A number of years ago, my mother told me about an incident that happened at home while I was away. Apparently, someone in the house was quite upset. My little sister who would have been about 7 years old at the time walked into the room and said, "Well, if there are going to be tears, then let there be tears." I have no idea what was going through her mind at the time but I've remembered that statement ever since and have always liked it because it confers permission. There will be tears and that's okay. We know that crying is good for us. It releases tension. It washes away bacteria from our eyes and tear ducts. It keeps our eyes lubricated. I personally think we'd all be healthier if we could just sit down and have a good cry. If more of the world's leaders were women, there would be no child soldiers; no sons or daughters on a battlefield; no retaliation. We would sit at the boardroom table, glare at each other for awhile, then break down, have a good cry, wipe our noses, and then serve tea, pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off, and try again.
Let there be tears.
On January 13, 2014, life, as I knew it, fell apart in one easy stroke. Something died that day. From the look on the ultra-sound technician's face to less than two hours in biopsy, I knew. "They're worried." Except for my meltdown that day, there have been very few tears. I wanted to see where tears fit into the seven stages of grief. I'm still in a muddle of the first four stages. http://www.recover-from-grief.com/heartbroken-from-grief.html /watch?v=56wYNGfeouM Shock, being overwhelmed, needing to stay informed, following instructions, surgery, physical weakness, medication: all of it kept me too pre-occupied for tears. That has changed. Now, I'm beat. I'm exhausted and worn out. I have a lot of water retention so the tears flow easily (along with trips to the bathroom). I hurt all over. I don't want to do this any more. I know, in my head, that I'll get through this treatment plan but I'm oh so tired. And, after that, then what? Life as I knew it will never be the same again. I've changed. My circumstances have changed. There is no going back. Like my dear cousin said, "It's Unwritten." https://www.youtube.com
Let there be tears.
The other night I was reading a story from Chicken Soup for the Soul. Mother Theresa had given a set of rosary beads to a gentleman on a plane. After that, a friend had to go through chemo-therapy so he gave the beads to her and she found great strength and comfort praying with the beads. After her treatment, she sent the beads back to him. Then when a sister was going through a crisis, he mailed them to her who likewise found peace with them. This routine of sending the beads out and then having them returned to send to someone else carried on many times. When I finished reading, I started to cry. I closed my eyes and said, "What am I holding on to?" As soon as I said the words, with my eyes still closed, I saw in my mind an image of Jesus standing before me: traditional, Jewish, long hair, long beard, long robe Jesus. In my mind, I fell at his knees and cried, "I can't do this anymore." He crouched down so we were face to face, smiled gently, and said, "Yes, you can." I figured if anybody knows if I can or not, it would be He. I opened my eyes still with tears streaming down but through the tears I had this enormous grin on my face. "Blessed are they who mourn for they shall be comforted." - Jesus
Let there be tears.
Sunday, July 27, 2014
Sunday, July 20, 2014
Episode 22: How to Cure a Panic Attack
Warning: The following method may not be suitable for all readers. Consult your Health Care Professional.
Sometimes it's easy to identify the cause of a panic attack: the sight of a lab technician walking in with a cart full of blood vials or the casual quip from someone who jokes about your greatest fear. Other times, the cause of a panic attack is less easy to identify: perhaps a smell or a certain day of the week triggers an unpleasant memory. Cycle 4 was fraught with anxiety which occasionally turned to panic. However, I believe that I may have found the cure.
One night at approximately 11:20 PM, I was lying in bed and I could feel myself tensing up for no apparent reason. Then, my breathing became very rapid. I tried some deep breathing exercises but to little avail. Since I wanted to have a good sleep, I decided that this was a good time to let a pill help me relax so I took one of my anti-anxiety pills. They usually work quite quickly (i.e. 5-15 minutes). Instead of relaxing, though, my breathing got worse, my skin started to tingle all over, and my hands began to clench. I couldn't believe it. Another attack? Now? Why? All I wanted to do was sleep.
I definitely had no intention of calling the fire department again (Episode 18) so I devised a plan. Quite often a burst of fresh cool air goes a long way so I figured that if I didn't calm down soon, I would ask my husband to take me to emergency. My car is my happy place. The combination of cool night air and peace and quiet would do wonders. If not, the 20 minute drive to the hospital might work and if that still wasn't enough the emergency department might have something.
By midnight, I was still no better so I said, "Would you please drive me to Emergency?" (Actually, it may have been more like: "Neil, Emergency Now!!") I stood up out of the bed and started to walk towards the stairs to go down. Wouldn't you know it but my left leg went numb? I couldn't walk. I was sure I could never make it down the stairs hopping. I'd tumble and break my neck. My sweetheart of a husband so lovingly said, "I'll carry you down." Hahahahahaha! Guess what? There is something worse than a panic attack. There's the terror of envisioning myself and my dear one doing somersaults down a full flight.
I crawled back into bed. I was fine.
Sometimes it's easy to identify the cause of a panic attack: the sight of a lab technician walking in with a cart full of blood vials or the casual quip from someone who jokes about your greatest fear. Other times, the cause of a panic attack is less easy to identify: perhaps a smell or a certain day of the week triggers an unpleasant memory. Cycle 4 was fraught with anxiety which occasionally turned to panic. However, I believe that I may have found the cure.
One night at approximately 11:20 PM, I was lying in bed and I could feel myself tensing up for no apparent reason. Then, my breathing became very rapid. I tried some deep breathing exercises but to little avail. Since I wanted to have a good sleep, I decided that this was a good time to let a pill help me relax so I took one of my anti-anxiety pills. They usually work quite quickly (i.e. 5-15 minutes). Instead of relaxing, though, my breathing got worse, my skin started to tingle all over, and my hands began to clench. I couldn't believe it. Another attack? Now? Why? All I wanted to do was sleep.
I definitely had no intention of calling the fire department again (Episode 18) so I devised a plan. Quite often a burst of fresh cool air goes a long way so I figured that if I didn't calm down soon, I would ask my husband to take me to emergency. My car is my happy place. The combination of cool night air and peace and quiet would do wonders. If not, the 20 minute drive to the hospital might work and if that still wasn't enough the emergency department might have something.
By midnight, I was still no better so I said, "Would you please drive me to Emergency?" (Actually, it may have been more like: "Neil, Emergency Now!!") I stood up out of the bed and started to walk towards the stairs to go down. Wouldn't you know it but my left leg went numb? I couldn't walk. I was sure I could never make it down the stairs hopping. I'd tumble and break my neck. My sweetheart of a husband so lovingly said, "I'll carry you down." Hahahahahaha! Guess what? There is something worse than a panic attack. There's the terror of envisioning myself and my dear one doing somersaults down a full flight.
I crawled back into bed. I was fine.
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