One of those days

At the risk of sounding ungrateful, I'm just going to put this out there: I'm not enjoying my break very much so far. As much as I like and need solitude, day after day of sitting at home alone while Gregg's at work is really starting to bother me. I'm recognizing some early signs of depression setting in and I'm not sure what to do about it. Some of it is triggered by stuff I have no control over.

A large part of the problem is that my dad is dying. I don't say that for sympathy, it's just a plain fact. He's been taken to the hospital in an ambulance three or four times in the past month, including this afternoon. His health problems are too numerous to go into here, but he's rapidly going downhill. My mom is doing the best she can to look after him (he really wants to die at home, if possible) but the strain is wearing on her. I try to offer support where and how I can, but there's not much to be done at this point. I hate thinking about what life's going to be like when my dad's no longer around. And it's heartbreaking to watch him suffer.  I'm having a hard time with it all. 

Besides the family stress, I just feel generally dull and unhappy. I've been sleeping too much, and for the past week I've struggled to get out of bed in the morning. Mostly I lie there until around noon. Some of it is almost surely hormonal. I have all the classic signs of perimenopause and certain times of the month (like today) I'm have a hard time functioning. I suppose a chat with my doctor is probably in order. 

Nothing like facing the loss of a parent along with evidence of your own aging and physical decline, huh?

Scenes from a morning walk

Daffodils are beginning to bloom beside my house.

Beautiful sky on a windy February day.

Yet another blooming tulip magnolia in my neighborhood.

The dogs just finished leaving "pee-mail" for their buddy Bob the German shepherd.

It's a beautiful day outside, windy and cool with lots of sunshine and big fluffy clouds. I'm still struggling a bit with depression, but time spent outdoors with Ginger and George helps.

(Also, I finally found something new I want to read! Rumer Godden is one of my very favorite authors, and I've never been able to find a copy of  her book "Black Narcissus" which was made into a movie a long time ago. Last night I typed her name into a search engine on my Nook, and several of her books are now available for download...including Black Narcissus! I'll be reading for the rest of my afternoon off!)

Have a good one!

Bad day

Yesterday was a bad day.

To begin with, I woke up sick to my stomach (nausea and diarrhea) for no good reason. But what's worse, I also woke up filled with anxiety and sadness. I don't talk about this much (especially not here on the blog) but for years I've taken a maintenance dose of an SSRI to treat OCD and depression. Last year, my regular doctor who prescribed my medicine changed practices and was no longer covered by my insurance.  I haven't gotten around to finding a new doctor yet (my husband's GP isn't taking new patients) and my prescription for Zoloft ran out two or three weeks ago. I decided to try going without it to see how it would be, and now I'm beginning to think that was a mistake. I've not had any OCD symptoms yet (thank god) but my emotions are all over the place.

When I first felt a knot of anxiety building deep inside last weekend, I thought it was just due to my dread of going back to a job I hate after vacation ended. And I definitely think that was part of it. Unfortunately, there's a strong possibility I have some withdrawal from the Zoloft going on, too. I keep crying over the smallest things, and I'm not sleeping well, and then there's the stomach trouble this morning....I suppose I should be thankful that at least I'm not checking that the stove is off 50 times before leaving the house, or feeling compelled to drive around the block over and over again to make sure I haven't killed someone with my car. OCD is a terrible disease. I really would like to try life without medication for awhile because I've been mostly symptom free for over a decade now. But I guess it depends on how bad the side effects of quitting get to be.

Gregg was alarmed today when I told him I wasn't taking the Zoloft anymore. He remembers the 6 months or so in my mid twenties when I was on the verge of a complete breakdown. And it wasn't pretty. I'm not sure I would have survived those days without his love and support. He made me promise to get my gynecologist to write me a new prescription when I go for my yearly pap smear next week. That way, if I decide that quitting isn't working out, I'll be prepared. In the meantime, I'm just over here trying to ride out the storm.

Then I checked Facebook last night before bed and found out that a woman who was a friend of mine in high school had just lost her 17 year old son to cancer. So then I cried again, this time for her and her family. How utterly devastated they must be. That makes three friends of mine who have lost children this year. Talk about putting a little mild depression and anxiety into perspective.

Life seems awfully hard sometimes, doesn't it?

Hard week, heavy heart

It's been rough week.

The suicide of Robin Williams makes me so sad. He was a brilliant comic that brought joy and laughter to so many people, but underneath the extroverted, wildly funny exterior he struggled with many demons. Depression, bipolar disorder, and addiction eventually led him to the desperate act of suicide. It breaks my heart to think of anyone in that much pain. And to the people who say it's a "selfish" act, I say nonsense. Mental illness and addiction can be a private living hell. Until you've experienced that kind of suffering, you don't have the right to sit in judgment.

You just never know what kind of burden someone else has to bear underneath a smiling exterior. If anything, we should all strive to be a little kinder to each other. You never know how much something as simple as a smile or taking the time to really listen to someone might mean. It could even save a life.

Then there are the situations in the news. The Gaza strip. The riots in Missouri. Why can't people treat each other with humanity and understanding? Why can't humans live in peace?

Heavy thoughts for a Thursday morning to match my heavy heart.

Sunday wrap up

It's a beautiful spring day here. The dogwoods and azaleas are in bloom, the birds are singing (and flocking to our feeders), the bees are out, the sun is shining, and it's warm. A nice day to be off work, and to have a little "me" time.

Last week was rough. In addition to the depression my husband and I were both experiencing, I had several bad days at work that made everything seem that much worse. It's no secret I hate my job. It's a retail store at the local mall, staffed by adults who act like they're in high school, and there is always some silly drama unfolding...blah blah blah. Same old story. Despite my best efforts to just show up, act in a professional manner, do my daily tasks, and go home, I still occasionally get dragged in to the middle of angry confrontations between my coworkers. Our store manager is a nice lady, but a terrible leader, and so there is no one around to effectively deal with the immature, counterproductive behavior. I hate the atmosphere this creates. I'm a peaceful soul; I abhor confrontation and arguments, and I refuse to play "office" politics. I'm kind and helpful to my coworkers, even when they drive me crazy. I work hard. I'm dependable and stable and never make trouble for anyone. And most importantly, I actively try to avoid any storms I see brewing. So how do I still get sucked into these stressful situations? Especially at times (like this week) when I'm least emotionally up to it? I left work in tears on Monday for the first time in months. I've gotten much better at letting this kind of nonsense roll off my back, but the timing was especially bad this week.

Topping off my week of woe was a dental appointment on Tuesday that resulted in a toothache that didn't really get going until Friday afternoon (after the office was closed for the weekend). I got two fillings in back molars on the left side, one on top and one on bottom, and the bottom one isn't....right somehow. It's uncomfortable to chew on and I have a constant, deep ache in my jaw. I've been taking Motrin every six hours and waiting for tomorrow morning to get here so the dentist can do something about it.  Why do toothaches (or any medical problem) get worse on the weekends? It never fails: if offices are closed and the only medical attention available is urgent care or the ER (with the prospect of  hours and hours of waiting) that's when a toothache or pain of any kind will really get down to business.

To sum it all up, this week was: depression, work stress, tears, and toothaches.

So I'm finally off today and it's gorgeous out, and I'm making the best of it, toothache be damned.  I'm going to take the book I'm reading (Ian McEwan's Atonement) and sit out in the warm sunshine, in the hammock, with a glass of sweet iced tea. I'm hoping that such a nice day is a sign of a better week to come.

The bees are working hard on this beautiful April day. I wonder
if they sometimes want to strangle their coworker bees...

Depression

Easter was a melancholy day here despite nice weather and a day off work. Gregg has been dealing with some depression and anxiety, which is common in people who have finished cancer treatment. Depression is also a relatively common side effect of a drug he still has to take, a nerve pain blocker. The oncologist wants him to continue taking it for awhile yet, as he still has pain and odd sensations (peripheral neuropathy) in his surgery site a full year after finishing treatment. Chemotherapy is rough. Especially when it's administered six weeks after a lung has been removed!

I thought, when all the treatments were over and Gregg got a clean bill of health, that life would go right back to normal. How wrong I was! I had no idea what an emotional roller coaster we were still in for. The fear of the cancer coming back that we both live with is the worst part. And although every three month follow up with the oncologist so far has resulted in a glowing bill of health, the appointments are constant reminders that all it will take is for one small shadow to show up on a scan, or for one of the blood tests to come back with an abnormal result, and we'd be plunged right back into the nightmare that last year was.

Knowing how grim lung cancer normally is doesn't help, either. A man that went to church with my mom was diagnosed about two weeks after Gregg--and he died last month. When she told me about that, it was like getting stabbed in the heart. Of course, I know that the statistics for lung cancer are downright dismal compared to other forms. The pulmonary specialist  (a close personal friend of ours that we are lucky to have) has assured us that Gregg is doing wonderfully well, and if he continues to have great checkups for another year or two that he will likely be considered cured. His current good health is almost miraculous, and I'm grateful beyond words for it, but one's sense of confidence about the future can never be fully restored after the kind of ordeal we've been through. The best you can do is take things one day at a time and learn to get on with your life despite the ever-present nagging fear. But there are days and weeks when that's easier said than done, and this week has been one of the rough ones.