Thursday, December 26, 2013

Let Go And Let God

I sit, staring at a blank page, not sure how to begin. This is a post I knew I would have to write someday, and unfortunately, that day is now. Before I get to what is really bugging me, I need to give you the backstory. I'll try to make it brief.

My sister, Jeannie, is 36 years old. Most everyone would say that is a vibrant, youthful age to be. But my sister's story is different than most 36-year-olds. At the age of 15, she had symptoms unusual for a high school sophomore: fatigue, fainting spells, joint pain. My mom was immediately alerted, because of her own medical history. She had my sister tested, and her fears were confirmed. Jeannie was diagnosed with Lupus, the same disease my mom had been diagnosed with 12 years earlier. School was a struggle for her. Every winter, she would succumb to the usual illnesses that her friends fell victim to, but while her friends would bounce back quickly, due to their normal immune systems, my sister found herself unable to shake every virus. She would end up on Homebound. This was only the very beginning of her ordeal. I'm not sure when the nausea and vomiting began. It seems as if she's always had it. But once it began, it was constant.

As the years passed, more complications and symptoms would crop up, and more diagnoses followed. Understand that this is a simplified synopsis. I would need to write a book to fit in all of my sister's medical history from the last 21 years. The most prevalent and serious of these diagnoses was Gastroparesis. This was likely brought on by her Lupus. The constant nausea and vomiting occurred, because her digestive system wasn't working properly. Eventually, parts of her system stopped working altogether, becoming completely paralyzed. My family has traveled thousands of miles, for 21 years, trying to find a cure, or at the very least, a treatment that would grant her some decent quality of life. She was never able to continue her education past high school, to hold down a job. She became an invalid, living her days at my parents home, in her bed. Her body became unrecognizable from the suitcase full of different medications, the weight fluctuations, the hospital stays (too many to count over the last 21 years), and 70+ surgeries. Her veins have been destroyed from so many IVs, she's down to a port in her femoral artery. Last fall, the "miracle cure" appeared to have been found. A surgeon determined that if he removed most of her stomach and severed the nerve connecting the stomach to the brain, that he could cure her of this disease. At this point, my sister had nothing to lose, so she agreed to the surgery. Amazingly, it worked! For nearly a year, my sister appeared to be cured. She began to do things normal 35-36 year olds would do: find a job, a place to live, hang out with friends, fall in love. The weight was falling off of her at an alarming rate, but blood work looked ok. After a whirlwind romance, she got married in September of this year. But a couple of months later, the nausea and vomiting were back. What this surgeon didn't know was that the remaining digestive system organs that were left, were still full of the disease and were capable of taking over her body. The Gastroparesis was back, and with a vengeance. At this point, organs were being compromised. She saw a few doctors, but they all had the same clueless response. They could continue to use Jeannie as a guinea pig, but couldn't offer a real solution. Jeannie heard what the doctors weren't saying...there was nothing more to be done. When her gastro doctor suggested yet another course of action that would bring about more pain and discomfort in an attempt to make things right again, she asked if he could honestly fix her; if he could make organs that had stopped functioning, work the way they were meant to work. His answer was "No". Jeannie made the decision to call in Hospice care. 

This brings me to the issue I want to discuss today. I have watched Jeannie's story play out from the sidelines. I couldn't be there for most of it, because I had a husband and children to take care of a few hundred miles away, but to some degree, I have suffered along with her and my family. And we have prayed. God KNOWS how we, extended family, and friends, have ALL prayed for healing. Those of you that know her and my family personally know what a stubborn lot we are. Jeannie and my parents believed healing was out there and would find Jeannie eventually, and they were going to fight tooth and nail to make it happen. I don't know how my sister has existed the way she has for the last 21 years. I really think I would've asked God to take me long ago. But not Jeannie. Year after year after YEAR she fought, determined to find healing. But a couple of weeks ago, she decided to welcome The Ultimate Healing. Notice I said WELCOME. I came home to SC to have a heart-to-heart with Jeannie; what I assume will be the last time I see her here on earth. I never, NEVER, heard her utter any words that resembled "giving up". If she is surrendering at all, it is to God, and for His will to be done. After 21 years of needles, scalpels, and hideous medications, she's putting her fate in God's hands. Perhaps I made her doubt when I told her what a strong person I think she's been for the last 21 years, because when she told me how tired she was and that she wanted the medical community to leave her in peace, she asked, "Does that make me a weak person?" NO. My sister is standing up for herself and telling doctors "no more experimenting". She is leaving things in the hands of The Great Physician. How powerful!

She is being very positive on Facebook; so much so, that I can't tell how she really is. Apparently, she's putting on a happy face on Facebook, because there are people out there telling her that she shouldn't be giving up. That she needs to stay positive. That she needs to believe more in miracles. That she needs to pray harder. If you are one of those people, let me say this to you right now. STOP IT. You are not helping. Have you ever read the book of Job? Because you sound like one of his friends. Yes, I am angry. I am angry with the self-righteous out there that question another person's faith. You know not of which you speak. Why do people assume that calling Hospice is a sign of giving up? When my sister asked if this made her a weak person, I said, "You're going to be healed! You're going to sit at the feet of Jesus!" In what way is that "giving up"?! I think I've had it wrong all these years. Jeannie's decision to call in Hospice is one of the bravest decisions she's ever made. She's deciding to "Let Go, and Let God", a message I've seen on countless bumper stickers, instead of letting the medical community continue to tell her, day after day, year after year, how they think they can fix her. Don't get me wrong; the medical community has done MANY great things for her over the years, and I'm not trying to diss them. It's their job to believe that they can fix humans. But some things, only God can fix. 

I've said this already on Facebook, that lots of people are awkward in their attempts to comfort those that are in these situations. So far, I've offered grace. God knows I've said some REALLY stupid things in my 39 years on this planet to people who are sick, hurting, or grieving. Even the most clumsy things are said in a spirit of love and comfort. But to belittle a person's faith is just plain hurtful and wrong. Tell my sister how much you are praying, along with her, for a miracle, but that you are also praying for God's will to be done. If God's will is for The Ultimate Healing to take place, then praise God for that. 

Thursday, April 18, 2013

Heart Of Darkness: Part 4

It took it's sweet time, but Spring has finally sprung, and I am practically giddy! While the thought of all of the plants over at our old house that need to be dug up and transplanted to our new place is quite overwhelming, I am bolstered by thoughts of the numerous possibilities for this new canvas. Like a butterfly, I'm emerging from my cold and dreary cocoon of winter, and I'm transformed by the warm sun on my face and soft dirt between my toes. I don't know if I'll ever feel as good as I did as I came out of this depression 10 years ago, but there are glimpses of that euphoria. 

My recovery was far from overnight. Antidepressant medication is not a magic pill. It still takes about 6 weeks to take affect, and that was certainly the case for me. My mother came to live with us during that time to help me recover. With her here, Tim and I could spend some much needed time alone together, and our relationship healed. She allowed me to take naps whenever I needed one, which I couldn’t do before she came. I talked to a therapist for a couple of months, but didn’t feel like she was helping me much. It became very important for me to talk with my friends and Tim. Tim and I could grieve together the fact that our child is autistic. I became really close with a few friends, something I had found hard to do in the past. With these friends, my "hens", I felt there was nothing I couldn’t share with them. They listened when I needed to talk about my struggles with Pierce. I made sure that Tim was talking about my depression and how it was affecting him. I didn’t want him to hide anything around his friends for my sake. I encouraged him to talk to one of his friends from church that had struggled with depression before. This friend was able to share some things with Tim about depression that I had not voiced yet. It was helpful for both of us. For a long time, I was unable to talk to God, because I felt so ashamed. By telling our friends and family about what I was going through, we had many people praying on my behalf. I read many books on depression, and kept my eyes open for health stories on the internet dealing with the subject. I made more of an effort to tell Tim when I had reached my limit with the kids. He would encourage me to take a long, hot shower or bubble bath, while he took over with the kids. He would also encourage me to get out, especially to scrapbook, since he knew it was a passion of mine and a creative outlet for me. It was important for me to distract myself with something I enjoyed. I would listen to calming music as I did housework, or while driving in the car. After about 2 months of treatment, I noticed that I felt happier than I had felt in a very long time. It's a very difficult feeling to describe. I had not been able to comprehend just how deep in despair I was, until I wasn't anymore. I thought, "So THIS is what it feels like to be truly happy! THIS is normal!". It was a joy so intense, that at times I felt my heart would burst! I could laugh again, honest-to-goodness, pure laughter. I'd been hurting for so long, I couldn’t even remember a time when I had felt so happy and at peace. Medication does have it's drawbacks. One of those for me is that I'm not near as emotional as I used to be. It's extremely rare for me to have a good cry over something. It takes a lot to make me teary. The funny part about that is that Tim and I now are total opposites. HE is the one to tear up over something sappy and sentimental or sad, while I sit back and tease him mercilessly. Ha!

I just can’t stress enough that there is hope for you if you are suffering. The first step is admitting you need help. If you see a friend or loved one is at risk for depression, please don’t hesitate to talk to them. Don’t be afraid to risk a friendship; you may be saving her life. However, choose your words wisely. You could make her feel more guilt about her situation by telling her how she needs to fix her life. Trust me, she already feels more condemned than you could know. Don't offer advice, just offer to listen and help any way you're capable, and if you've been where she is, TELL HER SO. Make her feel she is NOT alone. That is one of the biggest lies that Satan can tell. The best thing you can do for her is pray. Educate yourself, especially if you have teenagers. Learn to recognize the early signs of depression. You may be able to stop it before it starts. Thanks for reading, and thanks so much to everyone that has offered me encouragement, both while I was suffering, and while I've shared my story. If you have a story to tell, share it! Depression should be taboo no longer!!

Wednesday, April 10, 2013

Heart Of Darkness: Part 3

I had this post in the planning, but the suicide of Rick Warren's son over the weekend has people talking, especially in the Christian community. So, my blog post about depression is joining many out there this week, which, I think, is a discussion that is MUCH needed. I'm a huge believer in finding the silver lining, and I think that is what's happening here. There is a stigma concerning depression among Christians, and it needs to stop NOW. If we start talking about this, more people can get the help they need.

First, let's look at a few biblical accounts of depression. Moses began to feel burdened by the wailing of the Israelites in the desert and called out to the Lord. In Numbers 11:14-15 he says, “I cannot carry all these people by myself; the burden is too heavy for me. If this is how you are going to treat me, put me to death right now- if I have found favor in your eyes- and do not let me face my own ruin.” The Lord responds by calling Moses together with 70 of Israel’s elders. Verse 17 says, “I will come down and speak with you there, and I will take of the Spirit that is on you and put the Spirit on them.  They will help you carry the burden of the people so that you will not have to carry it alone.”

Elijah had just successfully defeated the prophets of Baal on Mount Carmel, but his life is threatened by Jezebel. He ran for his life to Beersheba. He journeyed into the desert and prayed this prayer to God: “I have had enough, Lord! Take my life; I am no better than my ancestors.” The Lord provided him with food twice. An angel said to him, “Get up and eat, for the journey is too much for you.” He had compassion for Elijah.

Job has a whole book detailing his depression and suffering. Lamentations is another book full of laments written by Jeremiah about his distress over the destruction of Jerusalem. And finally, Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane was certainly distressed. Mark 14:33-34 reads, “He took Peter, James and John along with him, and he began to be deeply distressed and troubled. ‘My soul is overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death,’ he said to them. ‘Stay here and keep watch.’”

So, is depression spiritual weakness? Well, I believe the answer to this is in the scriptures. In all of these examples I’ve just mentioned, not once does God rebuke. Instead, he shows compassion when these men are emotionally distraught. In the story of Job, his friends are convinced that he must have sinned and brought all of this pain on himself. God rebukes Job’s friends. Job 42:7 says, “After the Lord had said these things to Job, he said to Eliphaz the Temanite, ‘I am angry with you and your two friends because you have not spoken of me what is right, as my servant Job has.’”

Depression is part of God’s design. He knew that we would have losses in life and that we would struggle with them. Depression helps us release that which we have lost. Grief, sorrow, and despair are all God-given emotions. As I researched and read after receiving my diagnosis, there seemed to be a debate over medication. Does a Christian with depression really NEED medication? Shouldn't they just pray harder and study scripture more and eventually God will bring them out of it? I can’t tell you how hurtful this is for a fellow Christian to hear. A depressed Christian is not a spiritually weak person. Depression is medical condition. The brain is chemically unbalanced, and this is repaired by anti-depressants. Do I believe that God could take away a Christian’s depression with prayer and petition? Of course; I couldn’t be a Christian if I didn’t believe that God can do any and all things. However, we would never dream of telling a diabetic that they wouldn’t be dependant on insulin if their faith in God was what it should be. Who would tell a cancer patient that they don't need chemo or surgery, they just need to spend more time in prayer?! Why is depression different? At the same time, I don’t believe some magic pill is going to take your depression away. Depression is best treated with a combination of therapies. Counseling should go hand in hand with medication. Talking to anyone is part of the recovery. You can’t expect to get better while keeping everything bottled up inside, even if you are on an antidepressant.

Because of my family history, and because I've had 2 prior bouts with clinical depression, my doctor feels, and I agree, that it's best that I stay on an antidepressant, possibly for life. Call it a crutch, if you must. But when I find myself sliding into that pit again every winter, even ON the medication, I know I'm making the right choice. I'll talk more about my recovery in the next post. Gotta go; the warm weather is beckoning me outside, and there's yard work to be done!

Thursday, April 4, 2013

Heart Of Darkness: Part 2

Fast forward to 2002. Summer of that year was very hard. Pierce was losing all of the skills he had learned that year in school. We were still being told that he just had a speech delay, and that it would be gone by Kindergarten. By the time school started again in the fall of 2002, his teacher could tell something wasn’t right. About that time is when I started having trouble sleeping. By Christmas, Pierce's teacher suggested we get a psych. evaluation for him. I had absolutely no interest in celebrating Christmas that year, but I had to for the kids. I start to hate being around other moms. They would talk about their normal children, and I felt I had nothing to contribute to the conversation. I started to feel so jealous. I couldn’t stop going to events, because people would wonder if something was wrong. I wouldn’t want anyone to talk about me. I’m a pretty good actress (or so I’ve been told), so I would go to scrapbook night, or a Pampered Chef party and no one suspected I was screaming inside.

Winter of 2003 was an especially bleak one. I have a pretty detailed account in my therapy journal, but I'll spare you and give the highlights. On January 14th, the 3rd report card came out. There, in black and white, was confirmation that Pierce was in serious trouble. In addition to our struggles with Pierce, I started to think I'd never see the sun again. We had lots of snow (a total of 17 inches here in Nashville, which is a big deal for us), and cancelled school. On January 16th, 8 inches of snow began falling while kids were in school. Everyone has a story about that day. Total chaos. Once school was finally cancelled, it took me 2 hours to get to there, and another 2 hours to get home. In February, Reagan got the stomach flu and became so dehydrated that she had to spend about 24 hours in the hospital. These incidents may feel like no big deal to you, but for me, they were pushing me closer and closer to my breaking point. In March, we began the process of having Pierce evaluated for autism. I've already explained in previous posts the grieving process that happened during this time. I wasn't grieving a child lost in death, rather the loss of my dreams for him. I started to feel like a monster. I didn’t want to adjust to having an autistic child, I just wanted a normal child. I hated myself for feeling that way. I didn’t feel like a devoted mother and a loving wife. I wasn’t sleeping at night, so I was exhausted all day. I also started to feel pain in my joints. Because of my extensive family history of Lupus, I began to worry that I may finally have succumbed to the disease as well. All I felt was despair. I would cry out to God, but I felt like he wasn’t listening to me. I would go to church and to Ladies Class and leave in tears. Occasionally this was actually being said, most times it wasn't, but what my sick mind was hearing was that I wasn’t good enough. If I just prayed harder and studied harder and trusted God more, my pain and hopelessness would go away. I would ask God, “What am I doing wrong?”. Eventually, I reached a point where the only thing I could feel was numbness. I had no more tears to cry. I couldn't hear God or feel His presence, and I had no energy left to try to speak to Him. The pain of depression is crippling, but to feel nothing is absolutely terrifying. I may have had a few thoughts of suicide, but mostly I just wanted to run away. I wanted to jump in my car, leave everyone and everything, and just drive, as if I could drive away from my demons. Finally, by the end of March, Tim tried to get me to talk about why I was so distant. I told him that I felt absolutely no love for him at all. That's when he knew I desperately needed help. 

Tim and my mother encouraged me to talk to my doctor about everything I was experiencing at my upcoming annual checkup. I had her test me for lupus and check my thyroid, but she was pretty convinced that I was in a deep depression. When depression goes on long enough, it can start to cause you physical pain as well as mental anguish. She felt like that was what was happening to me. Sure enough, the lupus and thyroid tests came back normal. I told a friend, one of the very few I had confided in, that I wasn’t sick, I was just crazy.

Tuesday, March 26, 2013

Heart Of Darkness

Today is the second day of my kids' Spring Break. It is currently 34 degrees and there is a light dusting of snow on the ground. This winter has seemed to just drag on. Saying "I'm over it" is quite an understatement. I have joked before that I believe I'm solar-powered. The seasons most definitely have an effect on my mood. I first realized this one winter several years back. It was 10 years ago that I was diagnosed with clinical depression. I'm so much better than I was that day in my doctor's office, but it becomes more and more clear that this is going to be a life-long struggle for me. After all, this was not my first battle with depression. And as I started to heal and reflect, I could identify many red flags that popped up all throughout my life. The following is a "Reader's Digest" condensed version of my history. I've decided to break it into 3 parts, so as not to bore you all in one sitting.

Family history was not in my favor. I never knew either of my grandfathers. My father's father was many years older than my grandmother, and he died from diabetes about 4 years before I was born. My mother's father, however, was an alcoholic and drug addict. He took his own life when my mother was only 16 years old. Nearly 8 years later, mom's older sister also committed suicide. My mom was diagnosed with depression when I was in high school, and both my father and sister have been diagnosed, as well. It's probably safe to say that, in my youth, I was rather prone to melancholy. During my teen years, it became quite obvious, as I've stated in an earlier post. I was withdrawn and had very low self-esteem. I liked to listen to depressing music and watch sad movies. I read Stephen King, and I liked poetry by Edgar Allen Poe and Emily Dickinson. I wouldn't want to be identified as weird or freakish, so I refrained from going all "goth". I had some thoughts of suicide, but they were pretty fleeting. I feared pain, so I was too chicken to actually go through with anything. As I've said before, Tim came along and rescued me. He was such a happy person. We dated during my senior year of high school, and then I tried college. I was miserable. I cried every day. I begged my parents to come get me. The pressure was overwhelming. I even had a panic attack late one night, stressing over an English paper that was due. During my freshman year, Tim proposed. We decided to get married that year. I was pretty happy to quit school and get a job so that Tim could finish. A couple of years after we were married, I started to feel regret that I had given up on college so I decided to try again. This time, the stress was tremendous. I only lasted two weeks. I felt like such a failure. My mother, familiar with the warning signs of depression, encouraged me to talk to my doctor. He referred me to a therapist. This was my first clinical depression. I was treated for about six months.

I’ll fast forward a couple of years to 1998, when Pierce was born. The birth was total chaos. I was on bed rest in my 7th month, and went into labor at 35 weeks. He was breech, so I had a C-section. He was in the NICU for 5 days. It was such a whirlwind. I tried to nurse, but I wasn’t able to. I was in tears constantly, but I just assumed it was natural for a first-time, sleep-deprived mom. I didn’t tell my doctor. I wanted this child; I couldn’t tell my doctor that I was feeling overwhelmed. So, I sucked it up and got on with life. In 2001, Reagan was born. Pierce hated the new baby, which was so disappointing and stressful to me.  I couldn’t leave him alone with her. I did once when Reagan was 2 weeks old. She was in her bouncy seat that was sitting on a chair in the living room. I walked into the kitchen, and she began to cry. Before I could get to her, Pierce ran over and flipped the bouncy seat off of the chair. Luckily, Reagan wasn’t hurt. This time, my doctor could sense that I wasn’t handling life very well. She put me on an antidepressant. I gave it two weeks, and it didn’t work. I called and asked if I could switch to something else. I did, and this medication made me want to peel my skin off! She wouldn’t prescribe anything else for me; she instead referred me to a psychiatrist.  I couldn’t imagine getting out of the house on a regular basis with two children and trying to talk to a therapist, so I gave up. Again, I trudged on.