“I’m so anti-Valentines Day this year.” grumbled my husband. “It’s a completely senseless holiday. Weren’t people executed on Valentines Day?”
“It doesn’t have a pleasant history.” I reply.
It’s Saturday, the day before the big V day. All the stores are acting like this is an urgent last minute affair now. If you wish to save your love life, this is the moment when you must step up to the plate and pay your dues.
I’ve scarcely done anything for the holiday. Lately it’s as if all the verve I once had for celebrations of any kind has dwindled down to near nothingness.
Twenty years ago times were far more challenging. I had just barely been released from the mental ward at the hospital. The same day my infant daughter was released from pediatrics. Her severe case of pneumonia had significantly, if not miraculously, cleared. Although we were a far cry from being fine, I was overjoyed to have my family back together again.
One year later, it seemed appropriate to celebrate. Before picking our kids up from the sitter, my husband and I snuck out to a local supermarket to buy our kids some fun things to show them our love. Balloons were a must. What small child doesn’t enjoy balloons? We bought them little coloring books, a puzzle for my son, a cuddly little rabbit for my daughter. At home we laid everything out as if a second Christmas had arrived, then went to get our kids.
I will never forget the excitement of our two little kids as they saw what was waiting for them. My daughter, who had just barely begun walking, did a crazy tottering dance while hugging the rabbit. No one could get enough of the helium balloons and the wonder of how they managed to so stubbornly defy gravity.
Suddenly, with the passing of that one Valentines day, a tradition was born. Year, after year, I treated the holiday as something far more than just a time to exchange flowers and candy. Our kids always got clothes, a necessity made nicer in the form of a gift. They always got at least one toy as well. Candy and balloons were a given. In my mind we were celebrating the reunion of our family at a time of year when we had thought, perhaps, our family was lost.
Now, nineteen years later, two of our kids are gone off to school. One will soon be married. Only one remains at home. Things have changed.
I figured there was nothing to be done, or worried about for that matter. For my part, I bought a lot of candy, sent a lot of it off to our college student clan, then kept some for the few of us here. Clearly my husband had no intention of doing anything. He’d made enough comments over the last number of days that I didn’t have the will or inclination to argue.
Saturday night he decides he is bored enough to go check out the video store. Rather uncharacteristically, he doesn’t ask me if I want to go. I chalk it up to the fact that I haven’t been feeling well. Maybe he was trying to be considerate.
A few minutes later Scrooge shows up with a dozen red roses. He shrugs at me with a smile. “Well, I figured I may as well do something even if it is a stupid holiday.”
Stupid holiday or not, he’s made this one for me. Once again, I remember how much I love him.
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Cream of Mushroom Soup
Early spring 1990
It was evening. Time for dinner. Someone had to do something about dinner, but I couldn’t think. There was too much rushing through my mind. Dust in the corner on the floor. Must clean the floor. Can’t clean floor. Dinner. What about dinner? Does the baby need a diaper change? Where’s the baby? Did I forget about the baby?! She’s okay - right? Where were they? What had I done? Mom and dad. Mom and dad took my kids. Remember? But they’ll be here soon.
Dinner needs to be here. Plates. Silverware. Glasses. Napkins. What do we put on the plates? MEATBALLS! I scream at myself. It’s meatballs with rice. Something in the back of my head is mumbling tacos, mac& cheese, Hamburger Helper... The list goes on and on, but now I’m determined. It’s meatballs. No changes allowed.
I mush the meat into balls and drop them into the sizzling pan. Water is boiling for the rice. It’s been a struggle, picking the right pots, making sure they’re not dirty. The slightest speck of anything makes my skin crawl. But there are specks everywhere!
Shut it out! Meatballs. You’re making meatballs. For a moment I gasp in air because I’ve forgotten to breathe, then the bombshell hits. I reach for a can of soup. We’ve always got soup.
It’s not there. I can’t find any cream of mushroom soup! How am I supposed to make rice and meatballs without the soup?! I’m in a panic. The rice is done. The meatballs are made. I’ve even heated up a can of green beans. I was doing so well! The table is set. What will my husband think? I’m such an incompetent wife, I can’t even fix dinner!
Someone is at the front door. It’s mom and dad with the kids.
“Dad!” I cry out urgently. “I need a can of cream of mushroom soup!”
“It’s okay honey. Calm down.” says my dad. Mom’s holding my baby. My daughter’s fiercely independent brother is making his own way into the apartment. They’re here. I’ve failed. Any minute now my husband is going to come see what a raw deal he got when he married me!
“I need soup. Please dad! Take me to the store so I can get soup?”
Mom mom nods to my dad like she’s okay with staying there with the kids. I feel even worse. Look at the way I’m burdening them...
Dad quickly ushers me into the car. I can do this. I can walk into the store and buy a can of soup. Just one can. No big deal. Breathe. The kids are okay. Dinner will be fine. My husband still loves me, right? Dad’s taking me to the store.
He pulls up to the curb, easily thinking it will be a quick in and out sort of deal. With the same attitude I run inside. Wow. There’s so much stuff - colors and lights and people! I’d really like to see that movie . . . five cans for a dollar! . .I’ve got a dollar . . . Oh. That’s for the soup. Find the soup!
It’s a miracle I find the aisle. Good job girl! Grab one and go! Oh no . . . Campbells or the generic, or what about the store brand? Generic is cheapest. I need to be cheap. But Campbell’s tastes better . . . I’m squabbling with myself over a matter of pennies! I know it is completely senseless, but I can’t help it. Just grab a stinking can!
I grab a can, get half way down the row only to run back and grab the other brand. This is agonizing. Why can’t I just make a decision? It’s just a can of soup!
Next thing I know I’m back in my dad’s car, no soup in my hands. It was too much for me to handle. There were too many choices. Tears are streaming down my face. Dad is distressed. He doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know how to help. I can’t keep doing this to people. Tell him what to do! Tell him. Be fair. Fix this. Tell him.
“I can’t do it. I can’t decide.” I try to explain, “All I need is a can of cream of mushroom soup. I’ll give you the money. Please?”
Now he understands, at least for the moment. With a nod he steps out of the car. I’m so mortified I very desperately wish I could melt into the seat and simply disappear.
“One one thousand, two one thousand, three one thousand, four one thousand . . .” I begin counting. It’s my method for passing time when time seems unendurable. The amount of effort it requires to stay focused on the task is tremendous. On a regular basis I lose track of what number I am on and have to start over. It doesn’t matter. The counting is what matters. As long as I am counting I know the seconds are passing.
The security guard is going to come arrest me. I don’t think security guards can arrest people. Other customers seem to be staring as they walk in and out of the store. I stare at the dashboard, doing my best to be invisible. The waiting seems nothing less than eternal when finally, like a miracle dropped out of heaven, my dad pops back into the car.
Stern, and business like - the way he always is when he’s worried - he drives me back to the apartment. Our car is waiting in the parking space. My husband is home. Look at the circus he had to face upon coming home this time! Why was I such a failure to him when above all else, he was the one I wanted to please?
Defeated, I walk inside. Somehow my mom’s finished the meatballs and rice for me. My son’s in his high chair, ready to go. His sister is rocking contentedly in her swing. Once again, my husband acts like it’s no big deal. In fact, it’s great I was able to get so much of dinner done. Mom completely downplays her part. She and my dad clear out quickly.
“I’m so sorry honey . . .” I mumble.
“Sorry for what?” he replies softly, “Everything is okay.”
He’s right. For the moment everything is okay. Unfortunately, we both know all too well how it will not last.
It was evening. Time for dinner. Someone had to do something about dinner, but I couldn’t think. There was too much rushing through my mind. Dust in the corner on the floor. Must clean the floor. Can’t clean floor. Dinner. What about dinner? Does the baby need a diaper change? Where’s the baby? Did I forget about the baby?! She’s okay - right? Where were they? What had I done? Mom and dad. Mom and dad took my kids. Remember? But they’ll be here soon.
Dinner needs to be here. Plates. Silverware. Glasses. Napkins. What do we put on the plates? MEATBALLS! I scream at myself. It’s meatballs with rice. Something in the back of my head is mumbling tacos, mac& cheese, Hamburger Helper... The list goes on and on, but now I’m determined. It’s meatballs. No changes allowed.
I mush the meat into balls and drop them into the sizzling pan. Water is boiling for the rice. It’s been a struggle, picking the right pots, making sure they’re not dirty. The slightest speck of anything makes my skin crawl. But there are specks everywhere!
Shut it out! Meatballs. You’re making meatballs. For a moment I gasp in air because I’ve forgotten to breathe, then the bombshell hits. I reach for a can of soup. We’ve always got soup.
It’s not there. I can’t find any cream of mushroom soup! How am I supposed to make rice and meatballs without the soup?! I’m in a panic. The rice is done. The meatballs are made. I’ve even heated up a can of green beans. I was doing so well! The table is set. What will my husband think? I’m such an incompetent wife, I can’t even fix dinner!
Someone is at the front door. It’s mom and dad with the kids.
“Dad!” I cry out urgently. “I need a can of cream of mushroom soup!”
“It’s okay honey. Calm down.” says my dad. Mom’s holding my baby. My daughter’s fiercely independent brother is making his own way into the apartment. They’re here. I’ve failed. Any minute now my husband is going to come see what a raw deal he got when he married me!
“I need soup. Please dad! Take me to the store so I can get soup?”
Mom mom nods to my dad like she’s okay with staying there with the kids. I feel even worse. Look at the way I’m burdening them...
Dad quickly ushers me into the car. I can do this. I can walk into the store and buy a can of soup. Just one can. No big deal. Breathe. The kids are okay. Dinner will be fine. My husband still loves me, right? Dad’s taking me to the store.
He pulls up to the curb, easily thinking it will be a quick in and out sort of deal. With the same attitude I run inside. Wow. There’s so much stuff - colors and lights and people! I’d really like to see that movie . . . five cans for a dollar! . .I’ve got a dollar . . . Oh. That’s for the soup. Find the soup!
It’s a miracle I find the aisle. Good job girl! Grab one and go! Oh no . . . Campbells or the generic, or what about the store brand? Generic is cheapest. I need to be cheap. But Campbell’s tastes better . . . I’m squabbling with myself over a matter of pennies! I know it is completely senseless, but I can’t help it. Just grab a stinking can!
I grab a can, get half way down the row only to run back and grab the other brand. This is agonizing. Why can’t I just make a decision? It’s just a can of soup!
Next thing I know I’m back in my dad’s car, no soup in my hands. It was too much for me to handle. There were too many choices. Tears are streaming down my face. Dad is distressed. He doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know how to help. I can’t keep doing this to people. Tell him what to do! Tell him. Be fair. Fix this. Tell him.
“I can’t do it. I can’t decide.” I try to explain, “All I need is a can of cream of mushroom soup. I’ll give you the money. Please?”
Now he understands, at least for the moment. With a nod he steps out of the car. I’m so mortified I very desperately wish I could melt into the seat and simply disappear.
“One one thousand, two one thousand, three one thousand, four one thousand . . .” I begin counting. It’s my method for passing time when time seems unendurable. The amount of effort it requires to stay focused on the task is tremendous. On a regular basis I lose track of what number I am on and have to start over. It doesn’t matter. The counting is what matters. As long as I am counting I know the seconds are passing.
The security guard is going to come arrest me. I don’t think security guards can arrest people. Other customers seem to be staring as they walk in and out of the store. I stare at the dashboard, doing my best to be invisible. The waiting seems nothing less than eternal when finally, like a miracle dropped out of heaven, my dad pops back into the car.
Stern, and business like - the way he always is when he’s worried - he drives me back to the apartment. Our car is waiting in the parking space. My husband is home. Look at the circus he had to face upon coming home this time! Why was I such a failure to him when above all else, he was the one I wanted to please?
Defeated, I walk inside. Somehow my mom’s finished the meatballs and rice for me. My son’s in his high chair, ready to go. His sister is rocking contentedly in her swing. Once again, my husband acts like it’s no big deal. In fact, it’s great I was able to get so much of dinner done. Mom completely downplays her part. She and my dad clear out quickly.
“I’m so sorry honey . . .” I mumble.
“Sorry for what?” he replies softly, “Everything is okay.”
He’s right. For the moment everything is okay. Unfortunately, we both know all too well how it will not last.
Saturday, February 13, 2010
Take your Medication!!!
So today my daughter came home from school pretty much in total hysterics. I haven't seen her so bad off in quite some time. Between all of the crying and bits of barely coherent explanation, she was finally able to point out that she thought she had forgotten to take her medication, not once, but twice, for two whole days.
Suddenly cutting yourself off from your medication for whatever reason - intentional or otherwise - is not smart unless you're doing it under your doctor's supervision. Feel bad, feel good, feel whatever - take your medication! If it is someone you love who's taking the meds, do everything you can to make sure they stay on top of things.
I could embellish, and at some point, I probably will. Off the top of my head I can think of at least three different 'take your medication!' type life experiences I've been through. They'll get told soon enough. But for now, NEVER FAIL to TAKE YOUR MEDICATION! : )
Suddenly cutting yourself off from your medication for whatever reason - intentional or otherwise - is not smart unless you're doing it under your doctor's supervision. Feel bad, feel good, feel whatever - take your medication! If it is someone you love who's taking the meds, do everything you can to make sure they stay on top of things.
I could embellish, and at some point, I probably will. Off the top of my head I can think of at least three different 'take your medication!' type life experiences I've been through. They'll get told soon enough. But for now, NEVER FAIL to TAKE YOUR MEDICATION! : )
Absense due to Flu
Sorry I haven't written or rather posted anything for a little while. I managed getting really sick earlier this week. This morning I thought I was doing a lot better - which is unquestionably true - but not as much better as I'd hoped. My daughter and I ran off to a dress fitting this morning and by the time we were done, I was ready to call it quits. Oh well. At least I'm not bedridden like I was a couple of days ago.
Just as an interesting side note, I happened to catch this flu from my husband. No sooner had I flew off to make wedding arrangements, than he became extremely ill. The daughter who was still home with him started having emotional issues due to my absense as well. Long story short, I want to give huge kudos to my husband for being such a trooper while I was gone. Now that I've been through the illness, I don't know how he did it. I just married an amazing man, plain and simple.
Just as an interesting side note, I happened to catch this flu from my husband. No sooner had I flew off to make wedding arrangements, than he became extremely ill. The daughter who was still home with him started having emotional issues due to my absense as well. Long story short, I want to give huge kudos to my husband for being such a trooper while I was gone. Now that I've been through the illness, I don't know how he did it. I just married an amazing man, plain and simple.
Monday, February 8, 2010
Cognitive Distortions or Messed up Thinking
Cognition basically means thinking, so ‘cognitive distortions’ put simply, means messed up thinking or distorted thinking. I don’t know if there is any kind of thinking that can truly be deemed ‘normal’. I’m not a psychologist. What I do know is that A LOT of people have messed up thinking or cognitive distortions.
When you have messed up thinking patterns going on in your head, the first thing you need to do is recognize that your thinking is messed up. This is a really big deal. It is extremely easy to think that what you are thinking makes all kinds of sense because that is the way you think all the time. It is something you are accustomed to doing - so how are you supposed to know it is not right?
Logic is the answer. This sounds simple, but isn’t. Here’s an example to consider. Let’s say you’re walking into a classroom on the very first day of class. You look around the room and see a pair of girls talking pleasantly. After they glance in your direction, one girl lifts her hand up to whisper in the other girl’s ear. They smile and giggle afterwards. You immediately assume something negative has been said about you, that they are making fun of you.
Yes, it is possible that they are making fun of you. Logic, however, lets us know that the whisper probably has nothing to do with you, but rather what they’ve been discussing before you even came along. Logic says that their conversation could just as easily be complimentary about you as it could be non-complimentary. You don’t know. All you see is a couple of girls talking and whispering to each other.
So you think to yourself - but I got this feeling. Feelings are tricky little demons when it comes to thinking and reasoning. For depressed people it is very important to pay more attention to the logic associated with a situation rather than the emotions the situation may evoke.
Sometimes it is extra hard for me to keep things clear in my mind. I start following my emotions and impulses more than logic. To help myself I have abbreviated charts about cognitive distortions to help remind me what kind of thinking is self defeating.
The following are some general examples of messed up thinking. Please be sure to note that all of this is gleaned from David Burns’ book FEELING GOOD.
COGNITIVE DISTORTIONS
All or Nothing Thinking:
You see things in black and white categories. If your performance falls short of perfect you see yourself as a total failure.
Over Generalization:
You see a single negative event as never ending pattern of defeat.
Mental Filter:
You pick out a single negative detail and dwell on it exclusively so that your vision of all reality becomes darkened, like the drop of ink that colors the entire beaker of water.
Jumping to Conclusions:
You make a negative interpretation even though there are no definite facts that convincingly support your conclusion. These include
Mind Reading- You arbitrarily conclude that someone is reacting negatively to you, and you don’t bother to check this out.
The Fortune Teller Error - You anticipate that things will turn out badly, and you feel convinced that your prediction is an already established fact.
Magnification (Catastrophizing) or Minimization:
You exaggerate the importance of things (such as your goof-up or someone else’s achievement), or you inappropriately shrink things until they appear tiny (your own desirable qualities or the other fellow’s imperfections).
Emotional Reasoning:
You assume that your negative emotions necessarily reflect the way things really are: “I feel it, therefore it must be true.”
“Should” Statements:
You try to motivate yourself with shoulds and shouldn’ts as if you had to be whipped and punished before you would be expected to do anything. “Musts” and “oughts” are also offenders. The emotional consequence is guilt. When you direct should statements toward others, you feel anger, frustration, and resentment.
Labeling and Mislabeling:
This is an extreme form of over generalization. Instead of describing your error you attach a negative label to yourself: “I’m a loser.” When someone else’s behavior rubs you the wrong way, you attach a negative label to him: “He’s a stinking louse.” Mislabeling involves describing an event with language that is highly colored and emotionally loaded.
Personalization:
You see yourself as the cause of some negative external event which in fact you were not primarily responsible for.
That’s my list. A good trick I’ve learned to use for myself is to try thinking about the situation from another person’s point of view. If I were an outsider watching the situation how would I interpret it? If I were my husband how would he see the situation - would he say I was a loser because I didn’t do my workout today? No. He’d say, so you missed a workout. Do the next one. Get on with your life. No big deal.
All of that is more than enough to consider. Think about it and evaluate how your own mind seems to function.
When you have messed up thinking patterns going on in your head, the first thing you need to do is recognize that your thinking is messed up. This is a really big deal. It is extremely easy to think that what you are thinking makes all kinds of sense because that is the way you think all the time. It is something you are accustomed to doing - so how are you supposed to know it is not right?
Logic is the answer. This sounds simple, but isn’t. Here’s an example to consider. Let’s say you’re walking into a classroom on the very first day of class. You look around the room and see a pair of girls talking pleasantly. After they glance in your direction, one girl lifts her hand up to whisper in the other girl’s ear. They smile and giggle afterwards. You immediately assume something negative has been said about you, that they are making fun of you.
Yes, it is possible that they are making fun of you. Logic, however, lets us know that the whisper probably has nothing to do with you, but rather what they’ve been discussing before you even came along. Logic says that their conversation could just as easily be complimentary about you as it could be non-complimentary. You don’t know. All you see is a couple of girls talking and whispering to each other.
So you think to yourself - but I got this feeling. Feelings are tricky little demons when it comes to thinking and reasoning. For depressed people it is very important to pay more attention to the logic associated with a situation rather than the emotions the situation may evoke.
Sometimes it is extra hard for me to keep things clear in my mind. I start following my emotions and impulses more than logic. To help myself I have abbreviated charts about cognitive distortions to help remind me what kind of thinking is self defeating.
The following are some general examples of messed up thinking. Please be sure to note that all of this is gleaned from David Burns’ book FEELING GOOD.
COGNITIVE DISTORTIONS
All or Nothing Thinking:
You see things in black and white categories. If your performance falls short of perfect you see yourself as a total failure.
Over Generalization:
You see a single negative event as never ending pattern of defeat.
Mental Filter:
You pick out a single negative detail and dwell on it exclusively so that your vision of all reality becomes darkened, like the drop of ink that colors the entire beaker of water.
Jumping to Conclusions:
You make a negative interpretation even though there are no definite facts that convincingly support your conclusion. These include
Mind Reading- You arbitrarily conclude that someone is reacting negatively to you, and you don’t bother to check this out.
The Fortune Teller Error - You anticipate that things will turn out badly, and you feel convinced that your prediction is an already established fact.
Magnification (Catastrophizing) or Minimization:
You exaggerate the importance of things (such as your goof-up or someone else’s achievement), or you inappropriately shrink things until they appear tiny (your own desirable qualities or the other fellow’s imperfections).
Emotional Reasoning:
You assume that your negative emotions necessarily reflect the way things really are: “I feel it, therefore it must be true.”
“Should” Statements:
You try to motivate yourself with shoulds and shouldn’ts as if you had to be whipped and punished before you would be expected to do anything. “Musts” and “oughts” are also offenders. The emotional consequence is guilt. When you direct should statements toward others, you feel anger, frustration, and resentment.
Labeling and Mislabeling:
This is an extreme form of over generalization. Instead of describing your error you attach a negative label to yourself: “I’m a loser.” When someone else’s behavior rubs you the wrong way, you attach a negative label to him: “He’s a stinking louse.” Mislabeling involves describing an event with language that is highly colored and emotionally loaded.
Personalization:
You see yourself as the cause of some negative external event which in fact you were not primarily responsible for.
That’s my list. A good trick I’ve learned to use for myself is to try thinking about the situation from another person’s point of view. If I were an outsider watching the situation how would I interpret it? If I were my husband how would he see the situation - would he say I was a loser because I didn’t do my workout today? No. He’d say, so you missed a workout. Do the next one. Get on with your life. No big deal.
All of that is more than enough to consider. Think about it and evaluate how your own mind seems to function.
Saturday, February 6, 2010
Count Your Blessings
My son asked me how I make myself feel better when I’m feeling bad. This story, which is true like all the stories on this blog, is what came to my mind.
I felt like Cinderella, breathless, as if I’d just left the most magnificent ball I could have ever imagined. The Phantom of the Opera had far exceeded my expectations. The old playhouse in downtown San Francisco had been so very perfect. There’s nothing like a Broadway cast performance.
I’d thought my mother-in-law was outright crazy when she told us to purchase the tickets. Even as a gift, the money could have been used for so many other simple, needful things like food and clothes, and shelter. We were barely hanging on as it was with me working part time out of our home so that I could stay home with the kids, and my husband working long hours doing rounds at places like San Francisco General, earning his medical degree. But, for one brief night she gave us the gift of magic. Even as the three of us walked out of the grand theater I couldn’t believe the vehicle that awaited us was our shabby little Honda. At least my prince charming was still at my side. For a few moments we were royalty.
The icy, near constant cold of San Francisco hit us the moment we stepped outside. Rain was falling. Elegant people scrambled with their valet tickets, huddling by the door, waiting for the men with umbrellas to escort them safely to their cars. As for us, the magic moment of transformation back to our lowly lives had arrived. In a rush we walked out down the main street to the alley which led to our parking garage. There, just beyond the corner I saw something I thought I would never see.
Right in the middle of the walkway was a cardboard box which had been carefully placed over some kind of vent or drain. Steam was rising from the ground. It was obviously a limited source of heat. Then, to my dread, I saw them. Hidden within the shadows of the box were two small children, completely filthy to the bone. They certainly didn’t have enough clothes to keep them warm in such weather. Their cardboard box wasn’t going to last long in the rain.
A tiny white hand silently remained clearly exposed, extended waiting for donations.
We had nearly passed them by the time the whole thing hit me. I’d been so obliviously caught up in myself. All of a sudden I didn’t know what to do. This was horrible! How could anyone allow two children, two small children just like my own, a boy and his little sister, suffer alone out in the cold?
First I turned toward my purse, then abandoned that idea. I had nothing to give. In truth, they needed something more than money. Couldn’t we take them somewhere? Wasn’t there something we could do? Instead I felt my husband’s steady grasp on my arm. With a subtle glimpse across the alley he brought my attention to a couple of men lurking nearby in the shadows.
I felt sick. He’d told me about the beggars who had accosted him almost on a daily basis as he and his friends walked from the BART station to their school. He’d told me how there were certain parts of town where I should never go. Tears were welling in my eyes. Innocent children were being used for money? Where were the police?
Before I could protest further my husband had us at the car. Urgently he ushered his mother and me inside, constantly checking for the dangers that might lurk in the darkness around us. “There were children . . .” I began.
“In the cardboard box.” he finished for me. “I know. You saw their handlers. If we would have stopped, they were ready to jump us for sure.”
“But children?” I asked still desperately upset.
For a few minutes we drove in urgent silence, maneuvering our way out of the ever changing city. As soon as we were on the Bay Bridge he calmed a little, trying to throw out a casual comment about the wonderful show we’d just seen.
My mind was boiling. What could I do? What could anyone do? How could anyone allow such things to happen? Suddenly our car seemed like it was the lap of luxury. We were clean, decently dressed, well fed. My children were safe and warm, waiting for us in our now unexpectedly spacious apartment.
For days leading up to the event I’d been worried that my dress would be too shabby, that we would stick out like wide eyed fools gone on an adventure we did not deserve. Now, I was more than thankful for what I had. Just to know my children were safe made all the difference in the world. It was like everything had been turned upside down.
The gift my mother-in-law had given us was precious to me beyond words. I still cherish the memory of being in that theater, feeling like a queen, feeling like someone worthy of something more than basic necessities. She taught me a valuable lesson.
Out in the alley, I finally discovered something just as important. There were blessings all around me that I had failed to see. I had a wonderful husband who loved me, who protected me, who was working his heart out to be a good provider for me. Two beautiful, vibrant, healthy, children were ours. We had what we needed. Food, shelter, clothing, had seemed like such simple things.
Even today, as I sit in my roomy four bedroom home, with flat screen TVs, furniture that was all bought new, a kitchen pantry full of food, two cars, a garage, a yard with - miracle of miracles - a swimming pool - my gratitude overflows. Others labor just as much for far less. We have been blessed. It is a lesson which lends me peace and happiness when I might feel otherwise.
That is my answer to you, son.
I felt like Cinderella, breathless, as if I’d just left the most magnificent ball I could have ever imagined. The Phantom of the Opera had far exceeded my expectations. The old playhouse in downtown San Francisco had been so very perfect. There’s nothing like a Broadway cast performance.
I’d thought my mother-in-law was outright crazy when she told us to purchase the tickets. Even as a gift, the money could have been used for so many other simple, needful things like food and clothes, and shelter. We were barely hanging on as it was with me working part time out of our home so that I could stay home with the kids, and my husband working long hours doing rounds at places like San Francisco General, earning his medical degree. But, for one brief night she gave us the gift of magic. Even as the three of us walked out of the grand theater I couldn’t believe the vehicle that awaited us was our shabby little Honda. At least my prince charming was still at my side. For a few moments we were royalty.
The icy, near constant cold of San Francisco hit us the moment we stepped outside. Rain was falling. Elegant people scrambled with their valet tickets, huddling by the door, waiting for the men with umbrellas to escort them safely to their cars. As for us, the magic moment of transformation back to our lowly lives had arrived. In a rush we walked out down the main street to the alley which led to our parking garage. There, just beyond the corner I saw something I thought I would never see.
Right in the middle of the walkway was a cardboard box which had been carefully placed over some kind of vent or drain. Steam was rising from the ground. It was obviously a limited source of heat. Then, to my dread, I saw them. Hidden within the shadows of the box were two small children, completely filthy to the bone. They certainly didn’t have enough clothes to keep them warm in such weather. Their cardboard box wasn’t going to last long in the rain.
A tiny white hand silently remained clearly exposed, extended waiting for donations.
We had nearly passed them by the time the whole thing hit me. I’d been so obliviously caught up in myself. All of a sudden I didn’t know what to do. This was horrible! How could anyone allow two children, two small children just like my own, a boy and his little sister, suffer alone out in the cold?
First I turned toward my purse, then abandoned that idea. I had nothing to give. In truth, they needed something more than money. Couldn’t we take them somewhere? Wasn’t there something we could do? Instead I felt my husband’s steady grasp on my arm. With a subtle glimpse across the alley he brought my attention to a couple of men lurking nearby in the shadows.
I felt sick. He’d told me about the beggars who had accosted him almost on a daily basis as he and his friends walked from the BART station to their school. He’d told me how there were certain parts of town where I should never go. Tears were welling in my eyes. Innocent children were being used for money? Where were the police?
Before I could protest further my husband had us at the car. Urgently he ushered his mother and me inside, constantly checking for the dangers that might lurk in the darkness around us. “There were children . . .” I began.
“In the cardboard box.” he finished for me. “I know. You saw their handlers. If we would have stopped, they were ready to jump us for sure.”
“But children?” I asked still desperately upset.
For a few minutes we drove in urgent silence, maneuvering our way out of the ever changing city. As soon as we were on the Bay Bridge he calmed a little, trying to throw out a casual comment about the wonderful show we’d just seen.
My mind was boiling. What could I do? What could anyone do? How could anyone allow such things to happen? Suddenly our car seemed like it was the lap of luxury. We were clean, decently dressed, well fed. My children were safe and warm, waiting for us in our now unexpectedly spacious apartment.
For days leading up to the event I’d been worried that my dress would be too shabby, that we would stick out like wide eyed fools gone on an adventure we did not deserve. Now, I was more than thankful for what I had. Just to know my children were safe made all the difference in the world. It was like everything had been turned upside down.
The gift my mother-in-law had given us was precious to me beyond words. I still cherish the memory of being in that theater, feeling like a queen, feeling like someone worthy of something more than basic necessities. She taught me a valuable lesson.
Out in the alley, I finally discovered something just as important. There were blessings all around me that I had failed to see. I had a wonderful husband who loved me, who protected me, who was working his heart out to be a good provider for me. Two beautiful, vibrant, healthy, children were ours. We had what we needed. Food, shelter, clothing, had seemed like such simple things.
Even today, as I sit in my roomy four bedroom home, with flat screen TVs, furniture that was all bought new, a kitchen pantry full of food, two cars, a garage, a yard with - miracle of miracles - a swimming pool - my gratitude overflows. Others labor just as much for far less. We have been blessed. It is a lesson which lends me peace and happiness when I might feel otherwise.
That is my answer to you, son.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Self Reliance, 2/4/10
Dear God I want to scream! I want to scream so long and loud that the walls of the house begin to rattle. This morning there is no doubt in my mind that I’ve got carpal tunnel syndrome in my right hand. Half the fingers are completely numb. There’s nothing to be done! It’s driving me nuts!
On top of that I’ve got some fat nasty tennis elbow pain going on. My right arm isn’t so bad as the left. It just aches, hurts like not other when I touch it to relieve the pain and of course, do any kind of heavy lifting.
On the other hand, (odd pun there if you think about it) my left arm is causing me almost constant, excruciating pain. It’s so bad in the morning I don’t want to move my arm. I don’t want to move period. Getting dressed is literally an ordeal.
I know, you’re thinking, so shut up about it and see a doctor! Yeah, well I think I’ve exhausted all my desire to see doctors. In the last couple of years I’ve had five trigger fingers released, a carpal tunnel repair, a golfers elbow procedure, a tennis elbow correction - one which I believe was a fraud - and a shoulder rotator cuff cleaning all on my left side. (I’m left handed if you haven’t guessed already.)
In the end, just typing this out is going to leave me in pain. I can’t play the piano for more than ten minutes before it hurts too much. Handwriting is a killer.
Whine, whine, whine, whine . . . . poor baby. If you’ll let me finish, I’ll get to my point - one which I unfortunately utterly abhor.
So I’ve had multiple surgeries, seen doctors, ran MRIs and blood tests. It seems like I’ve been through every test imaginable, but I’m married to a doctor, so I know better. There’s fluid in my hip. My knee and foot joints have issues. I’ve got fibromyalgia - another term for constant, incurable, pain. Etc., etc., etc.
Enough already. The point is about self reliance. Many, many years ago I had my husband point out to me that if I didn’t take the time to take care of myself, I would be greatly diminishing my ability to help others, most especially my family.
You see, my behavior pattern was, take care of the kids, take care of my husband, take care of the house, and it’s mountains of laundry, oh yes, don’t forget you’ve got to earn a living. While you’re at it, remember you’ve got to be the best at whatever you are . . . and so on. No time for me to be me. No time for exercise or reading favorite books, or writing. You get the picture.
By trying to be everything for everyone else all the time, I was literally forcing myself into a corner, silently screaming for help until I had a mental meltdown.
It took me a while, but the point really hit home when the doctor threatened to send me to the eating disorders ward. How could he do such a thing? I had the best figure ever! A size one sounded great!
When my husband suggested spending some of our incredibly meager income on a personal trainer, I fought him tooth and nail. Unfortunately, his idea was a far better, less costly option than a full time hospital stay. No one was going to stick a tube down my throat!
Over the years I’ve made one concession after another to accommodate my mental health. I quit teaching and began a business out of my own home so that I could stay home with the kids and somewhat control my work environment. Exercise has almost always played a part in my life. Some days I get on the bike, pedal for at least 30 minutes and give myself huge bonus points for just doing something.
That brings me back to now. The fact is, I’m getting older. That typing speed I maintained at 100+ wpm and long piano playing / teaching career has taken it’s toll. Now I’m in near constant excruciating pain. I never want to see another doctor, run another test or endure yet another surgery. But for the sake of that self reliance rule, what choice do I have?
Go see another doctor already and stop griping! Grrr! There’s a rule for you - do what you must to take care of yourself, not so much for you, but for everyone else around you. It is so easy to deny myself, but when it hurts others, I can’t be irresponsible.
Just as a side note: I still hate doctors!
2/4/10
On top of that I’ve got some fat nasty tennis elbow pain going on. My right arm isn’t so bad as the left. It just aches, hurts like not other when I touch it to relieve the pain and of course, do any kind of heavy lifting.
On the other hand, (odd pun there if you think about it) my left arm is causing me almost constant, excruciating pain. It’s so bad in the morning I don’t want to move my arm. I don’t want to move period. Getting dressed is literally an ordeal.
I know, you’re thinking, so shut up about it and see a doctor! Yeah, well I think I’ve exhausted all my desire to see doctors. In the last couple of years I’ve had five trigger fingers released, a carpal tunnel repair, a golfers elbow procedure, a tennis elbow correction - one which I believe was a fraud - and a shoulder rotator cuff cleaning all on my left side. (I’m left handed if you haven’t guessed already.)
In the end, just typing this out is going to leave me in pain. I can’t play the piano for more than ten minutes before it hurts too much. Handwriting is a killer.
Whine, whine, whine, whine . . . . poor baby. If you’ll let me finish, I’ll get to my point - one which I unfortunately utterly abhor.
So I’ve had multiple surgeries, seen doctors, ran MRIs and blood tests. It seems like I’ve been through every test imaginable, but I’m married to a doctor, so I know better. There’s fluid in my hip. My knee and foot joints have issues. I’ve got fibromyalgia - another term for constant, incurable, pain. Etc., etc., etc.
Enough already. The point is about self reliance. Many, many years ago I had my husband point out to me that if I didn’t take the time to take care of myself, I would be greatly diminishing my ability to help others, most especially my family.
You see, my behavior pattern was, take care of the kids, take care of my husband, take care of the house, and it’s mountains of laundry, oh yes, don’t forget you’ve got to earn a living. While you’re at it, remember you’ve got to be the best at whatever you are . . . and so on. No time for me to be me. No time for exercise or reading favorite books, or writing. You get the picture.
By trying to be everything for everyone else all the time, I was literally forcing myself into a corner, silently screaming for help until I had a mental meltdown.
It took me a while, but the point really hit home when the doctor threatened to send me to the eating disorders ward. How could he do such a thing? I had the best figure ever! A size one sounded great!
When my husband suggested spending some of our incredibly meager income on a personal trainer, I fought him tooth and nail. Unfortunately, his idea was a far better, less costly option than a full time hospital stay. No one was going to stick a tube down my throat!
Over the years I’ve made one concession after another to accommodate my mental health. I quit teaching and began a business out of my own home so that I could stay home with the kids and somewhat control my work environment. Exercise has almost always played a part in my life. Some days I get on the bike, pedal for at least 30 minutes and give myself huge bonus points for just doing something.
That brings me back to now. The fact is, I’m getting older. That typing speed I maintained at 100+ wpm and long piano playing / teaching career has taken it’s toll. Now I’m in near constant excruciating pain. I never want to see another doctor, run another test or endure yet another surgery. But for the sake of that self reliance rule, what choice do I have?
Go see another doctor already and stop griping! Grrr! There’s a rule for you - do what you must to take care of yourself, not so much for you, but for everyone else around you. It is so easy to deny myself, but when it hurts others, I can’t be irresponsible.
Just as a side note: I still hate doctors!
2/4/10
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