Friday's musings...and first steps

I woke up Friday morning in a foul sad mood and wanted to hold on to that "I hate the world mood" for the day.

My first thought was to cancel my gym workout and the luncheon date afterwards at my girlfriend's house. Why go and try to act all nice and all happy.

I decided to make myself go. I still didn't want to go when I got in the car and drove to town. I was still angry-sad. I was willing to be a Grumpet.

When I walked in the door and changed into my gym shoes, another member of the Legends quipped, "Oh boy that looks hard!" --> Meaning the workout that we would do was finishing up from the previous class. She smiled with such an engaging smile that I had to smile back. I felt my anger slipping away.

I said, "Well, we are Legends. We should request to take out the mats and have 'nap time' while the coach plays beautiful music for us."

That idea grew into a discussion. One day we'd show up in our PJ's and bring pillows and blankies and tell the coach our work out of the day is a nap and sleepy quiet time.

Slowly, I could feel the Grinch-tude leaching out of my bones. We started the warm up. As usual, I did something goofy [class clown] and the laughter was loud. The work out was hard. 300 meteres of rowing, box step ups [step up on a raised surface of 20 inches or less and step down], and burpees all modified for us older folks. 

I went at it like I was tackling a demon. The relief from being angry-sad became quite evident. I could smile and engage with other gym members. The sad still was there, I didn't want to go to the luncheon, but Pat who was putting it on stood next to me and put her arm around my shoulders. 

"Come on," she said, "Home made chili and good food. I'll even make sure you have some to take home."

My friend Pat has been supportive all along ... ever since I met her a year and a half ago. She never says sorry, never asks 'how are you doing' in the drama voice. She never asks but manages to make sure I tell her anyway. She offers nothing but to be a quiet friend who will message me at 5am to see if I am doing okay, no need she says to reply, just sent a thumbs up or down.

During the luncheon [wonderful food!] I end up talking with Emma who is going through trying to get her significant other well enough to come home so she can care for her. Emma is a retired doctor, she is in her 80's and has sought me out because I've walked this path more than once. 

I ask Emma how her Kathy is doing and she opens up and tells me everything that is on her mind while we eat. 

I see as she talks with me that is having a profound effect on both of us. We are sharing our grief and knowledge in an amazing way. She is a doctor and is asking me to just listen. I can see that she is getting things off her mind and I listen so intently that I don't hear the other folks at the table.

Emma gives me a squeeze on the arm when she is ready to leave and thanks me for listening.

As the others leave, I start to clear dishes and help Pat clean up. We get the dishes cleared and Pat pours us each a cup of coffee and tells me to sit down.

"You had another one of THOSE mornings, didn't you?"

I nod. "This helped immensely, thank you for making me come."

We fall silent and gaze out of her little cafe and look at the beautiful winter wonderland of melted snow and ice.

I tell her that I'll miss next week's workouts because I'll be sitting for my friends while they do a 5 day chemo treatment. 

Pat makes a face and then smiles at me. "Being with a 2 yr old and a 4 yr old will be the best thing for you during Christmas." 

"Indeed Pat. I will feel loved and needed and important to someone with this coming week. It will be good to chase around little ones."

Pat looked down at her coffee, she is such a wise friend. "Val, you give and give and give of yourself. You are a gift to anyone who knows you. I don't believe you know how much you are respected and loved in our class either. When you aren't there and you were caring for Rich, others would say that they just wished they were like you."

"Giving," I reply, " is the only way I can feel better. "I don't feel like I am just an old widow sitting in her house and glaring at the world or crumbling to pieces. I feel self worth if I can help either by doing or listening."

We finish our coffee and I tell Pat that I am terrified and excited about a hiking club I joined and that my first hike was on Saturday morning with complete strangers. 

Half of me says, don't go. Part of me says, it is too long of a drive. Another part of me says, this is just right up your alley.

I want to stay home. But if I go and I enjoy it, I just may expand my world and find new friends. That could be a good thing.

Pat takes a sip of coffee and says quietly, "Go do it. Let me know how it went when you are done."

It is much better than staring at the Christmas Tree chair and thinking about putting it all away because I am the only person enjoying it.

I packed a backpack with my spare gloves, some food, some water, and my normal hiking stuff last night.

I put my key to the car on top of the pile, I set a timer and put the directions to the meet up place in my phone to take me there.

I am terrified and excited to take that first step.

Fingers crossed.

And yes -- Rich told me to go, meet some folks. I'm proud of you girl [he'd say that anytime I had doubts]

How it was...becoming Stoic & Help

Sorry this is sooo long! But, it has been on my mind for quite a while.

I was raised in a home where complaining was discouraged. 

My mother had a saying that many children might recognize: "If you're going to complain, I'll give you something to complain about."

I never thought of her as mean or terrible; that's just how things were. Complaining simply wasn't done.

That is, unless she complained. Then it seemed acceptable.

I quickly learned to dodge my mother's criticisms and adopted a Stoic demeanor.

A Stoic individual is characterized by strength and resilience, confronting life's challenges with reason and tranquility. They keep their emotions in check and often manage stress and hardship without complaining or seeking others' support.

Is being Stoic a beneficial trait? I'm uncertain. It was advantageous during my childhood. Not reacting to my mother's anger was more effective than panicking. Stay calm. Stay silent.

Once, I believed she punished me just to provoke tears.

It was a childish notion. I was just a kid, assuming she sought a reaction. So, I adapted. No reaction. It might have infuriated her more, but I felt victorious in some perverse way; I had outsmarted her. It was my super power.

She could strike me with a riding crop on the back of my legs, and I would stay mute. She couldn't make me cry. I was too tough and I just gave her the death stare.

I was 18 when she had her last attempt at swatting me out of unprovoked anger.
She raised a wooden spoon and I caught her arm in mid swing. I was stronger than her and perhaps an inch taller. 

I will never forget telling her quietly: "Never again. You will NOT touch me ever again." I held her arm and stared into her face. I must have had rage in my eyes that she could see. 

She dropped her arm and never tried to hit me again, though the verbal abuse ramped up.

My upbringing taught me to be self-reliant and resilient. I hardly ever engage in conflicts. When someone infuriates me, I might just offer a smile and adopt what my son labels as passive-aggressive behavior.

He might be right. I typically avoid arguments and steer clear of confrontation. Yet, in some way, I ensure I have the last nod.

My mother demonstrated the most effective form of punishment: the silent treatment. She executed it with such skill that it filled our home with tension. We tip toed around her, not sure when she would erupt. Living with her was sometimes like tiptoeing around a ticking bomb.

I often wonder if she employed these tactics as a means of survival during her childhood, or if there was something more sinister at play.

Despite it all, we sort of loved her. Dad loved her no matter what.

As I matured into adulthood, I evolved from a shy child to someone who could navigate murky waters with some confidence. I became a 4H leader and a teacher. I wanted to give other children what I never had.

My father was a man with a huge heart, a mild manner, and a great imagination, who worshipped the ground my mom walked on.

Neither parent grew up with parents that were loving and caring. My father's mother divorced in an era where you did NOT divorce. She remarried and shipped my dad to grandparents who did not know what to do with my dad.

Mom was raised by a brutal father who would lock her in the wood shed for real or imagined transgressions. Her mother was ruled and abused by her dad. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

So where did that leave me as an adult? The first time my heart actually throbbed with such incredible love was when I held my first son. I knew then, what love was. My husband was an abuser also, I'd married my "mom" -- he had a drinking problem and was a control freak.

The end of our marriage came in the barn one day when my 'ex' husband held me in a choke hold and told me that he could kill me and make it look like an accident. He was a Paramedic after all. I believed him. I ran away that night with the clothes on my back in an old truck. [I don't think the kids ever forgave me for that, but my survival instinct kicked in and I ran like hell.]

Jump forward 30 years. I am still stoic. 

I married a Vietnam veteran with his own issues, and somehow we two very broken people made a go of it with so much love and respect for each other. He broke through my iron heart.

But I have learned how important friends and being kind to others are. One thing I never learned [never was taught] was to do those beautiful little touches that my friends are always doing.

I get a card in the mail, I get a phone call from an old school friend. How are you? How are you coping?

How did I not learn how to be super kind and sensitive and thoughtful enough to send cards or do something unexpected to friends. I never learned those things, not those little touches that are so amazing.

I only know how to give my friendship and to jump in when someone needs something. I will drop everything to go help others.

How odd, I never learned the nuances and small touches that others have shown me. This really came to light when a very wonderful lady sent me a package this past week.

I'll write about that package and other fine things that have happened to me on the Mulewings blog.

But this morning I sat here wondering. 

And I still struggle with this idea today.

I have just found that asking for help may be the hardest thing I've ever done.

While meeting with a social worker who sat on my loveseat with Charlie in her lap wiggling around ... I asked for help.

I guess facing the realities of Hospice has shown me something I've never imagined. The kindness and thoughtfulness of humans is a real thing.

I'm not doing this alone anymore.

Revisit Angry Depression

My husband now has a list of medical conditions that could make any physician scratch their heads. His PCP last week had to deal with his newer condition of Depressive Anger.

The least little thing will set him off now.

It was a pretty bizarre evening last night. I had made a cake and a pretty decent supper. I know eating supper together has always been pleasant for us. Well not last night.

MDD, Major Depression Disorder has come back something fierce. At first I thought it was acceptable because of his issues with the Pulmonary Emboli in both lungs and the hospital stay and the pain in the knee from the bursitis that was excruciatingly painful..
However he said he 'hurt all over' everything hurt. [I've learned over the years that MDD causes the body to hurt all over...it is a sign that he is going into a very bad place.]

He had a major fight with his daughter and yelled at his mother on the phone last week.

Instead of leveling off, the internal and external anger has become more pronounced.

Living with MDD is interesting. You need to have thick skin and emotional walls of concrete.
I set him off in a rage yesterday after working outside for hours, I came in to check on him and to make him something to eat.
I walked into the bedroom to see if he was okay and would like something to eat.

He blew up.
How dare did I interrupt his nap?
Why couldn't he get any sleep around here without someone bothering him?
He got up and tossed the covers aside.
I'm tired and I wanted to sleep so I could shower! And you won't let me!
I replied that I'd been outside for hours and ....how was I to know? I knew the nap for a shower wasn't really a reason for sleeping. Showering had become another new issue for us. Before I could assist him with showers while he was recovering. The last time he did a major portion of it by himself.

The fact that he did not care if he was dirty or smelly and would fight my suggestions for getting washed up was a huge indicator of his depression.

YOU just won't stop bothering me!
He came up and began to poke me with his fingers and imitated as best as he could my voice:
How are you? Do you want something to eat? Can I get you something? Why don't you take a shower? Want to wash up? NAG nag nag!

He poked and poked.
I'm going to wake you up every 30 minutes tonight, see how you like it.

I stood still and silent. No arguing with Depression Rage or whatever you want to call it.
I silently wondered if I could get him in the car and take him to the VA Emergency Department. Sundays were generally bad days for that. And the thought of a 2 hr drive with Rage in the other seat was not anything I wanted to consider.

He went on to other small inconsequential things that I have done over the week. One of the items he was furious about was that I was selling one of my older cameras. He simply went on and on.
I remained silent as One, it was my camera. Two I rarely used it anymore, and Three how did it matter in the larger scheme of things?

Silent. You can't argue with The Transformed Man. Once that ball of anger gets rolling it keeps getting larger and larger.

Last night we went to bed.
He pulled the covers off me.
Then waited until I put them back on.
20 minutes later he started poking my shoulder and asking Are you Awake? How do you like that?

It was juvenile, I admit. But I knew he'd fall sound asleep soon.
I decided to move a bit later when he fell into deep sleep.

I don't understand why his PCP didn't ask for intervention when he argued with her earlier this week.

The scary part of this? I responded with nothing. His tirade never even phased me.
After his oxygen delivery today I will risk asking him to go to the VA ED.