Not sure what to think

My grandmother had her first panic attack when she was about 25, her mother had her first panic attack when she was about 25. I was 24ish I believe when I first had one, though I didn’t know what it was then, I can look back now and see with clarity that is exactly what it was.

I have to wonder, based on this information if panic attacks can be hereditary. There are many different triggers for them but my grandmother has been told she has a heart condition that might cause them. It’s called mitral valve prolapse and guess what ? It’s hereditary. And guess what types of symptoms may be exhibited? The same kind you get when you’re having a panic attack.

What I’m not sure about, is why I seem to be having more panic attacks of late. It is, I admit, more frightening when they come on super suddenly. The other night just out of the blue I felt my pulse rise. My heart began to race, my teeth began to chatter, my muscles started spasming. I was glad I had Tom home. He held me for a bit without even knowing what was happening. But at one point I took a deliberately slow, shuddery breath (in an effort to calm my body) and it alerted him.

“Trying to have a panic attack?” he asked seriously.

“Trying NOT to,” I said back with a smile. And I chuckled.

As the terror and paralyzation and physical symptoms were spreading through me, I chuckled. How is it possible to feel hopeful and playful in the midst of something so terrifying? One thing comes to mind: sometimes it’s the only thing you can do.

It helps that I know there will be an end to it. That the symptoms will abate. That it doesn’t matter why they started or when they’ll leave, just that they will. And I can laugh at the thought of my ridiculously spasming muscles, and my ridiculous chattering teeth in our 78 degree apartment because the symptoms are only temporary. It’s just another storm to maneuver through. Sometimes for a few minutes, sometimes for a few hours.

But I have hope through every storm because experience has shown me, storm clouds always part.

Possibilities

When I realized that the temperature today would be an amazing 73 degrees, I took Sassy outside to play. We grabbed Sassy’s bike and headed downstairs to ride around on the cement in front of our apartment complex.

After a time, Sassy and I decided to play in the leaves. As we crunched the fallen beauties beneath our feet I tried to explain to her about why the leaves were on the ground. I told her about Autumn and how the leaves fall off the trees. I knew that she immediately understood because she got a shocked look on her face and asked sadly, “Leaf fall off a trees?” I nodded and was worried she might cry from the news when her look turned into one of contemplation. After a moment she picked up a leaf on the ground, held it as high over her head as she could and then jumped up and threw the leaf. Unbeknownst to her, it fluttered behind her head and back onto the ground. She turned to me looking very satisfied and yelled happily, “I did it!!”

Her sweet little intention then became to throw every leaf back onto the tree it came off of. And I watched her pick up leaf after leaf, throwing each above her head, not knowing that each one drifted back to the ground behind her. And really, she’s two so it’s not important to say anything. Right now I just love that when she sees something she wants to fix, she has no thought of being unable to do so. Everything is possible for her and I want her to hold onto that for a while yet.

I went through a period of time where nothing seemed possible. Instead of blossoming at the same age many children and teenagers do, I retreated farther into my shell. I was convinced that the dreams I used to believe in were undeniably impossible and I thought to blame others for that mind set. But I was the inventor of my own misery. And miserable I was.

My immediate thought when I saw or heard of something beautiful, helpful, amazing or otherwise was that I could never do that thing or be that kind of person. I was just me and in my opinion I was pretty crummy.

Nothing happened all at once to change my mind, to help me realize I had imposed my own boundaries. But slowly, over time and because of many events, I saw my dreams again and had hope that they could come to fruition. I became more like my little toddler throwing leaves up into the air believing that they could find their way back to the tree. Of course, I’m realistic. I know that there are things I will simply never have time in this life to accomplish but if I really want to learn something or do something or be something then the only person stopping me from trying is me. And effort is the essential part. As I write this I think of a poem I wrote as a teenager:

Seasons change and so shall I
Under Heavens watchful eye.
The better path, unrealized
Is often narrow or disguised.
Ever yearning, ever seeking
Endless havoc in me wreaking.

Over contemplative sessions
Wielding forth my true confessions.
Earnest pleas for better being
Now my heart within me fleeing.
Someday I may make the measure,
Of the me I long to treasure.

I am in no way perfect but I think I’m pretty close to actually being the me I once desired to be. I’ve erased my own boundaries, I’m constantly striving to learn new things and I’m ever open to improving myself or changing my opinions. The possibilities for what I do and who I continue to become are limitless and it’s invigorating. It’s exciting! It’s freedom!

I’ll be the shortest one in the family someday

I think I’ve mentioned my husband is 6 foot 4. A veritable neanderthal, or so I call him at times. I certainly didn’t inherit gianticus babyus bearing genes from my mother. Sassy, my most recent child and largest at birth was 10 lbs. 2 oz. I was a mere 6lbs. 15oz.

Anyway, this:

This is my SEVEN year old son, wearing my sandal. He’s just 1 1/2 inches away from fitting perfectly into MY shoes! By the time he’s 10 he’ll be towering over me.

It’s a good thing I don’t discipline with physical means ’cause I’d soon be losing that edge.

Making progress

Two weeks ago I got sick. It was on Friday afternoon that I started feeling achy with a little twinge of pain in my throat. Saturday it got worse. By Saturday night my throat was very sore. I was pretty sure it was strep so on Sunday morning I headed to a walk in clinic. They confirmed it was indeed strep and prescribed me some antibiotics which I picked up at Walmart. Then I took the horse sized pills home and just looked at them.

You see, I have this fear of taking medicine with an anti-depressant. It kinda stems from this little experience. I avoid taking medicine whenever I can. Advil is one I know to be fine and that’s pretty much it. Even when I had mastitis after Sassypants was born, I wouldn’t get antibiotics. I took the painful route and stood in the shower for 45 minutes crying as I massaged the lump out of my breast. It worked and I didn’t have to see the doctor.

But strep is different. I only went to the doctor because I felt very very sick. My body was the achiest I think it’s ever been. It was very painful and I sat looking at the antibiotics knowing that I might get much sicker if I didn’t take them. But there was the nagging worry in the back of my head about some kind of interaction. After getting lots of reassurance from my husband that the two medicines don’t work in the same way I swallowed the pill and did my best to forget about it.

Then approximately 2 1/2 hours after I’d taken it, out of the blue, I felt that awful, horrifying surge of nausea and fear and hot streaks zapping through my body and I thought, I’m screwed. But this time I knew it was a panic attack and I knew logically that it probably just had to do with my working up my fears over taking the antibiotic. So I laid down on the couch trying to stay calm. It was hard not to think, “I don’t want to die” or “I’m going to die” as each surge of terror welled up to its strongest point and then began to abate. But I lay still telling myself that I would be ok, trying not to cause the panic to become worse. It was about 30 minutes of struggle and then, just as my family got back from church, it ceased. I knew it hadn’t been the antibiotics after all and that now I could add antibiotics and anti-depressants to my “safe to take together list”.

It was terrible to feel that out of control over my body and emotions again, even if it was just for that little bit. But as I look back on it, I see myself laying on the couch, eyes closed, concentrating on trying to breathe slowly. Doing everything I could to calm a heart that was racing as though I was running for my life. From the outside, anyone who saw me would have thought I was just trying to nap on the couch. But inside I felt I was fighting for my very existence.

I’m proud of how far I’ve come. At feeling the terror and being able to keep a calm demeanor externally. There have been many times out in public where I’ve had an attack come on and I know that the people I was around never knew it. I’m so proud of that. I know I may not always be able to hold it together, but most of the time I can do so because I know what is happening to my body and mind in that moment. And because of my horrid experience a few years ago I have the patience to wait it out, thinking encouraging thoughts all the while so I doesn’t aggravate and elongate the episode.

As I sat there trying to calm my body I kept thinking, “I’ll be okay. This is my lot in life. It will always be my lot in life, but I’ll be okay.” And you know what, I will. I have a family and a Heavenly Father who loves me. And whether fear or pain or death knock at my door, in the end, I will be okay.

Original Piano Compositions

I haven’t really written any new pieces for 9 years now. Everything I wrote was between 14-18 years of age. Maybe I’ll try to come up with something new sometime. For now, here is the first piano piece I ever wrote. I was 14. I still don’t have a name for it. I also don’t know why my video program keeps cutting off the S in my last name. How annoying!

Lessons Learned from Veggie Tales

Recently the Family Review Network gave me the opportunity to sign up to receive and review a copy of the Veggie Tales DVD: Minnesota Cuke and the search for Noah’s Umbrella.

I can say after watching this, the the more I see of Veggie Tales, the more I really love and appreciate it. They’re all about teaching morals and values that in our society, are quickly disintegrating.

Minnesota Cuke sort of spoofs Indiana Jones and one of his adventures in this cute show. He has to learn along the way that you have to do the right thing, even if people are mocking you. I think it’s an extremely important lesson to be teaching, because more than ever, we find the voices of those who would mock us for our spirituality and morality, rising.

Doing the right thing is rarely ever easy but if we don’t manage it, who will? I know that I am my children’s most important teacher, but every teaching aid helps and Veggie Tales is a perfect series for that. I highly recommend this DVD and would like to say thanks to the Family Review Network for giving me a free copy of it for our family to enjoy.

My thoughts on Depression

I think most people have seen commercials for anti-depressants. Many of these commercials feature gray toned scenes with lackadaisical looking people sitting around. They mention sadness, loss of interest and other “blue” sounding symptoms. Depression can be sadness and loss of interest but these types of symptoms are not the only ones. Depression is a multi-faceted illness. The root cause may typically be the same but the way each person responds will be completely different.

For me personally, depression signifies one major thing: feeling worthless. It doesn’t matter what led me to feel that way, it just matters that I do feel that way, and on a consistent basis. The inability to shake these feelings of worthlessness away is the resulting illness called depression. I have dealt with and will likely always deal with varying degrees of depression throughout my life. I’m not talking about feeling sad and down like all humans do on a regular basis. I’m talking about when the sadness or feelings of worthlessness won’t abate even though I can see that they make no sense.

But would I be one of those pictured sitting glumly on the couch doing nothing? No. Not because that’s not a truly relevant response. For some it is. It’s because I exhibit my symptoms of depression in a different way. My short temper becomes shorter, I become more cynical of those around me and my outward attitude becomes one of nonchalance in general, though that is far from what I feel inside. In short I lash out in anger. Anger because of my inability to control my feelings, anger at others who I see exhibiting the very same faults I wish I didn’t have. It’s still depression, I’m just responding in a way that most people wouldn’t recognize as depression. That being said, I definitely do have my couch days. Days where I can’t think of a reason why I should even try. But therein lies my point.

I still have a choice.

When I say that, I don’t mean a choice about how to feel. I know first hand that happiness is not something you can make yourself feel when in the throes of depression. But those feelings do not have to dictate my actions. Yes, it is sometimes physically difficult to get up and get going when I’m feeling depressed but it is still my decision whether or not to do so. And we all know that to mope around and let things get more out of control because we do so, will only make us feel more depressed. Getting up and staying active is important. It doesn’t mean that we can necessarily cure our depression, but staying busy helps to take our mind off of the feelings we can’t shake. And an even bigger help to our souls is to do something for someone else. To feel of use to others is the biggest boon to our darkened state that we could possibly get. Stop wishing for someone to notice you and go out and notice others. If you’re sitting around wishing someone would call you just to say hi, call someone else instead. Make something and just show up on a friends doorstep with your creation. Think of it this way - if you would like it, if it would make you feel more loved, then chances are others will feel the same way. And you’ll feel happier just knowing you made them feel that kind of happiness.

It’s not the answer to depression. It’s not a cure. There isn’t one. But those of us who struggle with depression, can do more than just endure it. In addition to taking medication if necessary, we can strive to take our minds off of it by doing good things for our family or for others. And when we feel so burdened by it we can hardly breathe, we can pour out our feelings to God or to a friend or other person who will just listen and let us know we are indeed, very much loved.

Motherhood is learning

Sometimes, being a mom is hard. Let’s just acknowledge that straight off. There are some days I want to cry or pull my hair out because of how things are going with the kids. But I think I’ve realized that those feelings don’t make me a bad mom. They just make me human. They also make me want to continue striving to be a better mom, which is a great thing, as long as I don’t set my expectations in a place above and beyond reality. That being said, most times being a mom is amazing. Notice I didn’t say easy, I don’t think it’s ever easy. But the rewards far outweigh any discouragements. I look at my three children and my heart is full to the brim with love. Each one of them is so unique.

Count Dooku is as eager for learning as I am. We both love to watch nature shows together and marvel at God’s amazing creations. He soaks everything up like a sponge and spouts all the facts he’s learned at random. He is the friendliest little guy, waving and saying hi to people we pass in public places and giving everyone a great smile. And oh, his self-confidence! I hope he never loses faith in himself. Just this morning he exclaimed, “Mom, I’m getting older. I can’t run quite as fast as a cheetah anymore.”

Obi Wan is the cuddliest, most loving little boy on the planet. He is always full of kisses and hugs for his family. He draws me endless pictures of hearts and rainbows to express his love. He is also incredibly thoughtful. He and I went alone to the store last week and at the end of the trip I bought him a pack of M&M’s. He opened his bag in the car and was busy munching on the way home, but at one point he stopped eating and folded the bag. When I asked him why he stopped eating he informed me that he was going to give the rest to Count Dooku and Sassy. How my heart melts when my kids are so thoughtful and kind to each other! He is always thinking of his siblings and wanting to share his treats with them.

Sassypants makes me smile and laugh at least a thousand times a day. She wakes up in the morning, talking happily to herself until I wake up. Then she always insists on bringing her two teddy bears and two blankies out with her to the kitchen table for breakfast. She loves her big brothers so much and tries to do everything they do. She runs through the house with them, screaming in her high pitched voice, her curls bobbing up and down. She jumps off the couch onto pillows and wants to play with the cars and trains just like her brothers do. But she still has her girly side. She happily sits in my lap while I mist and comb her hair. I love that she lets me put it in pigtails or braids. And she loves to wear dresses on Sunday. I could kiss her chubby little cheeks all day, and when she holds my hand she still wraps all of her fingers around just one of mine. She is a little bundle of contagious energy and joy.

Each child was born with a distinct personality and seeing that, has increased my testimony that we existed before our time on earth and will continue to exist beyond. There is so much more to come. I don’t think death is an end to learning and growing and experiencing. I think it’s a whole new beginning. I mourn more for those that are left behind more than those who have gone on ahead.

It’s amazing what my short time being a mother has taught me and I know there is much more that I can learn. There will be days where I will go to bed exhausted, wishing for a moment that the kids were grown up already, but those moments will be fleeting. Someday their youth will be gone, and like me, they’ll be wishing they could have it back.

Nothing of consequence…

…to say that is.

You may find it interesting to note that I seem to be considered quite an authority when it comes to swallowing and pooping out coins. This post has prompted more emails than I ever expected to receive, from worried parents whose children had also swallowed coins.

In other news, I think I’ve just taken the longest bloggy absence I’ve ever taken since beginning this blog over two years ago. This past week I’ve been super busy working on various blog designs and various etsy designs. Yeah, I opened an etsy shop, since I guess I don’t already have enough going on in my life. I’m just driven and sometimes stupid that way. Still, I’m excited about it. Right now all I’ve got up are photo cards, etsy banners and blog designs but I’m planning on selling some of these. Think I’ve got a chance? I think my design is really cute, but I’m pretty sure everyone thinks anything they design is good.

THEN, yesterday I woke up sick. I thought it was just a basic cold but then my body started aching. I am totally feeling wiped out. Yesterday and today have been crazy because of it. The kids are fending for themselves mainly and watching way too much TV because I haven’t got the energy to do much more than sit or lay around. Feeling crummy leads to crummy parenting. Blah!

I hope all of you sweet people who have stuck around reading are faring better than I. It takes work on this blog to come up with good post content, because I write more from the heart here than at my other place. I do have lots to say about some recent experiences but am still figuring out how to compose it all.

Thank you so much for your continuing comments and emails. They really buoy me up when I am down and make me feel connected when I’m struggling with the sometimes inevitable loneliness of stay at home motherhood.

What’s just one more thing to make me feel worthless?

Let me preface this post by explaining that I’m not trying to make anyone feel sorry for me. This is just how things are and I know it will pass. Venting is good. Now, to continue…

The last few days been really crappy. Yes, I use that word a lot, though maybe I shouldn’t. My disorder (though always present) has been particularly ugly and mean. And though I know better, I feel like a worthless piece of junk because of it. It’s hard not to think I ought to be able to do something about it, even when I know that fighting it just makes it worse. I’ve been sleeping poorly and wake up sore every morning and, oh my gosh, my jaws! I grind my teeth at night on a regular basis but so much worse when I am stressed. In short, I am telling myself I am a good person that is just struggling extra at this time but I am so not feeling that.

Then there was an incident this morning. The following is not for the faint of heart, and be thankful I didn’t take pictures because it was bad. Real bad. I walked into the kitchen and my eye caught something on the floor. Something I thought was perhaps raw meat drippings hubby hadn’t seen last night. And then I saw tiny paw prints, and then I saw blood. Blood, blood and more blood all scuffled through with tiny paw prints. Hairs dragged through the blood. Blood spatter all over the baseboard, blood drag marks all across the kitchen floor for heavens sake! I saw the mouse trap that had been triggered but no mouse to be seen.

I was furious! Livid that some stupid mouse had gotten wounded and escaped and dragged it’s bleeding body all over my house! I was sick to my stomach as I cleaned it up and curse the name of mouse forever! But then, as I walked into the living room, my eyes caught sight of the hamster cage. The hamster cage with the top door wide open. The door that I had forgotten to shut after filling the Hamsters food bowl last night. I knew in an instant that it was the hamster that had gotten injured by the trap and that it was my fault.

Yes, it’s a hamster. Yes, it’s a rodent. But she’s my rodent, my responsibility to protect and take care of and I had failed. Now she was probably off somewhere bleeding to death because of my mistake. I freaked. I lost it completely and hubby just held me as I sobbed into his arms. After I collected myself I took the flashlight and went searching for her. I was amazed to find her in the first place I looked - in the back of the kids closet. She came crawling out looking dazed and I saw a part of her nose had been snipped off. I was amazed that all that blood came from that. She’s back in her cage now and I don’t know if she’ll live or not. But yeah, I feel like a failure, as I look at her sleeping form.

I think I did learn something important though from today’s experience. I am a mother, and if I felt that guilty over an injured hamster, how much more awful would it be to have something happen to my kids (or someone else) because of a mistake I made. I have chosen to be a mother and I have the responsibility of taking care of them and keeping them safe to the best of my abilities. How often do I speed when driving? Or let teaching moments slip away because of laziness? I think I’m doing a good job but I could definitely be doing better. I love them so much and I don’t ever want to let my carelessness hurt them.