I'm Blue

Raynaud’s Phenomenon can be a pain.

Sorry. Maybe I should explain a little bit about what Raynaud’s Phenomenon is before going any further. According to the U.S. National Library of Medicine, Raynaud’s Phenomenon is: “A condition in which cold temperatures or strong emotions cause blood vessel spasms that block blood flow to the fingers, toes, ears and nose.”

No blood flow = pain.

To be honest, until very recently, this condition was more of a discomfort to me than an actual pain. Long before I was told that I had Raynaund's, I knew that I was somehow "different" than almost everyone else around me.
When co-workers complained about the heat, I was sometimes still a little chilly. When they were comfortable, I was pulling on a jacket.
For years I knew that it was weird for me to always NEED socks and tennis shoes on when other girls were showing off pretty pedicured toes in cute sandals. I didn't really understand why - I just knew that when I wore sandals, I was uncomfortable.
Ask most folks what the worst part about living without power after a hurricane is and you'll probably hear a lot about how hot it gets without air conditioning. That didn't really bother me much at all...but not having hot water??? THAT was a serious hardship!

Living with Raynaud's means that something as simple as walking through produce, meat or dairy departments at the grocery store can be a challenge. Mixing spices into ground meat (because I'm cajun and there must be spice in burgers!!!) will bring tears to my eyes. Food gloves help a little bit but not as much as the super warm soapy water in my sink that I use to re-warm my hands during the process. And let's not even mention trying to move things around to find a particular item in a freezer :::shudder:::

Now that I understand a bit more about how my body reacts to cold, it's no longer a mystery why I hurt so much in colder temperatures. When I feel tension creeping in, I can might look up and realize that my ability to tolerate the ceiling fan has reached it's limit. Instead of feeling guilty about "hiding out" in my little office, I am thankful for the warmth here (thanks to the heat that pours from the computer into this little room.)

There is still more for me to learn. I haven't yet had any tests run to determine if I have what is considered Primary or Secondary Raynaud's. If it's Secondary...then it's possible that I may be dealing with another underlying disorder like Lupus, Rheumatoid Arthritis, Atherosclerosis, Scleroderma, or Sjögren's syndrome. None of those sound like much fun.

Why am I sharing this with you? It's Raynaud's Awareness Week. We have a ribbon and everything!
The three colors represent the color changes that can occur during an "attack." Typically the skin blanches when the blood flow is initially disrupted due to vessel constriction. I don't usually see that step. Well, I don't see it occur on MY body. I have seen it happen to my husband. Yes, he has Raynaud's as well, but in his case there is a known cause (trauma from an accident while he was serving our country) and his symptoms are confined to one hand. What I've never seen in him is the red. That's the part that I see in my own hands the most often. From just above my knuckles down to my finger tips, my hands flush - and sometimes swell.

The blue (ummm... that part of the ribbon looks purplish to me, but let's pretend that it's blue, okay) is new for me. This winter marks the first time that I've noticed it, but now I can practically predict when it will occur. When I get to the point where I feel cold through and through, I'll fill the tub with hot water and ease into it. The heat does something to help my veins relax enough that blood can begin flowing again. That's when it happens. I turn blue. First it was just parts of my feet. Now I see it happening in my hands as well.

Blue is not my favorite color.

Kermit the Frog once sang a song about how tough it is to be green. Well, Kermit, be thankful that you aren't blue...

Feelings

Forgive me please. I know that it's been a long while. Shall I make a New Year's resolution to write more frequently? Maybe. Maybe not. I don't like making promises - even to myself - that I'm pretty sure I won't be able to keep. All I'm comfortable pledging at this point, is the sincere desire to TRY.

In the meantime, allow me a share a mysterious event. Before I begin, I'm going to have to toss in another apology because the set up for this is going to be overwhelming sticky sweet. Ordinarily, I wouldn't share this type of thing at all because, well, nobody wants to see it. I'm sorry. Just bear with me...and try not to puke or anything.

The above is a note that I placed on my hubby's side of bathroom counter-top a few months ago. Yeah, yeah, yeah. Get over it. The fact that I sometimes do gushy things like that really isn't the point. The interesting stuff is what happened to the note. You see it just stayed on the counter for a long while. I suppose that my sweet hubby couldn't bring himself to just throw it away. Or maybe he just never got around to tossing it.
Certainly I wasn't about to get rid of it!
So it just stayed there.
Oh, I'd move it around when I wiped the counter down, but otherwise, it remained in place. Earlier this week, I noticed a slight change in the note.

A slight modification...

Now, I should point out here (for those who are unaware) that my husband's name is NOT Ama. In fact, there isn't anyone by the name of Ama living in this house (that I know of anyway.) There IS a certain 7 year old named Anna in our family. It also just so happens that our Anna loves finding new and creative ways of expressing her feelings, but when I showed her the note, she refused to take credit for the alteration.

So now I'm puzzled. Who is Ama and why is she/he mad? I guess this is just one of those mysteries in life that will never be answered.

Letting it all Hang Out

School is almost here again. This morning I realized that since we will be busy nearly every other day of this week, today was our best chance at getting back to school clothes shopping done. The fact that it was predicted to rain all day didn't matter. Why shouldn't we shop in the rain? It's not like any of us were going to actually enjoy the experience anyway. Well, except for Anna. She LOVES to shop. Rain, sun, sleet or hail, give her money, she'll find a sale! I'm beginning to question if she is really my child.

Each of my three girls needed certain items. Anna, the barefoot queen of the crew, outgrew her shoes over the summer. Danielle, the artist, pretty much destroyed, with paint, most of her uniform pants last school year. Emily, the very moody 15 year old, needed uniform shirts...and something else.

My son Derek, doesn't really need any back to school clothes this year. His shoes still fit fine and since he is enrolled in a virtual public school, he won't have to wear uniforms. So lucky Derek, did not HAVE to go shopping. Unfortunately his dad had a doctor's appointment and his grandparents were unavailable. Leaving a 10 year old adhd boy home all alone for several hours wasn't an option to me. That meant that he had to come along with the girls. No problem. He brought along his DSi.

At Academy, Little Miss Picky finally settled on a new pair of Sketchers and Emily found uniform shirts. We were on a roll! No pants for Danielle though. Oh well, we on to the next stop. Old Navy was a bust. We headed to Stage. Again nothing - but the saleslady did offer to have the brand and size that my daughter wanted shipped from another store. Great! So now all we had left was Emily's...something else. For THAT we headed to the mall. I almost decided to tell Emily that we would come back for that particular item another day, but she was in such a (rare) good mood that I just couldn't. You have to understand, getting Emily to agree to a shopping trip is just slightly more difficult than it would be to train a rock to sit up and beg for a treat.

The mall parking lot was surprising full for a mid afternoon Monday. We had to park a good distance away from an entrance and then dash through the rain to the doors. It was only after we got inside that I realized that Derek left his DSi behind in the car. I did not want to run back to the car in the mess that the sky was dropping, but I also knew that he was going to need a serious distraction for our next shopping stop. Thinking quickly, I handed him my iPhone and told him that he could play one of the games on it.

There are a decent number of games apps on my phone, including a couple of educational games that I put on there just for him. Naturally he wasn't interested in those. Nope, he had discovered Hanging With Friends earlier this week and was hooked. The first time I let him play the game, I worried about the words he might send, but he surprised me with some well thought out choices. Assured that his eyes would stay mostly on the screen, we walked into a store that I ordinarily would not bring my 10 year old son into. While my fifteen year old tried on...something...my son busied himself with figuring out words that friends left for me and then creating words to send back to them. All was fine.

Until...

Derek started giggling. He was rather pleased with himself for using a five point letter in a triple letter spot. He turned the phone toward me so that I (and the saleslady next to me) could see his brilliant word choice. That's when I discovered that it is not actually possible to drop dead from mortification.

Right there, in the middle of Victoria Secret, my son sent the word NAKED to...not one of my sisters or cousins (who probably would have laughed), not to one of mommy friends (who would have instantly understood)...not even to my MOM (ok, I have no idea of how she would have reacted.) Nope. My son, playing MY game, sent the word NAKED to my high school boyfriend.



:::sigh::: I guess I should be proud that he earned enough points to fill my bonus meter, right?

Teaser Tuesday - The Crystal Cave

Teaser Tuesday is a bookish meme hosted by MizB of Should Be Reading. Anyone can play along! Just do the following:

1. Grab your current reading

2. Open to a random page

3. Share two (2) sentences from that page

4. BE CAREFUL NOT TO INCLUDE ANY SPOILERS

5. Share the author and title, too, so other TT participants can add it to their TBR lists if they like your teaser.


"Like a drunkard who, as long as there is no wine to be had, thinks himself cured of his craving, I had thought myself cured of the thirst for silence and solitude. But from the first morning of waking on Bryn Myrddin, I knew that this was not merely a refuge, it was my place."




The Crystal Cave (Book one of the Merlin Trilogy) by Mary Stewart

An Eight Cow Wife

Have you heard the story about the eight cow wife? I'll paraphrase it here for those who haven't.

Once upon a time there was a girl. She wasn't a beautiful girl. She wasn't even a pretty girl. At least, she didn't believe that she was. Her self view was reflected in the way she presented herself to the world. She slumped her shoulders when she walked and hung her head whenever she thought someone might be looking in her direction. There was, however, one young man who saw what she didn't. He loved her.

Now in the fishing village where they lived, brides were purchased with cows. Yes, I said cows. It seems ridiculous to me but that's probably because I don't like cows very much. Don't ask me why I don't like cows. Or why my dislike of cows apparently bothers me more than the fact that the fictional dads were selling their daughters... I've gotten far enough off track already. Ahem. So for whatever the reason, cows were the currency for wife shopping on this island. A pretty girl was generally worth two or three cows. An extraordinary girl could earn her father four or even five cows.

The young man in our story offered eight cows to the father of his beloved. EIGHT! It was unheard of! Especially for a girl that no one else in the village felt was worth more than one.

Later, a traveler visited the island and heard all about the foolish transaction the young man had made. It turned out that the traveler had business with the same young man. While they discussed whatever business they had, the young man's wife came in to serve refreshments. The traveler was amazed. She couldn't be the same girl that he'd heard about in the village! The woman before him was striking. The grace and poise that she carried herself radiated accomplishment and dignity. When he questioned the young man about it, the groom replied that he paid eight cows because he wanted an eight cow wife.

The story implies that the respect that you show someone will, in turn, help that person gain self respect. I believe that to be true. Not always of course. There are some people who suck in every ounce of respect you offer and still continue to wallow in shallowness. But this isn't about them. This is about a young man who helped put a broken girl back together.

My self esteem had bottomed out by the time I met my husband, but even so he was able to see something in me that I couldn't. Over time, his love and patience has helped me become the person I am today - someone who knows with every fiber of her being that she is loved. As a father, he has taught our children, by example, that relationships should be based on mutual respect. He has shown that a husband and wife should value each other. He has given them a stable home life that they are able to grow, learn and thrive in.

So on this Father's Day I want to say Thank You to my wonderful husband!

My Heaven

The sun was drowned.
Its ashes fell down
Smothering all of her world
Unable to smile
Unable to frown
Emotions were quietly furled

Dreaming had ceased
Hopes had been fleeced
Emptiness weighted her crown
Steep was the cost
Her path had been lost
She dared not to dream she’d be found

Pathetic, isn’t it?
I don’t mean the flow. I kinda like that. It’s the gloominess that makes me cringe. There is another verse, but it doesn’t fit quite right yet. I’ll finish it… eventually. The event that inspired the beginning of this particular poem took place over 20 years ago, so I figure that it shouldn’t take more than 20 more years to find the ending.

Reconnecting with someone from my past (isn’t Facebook fabulous?) and having the memories of that dark period brought back anew inspired those verses. I worked on it for a bit then put it aside and forgot about it for a while. It simply wasn't a place that was relevant to my current life.

What made me think about it again was a conversation with my son. He wondered if people in heaven are able to visit other places. I could tell from his tone that he was bothered. If you’ve read my post Life With Derek you know that this is the child who, at age three, told me that he was in heaven before he was born and that he actually got to choose our family. He doesn’t remember telling me that but it’s not something I’ll ever forget. Now that he is older and has heard what other’s think about and teach about heaven, he is worried that it might be kind of dull.

There was a time when I had the same worry.

Trying to explain everything that factored into my getting to the place expressed in that poem would take far, far too long. Instead I’m going to assign an experiment. Yes, today I’ve writing an interactive blog!!! Come on…play along. It’s easy. Grab a small piece of paper – receipt size will do but make sure that it’s something that you don’t mind ripping apart. Now grab both ends of the paper with each hand and pull. What happened? Nothing? Good. Now, cut a small slit in the top middle of the paper and pull again. HA! I told you to use a paper that you didn’t mind ripping!!!

Paper isn’t the strongest substance on earth, but it is usually able to withstand a little pulling – until you cut a slit in it. Give it a bit of a start and it rips completely apart.
The beginning of this tale is a bit like that.
There came a point in my life when a cut that should have been small enough to heal with time, opened the way for a greater tear. Hurts that had been pushed aside for a long time began to overwhelm me.

I wanted nothing more than to stop the pain. And that’s what I got.
Nothing.

The “nothing” came in the form of a bottle of little white pills that my doctor prescribed. The hurt and sadness faded, but so did everything else. With no joy, love or happiness of any kind left, I saw no point in existing. There is no doubt in my mind that if I had not been given such a strong foundation of faith in childhood, I would have ended my life at that point.

But faith did not save me in the way you might assume. What halted me was the fear that my only afterlife choices were 1) everlasting pain in hell or 2) everlasting boredom in heaven. I didn’t want to be on earth any longer, but neither afterworld option appealed to me either. Now this is where my non-believing friends would point out the third option of simply ceasing to exist. That’s exactly what I wanted, but the problem was that I simply couldn’t be positive that it would occur. Anyone who knows me knows that I’m not much of a risk taker. I needed to know more before making a decision (because in my mind, it was a very rational thing that I was considering) so I turned to a theologian.

I also stopped taking those little white pills.

The priest counseled me well.
The effects of the antidepressants wore off.
Life did not magically become wonderful – but it did become bearable.
After a few more stumbles, I met someone who helped me put myself back together.
(I’ll write more about him in my next post.)

Fast-forward twenty + years to me trying to explain what I now believe about heaven to my son. Since I haven't been there yet, beliefs were all I was able to share. There have been books written by people who claim that they have visited heaven and then returned here, but I can't say that I fully believe any of those ones that I've read. Actually I couldn't even finish the last one I started. His description was just too...boring. Naturally that wasn't what I wanted to express to my son.

Being wrapped in the tangible love of the Creator might sound amazing to many of us, but I can see how the idea might be lost on a 10 year old boy. Reconnecting with the souls of those I’m apart from now fills me with a longing that I can barely contain, but Derek’s friends are still a phone call away.

What did put a spark in his eyes was the thought of our spirits being able to fly.
Exploring the universe and discovering wonders that we aren’t able to even dream about now all sounded good too.

Was it wrong to liken eternity to the powers of a superhero? Perhaps - but at least it isn't boring.

Disclaimer!
Medications have come a long way in 20 years. My personal experience with a particular antidepressant that is probably no longer even on the market should not dissuade anyone else from following a doctor’s advice.

Waking Up

My eyes kept involuntarily closing. I didn't want them closed. The Bishop was speaking and I was both interested and impressed with the message he was delivering to my daughter's Confirmation class. And yet...my eyes keep closing. Each time I that became aware of the fact that they were closed, I would force them open only to be shocked at how bright the world around me was.

It's not like I was falling asleep. I mean, sure I was tired, but I've been tired for a long while now. Fighting fatigue has become a daily struggle. I'm not exactly sure of how to explain it, but it's not the same thing as being sleepy. Every night I get sleepy and I fall asleep. That's normal. The ever present fatigue was not. There came a point when I told my husband that I sort of felt as though I was floating back and forth between two worlds. That didn't really fit though because it wasn't that I could truly sense another world, I just knew that I wasn't completely here in this one. I wanted to be here, but try as I might, no amount of will power would tear away the heavy veil of exhaustion that had draped itself around me.

Back in March, I confessed my lack of energy during my annual GYN appointment. I wondered if it was a normal part of peri-menopause, which I suspect (wishful thinking?) I've begun. At that point the tiredness was only just starting to slowly descend on me and while I didn't want to make a big deal over it, I felt it was at least worth mentioning. He noted that it had been more than a few years since my last blood work up told me to schedule a lab visit. The lab work showed that I had a vitamin D deficiency. That surprised me because, well, this is the South. You can't avoid the sun here. What's more, I'd been spending more time outside than usual. Lots more time. Still, when the nurse read off the list of symptoms that can occur with vitamin D deficiency, I had to admit that I was experiencing nearly every one. I remember that I actually teared up with relief. There was a real reason for the way I was feeling! It wasn't in my head after all!

Remember - that was back in March. It's June now. Despite taking the prescribed vit. D supplements faithfully, everything kept getting worse. Part of me considered making an appointment with our family doctor, but the idea of telling a physician that I'm in his office for no other reason then that I'm TIRED just seemed silly.

Ahem...well....actually, I did do that once - more than a decade ago. The doctor walked in and I sheepishly admitted that the only reason I was there was because I was tired. That was it. Just tired. His quick response was that I should start antidepressants. I vehemently refused. My intense reaction to his suggestion was due to a past experience. The first (and last time) a doctor put me on antidepressants was...horrid. I'll write more about THAT in my next post.

Once the doctor saw that I wasn't going to happily accept the sample bag of mood altering drugs he offered, he decided to run a few tests. Lo and behold, it turned out that I really was sick. I had mono. He cautioned me about drinking after others and in return I informed him that I'm fanatical about not drinking after anyone (something that I've hopefully instilled in my children.) So where could I have gotten mono? Then I remembered. There was that one time, about a month before my sole symptom appeared, that I DID drink after someone.

A lot of someones.
In Church.
I've never taken the wine at Eucharist since.

Speaking of Church, I guess that I should get back to my daughter's confirmation. There I was, sitting in the pew, unable to keep my eyes open for longer than a few minutes at a time. As I listened to the service, a feeling of needing help began to fill me. Would anyone sense that I was slowly fading away? Please God, I prayed, send healing in whatever way You choose.

Then it happened. Near the end of the service, the Bishop informed the congregation that he had spoken to the class about God's gifts and then he invited those of us who wanted healing to come into the aisle so that the newly confirmed could "lay hands" on us while we prayed. I've since found out that this is something that the Bishop does at all Confirmation ceremonies, but since I haven't been to one since my own (a gazillion years ago) I didn't know that. All I knew was that I asked God to send healing and suddenly I was being asked to accept it.

Let me point out here that I'm NOT a "come to the altar" kinda person.
Doing that type of thing would mean that other people would be LOOKING at me. :::shudder::: No, no, no. I couldn't do that. But I did anyway. How could I pray for something and then just turn it away?

Now, I'm not going to pretend that a rush of energy came upon me as they prayed. In fact, I really didn't feel much different at all that night except for the new faith that I would get better. Eventually. And I am. At least I think I am.

The past couple of weeks have been far better than the two months before them. Perhaps that's due to the new exercise routine that I started a little less than a month ago. Then again, it's possible that the whole exhaustion episode has actually been a recurrence of mono (from what I've read, apparently the Epstein-Barr virus can reactive even years after the initial infection) and that the reason I'm feeling better now is simply because it's run it's course.

That's logical, right?

Regardless of what laws of nature have been at work, I feel that the faith that I will continue to "wake up" is playing a big role as well. I believe that my desperate prayer was heard and therefore my body has responded to that belief.

Have you ever felt a change in your life that you attributed to prayer?