Month: March 2018

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Up and Down

Posted on by Susannah Warner

My husband is a good father. Let me just say that right off the bat. He loves his children, has supported and protected them, played with them, and comforted them throughout our 26 year journey together as parents. Even after his diagnosis of bipolar, with its 20% mortality rate, and 90% divorce rate, he’s managed to never let our kids doubt that he has their backs and loves them unconditionally.

Bipolar, with its classic ups and downs, one would think, must be even more bewildering and frustrating to children than it is to the spouse. Before his diagnosis, and even for years after, as we struggled to find the right combination of meds, there were nights full of giddy plans and days spent in bed. Promises made to go to the playground, ride bikes, and go swimming in the throes of hypomania, often dissolved overnight into excuses, lethargy and a blanket of depression. My kids grew up with this though, they didn’t know anything different. They knew his moods so well, that my daughter could tell in one word if he was “up or down.” He called her “apple-blossom” when he was up, and “chick” when he was down. His tone too, would give it away, lilting and quick when up, gloomy and slow when down, so that even “Hi” on the phone gave it away. Our own Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, or the kid friendly version of Tigger/Eeyore.

This is not to say that he never did anything with them. Many, many times, he fought off the demon of anxiety and depression’s oppression, to fulfill his promises to them. He took them to the circus, parades, and amusement parks, many times without me as I have worked every other weekend since I was 16. These public outings for him left him riddled with anxiety, but he did it anyway. More calming to him, and just as fun for the kids, were the days spent outside; hiking, camping, fourwheeling, exploring the woods and getting dirty and tired. He did these things when he could, and the kids loved it, especially because of the life and energy that swirls around a “Tigger.”

Who can’t help but be drawn to the frenetic spark that hypomania brings?  The sky is bluer, the grass is greener, the clouds have interesting shapes, and the whole world is a playground. There are few worries in the world of Up, and boundless energy. No request need be denied, no financial concerns, even physical ailments, such as bad shoulders or aching back from years of carpentry, cease to be a consideration. It must be like a tiny slice of heaven on Earth.

But, Up’s evil twin, Down is never far away.  He also goes by the name of Eeyore, depression, hopelessness or shame. He is as heavy and gray as Up is light and sunny. Every task seems monumental, worrying turns to anxiety, and every ache and pain pile on the top of the sufferer, weighing him down and threatening to bring down the whole household, if you let it. It’s as if the brilliant sun is suddenly dimmed by storm clouds. A deluge of negativity and pain threatens to wash us all away, carrying everyone down a river of despair. A tiny slice of Hell on earth. But hold on, because summer is right around the corner. Melancholy will move and joy will return.

I liken my experiences with Bipolar to life in the Pine Tree State.  It is not uncommon in Maine to have the heat on in the car in the morning, and the AC on in the afternoon, snow might fall one day, and the next day, it is so warm, winter jackets are shucked off like snake skin. A gorgeous sunrise, the sky streaked with orange, crimson and promise, slowly fades to billows of gun metal gloom that overshadow the whole day. Life in Maine is not for the feint of heart, and neither is life with a person who suffers from a mood disorder. But, Maine is called Vacationland for a reason. It is beautiful and rugged and teaches perseverance and strength, and how to cheerfully navigate the hard times while looking forward to the good times. My kids have learned these things, and I’m thankful that they are strong, determined adults, with no signs of the infirmity their father bears. Just as Maine could never be called bland or boring; no endless flat cornfield, or boundless sunshine here, growing up with a bipolar parent has never been dull for my children. I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t trade their father or their home state, so full of color and vigor, for an anemic, yet sensible landscape. Both predictable in their unpredictableness, and more precious for it.

 

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Sick Bean

Posted on by Susannah Warner

Tines and I were both off yesterday, and had planned to visit my father. He is in a local hospital and very sick with a blood infection. We had our coats on, and were ready to go, when our daughter called from work. “Bean’s school just called. she has a temp of 103. Can you get her?” Can we? This is what grandparents are for! Responding to a distress call and swooping in to save the day is what we do best!

Our plans now completely changed, we drove the 22 miles to her school, where we were met with a flushed face, glassy-eyed girl and a relieved smile. She struggled into her coat as I asked if she wanted Papa to carry her to the car. “Nooo Noni!” she said. Even in sickness, five-year old Bean didn’t want to be seen as a baby being carried out of the school.

We drove home, Bean falling asleep within minutes, and Papa carried her in (no complaints now). Taking off her coat, she vomited twice, all over herself, and the couch. Nurse Noni sprung into action; soothing, wiping, tucking in, cleaning up, taking temperatures, offering cool drinks and warm blankets. And so, the morning and afternoon passed, Bean listless and quiet on the couch, Papa concerned and helpful, Noni in her glory.

That sounds weird, I know, even to my own ears. Why would a grandmother enjoy seeing a child so sick? Well, maybe because, thank God, I’ve never had a critically ill child, which would be a very, very different story. In fact, a co-worker has a child who is fighting for her life as I write this. A vibrant and healthy three-year old, little Brylee was struck down by the adenovirus, the same bug that made her three siblings ill, but for whatever reason, has left her fighting for her life for the past seven weeks, even in the hands of one the world’s best children’s’ hospitals. That is obviously different from fluffing and puffing a little one at home for 24-48 hours.

I think there are two reasons that I enjoy taking care of sick kids. The first is, because my own two children never, ever stopped moving from the time they could walk, and the only time that they would let me love on them, and fuss over them was when they were sick. From the time their little eyes opened in the morning, they were off like a shot, never lighting for anywhere for more than a few minutes. So, I hardly ever sat either, as there was always some near catastrophe to prevent. I could never touch them enough when they were well, they moved so fast, and they never let me cuddle with them on the couch. But, a child with a fever, loves to snuggle, nestle, be rocked and they want your presence as they never seem to care about when they are well.

Now, a fever is a matter of debate and at times, contention between Tiny and me, and has been since our daughter was born 26 years ago. You see, I believe that a fever is a good thing, intended by God to force the patient to rest and to promote healing, There is a science behind it too, involving pyrogens, which produce heat and stimulate the immune system, making it harder for microorganisms to flourish and to help shuttle iron to the liver, so that it’s not as available to fuel the growth of invading bacteria (note: end of the Susie Science lecture). However, when you compare a listless and feverish child, to one who is now playing, its hard to argue when a fever reducer makes them “seem” better. The medical community too, is quick to bring down a fever. Nurses and doctors alike, seem to want to see quick results by rushing in to reduce fever. As a nurse, I struggle with this concept, but ultimately go along with it because it is my job. However, at home, I only treat a fever if it’s dangerously high, and also before bed to help the child rest more comfortably. This is one of the many subjects “the Bickersons” butt heads over. Bean’s fever of 103.7, coupled with her malaise made the choice clear though.

The second reason I enjoy a cuddling a sick child, is because I have seen many of them in the hospital, at times with parents who are not even physically present. I remember one time, when I was still a CNA, my daughter, around two, was sick. I didn’t feel like I could miss work, because it was the weekend and her father was home. She cried when I left because she wanted me, but I left anyway and I cried myself, as I drove in to work. Strangely, my assignment that day was to be “1:1” with a very sick infant, whose parents had decided not to stay with him. I rocked him, and cuddled him all day, but the irony was not lost on me. Here I was, comforting this baby, whose parents did not care that a stranger took care of him, even when he was very sick, while I fought back tears as I rocked him because I wanted to rock my own sick baby, even though she was with her father. I think this experience has taught me that it is a blessing to be able to comfort another human being, especially a little one, and even more so, your own.

At the end of the day, Bean’s fever started to rise again, despite the Ibuprofen we had given her a few hours before. She shivered as I put her boots and coat on while Papa brought her things out to the warmed up car then returned to carry her out. The plan was for him to meet her mother at work, when she got out at 8pm. I buckled her in, and tucked a fleece blanket under her chin. “Noni! Can you come?!?” she asked desperately as her teeth chattered and she looked at me with tears in her eyes. “Yes” I said as I grabbed my coat and jumped in the back seat with her.

We met her mother as planned, and our duty as grandparents ended for the day but my duty as mother took over, as I received reports via text from my daughter that Bean had vomited once again and her temperature had climbed to 104.5. I offered my advice and prayed for them both. At the same time, I was perusing Facebook and saw a photo of little Brylee, well at the time, with her little hands clenched as if in prayer. Her mother had posted this sweet photo, and was begging for prayers from anyone and everyone as her condition was, and remains quite grave. If you have read this far, please take a minute to pray for Brylee and her family. I’m so thankful to have had a day comforting Bean. I know that she will soon be well, and moving too fast to kiss and love on, and I’m praying that Brylee will too.

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God, Bean, and The Red Balloon

Posted on by Susannah Warner

The other day at Hannaford, a local supermarket, a cashier asked Bean if she wanted a balloon. She was as ecstatic as only a three-year old can be when offered a helium balloon. I was a little surprised, as in all my years of shopping there, I have never seen them hand out balloons. The cashier spoke to the bagger, who left and came back with a red balloon. Bean was so excited, she literally jumped up and down and shouted, “I’ve been praying for a red balloon!!!!” The other shoppers couldn’t help but smile at her, and at each other, as most people do when witnessing a display of pure joy and thankfulness. They returned to their tasks, a smile still on their faces.

I knew Bean and her mother said prayers every night, as I did with her mother when she was a little girl, but I didn’t realize that they were so specific. I thought that they were more of the “bless Mama. and the kitties…” garden variety prayers. So yesterday, when Bean was visiting and we were shopping again, she told me sadly, as we entered Reny’s, that the kitty had popped the balloon and she was praying for another one. Reny’s always has balloons so it wasn’t a huge surprise, at least to me when her prayers were once again answered. Bean, however was as excited as the first time and these shoppers were just as enamored with her response as the others were at the supermarket. It made me stop and think of  how much joy it must have given God to answer yes to such a simple request. I know that He answers all of our prayers but sometimes the answer is no, just as sometimes we must say no to our children when they ask for things that would not be good for them. But, imagine how it felt for Him to see her joy, not only for the balloon itself, but also for the realization that He heard and answered her prayers.

This morning, her mother told me that Bean has decided that she wants her to have a boyfriend. She said that she would pray for one until her mother found one. This is going to be interesting,,,

Update: I wrote this and posted it on Facebook two years ago. Bean is now five, and a big girl in Kindergarten. Sadly, I don’t know if she prays with her mother every night anymore, I hope she does. But, oh yes, maybe thanks in part to Bean’s prayers, her mother “found” a boyfriend over a year ago. A boyfriend who just last night ordered pizza for them to have together while her mother was at work, and who has a son Bean thinks of as an older brother. A brother who reads to her and rides bikes with her, and although a bit reserved himself, tolerates her boundless affection. I’m thankful for the faith of a child and I’m thankful for the answers. For yes, and even for no. I think I’m going to ask Bean to pray for Papa to quit smoking, Any other prayer requests out there?

 

 

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Full Circle

Posted on by Susannah Warner

“When you get little, and I get big, you can sit in the back seat and I will sit in the front” one of my older sisters is rumored to have said when she was a preschooler. We have chuckled about this over the years, and it was brought up again recently, when my mother and I picked up my eldest sister at the train station for a long weekend visit. I was the driver, and my mother insisted on riding in the back, finally fulfilling the prophesy spouted off by a cranky four-year old, some fifty years ago.

It’s a curious thing, this circle of life. One day you are a child, the next you have children of your own. Another blink of an eye and your children are grown, and giving you advice as freely as you once gave them, with the same reception. An eye-roll, perhaps, or some other outward expression of indifference or annoyance. Yet, ultimately the advice or command is usually followed because you know that this person is one of the few in the world who loves you unconditionally, and says these things out of love and concern for your well-being as you have always done for them. As a nurse, I’ve seen this over and over again. The majority of the patients on the floor I work on are elderly, and sometimes confused. Sometimes it’s from a change in their surroundings, sometimes it’s medication induced, sometimes dementia, but mostly it’s a combination. All nurses know that when an elderly patient becomes restless or agitated, it’s best to call in a family member. Most often it is one of the children.  The “child” is quite often elderly themselves, as it is not uncommon for our patients to be well into their 90’s. The daughter or the son usually comes in regardless, even in the middle of the night.

“Mom! What’s this I hear about you giving these nurses a hard time?” is quite often the first thing I hear as they enter, a feeling of peace descending upon the room. Occasionally, the patient will have such an advanced case of Alzheimer’s that they might not recognize the family member, but still, there is some thing there. A discernment of spirit; soul to connected soul. Sometimes the presence of a family member can cause the patient to become more upset, because they want to go home with them, but I’ve seen this more when a spouse leaves, than with the children. The child holds a connection and authority that the spouse does not. Many times on the way out one of them, usually a daughter, will sidle up to the desk, and as a mother does when leaving instructions for a baby-sitter say, “now, you call me if she gives you any more trouble, and if she won’t take her pills, tell her I said that she must. ”

Now, don’t think that we as nurses don’t use this to our advantage, a scenario that goes something like this; “I know you don’t want to take your medication, Mrs. Smith, but Ruth said that you should take it. ” “Oh Ruth! ”  Mrs. Smith will scoff, swatting at the air with a hand worn smooth from a lifetime of loving. “She’s so bossy! Always has been.” Yet, the hand tips for the medication and the mouth opens for the water to wash them down.

It makes me wonder about my own days ahead. Already, my adult children give me advice and admonishment, which is not always unwarranted. I already know who will be the “bossy” one. That status unquestionably goes to my daughter. With a commanding presence and a quickness of step, I can just see her now, bustling into my hospital room, a plant in her hands (so much more practical than flowers!), 50 years from now, where I will quite possibly be languishing in bed. “Mom! It’s time to get up.” I’m pretty sure she will say, snapping open the window shades. “Breakfast will be here soon and I want you to sit in the chair and have a good meal before you take your medication. Then, we will walk in the hall, while we wait for the doctor to round and see what the plan is.” No doubt, I will be ready for breakfast, up in the chair, hair combed, teeth in, and glasses on when my tray arrives which I will gamely attempt to finish.  My daughter will be the one to gather information, give instructions and handle all the unpleasant business. She will make it look easy, and she will pass information to her brother and tell him when he should visit. She will give instructions to the nurses on her way out to call her if there are any problems or changes. She will answer the phone on the first ring, even if it is 3 in the morning.

My son will arrive with a dozen roses, because they are beautiful, not practical. He will look cautiously around the door frame to make sure he isn’t waking me. He will give me a hug and kiss my forehead as I do to him now. “How are you Mom?” he will say. He won’t say much, certainly he won’t boss me around. He will probably sit beside me and watch a TV show, he will encourage me to eat my supper (in my bed because he won’t make me get up and sit in the chair to eat), and read to me if I request it. He will help me take a walk, holding my hand to keep me steady, as I once held his when he was learning to walk. His quiet presence will be the perfect calming end to the day, just as my daughter’s vibrancy was the spark I needed to start it. He will stay with me until I’m almost asleep, then he will say “Love you Mom” as he leaves the room as quietly as he entered. He also will approach the nurses station on his way out, but with a shy smile and an offer to come back if I need him. He will also answer on the first ring even it’s 3 in the morning.

This is all conjecture, of course, based solely on how I see my children now, and from what I know of the circle of life from 30 years of caring for the elderly. I’m so thankful for the children I’ve been given, both so precious to me in their own way. I can only hope and pray I did right by them when they were little and vulnerable, and in the backseat, so that they will do right by me when I’m little and no longer the driver of my own life. I’m pretty sure I did a good job, and that they will too.