Month: July 2018

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In Sickness and in Health

Posted on by Susannah Warner

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“In sickness and in health,” is one of the phrases in traditional wedding vows, and one of the few that I remember. I don’t think about them much, but I live them every day. My husband is bipolar. He doesn’t just have bipolar, this part of who he is. Yesterday, overwhelmed, and distraught from a series of stressful events, my husband sent me the above message, called our adult children to say goodbye, and went into the woods with a loaded 9mm. Today, we went out to lunch, grocery shopped, and visited the chiropractor for a tune-up on his back. Does this sound unbelievable? If you are married to someone with bipolar it doesn’t. It’s real, it’s scary, and there is no cure. I vowed to live with him in sickness and in health, until death do us part. The problem is, death could have happened yesterday, it can happen today, and it can happen tomorrow.

Why doesn’t he take medication? He does. Why doesn’t he see a psychiatrist? He does. Why doesn’t he read the Bible, or go to church? He does both of those things, and he listens to worship music, and sermons on YouTube. His faith is very important to him, and has saved his life on more than one occasion. He is also diligent in making sure he gets enough sleep, lots of exercise and eats properly. He no longer drinks alcohol, consumes only minimal caffeine, and doesn’t drink from any aluminum cans, or use any product with aluminum in it, including certain toothpastes and deodorant because that affects his mood too. That’s how in-tuned to his body he is, how diligently we both monitor his moods. and how careful he is…but still the threat of suicide looms, as it did for his father for years, until he silenced that voice forever with a bullet to his head. “I can’t believe he held out that long,” my husband observed. He was 63 when he took his life.

“Selfish,” I’ve heard people say of those who commit suicide. The ignorance and judgement heaped on the head of those already suffering makes me sick; and so angry. They have no idea the struggle some people go through each and every day… it is truly a battle. They just get tired; tired of the mental anguish, whirlwind of thoughts they can’t escape, and the feeling like they are a disappointment and a burden. I don’t blame them at all, instead, I admire their tenacity and strength, because I’ve seen the mental fortitude that it takes to survive, over and over from my other half, my ride or die, my…Whoops, I was interrupted here, by an “up” husband, who came bouncing inside like an excited Tigger to ask me if I wanted to take the kayaks out on the river to watch the sunset. Of course I did, because this is the good side of his mood disorder; spontaneous, fun, creative and boundless energy are the good things, sadness, guilt and shame are the bad. The worst, is a mixture of the two; frenetic energy, coupled with hoplessness and total despair is the most dangerous of all, and that was the mood yesterday. But today, is an “up” day; because the darkness of yesterday’s battle is still lurking in the recesses of his mind, it makes him feel the lightness of today all the more.

There was a breeze on the river as we worked our way upstream. It wasn’t difficult, because we each had a good steady rhythm, even though we were traveling against the current. We paddled steadily for about 30 minutes, side by side, talking the whole way. I told him that I was writing about bipolar and about yesterday’s events. “Oh no,” he said, and when we got to point where we were ready to drift back, I pulled out my phone and read to him what I had written so far, right there in the middle of the river. “No, no way!” He said. “I don’t want anyone to know that!” I told him that I understood, but by hiding it, he was feeding into the social misconception of shame in mental illness, as if anyone would choose to be bipolar anymore than they would choose to have cancer. We verbally sparred for a few minutes; He, saying that he was ashamed and it would make him look weak; me, saying that this is the opposite of weak, and what if this could help someone who feels alone? We stopped talking about it for a few minutes as we continued to bob down the river, our oars in our laps, quietly admiring God’s artwork; the green of the trees lining the river, set against an azure blue sky; the reflection of both caught in the mirror of the stillness of the surface of the water. The sun slowly desended, leaving shadows on our faces, and a chill in the air, as we neared the boat landing, when he said, “I guess you can write about it.”  Now, I ask you is that weakness? Is that selfish? No, it is the epitome  of  courage and altruism. Mental illness is not for the weak, the strong survive, but the warriors thrive, and they are the only ones willing to expose themselves, and the demons they face, to help someone else. His generosity of spirit helps me to hang on, “for better and for worse, in sickness and in health, until death do us part.”

 

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Sweaters, Sweatshirts, and Scrunchies

Posted on by Susannah Warner

My husband is really very smart, so what I’m about to say should not be a measure of his intelligence. In fact, he’s the only person I know who skipped High School completely, but has a college degree. Well, actually he did attend two months at Lewiston High School, but due to some unfortunate circumstances, aka poor choices, which included, but were not limited to; fighting, drinking, skipping school, and, as the coup de grace, mistakenly blowing pot smoke in a gym teachers face, he found himself expelled from school. For my readers out-of-state, and outside of the U.S., know that Lewiston can be a rough little city, and as I’ve heard it referred to more than once as the “armpit of New England,” expulsion from a school like Lewiston High is no easy task, especially in 1979, when they actually had smoking sections for kids. Weedgate notwithstanding, my husband tackled some tough courses in college, and even though I am a nurse, I always ask him anatomy questions because I am the sort of person who studies to pass the test, and he is the sort of person who studies to learn. Kinesiology, Pathology, Neurology, he passed with ease, but Fashion 101, umm nope.

“I haven’t seen you wear a scrunchie lately,” he said to me last week. I laughed out loud, thinking he was kidding, then stopped when I realized that he was serious. Now, I actually do have a few velvet scrunchies tucked away, because although dated, they really are very comfortable and don’t tug at my hair, but I have not worn one out in public since 1992. I’m a little surprised that he knows what a scrunchie is in the first place, as I’ve had to educate him on the difference between a sweater and a sweatshirt on more than one occasion. If this seems incredible to you, my reader, consider this conversation between my son and my husband, two manly men, several years ago, and smartly preserved by me in my notes, to be used at a later date; this being the day.

Husband: “So, the difference between a skirt and a dress is the length…”

Son: “No, no, I’m pretty sure that a dress is a shirt and a skirt put together. ”

Husband: “Nooo, I think that a dress is below the knee, and a skirt is above the knee, and a dress zips in the back. ”

Son: “Mom? We’re waiting for your expert opinion…”

After I stopped laughing, and confirmed that the “Son” was correct, I asked them what the difference was between a sweater and a sweatshirt. A lively discussion ensued regarding hoods, zippers, pockets, buttons, pullovers and cardigans at which point my husband insisted that the only difference was that a sweater could be turned inside out (what the….????). This had me laughing even harder until I pushed the merriment too far, and asked if they knew the difference between leggings and tights. The “Son” left the room in disgust, while the “Husband” struggled to explain. “One of them has built-in socks, and the other doesn’t, I’m not sure which one though.”

If this all seems like a putdown, it assuredly is not. I actually find his lack of knowledge on the subject endearing. I know that for my part, his abundance of tools would be incredibly daunting to name, let alone use correctly, and I really have no desire to be educated on drill bits, screwdrivers, types of hammers and power tools. That is his world, and I love that he knows how these things work, and can use them to build a house or fix a faucet. I’m sure if he wanted to laugh, he could have me try to explain the difference between a hacksaw and a miter saw…”Umm, they both cut? But, the hacksaw is used for hacking at things? And probably the miter saw is for detail work? I guess?”

I’m wondering what my husband will think of this, as he is away camping for a few days, and I can’t get his opinion before I post it, as I usually do. But, if he were here, I would ask him if he could tell me what I am currently wearing on the lower half of my body. I’m pretty sure that he would not know that these are called yoga pants and that he would say something that makes me laugh, and quite possibly be used as fodder for future blogs. It’s just ust one of the many, many reasons that I love him.

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East to West “Empty Nest” is the Best

Posted on by Susannah Warner

I love my children. Let me just make that clear right off the bat. I loved it when they were babies and their eyes tracked me wherever I went. I loved it when they learned to walk and wobbled their way across the room, and lurched straight into my arms. I loved it when they were preschoolers and asked “why?” and followed me everywhere, even to the bathroom. I loved it when they were in school and brought their friends home, and I made meals for them, and they all slept over. I loved when they were in High School and I could chat and gossip with their friends, even when my kids were at work, or still sleeping, and I loved going to games, meets and competitions. I even loved crying secretly at their graduations, just as I cried openly the first time they climbed on the school bus. Those days are behind me now, and all I can say is…. “Thank God!!”

My husband and I are empty-nesters! Well, kind of; our adult son still lives at home, while he saves for a home of his own. But, he works a lot, and is often out with his friends, and he helps with the bills, so he feels more like a friendly boarder than our kid. A friendly boarder who just now while I’m typing away, sitting on a swing on our back deck, thoughtfully brought me a slice of pizza and a wad of paper towels to soak up the greasy goodness. Pizza that I did not have to buy, or even think about buying, because he takes care of his own meals. Plus he makes the coffee in the morning, does a lot of the yard work, and he watches Shameless, The Office and Seinfeld with me, so having him here is a pleasure.

This means that my husband and I are free to do whatever we want, when we want. I can’t tell you how fun that is! Maybe it’s because I’ve been at this Mother thing for a long time; almost 27 years actually. And since we watched our granddaughter while her mom was at work for the first four years of her life, we were tied down even after our own kids were adults. We loved that “job,” but now that she is old enough for school, we are officially retired from childcare and have her when we want, like grandparents do.

This newly found freedom has led to many adventures for us already. We’ve started to travel, real travel, which requires a passport and long arduous airplane rides. We go four-wheeling, kayaking, jeeping and walking on a daily basis, and plan adventures for our selves. like zip-lining and skydiving (He’s addicted, me…not so much!). On my days off, four a week for me, because I am a nurse, we go to bed when we want and get up when we want. We can take naps, and our housework is minimal because we have no more mini tornados leaving a trail of destruction. In short, life is good right now; easy, selfish and relatively carefree.

I can see why this might be hard for some people, women in particular I think, because our identities are so wrapped up in our children. We are “Mom,” and that’s how we think of ourselves.  I remember when my son went to kindergarten, those first few times of grocery shopping with out him, I felt so unmoored and anonymous. I had been taking a little one shopping with me for 11 years, actually my whole adult life, and without one or both of my children with me, I felt like a nobody; a nameless woman perusing the aisles. But, I got over that pretty quickly when I realized how fast I could get it done, and I spent far less without cute little faces  imploring me to buy sugary cereals for the prize inside (side note: what happened to the prizes in cereal anyway?).

Suddenly, being a mom was not first and foremost in my life. Being a mother has been my most important job, and the one I’m most proud of. I poured my heart and soul into my children. I spent all my free time with them when the were growing up, and I’m proud to say, for the most part I wouldn’t change a thing about the way I raised them. I remember even in my early 20’s thinking, “I don’t want to regret anything, and I don’t want them to ever wish that I would have spent more time with them.” I’m thankful that I had the wisdom at that young age to live for them, instead of for me, because now that they are adults, I can live for myself without guilt. And because my husband and I invested so much time into them when they were little, now they want to spend time with us, which is great. Except for sometimes, but that’s OK because believe me,  I have no qualms about saying, “your father and I want to be alone.” Woot! Woot!