detergent. And fragrance-free shampoo, and liquid soap. It's possible to make the switch... if you take the time to educate yourself. But the information out there is not easily available.

So - as a public service, I am posting the list provided by the Centre - here for all to see. Including men!!

RECOMMENDED PERSONAL CARE PRODUCTS FOR CHEMICALLY SENSITIVE PEOPLE
The Nova Scotia Environmental Health Centre encourages promotion of information which may be useful to patients. All products, however, should be evaluated for personal compatibility. This list is not all-inclusive and some items may not be tolerated by some people. Most of the following products are acceptable for use in the NSEHC.
Most of the products listed below are available at your local Health Food Food Store.

HOUSEHOLD CLEANING AND LAUNDRY PRODUCTS
Shaklee Basic H – (available through a distributor)
Simply Clean – Laundry, dishwashing, all purpose – available at Superstore, some health food stores
DownEast Homecare products – dishwashing liquid, laundry liquid, all purpose cleansers & scouring powder (Available at some grocery stores and pharmacies)
NatureClean products – Includes dishwashing liquid, laundry products, various household cleansers (grocery stores and some pharmacies)
Baking Soda
Borax
President’s Choice Phosphate and Fragrance Free Laundry Detergent and Tide Free. (Not to be used at the Centre as some people react to both of these products).

SOAPS AND SHAMPOOS, HAIR CARE
Nature Clean (Shampoo and Conditioner) (available at most grocery stores)
Spice of Life – Soap (Honey & Oatmeal, Avocado) (available at Great Ocean, Farmers Market, unscented and without glycerin)
Pure Gycerin Soap – available at the Bulk Barn, most grocery stores
Cliniderm shampoo and conditioner (available at Guardian Drugs)
Pure Essentials Fragrance Free shampoo and conditioner
Aloe Vera 80 – Styling spray (Scent Free Treasures – (902) 445 – 3193)
Infinity Rosemary – shampoo & Chamomile shampoo v@mosphere (shampoo, conditioner) (available at Guardian drug stores)
Aveeno (Body Wash & Bath Oil)
Laura Line – unscented liquid soap (available at Guardian drugs)
Basic Care daily cleansing shampoo – unscented (recommended use for EPD treatments)
Clinique (Pump) hairspray
Baby’s Own unscented (not to be used at the Centre)

BODY AND FACE LOTIONS / CREAMS
(Most lotions and creams available at your local pharmacy)
Aquatain – unscented body lotion
Lubriderm – unscented body lotion
Marcelle – face cream
Almay – face cream
Clinique – face cream
Noxema – sensitive skin, fragrance free
Nutragena – face cream
Complex 15 – face and body lotion
Aveeno – fragrance free lotion
J.M. Taylor – moisturizer
Cliniderm – hand lotion
Vernix – face, hand cream, and bath oil
Laura Line – face and body cream
Olay – for sensitive skin, fragrance free

DEODRANTS
Marcelle – roll on, available at most pharmacies
Crystal Rock – some pharmacies
Natural Science
Earthwise – Chamomile
Baking Soda
Simple – 1 –800-595-HEAL
Dove – fragrance free (sensitive skin)
Ladyspeed stick – unscented, invisible
Homemade recipe for deodrant – contact Anne MacDougall
SHAVING PRODUCTS
Use an electric razor preferably
Aveeno – shaving cream (available at pharmacies and grocery stores)
Simple
Kiss My Face – fragrance free natural moisture shave for extra sensitive skin
Alternatively, you may use any safe face soap which produces a good lather.
Sea Salt with some water when rinsing. It helps to keep skin from drying out.

And just so you know - those of you who are thinking that "Judy doesn't like perfume..."
It's not a question of preference. It's a real illness; I have a medical diagnosis. It's not even a question of "Let's all lay hands on Judy so she can be healed." I believe in divine healing; I have experienced it. But sometimes I think that the healing card, if you can call it that, is a cop-out : an excuse not to behave in a loving and considerate manner because that would mean that YOU would have to change.

No, it's not a matter of preference. It's a matter of love. What better way to display the kind of love that Jesus has placed inside our hearts than to be considerate toward the ones who suffer ... when there is a perfect solution for it if you were to have a little consideration and care?

If your solution is to "stay away" from me and still wear your scent - then you are not hearing me at all, and you certainly aren't aware of the clouds you leave behind that linger long after you're gone. You know, I might like you if I could get to know you. But I can't get to know you because I can't get NEAR you. Instead of attracting people - you're actually repelling people. Nobody says anything because nobody likes confrontation.

I don't like confrontation either.

But I do like to be able to breathe without wondering if I'm going to be sick because of it.