Depression

Depression
Not a happy topic I know, but one that I’ve been tripping over a lot lately.

First I read this over at Blogher about how people are trying to block a law that would encourage the screening of mothers for Post Partum Depression.

Read it and read the supporting links. I especially liked the piece that makes the point that drugs are not always the solution, and the drug that works for one may not work for another.

Then I read a post over at Joy Unexpected. She closed the comments, so I couldn’t give her an Internet hug and tell her it is time to give her doctor the proverbial kick in the pants and demand referrals to an endocrinologist AND a mental health professional. Life’s too short to be this miserable honey. A few days later she posted saying that she recognized that she was battling depression. Yeah Y! Oh Y, so glad you recognize the signs, now do something to make it stop. I know you love your doctor, but from the outside looking in, it just doesn’t sound like he’s taking care of you this time. Pick up the phone and demand that meathead give you a referral to a mental health professional. PLEASE.

Then I read this over at Suburban Oblivion and I thought it was the most freakin’ spot on description of depression I’d ever read. Sarah said

“Depression is not having a bad day, or even a bad week. It’s normal emotions, amplified. Minor annoyances become rage, forgetting something at the store turns into a crying breakdown, and you are so exhausted a simple load of laundry is as overwhelming as a trip up Mount Everest.“

This definition really resonated with me.

As in been there . . . done that.
I was pretty solid after the birth of my first child. But times were different. We were on solid financial footing and I was fortunate to be surrounded by close friends all with young kids. I didn’t have to worry about working so much, so I could spend my days sitting at the mall playground with my baby and my friends getting out, and getting the support I needed.
Times were different after the birth of my second 4 years later.
Finances were REALLY tight and we were living in another state with no mommy-meeting-place and an hour and a half away from my closest friends. I had my husband’s family, but it was different. I fought like hell to make it work, but I just could not get it together. I was having a hard time focusing. I felt like I was constantly chasing my tail and I was an emotional wreck. I would cry and the drop of a hat and the littlest slights would send me into a rage. I remember sitting on the stairs sobbing. The baby was sleeping my husband had taken our daughter to the dump and I had just finished balancing the check book. We were actually in the black, but it had taken me hours to complete the task at hand. I couldn’t deal. I was overwhelmed, sluggish and angry and the most frustrating part was that I didn’t know why. It was 7 months before I would take the advice of a dear friend and seek help.

I finally made an appointment with my doctor. I must have sounded bad because they created and appointment slot for me and warned me to be prompt. So naturally the morning of the appointment was a disaster or so it seemed to me at the time. My daughter was sick, and we just could not get our act together to get out the door. I dropped my son at daycare and heard on the traffic report that the road I needed to take was backed up with traffic. I was going to be a few minutes late. This little nugget of information was enough to send me over the edge. I was driving down said road (which wasn’t bad at all) tears streaming down my face.

I see a physician’s assistant, we have a lot in common, we’re both working mom’s with 2 young kids. We’re both carrying too much extra weight and struggling to find time for ourselves. When I saw Wendy that day, she was understanding, but very matter of fact. “You’re older, you’re stressed. It is a chemical imbalance. There’s nothing wrong with you. This is a physical issue. Don’t beat yourself up. Read this, let’s try a low dose of Zoloft, call me if you need me otherwise I’ll see you in six weeks.”

So, I started on the requisite 25mg dose and worked up to 50mg per day. A relatively low dose. All I can say is AHHHHHHHHH. With in days, I felt more like myself than I had in months. It wasn’t a magic pill, all was not immediately perfect in the kingdom (never will be), but I was in a much better place to handle the stress of life.

I’m not much of a pill popper. So, six months later I wanted to try and wean off the medication. Wendy reminded me I had a chemical imbalance and that I might need the drugs for the rest of my life, but she was supportive of my desire to try and wean. I went from 50mg to 25mg and then to nothing. Um, BIG MISTAKE. All my symptoms came back. I couldn’t think straight, I cried at the drop of a hat, I was anxious. Wendy was equally supportive when I said “Write me a life time prescription for that stuff.”

I’m not always on top of things as I should be and sometimes a day (or two) goes by and I have forgotten my pills. Mommy’s fuse is REALLY short, my thoughts are scattered, it is ugly. Zoloft is now available in generic form Yahoo!! Down from a $25 dollar co-pay to a $10 co-pay. Frankly, I don’t care, I’d pay full price out of pocket (but don’t tell my insurance company m’kay?).

Unless you’ve been there, you just can’t understand it. I’m a fairly resilient person and I have a very low tolerance for victims. But for many people depression isn’t something you can just “get over”.

I believe that drugs aren’t always the solution and different drugs affect different people well differently. I got lucky to find a PA who had a clue and that the first medicine we tried worked for me. But not everyone is that lucky. It is crucial that people in general, but postpartum women and women dealing with hormone balances in particular get the support they need. For some, it is a mother’s group. For others it is one on one counseling and for others it is medication or some combination of the three.

Please don’t be embarrassed to get the help you need.
Educate yourself about the options.

On Track to Break the Record . . .

As of 2-27-08, we’d had 102 inches of snow.

2-28-08 4 more inches fell.
3-1-08 10 more inches fell.

By my math, that puts us at least 116 inches. The record is 122. March tends to be a snowy month in these parts. The problem is it alternates between cold & warm, so we often get rain on top of or mixed with, the snow. That too has reeked havoc. We have a 5th season called Mud Season, when everything thaws and turns to mush. It is rarely pretty. This year it is going to be down right U G L Y ugly.

I’m not complaining too much. I truly like snow and one thing I’ll say for New England weather, it is at least predictable. We aren’t dodging tornadoes and blizzards don’t creep up on you.

1,375 Q-Tips

“Why would you ever need to by more than one package of these in your lifetime?” —- My Husband

Damn if she didn’t get me thinking . . .

One of my blogging heroines, Jessica over at Oh The Joys, posted about her relationship with her sister-in-law. Jessica is known for her humor, sarcasm and quick wit. This post was one of her rare serious posts. It was honest and heartfelt and it struck a chord with me.

See, I am the SIL. NO!, not Jessica’s sister-in-law (although how cool would THAT be? ah Internet lurve ain’t it grand??).

Anyway, we moved to our current geographical location to be closer to family. My husband’s family to be exact. They all live within about 20 minutes of us.

We live right next door to my Mother-In-Law and her husband and I am proud to say that I am very close to my MIL. My SIL? Not so much. We get along, but we are not close. Our interests are different as are our outlooks on life. Jessica’s post reminded me that she’s family. A family I am extremely grateful to be part of.

I am an only child and my parents split when I was three. My extended family is scattered from Arizona to New Jersey and from Massachusetts to Florida. I have friends to whom I am closer than my blood relatives. Not my husband, his best friend is his cousin. They all grew up together and while they all lead different lives and give each other rashers of sh*t, the reality is they would do anything for each other. Part of the lure of moving here was for my children to experience that kind of family connection.

My MIL & FIL are ducking the nasty winter and traipsing around the Southland. After reading Jessica’s post, it struck me I had no clue how my SIL and her family were. Did my nephew get a job? Has he finished his college applications?

I love my MIL, but the reality is she won’t be around forever and I’d hate to think that this family thing will disintegrate when she and her sister (they are co-matriarchs) pass on. I don’t need to be the matriarch for future generations, but I want to be a part of keeping us together.

I picked up the phone and invited SIL her SO and my nephew for dinner tomorrow night. They have plans, but those plans may fall through due to weather concerns, so she’s going to call me tomorrow. If we don’t do it tomorrow, I have it in my head to get together soon.

I’m glad I called.

Thanks Jessica (and Jane)

In high praise of Zicam and Pseduoephedrine Hydrochloride

I live with 2 little germ magnets. If it is going around, one of them will pick it up and then share it with the other who in turn will share it with my husband and I. Zicam reditabs have become my friend.

The last 2 weeks we have been visited by the dreaded winter cold, runny nose, weepy eyes, and a cough. Little Brother passed it to Big Sister who shared it with Daddy & I.

Despite my best efforts to keep him doped upon decongestants, it got into the little guy’s ears. He has a rather unique way of letting me know he has an ear infection. Most kids get a fever, or start tugging at their red ears. Him, he wakes up crying in the middle of the night. Both my kids are GREAT sleepers (Praise the Lord and anyone else involved), so for him to wake up, something has to be wrong. The problem, is he won’t tell me his ears hurt. He cries for a lost toy or an adult who is not currently present (pick one Grammy, Grandpa, Uncle David, his preschool teacher) doesn’t matter who it is, they aren’t in his room at that moment and ain’t no way I’m gonna wake ‘em. Hell I’m NOT EVEN AWAKE.

In my stupor, it doesn’t occur to me to ask him what hurts until the 3rd trip in. “My EARS” he wails. A dose of children’s ibuprofin and we all can complete our night’s slumber in peace. The next day, a trip to the doctor confirms ANOTHER double ear infection. We kind of caught this one early, so we *might* squeak by with just one round of anti-biotics.

So much for effective decongestants. Yeah, I know the size of his ear canal plays a part in it, but ever since the meth heads forced psudophedrine into hiding behind the pharmacy counter and parents who can’t read labels ended production of cold meds for the under 6 crowd, you can’t find a children’s decongestant that is worth a box of tissues.

Since I was going to the pharmacy for an The Pink Stuff anyway, I asked about getting real live honest to goodness psudophedrine in a form my kids can take. Turns out I am out of luck for the little one, but the big one is old enough to take psudophedrine (the little red pill). Yahoooo!!!! I whipped out my license and plunked my money down for a 48 pack. Before you meth heads start jonesin’ for my supply, it is under lock and key.

When I got home, I gave one pill to Big Sister along with a does of plain old Robitussen. Ah, the miracles of modern medicine! We may just dodge an ear infection with her. I’m keeping my fingers crossed.

Despite my Zicam regimen and an effort to get some extra sleep, the sniffles crept up on me. I added that little red beauty to my list of daily meds and you know what? It really does work better than whatever is currently impersonating as the little red pill on the shelves in the drug store aisle.

Sadly my husband can’t take it, gives him the willies and makes him want to crawl out of his skin. Me? I’m am congestion free!

So dear reader, if you have a cold. Check with your doctor. Check with your pharmacist then get yourself some Zicam and some of the REAL little red pills. You’ll be glad you did.

Dancing With Insanity

Insanity is many things.  To me it feels like a dance. I may try to take the lead in the dance  with Insanity, but that is just deluding myself. I never hear the same song and it is always my fault that I am out of step. Insanity leads and I have to make the choice to follow along or sit on the side and watch as Insanity whirls and spins. Such is the way of living with an alcoholic.

Calling the tune.
My mother is an alcoholic. She will deny it to your face, but when one lives on a fixed income and never socializes, yet has a refrigerator full of booze, it leaves little doubt.  There are many more indications.  I don’t really care to argue the point with you.  Those who interact with her on a regular basis readily agree with me.

At one time, we danced in step. She was a phenomenally devoted mother while I was growing up. In hindsight, too devoted.  She had no life of her own and my departure for college was the beginning of a downward spiral that continues to this day.  It is sad.  She was a bright, talented woman who was well liked by all who knew her.  She had a way with people and an artistic side that she didn’t get to display often enough.

She is a perfectionist who can never be good enough and cares far too much about what she thinks other people think of her.  Her drinking has left her physically and mentally impaired and reduced her to smoking, drinking and obsessing about how the world is conspiring to make her life miserable.  To her, I am an active participant in that conspiracy all because I don’t hear the same tune.

I have achieved everything she ever wanted for me.  I am educated, happily married and financially stable. But, her lifestyle has rendered her unable to appreciate how her efforts paid off.

Sitting it out
For many years there was a distance between us. She chose not to attend my wedding (she was invited). Other family members stepped in to help her. In their own time, they too learned why I was so distant. There is always a reason for everything that goes wrong in her life and nothing is EVER her fault.  She lies incessantly, but doesn’t really think she’s lying.

I understand that alcoholism is a sickness. I understand that she doesn’t necessarily choose the tune, but there are some that choose to seek help for their illness and successfully battle back their demons on a daily basis.  The perfectionist in her will never allow her to admit that she has a problem.  So she continues to drink and the dance goes on.

I am blessed with a strong support system that fills in most of the gaps.  Yet there is a part of me, that still wants a relationship with my mother, the woman who raised me. Logically I know she will never be that woman again, and most of the time I am able to set boundaries so that she can’t hurt me, but every once in a while I get my hopes up.

It has yet to end well.

Now that I have children, they get to bear witness to the dance.  Eventually, I want them to understand how the dance works, as alcoholism is prevalent on all sides of the family. For now, they are young enough that the dance is still too complicated to explain.  All they know is the disappointment of being invited to dance, only to have to sit on the side while she whirls and spins and blames everyone else for her distorted perspective on life.

And so I go on dancing with insanity.  Mostly, I keep my distance and maintain contact on my terms. There are those that don’t understand, but therapy and the support of friends and family have taught me that I am entitled to live my life and that it is okay to protect my happiness. None of that makes it any easier when I don’t hear from her for weeks on end or we make plans that she ultimately scuttles for some fabricated reason.

And so, the beat goes on. I like to drink and have at times enjoyed the numb feeling that accompanies a good buzz.  But,  I live in fear that I will follow in her footsteps so I take care to insure that in the dance that is my life, I hear the same tune as those closest to me.  I wouldn’t wish this dance on anyone.

I am at heart an optimist so, it is my hope that someday we can once again dance in step to the same tune.  However, I am also a realist, so I try and prepare myself for the day the dance ends.  I have to hope that knowing I did all I could to change her tune will be enough.  Somehow, I doubt it.

Dancing With Ourselves

So, there we are, me and the two short people, waiting in the exam room of the eye doctor’s office. First we saw the technician, who performed all the basic tests, then we saw the senior technician, who performed more tests, now we were just waiting for the doctor to come in and tell us what we already know.  Nothing has changed.

For some reason, it was taking an extraordinarily long time for the doctor to come in and release us. Usually things move along at a pretty good pace, but today, the natives were getting restless.  The older one wanted to get back to school (she’s young yet) and the younger one wanted to explore every possible nook and cranny of the very small space.  As I say, things normally roll along pretty quickly so I didn’t bring the toy bag, as some times it can be more distracting than helpful.

Then inspiration hit, I have an iPhone.  That means I have music AND a speaker.  Voliá! That cramped exam room became a dance hall.  The three of us shook and shimmied our way through LeAnn Rimes “Nothin’ better to do”, Tim McGraw’s “Last Dollar” and Craig Morgan’s “International Harvester” just to name a few.  The doctor eventually made it in somewhere in the middle of Rodney Atkins “These are My People”.

As we walked out of the office into the waiting room, my three year old loudly announced “That was fun at the eye doctor’s office, can we do it again soon?”  Sure buddy, let’s say about 6 months ok?

An Experiment Failed

My periods were never particularly regular. When I was a teen, I had a steady boyfriend and a desire to go to college, so I got on the birth control pill.

The relationship ended when I went to college, so I got off the pill. Big mistake. My periods were all over the map. Eventually despite being at a Jesuit institution, I went back on the pill to try and regulate things.

It wasn’t until I was actually TRYING to conceive that I discovered I have Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome or PCOS for short.

I’m not as severely affected as some women, but getting pregnant was no picnic. I was fortunate to live in a state that mandated health insurers pay for fertility drugs.

Now that we’ve had as many kids as we can mange (and some days I’m not sure we can manage the 2 we have), I’m dealing with the other issues. The weight gain, the facial hair and the mild case of depression.

I’ve consulted my regular physician and an endocrinologist, but all the so-called “cures” seem to be worse than the symptoms. It has long been suggested that I go back on the pill. I’ve staunchly refused. I don’t need any more weight gain and frankly the pill kills my sex drive. We’re finally getting back into a good groove in that department and I don’t want to ruin it.

Then one night on TV, I don’t get to the TIVO remote fast enough and a commercial comes on for YAZ, a new birth control that is supposed to help with menstrual mood swings. Hmmmmm, they caught my attention. At my next physical, I discuss it with my doctor and she agrees it is worth a shot. She says this iteration of the pill has a diuretic, so the weight gain isn’t an issue and, that there have been no reports of the libido crushing of other pills.

Ok, let’s give this a shot. Maybe I could wean off the low does of anti-depressant and kill a whole bunch of birds with one pill.

Maybe, but then again, maybe not. I filled the prescription (OUCH! a tier 3 drug, can you say $25 co-pay?). First thing I noticed was my normally short fuse had suddenly gotten even shorter. Next, the headache starts. It isn’t a show stopper, but a dull throb right behind my eye. I have enough vision problems, I don’t need any more help thanks. Then the sore throat returns. Now, I know a sore throat is not a standard side effect for most women on the birth control pill, but it is for me, always has been. It isn’t a sore throat like on the surface of my throat. It is more like something in my neck is pushing on my throat and making it harder to swallow.

The kicker was the morning I woke up without the headache and much LESS of a sore throat. I realized that I’d forgotten to take my pill the night before. WIthin an hour of taking the pill, the headache and the sore throat were back. Hmmmmmmmmm.

I read the miniprint that came with the pills. Ok, I skimmed it. But I just wasn’t feeling right and was pretty sure that Yaz was the reason why. So, I consulted my good friend Google.

Now, I approached this knowing I was going to find all kinds of horror stories about using Yaz. No one ever gets onto the Internet to say “oooooo, this new medicine is wonderful” (although I should about Zoloft). I found exactly what I expected. A discussion forum where Yaz was summarily lambasted and blamed for EVERY possible symptom known to woman. I did find one post that reminded people that everyone reacts differently to synthetic hormones. More importantly to me, I found the mini print on drugs.com and I could blow it up to a size that I could actually read. As with all medications, there was a side effects list broken down into two groups. One was if you experience any of these stop taking Yaz and call your doctor. The other was if you experience any of these, keep taking YAZ and call your doctor. Guess which group the dull headache behind the eyes falls into? Yep, STOP taking Yaz and call your doctor. I did both.

Within 24 hours I felt more like myself than I had in 20 days. Ok, experiment over. Label this one a failure.

Don’t misunderstand me. Yaz may be the magic pill you are looking for, but it wasn’t a match for this body.

Counting My Blessings Today

About this time 5 years ago, we were preparing to sell our house, put most of our stuff in storage, move in with my in-laws and build house next door to them.

My husband was “coming home” to the country and I was leaving all that I knew behind in the city. That isn’t dramatic effect, it is accepted fact. We both new it at the time and although I was reluctant and the change was scary. It was the better choice for our family.

This morning, I want to express gratitude for all the change that has brought me here. I was sitting in the kitchen this morning and my 3 year old, opened the back door and wandered outside to play. He would NEVER have been allowed to roam so freely at our last house.

Just now, my mother-in-law agreed to meet my older child at the school bus so I could take the 3 YO to the only available doctor’s appointment today. We didn’t have that kind of back up until we moved here.

Life is good.

The Jig is Up

We have a collie. She’s almost eight. She’s a good dog; she doesn’t bark much and she’s good with the kids.

At her most recent vet visit, we were told she’d gained seven pounds in one year. Ouch. She’s pacing me on my post partum collision course with obesity.

The jig is up.
No more sharing meals with the puppies next door.
No more extra treats from Grandpa.
We have to cut her daily food intake by half and now its only half a biscuit before bed.

We’re committed to a long and healthy life for our canine friend so we’re doing our best to turn her into a lean, mean shedding machine.

However, someone in this family isn’t on board with the new program.

Several times recently, I’ve found the closet where we keep the dog’s food open.

My husband has found a few kibbles of food in the dog’s bowl at odd times of the day. Out dog NEVER leaves food in her bowl.

This is VERY mysterious indeed.

The dog greeted the arrival of my older child with curiosity followed by resignation. With the younger one, she went straight to resignation and started sleeping in the older one’s bedroom. As the baby has grown, the dog has more or less ignored him and eventually she even started sleeping with us again. Once he was walking, she kept a healthy distance. But lately, I’ve noticed if he heads towards the mudroom she follows him and sits at the door.

Another mystery.

Tonight, we solved both mysteries with one good laugh.

The dog has an enabler. It seems the baby has been opening the closet, scooping out a few kibbles of food at a time and putting them in the dog’s bowl.

When we confronted him tonight he clapped his hands together and shouted “YAY!”

The dog hung her head.

The jig is up indeed.