I'm really quite domestic...

  I have this new found love for acorn squash. It's delicious and our neighborhood Walmart has a bunch in stock. My only issue was that the only recipes I could find used copious amounts of butter and brown sugar. Not saying there is anything wrong with butter and brown sugar... I could find a million uses for those heavenly ingredients. Yet, I had never made acorn squash in any recipe that didn't call for them.
   I did some digging around online and found a recipe I wanted to try. Of course, I can't ever really follow a recipe to the T, so I improvised. It was fabulous! Even my 9 year old daughter ate her serving without the usual eye rolling and pushing of the food around with her fork, like that will make it disappear or something. She told me she actually *gasp*  liked it!
   I shall share the recipe here because if I don't have it written down somewhere I'll forget what I did right. First I have to name it, huh? I suck at coming up with jazzy names so I'll just call it Acorn Squash Concoction!

1 medium sized acorn squash - peeled and cut into bite-sized chunks
1 medium sized sweet potato - peeled and cut into bite-sized chunks
1 small yellow onion (you could use a shallot instead - yum!) julienned
1 red bell pepper - diced
3 springs of fresh sage - finely chopped
Kale - ripped into pieces
Garlic powder - to taste (about 2 tsp is good)
Salt and pepper to taste
 
 Take a large skillet and add enough extra virgin olive oil to cover the bottom. Heat the skillet and oil on medium heat. Add sweet potato and acorn squash and mix until well coated with the oil. Stir occasionally for about 10 minutes. Once they start to get fork tender add in the onion and bell pepper. Season with garlic powder, salt, and pepper. Mix all ingredients well. Once the squash and potato are fork tender add the sage and the kale. Reduce heat to low and when the kale starts to wilt the dish is ready.

  My family loved this dish! YAY ME! It's always good when I experiment on them with new dishes and they're successful.

Sugar and Dreams

  These past few days have been a struggle for me. Physically more than mentally, thank God! I think I'm fighting off the cold my husband and daughter have.
  But be proud of me! I still took Ali on her walk yesterday. I was determined to stay active even though my muscles are tense and painful. I really need to teach that dog leash etiquette.
  I've been doing a lot of crafts lately. I think it's helped me a lot. Therapeutic. When I run out of crafts I bake. Cookies, breads, all things not healthy for you.
  I have a friend who is really into organic, healthy eating. I steal a lot of recipes from her. We can't really afford all organic foods, but I can use her recipes to help my own family eat healthier. I really just want to cut out our sugar consumption as well as incorporate healthy grains. I want to make these no-sugar-oat-drops and these peanut-butter-granola-bars.
   I'll never be able to become a vegan. I love milk, cheese, and meat too much. But I can make an effort to eat healthy and live healthy. It will make a difference with my mental health as well as the obvious physical health.
   I have to give credit to Pinterest. I've found awesome recipes and craft ideas there. I'm kind of addicted to that site. :)
  I'm sitting her looking at my cup of coffee and wishing I could just feel awake already. I had bad dreams last night. Violent ones.
  There was one where a bunch of young adults were lost in this jungle. The jungle was cursed and the kids were getting killed horribly, one by one. I woke up and wanted to vomit.
   Do you still remember the dreams you used to have as a child? Did you dream of flying or having a super power? I think all kids do at some point.
   One dream I remember vividly, I dreamed when I was about 8 or so.
   I was walking around this post-apocalyptic looking world. The sky was red, the sun blotted out with the smoke that rose from the black, charred ground. The only hint that the world was once civilized were the charred skeletal remains of buildings.
   I was trying to find my family. I had been separated from them at some point. I noticed some movement ahead of me. I ran forward and stopped short when I reached the twisted metal that was once the lobby of a large building.
  As I looked up I saw my family. They were all bound to the metal with chains. Their flesh was ripped away in areas and underneath looked like metal grating. They were still alive, but in searing pain. I stood there, in front of them, screaming and crying. A breeze stirred and as the sparks from the fires all around landed on the faces and bodies of my family, burning them, I woke up.
   Yeah. I had messed up dreams as a child.
 
 



 

...but I'm not craving more pills...

   Today has started off with me craving a doughnut. I hate doughnuts. They're too sweet for my taste. I wonder if I can indulge in one before I go to work and blame it on my new medication.
   Yesterday I went to my psychiatrist and she added Cymbalta to my regimen. I was having mood swings that were about a day of feeling manic, followed by severe depression. So back to taking an anti-depressant on top of my Gabapentin as a mood stabilizer.
  I hate taking medication. I wish I could control all of this naturally. But I've tried the St. John's Wort and it did diddly squat. I've tried changing my diet, cutting out sugar and caffeine. Tried taking fish oil, which did nothing but cause gastrointestinal issues.
   I hope the Cymbalta helps with my fibro pain. That would be rad. I'm so tired of living with chronic daily pain. I'm exercising and eating healthy to help with the pain. On top of that I take 300mg of Lyrica a day on top of my muscle relaxers for when the pain gets really bad. Oh, and Meloxicam for joint pain.
   Stupid pills. I feel like an old lady as I prepare my pill box for the week. Granted I'm taking supplements and vitamins and such as well. Is it bad that my 9 year old daughter knows my pill regimen as well as I do? "Mom, you're forgetting your vitamin D!"
   Before you know it, I'll need this to help me get around...

 

Ok... this isn't funny any more...

 You know those days where nothing really seems to go right and you start to suspect maybe Candid Camera is pulling one over on you? When you sit back and look at your day (which isn't over yet) and hope that maybe one day you'll look back on this and laugh. In the meantime you just feel frustrated and irritated and ready to scream. Yeah. I'm having one of those days.

The Trigger?

  I sometimes wonder if a traumatic incident can trigger health problems, both physical and mental. Like cancer. It was lying dormant with very few side effects. Then suddenly air hits it and it spreads and runs rampant. I don't know. It's early and my coffee hasn't kicked in yet.
  I was having depression and anxiety before M died. But his death really was the catalyst. Within a year of his death I fell and broke my foot, had to have an emergency appendectomy, was diagnosed with fibromyalgia, attempted suicide, and was diagnosed with bipolar disorder.
  I'm going to copy/paste the entry I wrote about the day M died. I'm too drained to rewrite about it. It's kind of  cathartic to re-read it.
  
  I remember being irritated the day I left for work. I wasn't feeling well, but at least it was a short shift for American Express. M woke up and was sitting on the couch when I left for work. He and T (my daughter) were supposed to go to Spirit and then to M's grandma's house to do some painting that day. We each said "I love you". Then I left.
  I called him twice while I was at work. When he didn't answer I figured he was at his grandma's painting. When I got home and pulled into the parking lot at our apartments, I saw his car. I became upset. Here he was being lazy all day when we were supposed to be getting this house ready to move into in little over a months time!
  The moment I walked through the door T came up to me and said, "Daddy has been sleeping ALL day long and won't get up!" I got mad. How could he sleep all day and leave T to fend for herself. "Didn't you try to wake him up?" I asked. She told me he wouldn't wake up. I started to feel something wasn't right. So I went into our room to see what was going on.
   When I shook him, he didn't move. When I touched his skin... when I saw his face. I knew. I screamed. Just screamed. T came running and I was shaking so badly I could hardly tell her to get my phone. While she got it, I felt for the pulse I knew I wouldn't find. He'd been dead for hours. Since before T woke up that morning.
  I wouldn't let T into the room. I called 911 and I was hysterical. The lady could hardly understand me. She asked me if I wanted to start CPR. I told her, "I'm an RN. He's cold... his skin is mottled and his lips are blue... he's been dead for hours.. .nothing can be done... he's dead!:. That's when I looked at me, her eyes huge, and she started to freak out.
   I grabbed her and took her outside while I was on the phone. Wanted to get out of that apartment. We were waiting for about 4 minutes outside for the fire department to arrive. It seemed like hours. The 911 operator accidentally hung up on me.
  It was then that I called my dad. Totally hysterical. I just kept screaming, "He's dead! M'd dead! My baby was home with him all day and he was dead!" Then the firemen made me hang up the phone.
   We went back into the apartment and T stood by a gentleman doing a ride-along that day. She was leaning on him, like she couldn't stand on her own. I stood in the hallway while the firemen checked my husband. A young fireman, about M's age, came and and said, "he's gone". I knew this already... but hearing it for sure from someone else just hit me like a ton of bricks. I leaned against the wall and just kept saying, "No...no..."
   i don't remember much for a while. They sat me on the couch, I was shaking so bad. They had T come sit with me and we just clung to each other like if we let go, we'd lost each other. She was crying and scared... I was rapidly going from sobbing to totally numb. The firemen gave her a little green stuffed bunny Beanie Baby.
   My dad called my phone and one of the paramedics answered it. My dad wanted to be with me, but didn't know where I was, at the house or at the apartment.
   He showed up and I just remember clinging to him, almost unable to stand myself. Then he hugged T and she wouldn't leave his side. I'm sure she was terrified to see me in the state I was in.
   Sometime during this, the Crisis Response ladies showed up. One asked to speak to T alone, she's a child counselor. T agreed and they went to talk.
   I sat on the couch, painfully aware that my husband's body was only feet away from me. And I couldn't do anything to save him.
   Sometime during all this my mom showed up. I just sobbed in her arms. The Crisis Response ladies called my work and let them know what was going on. I was supposed to work the next day. Work said to take off as much time as I needed. I had them call M's best friend, J. My dad took T home to their place. She didn't need to be there for all this.
   A short while later, J came up the stairs to the apartment, tears running down his face. His parents were with him. We just hugged and cried.
  I remember being questioned by a detective (protocol), a medical examiner, a fireman... everyone it seemed. Most of the time I just sat on the couch feeling like I was having an out of body experience. This couldn't really be happening, could it??
   I got home at 1545. M's time of death is listed at 1555. The time the paramedics pronounced him dead. The medical examiner didn't arrive until close to 1900, I think.
   M's dad arrived around that time as well. The paramedics and the police officer wouldn't let me call his parents. They sent two officers over to deliver the news. M's mom told me she almost fainted when they told her. That R (M's dad) had to hold her up....
   They asked if I wanted to say goodbye to M before the closed the body bag. I started to sob. I told them I couldn't, I just couldn't see him that way again. R and J went in to say their goodbyes while my mom and J's mom, Mary, took me on a walk. I didn't want to see him in the body bad.\
   But it was hot and I felt really faint. So we headed back to the apartment. I saw them bring my husband, my best friend out of our apartment on a gurney in a body bag. I saw them place his body in the medical examiner's van. I saw them take him away.
   I got a call from one of M's friends about this time. He was in shock, he had heard from someone and needed to know if it was true. I don't remember much of what I said. But I asked him to let  everyone know, and that I didn't want any calls from anyone right now.
   The Crisis Response ladies stayed with me the whole time. One of them saw my scars on my arms. From where I used to cut myself. She talked with my mom about it, making sure my mom was well aware that this could cause me to go back into that depression that I was in when I was doing all the cutting.
   They helped me pack my things. I remember walking into the bedroom I had once shared with M and sensing a huge change in the atmosphere. It was heavy and oppressive and sad. Or maybe that's just how I felt. The medical examiner had taken his glasses and wedding band off and lain them on my jewelry box. I took the wedding band, nicked from nearly two years of wear. I had never seen it off M's hand until that day.



   It took nearly 4 months to get my answers. The Autopsy Report. Those pieces of paper I dreaded seeing but needed desperately so I could start moving forward with my life.
   When it arrived in the mail and I saw the seal for the Office of the Medical Examiner on the envelope it felt like my heart skipped a beat. I sat it on my desk and stared at it for a while. My hands trembled as I opened it up. Seeing my husband's name with the date of the autopsy on the front page caused my tears to flow.
   I read and re-read the report. Every agonizing detail. I couldn't get the image of M lying on the steel autopsy table with a Y incision exposing his chest cavity out of my mind.
   His cause of death was ruled as: Sudden cardiac arrest associated with hypertension and fatty liver disease. Fatty liver disease?? I knew he was drinking more than usual... but until I started putting the pieces together it didn't make any sense.
   Eventually I had to wake up and smell the coffee. He had been an alcoholic. I turned a blind eye to his drinking. He had alcohol in his system the day he died.
   I think his death really set off a chain of health events.
   

Pray it Away?

  When I had my first panic attack I was about 13. I remember it well because I was sitting on the couch watching TV with my parents when it hit me. I felt like I couldn't breathe because my chest was suddenly tight and my heart was pounding. I broke out into a cold sweat and my hands shook. I told my parents and since they had no clue what was wrong with me I was taken to the nearest ER.
  My parents had some weird ideas about mental illness back then. They thought I could just pray it away. So when the ER doc told them it was a panic attack, they sought no further treatment for me.
  For years I lived with the depression and anxiety. I saw a Christian counselor at one point, but even though I believed in Christ and prayed and tried hard to live by the Bible, my illness didn't go away. It was at this point that I started to resent the church. I thought I was supposed to be getting better but my mind just raged on ahead with racing thoughts and the anxiety started to bog me down.
  It took me years to realize that mental illness isn't something you can just pray away. That it was ok to see a psychiatrist and a therapist. That taking medications doesn't make you a bad Christian.
  Every time I have to take something for my anxiety I remember my struggles and how long it took to get to this point in my life. It was a rough road, but I think things are going to look up. :)

Blarg

  I'm feeling very apathetic today. Or maybe not so much apathetic as blah. I'm feeling very blah today.
  It started out as a good day. Even a great day. My daughter was so excited as she got ready for school because today is a half day. My husband is training for his new position at work which will involve a pretty darn good raise. I was gearing up to see my wound patient and then get all my work paperwork in order.
  Ali (our boxer doggeh) and I took Trinity to school. The dog loves to go with me when I take my daughter somewhere. I forgot my phone on the counter. With trying to make sure my daughter had all her school stuff and getting my purse and the dog underfoot, I just forgot it. I hate forgetting my phone. It makes me feel naked when I'm without it.
  When I returned home to my phone I noticed there was a missed call and a voice mail from my Auntie Carla. Ok.... I'll take a step back for some background because this can get confusing.
  I'm adopted. I was adopted at 6 days old by the people who I consider my real parents. My birth parents are just that... my birth parents. I'm in touch with both my birth parents, though I seem to talk to my birth dad and his family more often.
  My birth father, Rodney, is very ill. He's had a tough life... granted most of his hardships were self inflicted. He was in prison for a long time and while he was there he made an escape attempt. He was heavily medicated and in turn ended up with drug induced Parkinson's. He was released from prison around the time I turned 16 and had started looking for my birth parents.
  Rodney most likely suffers from sick sinus syndrome as well. Auntie Carla doesn't remember what it's called, but his symptoms match. He also has esophageal cancer that has spread into his mouth and stomach.
  So back to the voice mail from Auntie Carla (Rodney's sister). I guess he's been getting more and more confused over the past month and has started to wander. He still lives with his sister, her daughter Heather, and Heather's family. He wandered off today and they couldn't find him for about 15 minutes. Someone had found his lying in a snowbank and called 911. So he was rushed to the ER and they admitted him to the hospital. Because of his increased confusion the neurologist was called in and he assessed Rodney. According to his findings, he's in the 5th stage of Parkinson's and will need one on one care. He also said at the rate Rodney is declining, that it looks like he's close to the end.
  I love my birth father. I really do. I want to see him before he passes, but I'm torn. As much as I love him and my Auntie Carla, Heather, and the rest of that side of the family I cannot bring myself to visit again. They all smoke weed. I don't care what they do with their money/time, but I'm an RN. I get drug tested by my work periodically. I won't risk testing positive because they won't not smoke around me. On top of that, I'm highly allergic to weed. Plus they all drink like it's going out of style.
  In the end, I'll probably not end up going to visit unless my husband can go with me and we're able to stay in a hotel and rent a car. But I feel guilty for feeling that way. Arg.

One of Those Days

   Today feels weird to me. I'm very nostalgic for some reason. I think that creating this blog may have something to do with it. I'll be opening up areas of my life for people to read. That is if anyone reads it. :)
  I've always been a passionate person. Once I decide to do something, I do it with 100%. I give myself over to whatever it is I'm trying to achieve. Sometimes that abandon has come back to bite me in the ass.
  When I was married to my daughter's father I tried so hard to make it work. I didn't want a broken family. I couldn't see how things really were. Hindsight is 20/20 though. Now I look back and realize that I won in the end. My family may have been broken up, but I had my daughter. She became my reason to become a better person.
  College was hard for me. I did well in my studies, but my emotional ups and downs played a factor. All I could hear was him saying, "You'll never become anything without me". I was going to prove him wrong. I was going to prove to myself that those lies he fed me weren't true. I struggled with my self esteem daily. But I did it. I graduated!
  Then came my marriage to M. I was emotionally drained through much of it. He wasn't working. Had stopped looking for work and looked to the bottle for fulfillment. I was trying so hard to be a good example to my daughter, but I'm afraid I failed in that area during this time of my life. I was so full of resentment towards M for not putting any effort into anything but drinking.
  Then M died. Died in his sleep while I was at work and my daughter was home with him. Our world came crashing in. We had no answers, only pain and an unending list of questions. I fell apart on the inside, though on the outside I seemed to be strong. I drank too much on several occasions and ended up breaking my foot. Now I was off work for health and  bereavement issues.
  I hated myself. I felt like a failure as a mother, wife, daughter, friend... everything. I found myself listening to music and crying my eyes out on the weekends my daughter was gone.
  My primary care physician put me on Paxil. It helped with my anxiety and after a month or so I felt like I was able to function "normally" again.
  During this time my daughter and I started going to New Song, a grief support group for children. I was able to talk about losing M and the impact it had on our lives. I met other people who were going through the same grieving process.
  It wasn't until the autopsy report came back that the anger hit. I didn't realize when M was alive how much he was drinking. But reading the medical examiner's findings had me livid and crushed at the same time. Sudden cardiac arrest, caused by hx of hypertension, fatty liver disease, and ectodermal dysplagia. It hit me... fatty liver disease... and there was alcohol in his system at the time of death... and his computer room had numerous empty alcohol bottles hidden away in the closet and under the futon. How did I not see it? Or had I known he was an alcoholic and turned a blind eye? It was a slap in the face.
  As life settled back into our new routine I felt lonely. I had friends to talk to, family to talk to... but I missed being physical with someone. Not sexually (of course I missed that too), but just being held. Holding hands. Simple little things I took for granted.
  Then on Facebook I was contacted by an old friend. I knew him when he was 16 and I was 18. It felt weird talking to an attractive single guy.
  We fell in love and married on July 29th, 2011.
  I'll end for now... the dog wants to go outside for a walk and my daughter is waiting patiently to join us. :) Patients and 9 year olds don't generally go together... if I make her wait... God only knows what will happen then!

The Diagnosis *cue dramatic music*

  I've almost always had some sort of diagnosis when it comes to my mental health. I started out with a diagnosis of Chronic Depression, Anxiety, and PTSD. Then it was just Anxiety. That changed to Borderline Personality Disorder and PTSD. Then it became Anxiety again. Finally my diagnosis of Bipolar Disorder came around late 2011.
  I've always wondered why the treatment for all those other disorders didn't work. I thought I was going crazy. Why aren't the medications working? Why do I still have these crazy mood swings? What the hell is wrong with me???
  Bipolar Disorder. Those two words used to hold such power over me. I thought people with this disorder were totally insane... needing to be heavily medicated and even hospitalized. I knew people who were bipolar. They didn't work and lived off the government. They took the "heavy" medications. They couldn't hold onto relationships.
  Then I was diagnosed, I believe, correctly with Bipolar Disorder. The mood swings. The severe depression leading to self mutilation. The manic episodes where I felt invincible and I never felt responsible for my actions, playing the victim. It all made sense.
  Is this why my life has always felt so peppered with struggles and pain? Why I'd feel like I was taking two steps forward and one step back? Or sometimes even one step forward and two steps back. Why little things would set me off. I wasn't crazy. I was wrongly diagnosed. I wasn't living off the government. I had graduated from nursing school and passed the NCLEX, earning my nursing license. My relationships had almost always been volatile in some way. But now I was married to the most incredible man I've ever known... and he was willing to help me through this.
  I started going to a support group where most of the other attendees were bipolar. My opinion of this disorder started to change drastically. I had been passing judgement because of my lack of knowledge.
  I have a chemical imbalance in my brain. It causes me to have rapid, severe mood swings. I can manage this imbalance with medications, I can learn how to deal with the imbalance with therapy. This isn't going to rule my life. I am the one in control. Not the disorder.
  Maybe I'm a little crazy for wanting to chronicle my life living with Bipolar Disorder. But writing has always been therapeutic for me and maybe there is someone out there I can help.