Thirty One Reasons

(Hats off to Ambulance Driver for his eloquence.)

Thirty one reasons to tell your loved ones how you feel about them. Not tomorrow. Right now.

Thirty one reasons to pray for the souls of the dead.

Thirty one reasons to hold their families in your heart tonight. Their pain is only beginning.

Thirty one reasons to be sickened whenever someone calls this a senseless tragedy. It's not a tragedy, it's an abomination. And it is senseless only in that people allowed themselves to be told, allowed themselves to believe that it can't happen here.

Thirty one more reasons to believe that no place is entirely safe, and no laws will ever change that.

Thirty one reasons to teach your children how to fight back. How to stand on their own. How to hold on to everything that is precious to them with every fiber of their being. How to live.

Thirty one reasons to believe in monsters. The monsters don't carry signs. They don't live in caves, with signs that say There Be Dragons Here. And they don't care about our laws.

Thirty one reasons I will have to snuff my daughter's innocence early in her life and teach her that there are bad people who will hurt her if she allows it.

And thirty one more reasons to hate the people who make that necessary.

Thirty one reasons to shout your fury to the heavens.

Thirty one reasons to turn that anger toward the people who denied the innocent the means to defend themselves. Nurture it. Feed it until it is white hot, but dole it out in cold and measured doses. Let it be the righteous fire that fuels you as you demand the right to protect you and yours.

Thirty one reasons that gun laws do not work.

Thirty one reasons to wonder if such a thing would have happened at say, Kennesaw State University.

Thirty one reasons to vote against any politician who favors any measure of gun control.

Thirty one reasons to say not like that.

As if you needed any more reasons.

Fumbling

When I started this blog it was to chart my progress through VNS therapy for treatment resistant depression and how it affects every aspect of my life. Sadly, I've strayed. I have a lot of things to talk about, it's just that everything is jumbled in my brain and I am not giving myself the opportunity or the time to disseminate it onto the 'net.

I have to admit that turning 40 is really starting to freak me out. Not in a bad way -- more like "so soon?" I'm not disappointed at where I am in my life because, quite honestly, there were many moments I didn't think I would survive and there were a few instances when I really didn't want to.

Career-wise I am not where I dreamt I would be (medicine), but I love what I do (accounting). Mom-wise I thought I would have a daughter but I've been blessed with four sons (and a stepson). Relationship-wise I have everything I never dreamed of.

So why do I have this nagging, soul-nibbling, brain-buzzing feeling that something is missing?

The LOML

(LOML = love of my life)

Henry is the most amazing man I have ever known. He is smart, funny, charming and incredibly sexy.

Some time ago I heard the following statement (I'm paraphrasing and if you know which movie it is, let me know!) -- "without you, I don't make sense". With Henry, that is the absolute truth. Every bad relationship habit I had (eventually) flew out the window. I had become so accustomed to choosing my words, overlooking small battles that eventually snow-balled into raging wars and settling for less than I thought I deserved. Until Henry, I had no idea what, actually, I deserved. He opened my eyes.

I am the first to admit, and boldly I might add, that I am NOT an easy person to live with. Especially when I am unmedicated. Which is how I was when Henry met me almost eight years ago. Every nice gesture Henry offered me back then was met with raised eyebrows as I wondered what the motive was behind it. I couldn't understand why somebody would do so many things just because he -- gasp -- wanted to. I fought him so hard in the beginning. At times I was positively dreadful. I was creating my own chaos because that was what I knew so well. I also knew that I loved him before I even met him.

Henry knew shortly after he met me that I came with a lot of baggage. He stayed anyway. If there was an ulterior motive, I am unaware of it. :-) When asked, he'll tell you he stayed because he loved me. That's all I need to know.

I don't recall how long Henry and I had been together before I started treating my depression with medication. Because of ECT I have fuzzy memories of me screaming at him and the kids, slamming doors and breaking things. Part of me wants to fully remember that period of time to measure just how far I've come. The other part of me is grateful for the memory lapses so I don't have to remember what a monster I was. I was high-maintenance in a truly horrifying way.

I was so guilty of getting wrapped up in my and Hunter's issues that I had to make a note-to-self to stop and look around and check on everybody else. Especially Henry because he is not a squeaky wheel. I am still guilty of not having him frequently at the top of my list of people to nurture. Although he is at the top of my list to love and respect.

Henry is the rock of our family without a doubt. My sons Matthew, Connor and Hunter and my step-son, Jake are living proof that blended families really can be successful and happy. One of my prayer's is that all of my boys forget the unmedicated monster I was but remember enough to know what an awful disease bipolar is and that it can be treated.

I know, and am very grateful, that Henry is my biggest fan. We have our own secret language and the look in his gold-and-green eyes tells me everything will be okay even when things are going horribly wrong.

A few years ago we were at the soccer field for Jake's game. I remember Henry and I sitting in chairs on the sideline and Hunter standing in front of us. I remember looking at Hunter in horror as his body began to fold into itself. His face drooped, his legs and arms were twisting into the center of his body and there was absolutely nothing behind his eyes. In an an instant Henry scooped Hunter up, gathered Jake and rushed us to the emergency room. It was a Tardive Dyskinesia reaction to a medication. After a dose of Benadryl, Hunter was as good as new. Little did Henry know at that time that he would later be rushing ME to the emergency room for the same reason. (I think Zyprexa was the cause for me.)

It is so easy to take for granted that Henry can handle any situation thrown at him, but he does. I have no memory of what happened after my deliberate overdose in August 2004. I do not know the look on Henry's face as he gathered me up and, with Jake in tow, drove me to the emergency room. I have had to ask him to fill in the blanks in my memory and in his voice there is a pain I have never heard before. A pain I wish I could erase for a moment he will never forget.

Tumbling

2007, so far, has been pretty rough for me. I started a medical leave in November that ended February 1st. In January, I started the year off with surgery to implant the VNS therapy device. On St. Patrick's Day, I broke my left elbow snowboarding. I spent Easter weekend in the hospital hooked up to an IV that pumped heavy duty antibiotics into my body to treat a nasty staph infection. I know somewhere in there is a lesson or two, but I can't see them.

I'm frustrated. I'm tired. I'm a little cranky. I feel useless. I work, I come home, I sleep. I wake up and do it all over again. My beautiful husband and I seem to be on different planets. My life has become a blurred, exhausted mess. I have not said "I feel good" since before I broke my arm. Which, by the way, irritates the beejeezus out of me. The type of fracture I have -- of the radial head -- does not require casting. The orthoped wants me to use my arm as much as possible but I have found that it's pretty useless for doing anything really important. I can't hang my purse from it or extend it all the way. Just recently I have been able to touch my lips with my fingers without tearing up from the pain.

I think I will ask my VNS doc to dial my device back two notches (from 1.5 mAmps to 1.0 mAmps) -- which is where I was before I broke my arm. I distinctly remember snowboarding down the hill of our local haunt and saying to myself "I feel GOOD!". Right now, I don't feel good. I don't know how much of it is because of the massive, raging staph infection I've been fighting for the past two-and-a-half weeks or if it has to do with VNS?

The picture on the left is of the island located in the center of the little town I grew up in. Just beyond the bridge, on the right, is the last house my grandparents lived in. Of course you can't see it, but I know it's there. I have very fond memories of that house and everything it stood for. Still stands for. The smells of my Grandmother's southern cooking and Timeless perfume. The smell of my Granddaddy's pipe, the sounds of Lawrence Welk in the background. Granddaddy died in July, 1985 -- 52 years and a few days after he pledged to love Grandmother "'til death do us part". She continuted to live in that house until around 2000 when she moved to an assisted living facility. I spent a lot of time in that house with her looking out over the river in that picture.

I turn 40 next month and I've been feeling a little nostalgic? Sentimental? I can't quite put my finger on what is going on in my head. In all honesty, I'm not afraid of the big four-oh, there is just some. thing. Kind of gnawing at me. Furrowing my brow.

I feel the need to reach out to people in my past. To tell them how much their time in my life meant to me and how much I appreciate all they did for me. For instance, one of my dad's old girlfriends. I know, that sounds like a disaster waiting to happen, but she was an important part of my life at one time. So last week I Google'd the name of one of her son's -- a VERY unique name -- and sent him an email. He quickly responded and gave me her phone number. I haven't called her yet because I don't want to intrude on her life. I just want to say "thank you" to her.

Thank you for being my friend.