Posted in health

A FUNCTIONING INSOMNIAC

By Thursday afternoon, I was spent. A grand total of 3 1/2 hours sleep in two days left me dry and frazzled. I could hardly think a complete thought, yet I decided I need groceries since it was payday. After work, I went to the grocery store… a task that is usually simple and over in twenty minutes.

I went shopping for what we like to call, “easy food.” Easy food includes things like cereal — things I can eat with absolutely no prep or fully functional brain waves. Too bad I can’t shop without fully functional brain waves.

I made it to the grocery store. I had made a list earlier that day when I was lucid, so I would go and follow the list only and not go home with things like cumquats and overly ripe kiwis… things I didn’t need.

I thought I was doing great, because I found everything on the list and then got in a short line. I was fishing my wallet out of my purse and then realized that my favorite ring — a cubic z daisy — the top part had fallen off. I remembered looking at the ring while in the store, so I got out of my short line and retraced my steps… which is extremely difficult when you aren’t sure where you went in the first place.

Using the items in my cart as a map (see, I wasn’t completely brain dead), I calmly retraced my steps. The part to my ring was in the middle of the aisle where I picked up my refried beans, thank goodness. I was grateful I was able to keep calm with my emotions as raw as a homemade noodle. I’m not sure the ring is fixable, but maybe I can use the top part of the ring in a necklace or something. I don’t know, but it’s found.

I got home and started putting my groceries away. My hands were shaking at this point, I was so tired. I dropped a plastic jar of juice on the floor and the cap broke off. At this point, I was mildly amused instead of angry. I managed to salvage half the jar. I threw every towel we had in the kitchen on the floor, then went upstairs to change clothes, because, well, scrubbing the floor was in my future and I didn’t want to do it in my good clothes. I called Jene’ and told her that I’d do my best, but if the floor was sticky, I was sorry. She laughed and told me to go to bed. I wish I could have.

Since I still had to take my meds, I couldn’t go to sleep yet, so I scrubbed the floor, then ate some cereal. I took the meds, did some Tai Chi and then took a nice, long hot bath. I was in bed by 10. Slept a half hour or so then fell back to sleep around 5.

I took my last pill Friday night and slept, though fitfully in 2-hour increments, most of the night. I woke up at noon face down in my pillow, which is not how I sleep at all. I stayed up all day and went to bed again at midnight. All that to say, I think my sleep patterns are on their way to returning to normal.

I’m happy for that… but now I can’t blame the silly things I do on lack of sleep!

Posted in Yahweh's fingerprints

THE POWER OF A “DUH!” MOMENT

Some people have epiphanies.

Some people have “aha!” moments.

Since I am not particularly normal, I have “duh!” moments.

Thursday morning, I had a, “duh!” moment, but the groundwork for this epiphany was laid the night before. I had decided to take down some artwork that, though not bad in itself, held some bad energy for me. I couldn’t look at them and not feel badly. It was more about who painted them than the subject matter and it was time to take them down and not look at them any longer.

Keep in mind at this point I was in the middle of a week of insomnia, and usually my dreams (if I fall asleep) are bizarre and I can hardly function during the day, but I usually have some moment of clarity woven into the chaos of sleeplessness that I’ve learned to embrace. I know that God often gets my attention when I am completly at the end of myself… and when I haven’t had a good amount of sleep over a few days’ time, I come to the end of myself quickly.

I was inspired by my desire to let go of something. So was my roommate. After ridding myself of the bad energy paintings, I was in the mood to shed more “baggage” as it were. I began to look around for other items to pass on or throw away.

At the top of the stairs I had another painting that I decided needed to be out of my life. This painting wasn’t full of bad energy, I just felt it had served it’s purpose and it was time to pass it on.

Hardly what most would consider “art,” the painting was of a big blue teardrop with a peachy/orange background. Inside the tear was a person kneeling. I have no idea who painted it, but it was given to me by someone who noticed that every time I saw it, my gaze fixated on it and I always found it difficult to walk away from.

I acquired this painting the year after my brother died and the year before my mother died. I was grieving in ways I couldn’t comprehend and when I looked at the painting, I felt God telling me to be obedient and seek Him in my grief.

At the point I received this painting, I did not know my mother was going to die. I had no idea how much grief I would still have to work through. All I knew is that this painting reminded me daily to seek God despite it all. I put it at the top of the stairs so I would have to see it every day. Somehow, this painting really spoke to me and even caused me to delve deeper into my creative resources to create art that would be an outpouring of myself and maybe even be a lifeline to others.

All from a simple painting… painted by someone I didn’t know.

I have a friend I’ll call Annie, who is going through a deep depression and just recently lost her favorite family pet. So, now she’s depressed and grieving, a state of being I know all too well. The feelings are mostly behind me but recent enough that when I look at Annie I wish I could wipe those feelings away, but I know that right now she needs to learn to deal with them and push them away herself. Another feeling I know all too well.

When I looked at the teardrop Wednesday night, I saw Annie in the middle of it and I knew it was time to let this painting speak to someone else. I made the decision to give it to her and then I went to bed.

Notice I didn’t say, “and then I went to sleep,” because I didn’t. I couldn’t. My medication wouldn’t let me. So I went to bed. Finally, I slept between 2 a.m. and 4 a.m., maybe. It wasn’t necessarily restful. When I woke up, I kept imagining the painting I was going to give to Annie.

And then it hit me.

I have looked at this painting every day for over three years. Each time, I’ve felt something different, seen something different, but mostly I’ve just been reminded to be obedient in my grief. Anybody else who looked at the painting probably saw what I discovered in the painting the first time they looked at it.

I know what it’s like to feel completely abandoned while surrounded by people and I was not surprised when Annie said that she felt that nobody cared. When I gave the painting to Annie, she just cried. I told her it was hers to have as long as she needed it and then she could pass it on.

When I look at the top of the stairs and see the empty spot where the teardrop used to be, I see a blank canvas, full of possibilities. I have no idea what we’ll put there, if anything, but I hope it’s something that will bring me to another “duh!” moment.

Posted in health

INSOMNIA MUSINGS

I’m taking prednisone this week and am not sleeping, so I thought I’d share what I’m learning this late at night with you. Granted, I am usually the night owl, but it’s tough being a night owl when there isn’t proper rest between night owlings.

1. When trying to relax, do not listen to Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass.

2. It’s difficult to play solitaire when you forget the order in which the numbers go. Mahjongg solitaire… it’s sad when you can’t match simple pictures together. Scrap solitaire all together.

3. When you Google “nerd” you get 3 million hits. With “geek” you get 23 million. “Star Wars” nets 63 million and “insomnia” gets you over 5 million.

4. How I feel right now reminds me that it’s good I went to college when I was much younger… when it was fun to stay up all night for no reason.

5. Poetry is impossible to write while this tired. Even the haiku, a favorite form of mine, which oft does not rhyme.

6. Note to self: buy some more sleepytime tea.

7. If Spock were here, he’d so that Vulcan pinch thing on my shoulder and it would be LIGHTS OUT!

And now, I’m going to TRY closing my eyes and we’ll see what happens.

Posted in kids

"OUCH!"

The Roomie babysat the girls again Friday night. The older sister was out with her friends, so for a couple of hours it was just us and the twins.

First of all, these girls are very conversational now. The quiet one now makes me dizzy trying to follow all of her words. I can’t believe how quickly they change.

After dinner, the girls were treated to tubbies (bathtime) in the sink. This is something that they do just with the Roomie. Granted, they are 3 1/2 and can’t be bathed at the same time. So, Roomie took the one who had stripped herself naked after the announcement to go retrieve some jammies and I took the other one into the playroom.

I fell down onto their beanbags on purpose and pretended I couldn’t get up. Twin 1 tugged and tugged on my feet and I was laughing too hard and I told her I couldn’t get up. She said, with emphasis, that I could stay there forever… and then proceeded to cover me with every pillow, blanket and cushion she could find. Then she sat on me (I had turned my head to the side because I couldn’t breathe) and told me again that I was to stay there forever. I finally asked her to come down from Cushion Mountain, and she stepped on my face on her way down. I was still laughing.

Twin 1 went and grabbed four foam alphabet squares and hooked them together. I asked her what she was doing and she said, “I’m building a bridge of words.” I thought this sounded rather fun, so I asked her what her bridge was going to say. After she poured out a lengthy string of words spoken too fast for me to understand, I asked her what my bridge was going to say.

“Nothing.”

And that was that.

Twin 2 traded places with Twin 1 and we started our usual game of running all over the house until I am certain that a heart attack is pending. She’s like the energizer bunny, full of endless energy. While sister was in the sink, we ran all around the house. Finally, we stopped in the play room and she dropped to the floor and said, “I think I need to rest.” I’ve never known this child to be tired, but Roomie reminded me that she had about a 25 minute nap that day.

While she “rested,” I tickled her, and all the while she’s expelling some gases. Each time I remind her she’s supposed to say something and she says, “excuse me,” and we continue playing. The last time, however, the loudest, longest, most sustained burst of gas that could ever come out of a body that small, exploded out of her. It was so powerful, both of us were surprised.

Straight-faced, I asked her, “aren’t you supposed to say something?” I ready myself to praise her politeness and she looks at me and says, “Ouch!”

Mind you, I am trying not to laugh and am wondering if I should get the Roomie to check and see if the little thing injured herself, but she finally giggled. I asked her if she needed to go potty and she said, “no.”

So, Roomie finishes bathing Twin 1 and we go watch a video. Arthur, to be exact. If anyone can tell me exactly what species Arthur is, I’d be grateful. It’s sort of like Caillou’s lack of hair. Nobody will be able to explain it.

I look over and Twin 2, who is very skinny and her clothes gap on her, has both arms coming out of the legs of her underwear, waving her hands back and forth. It took me a moment to realize what she was doing. I gently reminded her that ladies did not wave from the bottom of their underwear and she complied quickly. Again, I’m torn between laughing and really wanting to know what species Arthur is and what his sister’s initials (D. W.) stand for. My mind is a scary place.

The girls go to get ready for bed. The other sister is about to come home and Roomie is trying to get the girls into bed before that happens. She goes out to the kitchen to get a milder toothpaste for Twin 1, leaving me in charge in the bathroom. You’d think 15 seconds wouldn’t be long enough for me to lose control, but Twin 2 has unrolled some toilet paper onto the floor by the time Roomie gets back. She picks up the toilet paper and when the twins trade places (one potties while the other brushes her teeth) tells Twin 1 that she can use the toilet paper she’s just rolled back up.

Roomie leaves the bathroom again. Twin 1 jumps up and does not use toilet paper. I ask her if she did and she looks at me, horror-stricken, “I forgot to wipe!” I tell her it’s never too late to fix those sorts of things and to take care of it now. She does and calms down.

The girls are about to go into their room and the neighbor who has had charge of the 5 year old knocks on the door. “Is (5 year old) here?” I nearly panicked. I wondered if he had delivered her home during one of those times that Roomie left the room and I just missed it. Neighbor sees the panic on my face and shifts his eyes to the side of the door frame and I realize the child is hiding for kicks. Relieved, I usher her into the house.

So, after the girls are in bed and Roomie convinces Twin 2 to stop trying to talk to and get the attention of Twin 1, I leave to come home.

I’m always glad to have the opportunity to play with the girls. I get to laugh and run and be silly and it’s all fun.

Posted in commentary

I’D RATHER WAX POETIC

…or nostalgic, or anything else but my legs.

When I get in these moods to do girlie things, I should get a clue when the Roomie gets that sly grin on her face that perhaps some things are beyond my pain tolerance.

Take waxing for instance. Sugaring, rather, which is supposed to aggrevate the skin less than waxing because there is no heat involved. Right.

I have one question.

WHY DO WOMEN DO THIS TO THEMSELVES?!

I am doing this correctly, yet I have a bruise on my thigh. The Roomie, after laughter subsided, provided me with some liquid vitamin K to relieve the irritation on my eyebrows — the part people will actually see tomorrow. Geez.

Of course, I stopped, because the rest of the hair isn’t long enough. Apparently you have to be as hairy as Mr. Snuffalufagus in order to have this particular method of hair removal work.

If this doesn’t work on Saturday, I’m going back to shaving.

Posted in commentary

AN UPDATE! (FINALLY)

So much has transpired in the last month, the least of which was a 7 day virus that knocked me flat on my back and I was sick during Easter. It’s what’s being called, “The Viral Thing,” that basically disguises itself as a sinus infection but really grabs you and won’t let you go. I actually took two sick days (and there was a Good Friday holiday in there as well) off to recover. I haven’t been that sick in YEARS. I also lost my voice, which, if part of your livelihood depends on your voice… well, what’s the point of going to work?

The doctor and I decided it’s also time for me to go an allergist, which means I can’t have any allergy related medications for six weeks. As a result, I’m more sluggish than usual, I’m having trouble sleeping, and concentrating is difficult, so I haven’t been writing much.

That’s not to say I don’t have anything to say…

I’ll break it down by topic.


POPE JOHN PAUL II

I remember when this Pope was chosen. I have admired his pro-life stances and his love of young people. He led the Catholic church to remain conservative when nearly every other denomination in the world is patting themselves on the back for their worldly-acceptable more-liberal, pc tolerant leanings. In some cases, remnants of conservatives in certain denominations are wrestling with their liberal leadership lest they wake up in a few years and not recognize themselves, but the Catholic church has not wavered from its basic doctrines in decades.

Though I am not Catholic, I was deeply saddened by John Paul II’s failing health and ultimately by his passing. He will be a tough act to follow. The following quote shows how deeply and truly devoted to Christ he was.

“It is Jesus that you seek when you dream of happiness; he is waiting for you when nothing else you find satisfies you; he is the beauty to which you are so attracted; it is he who provokes you with that thirst for fullness that will not let you settle for compromise; it is he who urges you to shed the masks of a false life; it is he who reads in your hearts your most genuine choices, the choices that others try to stifle. It is Jesus who stirs in you the desire to do something great with your lives, the will to follow an ideal, the refusal to allow yourselves to be grounded down by mediocrity, the courage to commit yourselves humbly and patiently to improving yourselves and society, making the world more human and more fraternal.”
Pope John Paul II

THE ROYAL WEDDING
Yes, I have to comment on this. I got up early and watched the coverage on Fox News. American commentators really don’t have a clue how to cover anything royally British. Unfortunately, BBC America did not cover the wedding until they televised a condensed program later that day. I enjoyed BBC’s coverage because one, they understand the importance of hats at an afternoon wedding, and two, they actually knew what Camilla had stuck in her hair in lieu of a veil. BBC also know that Mr. Bean is really Rowan Atkinson and they had a better handle of the Who’s Who list of celebrities beyond Kenneth Branagh. BBC also understood the significance of the blessing, and left out a good chunk of sensational stories about the royals that Fox News just couldn’t seem to live without. I still love Fox News, but not for royal wedding coverage.

Personally, I was pleasantly surprised that Charles and Camilla confessed their sins at their wedding. The service was straight from the Book of Common Prayer, and if I’d been awake enough, I’d have tried to follow along. Alas, I was tired and I was fighting off sleep as it was.

I am not going to compare either of Charles’ weddings to each other. There was no comparison and I know that was on purpose. He is starting a new life now, whether we agree how he went about it or not. I personally am not happy with the Church bending it’s rules for the royals, but I’m hoping it means that one day that Charles will be leapfrogged by William for the throne… if William can hold up his end of the bargain.

FINAL THOUGHTS ON LENT
I gave up negative talk and thoughts for Lent and it really has made a visible change in me. That’s what Lent is for, though, to examine your life and make significant sacrifices and changes to draw closer to God and then, after that 40 day intensive treatment, take those changes into the rest of your life. I have always struggled with negativity (an environmental hazard of growing up in my house) and it’s actually made me a bit quieter than usual (ha ha) because if what I would say would be negative, I just didn’t say it. Tough, but doable.

Because I was ill, I did not get to go to any Easter Week services, and I had hoped to participate in the Stations of the Cross. I hope to next year. Lent made a change in me and I hope to continue it throughout the rest of my life.

TERRI SCHIAVO
I really have no words for how the whole situation ended other than it all felt so very, very wrong.

MISCELLANEOUS NEWS
Things are shifting around at work, but in my favor. I will now be three days in one department, all in a row. I will only be on the phones one day a week, which will give my voice a much needed rest during all this allergy mess, and quite frankly, after six years of answering the phone, I’m ready to cut back a bit.

So, that wraps up my big update… I’m sure I’ve left several things out… but these are some of the most important.

Posted in commentary

THE PLIGHT OF THOSE WITHOUT A VOICE

My heart goes out to Terri Schiavo and her parents. If you have been living in an information vacuum and haven’t watched the news or picked up a newspaper in the past couple of years, the briefest synopsis of this case is: (from AP sources)

15 years ago, Terri Schiavo collapsed from heart failure that resulted in severe brain damage. Lower courts have ruled that she is in a “persistent vegetative state.” Seven years ago, Schiavo’s husband and her parents began a legal tug-of-war over whether to have her feeding tube removed and allow her to die.

The main argument surrounding this case is that Terri’s husband says she stated at some point she would want to die if the choice was to remain in a vegetative state.

I am not going to address all the moral arguments here that include a “husband” who doesn’t want to break his marriage vows with Terri yet has had two children out of wedlock with another woman — which I could rant about for hours — or the right-to-life or right-to-die issues that have been brought to the forefront by this case.

What it boils down to for me is how they are treating this person… she still is a living, breathing human being. Reportedly, she is still responsive to others around her, yet because she cannot speak and say she wants to live she has been deemed expendable. NOBODY really knows what Terri wanted. NOBODY knows what she wants now. Because nobody really knows what she wanted, her spouse has the right to say whether she lives or dies.

They are starving her and I can’t wrap my brain around that. Regardless of whether or not she wanted to be in a vegetative state, ending her life by denying her food is unfathomable. There are no machines keeping her alive. Her body is essentially functioning as it has the last 15 years. I just don’t understand denying her food as a reasonable or humane way to bring her life to an end.

NOBODY KNOWS what Terri’s wishes actually are. If proof existed of her wishes, maybe I’d understand where her husband is coming from. Right now, though, it’s his word against Terri’s and she can’t defend herself. I just don’t understand — if her wishes were to die — why he waited seven years to begin the process of ending her life. It all doesn’t add up and because something is missing (proof of her wishes) I believe her parents should keep fighting for her because she can’t speak for herself.

I keep dwelling on Terri’s wishes. What if she’d thought ahead while she was still young and vibrant and made decisions about her life and then told not only her husband, but her parents. “You know, if this happens to me, this is what I want to do,” and then put it in writing. When we’re young, however, we tend to think that we’re invincible and to ponder “what ifs” like this one is the last thing on our minds.

My brother was 35, athletic, fit, and had his entire life ahead of him when the word, “leukemia” hit him like a ton of bricks. He had one more birthday before he died.

While it was tough to see my brother deteriorate like he did, he made some gut wrenching decisions as he saw the handwriting on the wall. He decided, ahead of time, that if he lay dying and there was no hope of recovery, he said, “I do not want to be resuscitated.” He said it to his wife, he said it to his doctor, and he put it in writing.

Several months after his bone marrow transplant his intestines began to reject the bone marrow. His body was failing. The doctors tried several treatments but nothing worked. My brother did not want his wife to have to make the decision to “pull the plug,” and he knew he wasn’t going to live without a miracle, so he made his wishes known again.

One night his heart was failing and in what was described to me as a blurry whir of activity, the doctor asked my brother if he wanted to be resuscitated and my brother moaned. Moaned. My sister-in-law was told it sounded enough like a “yes” and that verbal “yes” superceded any written or previous verbal agreements, so they resuscitated him. They hooked him up to a machine that did all of his breathing for him. He went into a coma.

At the end of the week, my sister-in-law finally had to give permission to take him off life support. She waited for a few agonizing days, but ultimately we all knew he wasn’t going to recover. My mother objected because she felt that while there was any shred of a chance he might recover (and we were assured repeatedly there wasn’t one) he should stay on the machine (and this was a complete reversal of her support for his “do not resuscitate” order). It was a horrible awful mess and I told my sister-in-law I would stand by her no matter what she decided. She took him off life support that Saturday. He died quickly. But she didn’t starve him to death. He was, for all intents and purposes, already gone.

I still waver back and forth, though, on how I feel about life support and at what point we give up on miracles… but I don’t second guess my sister-in-law’s decision, because it’s what my brother wanted and we know it because he said so. I pray I never have to make those types of decisions, but I know I probably will. The question is or not whether I will be prepared for it.

I guess my point is maybe the young and vibrant should think about the “what ifs” more. I know that when we were kids, we figured that Mr. Fit would be the one who outlived us all. None of us saw leukemia coming to change all our plans. Sometimes it’s easier to make the hard choices, though, if we’ve already thought them through ahead of time. My brother always said. “Live your life in pursuit of plan A but always have a plan B in your pocket.” That’s how he lived and ultimately ended his life.

So think about the tough issues you will face when you are older (or God forbid, sooner than you planned). After you’ve thought about the tough issues, let someone know what you’re thinking. Make your wishes clear not only to your family, but put it in writing so that when the emotions and reality of what’s happening hits your family, your wishes are still honored, whether they agree with them or not.

Ultimately, though, my heart aches for Terri’s parents. They brought her into the world yet hold no right to keep her in it. I can’t wrap my brain around that either.

Posted in holidays

THE DAY WHEN EVERYONE IS IRISH

I thought I’d post about the real reason for St. Patrick’s Day. Meet Patrick of Ireland. (from The Daily Office at Mission St. Clare)

Patrick of Ireland

Patrick was born about 390, in southwest Britain, somewhere between the Severn and the Clyde rivers, son of a deacon and grandson of a priest. When about sixteen years old, he was kidnapped by Irish pirates and sold into slavery in Ireland. Until this time, he had, by his own account, cared nothing for God, but now he turned to God for help. After six years, he either escaped or was freed, made his way to a port 200 miles away, and there persuaded some sailors to take him onto their ship. He returned to his family much changed, and began to prepare for the priesthood, and to study the Bible.

Around 435, Patrick was commissioned, perhaps by bishops in Gaul and perhaps by the Pope, to go to Ireland as a bishop and missionary. Four years earlier another bishop, Palladius, had gone to Ireland to preach, but he was no longer there (my sources disagree on whether he had died, or had become discouraged and left Ireland to preach in Scotland). Patrick made his headquarters at Armagh in the North, where he built a school, and had the protection of the local monarch. From this base he made extensive missionary journeys, with considerable success. To say that he single-handedly turned Ireland from a pagan to a Christian country is an exaggeration, but is not far from the truth.

Posted in random

DEATH AND TAXES

…okay, just taxes.

I did my taxes last night. The one bright spot in not making much money is qualifying for e-file. In about two weeks, my tax refund will pop into my bank account. It also helps working in ONE PLACE and getting one W2. The only thing I have to send to the IRS is the 8453OL which just means I filed online and don’t have to file anything else.

I highly recommend e-filing! Then again, most of you probably have to have accounting help to file because you are in a higher tax bracket. This is probably the only moment I don’t necessarily envy you!

Posted in food

The Amazing Cake Recipe

The amazing cake recipe from my birthday surprise…

Jene’s Chocolate Cake

2 cups white sugar

1 3/4 cups all-purpose flour

3/4 cup HERSHEY’S Cocoa Powder

1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder

1 1/2 teaspoons baking soda

1 teaspoon salt

3 eggs

1 cup milk

1/2 cup applesauce

2 teaspoons vanilla extract

2/3 cup boiling water

Grease and flour pan. Preheat oven to 350.

Combine all the dry ingredients. Beat eggs and add all wet ingredients except water. Add wet to dry and mix for 2 minutes. Add in water. Batter will be thin.

Pour into prepped pans, for a 9X13

bake 35-40 min.

(this is a variation of an old Hershey’s recipe)