Category: Uncategorized

Posted in Uncategorized

The Heartache of Bipolar (take 2)

Posted on by Susannah Warner

I wrote this piece about bipolar disorder last year, after watching an episode of Shameless on Netflix. I could identify so strongly with the family, and also with the character, that I had to write about it. My husband is bipolar. I know that there are some people who prefer the term to be “has bipolar,” rather than IS, but this is who he is, the good and bad. It is not like a head cold, or the flu, and you can’t shake it off like a stifling hot coat, or wrap yourself in it when you are chilly. It is who he is, and it is who we are. Courage and tenacity are the requirements to survive, but love, acceptance, and understanding are needed to thrive. Bipolar can be beautiful, and exciting when experiencing the “up” side. There is creativity, and generosity, and fun there; but also risk and danger.  I wanted to write from his point of view as well as mine. I wasn’t sure if I captured what it’s like from his side, but he assured me that I did. I want the reader to know that a person with bipolar, or any mental illness, does not choose this life, and they suffer so greatly when they can’t be who they think their loved ones want them to be. But that is not the end of the story. There is help. There is no cure, but there is relief. If you love a person with bipolar, or you are that person, know that you are brave, you are strong, and you are not alone.

 

What if you felt dead inside, although you were still breathing? What if you felt so dry that you thought that your bones could wither and die? What if your child’s laugh felt like nails on a chalk board? What if the sounds of breakfast, and of your family preparing to face the world, melted the small amount of courage that you had left? What if the sound of the birds chirping was an assault to your ears, and the sun seemed to mock the darkness of your spirit? After all, the sun is up and you should be too, both your body and your mood. Everyone else is; it has been a cold, snowy winter, and a rainy spring. But now, summer is here, people are happy, why can’t you be one of them? They come out to wash their cars, walk their dogs, and barbecue with friends. But not you. The pain in your body joins the pain in your mind, crippling you. Your bed is safe, and the world is not. The weight of responsibility sits on you like a ton of bricks, it overpowers you. You can’t breathe out there. The air is too fresh, and the light too bright. Darkness is the place to hide; where for you, wrapped in your blanket cocoon, in your darkened room, solitude is the only safe place in this world. But the price of security is shame. You wallow in your guilt, you wear it like a chain draped over your shoulders, crushing but reassuringly familiar.

 

I see you there, in bed, wrapped up, nothing sticking out but your head which faces the wall. I know that this is a “down day.” I know that you will not get up today. I know that you will not take the kids to the playground and to get ice cream, and play outside all day like you promised yesterday, because that was yesterday, an “up day.” I hear the kids downstairs, letting the refrigerator door bang open, and the bowls clunk together as they get cereal while watching Saturday morning cartoons. The sun is out, and they are ready for their day of fun. They argue about what they will do with you first. I know what will happen when I go down. “Where’s Dad?” they will say, disappointed to see boring Mom instead of fun Dad. “He’s not feeling well,” I’ll say. “Probably it will just be us today,” My voice will be light, and bright, but they will not be fooled. “OK” they will say, turning their faces back to the TV, no longer questioning why. I will turn the emotional barometer up to “extra happy” to combat the rapidly declining moods, sun or no sun. But. before I face them and spend the day making it up to them, I go to your side of the bed. You have tears in your eyes, you have the saddest face I have ever seen, at least since last time. “I’m sorry, I just can’t” you mumble. “It’s ok” I say, “you will feel better tomorrow.” You nod, even though you don’t believe that this is true. But, you trust what I say, even if it seems impossible today. You know, that I know, what you cannot know today. I will know it for you, and I will carry us through until then.

I know that you are grateful for the steadiness of my moods, neither high highs, or low lows. I know that you will wrap yourself in sadness and guilt all day, It would be cruel to say the obvious; that this is not fair, and that I never planned on being at the park all day, and that I have tons of laundry to catch up on, and would it be too much to ask to give me a freaking hour alone to read a book or take a nap for God’s sake? My only consolation is that I know that you would never choose this. You have told me more than once that at least I can get away from you when you are like this; that you can’t get away from yourself. I also know that if there was a choice between you and me having this disease, you would choose it a thousand times, so that I wouldn’t have to feel the pain of darkness. I give you a kiss, and tell you to rest even though I know a hundred days would not make your exhausted soul feel rested. But, we are a team. We are one. When you are down I am the half that is up and when the buoyancy of your mood threatens to carry us all away, I will be an anchor and bring us back to earth. I do this because I love you, and because I promised to be there in sickness and in health and because I know that joy comes in the morning. Tomorrow you will probably be “up” even though it will rain. You will roll around, and wrestle with the kids on the floor. You will play games, and make omelets, and clean the whole house. You will not feel the pain that just yesterday, made you feel like you had been “run over by a truck.” You will be fun, and exciting, and everyone will forget the darkness of this day. Just as it is impossible to remember the chill of winter while basking in summers warmth, so it is with Bipolar. The lows make the highs even sweeter. But today is not that day, today you are down, so I will be up. I put on my sneakers and my happiest face and off I go.

Thankfully, our life together is not as labile as depicted here, but it was just like this for many years, before a diagnosis and the trial of many medications. It took a long time before we found the right combination, and the side effects were sometimes harsh. In addition to medication, we have found that sleep, a healthy diet, and copious amounts of exercise, especially exercising outside in nature helps immensely. Still, there is no cure, and there are highs and lows. Suicide is an ever present danger, and approximatly 20% of bipolar sufferers do take their own lives. My husband’s dad killed himself a few years ago, so it is a very real, and present danger. We don’t take it lightly. Bipolar is something we will live with forever; riding out the lows and making the most of the highs, together.

Posted in Uncategorized

10 Reasons Why I Am Still Married

Posted on by Susannah Warner

Formerly known as 8 reasons.

I wrote this a year ago, and just reread it for the first time when it popped up on my timeline. I’m kind of surprised at myself for forgetting a few good reasons why we are still married. Maybe, I didn’t forget, maybe they are just things I have learned over the last year. If that’s the case, then hopefully I can add to this yearly, like a modern-day epistle. I’m going to aim for 100 reasons, although, for this year, I think I’ll be happy with getting to ten, Here are #9, and #10, which I’ll tack on the bottom..

Sometimes I’m shocked by how old we sound. Here we were, on our way to church (of course we were!), when I realized that the following types of conversations happen when you’ve been married for a long time. We had just bickered briefly about the former whereabouts of a hair salon called Xana-do, after we passed the new location. We gave up quickly as neither side was willing to concede, and because neither one of us was in a contentious enough mood to whip this innocuous subject into a full-blown argument. We moved on to discuss a woman who we used to know who worked there. “Is she still with Tony?” I asked. “Nah,” my husband replied, “they broke up years ago, actually, it was more like decades ago.” He said this seriously but I burst into laughter because it  sounded so ridiculous and so old. It made me realize that I must have picked up a few pointers along the way that I will gladly share, but as you read them, please consider the source. Although we have managed to stay married for 25 years (now 26!), we have wrangled over every banal subject under the sun, and I don’t think that it will change anytime soon.

#1 Keep the fights clean: we don’t do this at all, we are terrible, dirty fighters. We have thrown rings and insults, we fight bitterly and often, and sometimes go to bed angry, Our disagreements once prompted my then six-year old niece to say, “you two are always either fighting or kissing.” This is true. Some couples say they don’t argue at all. I don’t know if this is bad or good, You could say that they have less passion in their marriage but then again, they also would have a lot less heartache, and probably more sleep.  Never mind this advice, I’m not fit to give it.

#2 Know each others strengths and weaknesses: This took us years and years to realize. When our daughter was a baby, I thought that things should be fair. We both worked, and I felt that on our days off, he should take turns with me getting up early. We never fought more than during that bleak period of time, I really didn’t understand that he was a night owl,and that as a life long early bird, it made more sense for me to get up, at least most of the time. When our son arrived six years later, we had seven years of marriage, and parenthood under our belts and came up with a plan that worked for both of us. He would take the “night shift”, and I would do  the “morning shift.” Our son was sensitive as a baby and never slept well. After nursing him, sometimes he slept, but often he needed to be walked or rocked for hours and would wake up as soon as these activities stopped. My husband was on duty until 2 am, and when the baby woke after that, I would take over. Since I was usually in bed by 9 or 10 pm, this actually felt like a suitable arrangement at the time, but writing this now, my goodness, this sounds like a miserable existence! My point is though, we figured out a way to make it work by using our strengths to our favor rather than our weaknesses against us.

#3 Have fun together: Millennials call this “date night” and that is fine and good for them, but when we were just starting out, we had no money for date nights. I am well aware that this makes me sound old, but don’t worry, I wont launch into one of those, “when we were your age” parables. Suffice it to say that we have never really spent much money in the pursuit of merriment. Oh, we have taken family trips to amusement parks and beaches, we have gone out to eat by ourselves and to the movies and Broadway plays and museums. Sometimes though these have ended up feeling like a commandment to have fun.’Thou shall take thy family to the beach and all will have fun, for thou art an American family.’ But one sandy bottom, two sunburned shoulders and three temper tantrums later and the whole “happy family” sham topples like a house of cards. These family pursuits of happiness have not all been failures. We have had fun too, but our favorite times together are simpler arrangements. Walks, board games or cribbage, playing softball together on our church team, jeep and four-wheeler rides,  hiking, (when he makes me feel guilty that I haven’t gone with him in years), shopping ,(when I make him feel guilty), all things that we do for our “date nights.” For me, I don’t care if we are just sitting on the couch watching Survivor, as long as he keeps making me laugh during the commercials.

#4 If at all possible, sleep in separate beds!!!  OK, this is a weird thing to say, and certainly this would not work for every couple, but I’m just going to say it anyway.  Because for us,  given that we are polar opposites in many ways, especially in our sleep habits, if we had not done this about 15 years ago, we probably  would be divorced now. I’m not saying that he can’t come visit, but when its time to get down to the serious business of sleep, (and the older you get, the more you treat it seriously), he needs to pack up and go back home.

This is why this works for us: I go to bed early, he goes to bed late. I have my covers tucked, his are swirled around like a hurricane hit his bed. I make my bed as soon as I am on my feet in the morning, if he makes his at all, it is a few minutes before he climbs into at night. I have a top sheet (who doesn’t?!?), he does not. I sleep with my electric blanket on from September until June, he is like a furnace and needs only one blanket. I like to have a mattress topper, he does not, “That stupid thing is too hot and soft.” I’m sure you get the picture. Sleeping apart has actually not separated us, it has brought us closer. I guess the real lesson here is, don’t be afraid to let go of what you think a couple should look like. Create your own bubble.

#5 Remember what attracted you on him in the first place: My husband is a bad boy,  I have always gone for the bad boy. They are exciting and dangerous and everything I am not. Bad boys are fun to date but a nightmare to marry. At least he was for the first several years, still is sometimes, but although he hasn’t changed, my attitude has. For the first several years, I tried to change him, and mold him to my version of the perfect husband. This created so much drama that I wondered if we could ever get through it. But, about the time that our daughter starting having problems with a bully at school, I realized the value of having a tough customer on your team. He has dealt with every tricky situation, including somehow, the bully, and walked head on into difficult and sometimes dangerous situations to protect and to keep our family together. He keeps things interesting… I think I’ll leave it at that. This may not be your spouse. Your spouse might be the solid, boring one, as I am. Remember, what you liked, and admired about that person and try to be thankful that they are different from you. which brings me to…

#6 Embrace the differences: My husband and I are like night and day. He is bipolar and has ADHD. Because of this, he is spontaneous, and colorful, fun and a risk taker. But, he has so much going on in his brain that at times, he is overwhelmed and can become anxious. I am solid as a rock, but a little bland, and not much of a risk taker as evidenced by the fact that I have been working at the same facility since I was 16, that’s almost 30 years if you are counting! He helps me to have fun, and I help him to stay calm and grounded. He wrestled with the kids while I kept things on schedule. He hunted, fished, rode ATV’s, hiked and showed them wildlife, and I read and watched movies with them, went to every game, meet, event and most practices, sat in waiting rooms, filled out insurance forms and comforted the sick and injured. Don’t get me wrong, sometimes we did these thing together, and because the my job requires me to work every other weekend, he was pressed into service and nicely filled my shoes as Mom, albeit, a fun one. Last night, I asked him to make me a grilled cheese, because he makes the best, and when I was finished eating he asked me to make him a “big sandwich”, a giant deli style heated cheese and sliced ham stuffed affair. I could have made my own grilled cheese and he could have made his own sandwich, and twenty years ago, we probably would have, reluctant to ask a favor, lest one of us be beholden to the other and unwilling to admit that we each have skills the other does not. These days though, older and wiser, we see this as a benefit, not a competition.  I never liked wrestling on the floor with a rambunctious kid and he is not really a fan of Laura Ingalls Wilder.

#7 On the big issues it helps to agree: We may be the Bickersons about mundane things, but on the big issues we agree, To me, these are politics, religion, and money. Well, we really don’t agree on money, because he is generous to a fault, and also never in my life I have I seen someone literally lose money as he does. I’ve actually witnessed it fall to the ground, not that surprising as he does not like a wallet and instead stuffs bills in his front pocket. But, we do agree that I’m the better manager of it so usually I handle the bills and do whatever I want with it except for large ticket items. Those, we talk about. Although, it’s really not much of a discussion as the more I spend, the better he likes it. The other two issues, we agree on. He is more zealous about politics, and I am more so about religion, but we do agree and because our values mesh, we have had a solid foundation to build our marriage.

#8 Prayer (Don’t stop reading here!) This is not the part where I try to force my Christian values on you. I know that not everyone who reads this believes in the power of prayer and that’s OK. Don’t throw the baby out with the bath water, as my mother has been known to say. Actually, I hate that saying. Anyway, prior to meeting my husband, I had a few relationships, that after a time,  I felt the need to pray about. Each time, I asked that if this was not the right person for me, to end it now. Four times I did this, and three times the relationship ended in a week. To some, this might seem like a coincidence or maybe that I was just acting out what I obviously felt anyway or why would I have prayed in the first place. Whatever you believe, if you find yourself at a crossroads why not throw that prayer out there? It won’t hurt either way.

So, that’s it. I’m sure there are many reasons that we are still married that I have not mentioned.  Chief among them, might be stubbornness, convenience and maybe we actually love each other (I know we do). It’s a gamble for sure. The stakes are high but the payoff is higher, at least for us. Now, pardon me while I have my husband read this. I’m pretty sure I know just what he will say, “oh, that’s nice, I look like an irresponsible jerk and you look like the martyr”. We quite possibly will argue about it this afternoon. apparently,  that’s just the way we like it.

P.S. What he actually said after he read it was , “Yeah, that’s nice, it’s pretty good……..martyr”.

Addendum: 2018 

#9 Appreciate the little things: Whenever we go out to a Chinese restaurant, my husband always gives me his fortune cookie, not because he doesn’t like them, but because, “you like them more.” This small act of selflessness is what I think love is all about. A marriage, I think, can be made or broken by the little things. Of course, there are big things that can cause a break-up; infidelity and abuse chief among them, but in many marriages, I think it might be more about the little things that we do,or don’t do for each other that can make all the difference. Forehead kisses, foot-rubs, picking wildflowers, holding the door open for me, putting washer fluid in my car, leaving notes in my lunchbox, he does little things for me all the time, and they mean so much more to me than any grand sweeping gesture. He’s far better at this than I am, which brings me to…

#10 Keep working on it: A marriage, like our old house, needs constant attention, and upkeep to keep it in good shape. Much like an abandoned house looks unloved and forlorn, so a marriage falls apart if it’s not given TLC. It is very easy, especially when you have young children and jobs, to not give it the maintenance it deserves, but it will be alright, as long as the foundation is secure; there will be plenty of time in the future to rebuild, stronger and more beautiful than before. But, if the foundation is neglected to the point that it crumbles and breaks, it might be all but impossible to repair it. Don’t let that happen. Don’t take it for granted, and not invest even the smallest amount of kindness, thoughtfulness and appreciation to your partner. Because that’s what they are, your partner; no one gets you like they do, and no one will love your children like they do. At times, over a period of 28 years, we have let things go, but always in the nick of time, something wakes us up and makes us rebuild. We are a little older and wiser now, but still we need to invest in renovations, not for resale value. or even curb appeal, but just to continue to enjoy living in this beautiful institution of marriage.

That’s it for this year’s edition of “Marriage advice from a middle-aged woman,” Stay tuned, I’ll re-post this next year, hopefully with more reasons.

 

 

Posted in Uncategorized

The Fixer

Posted on by Susannah Warner

Today my Father is eighty years old. I really can’t believe it, and I’m sure he can’t either. I want him to know on this special day, how grateful I am for the relationship we have had all these years, and that I still think of him as the fixer, even after all this time.

When I was newly married, and a silly girl of 19, I asked my husband to fix my broken necklace.”Fix it?!? Nah, we will just have to get you a new one, or take it to get fixed.” I was stunned. “But, my father always fixes my broken jewelery.” “Well, take it to your dad then,” was the reply. No disrespect to my husband, he was only 25 at the time, and since then has proved that he can fix almost anything that can, and does break in a home, and he can even build the home itself.

I guess what surprised me was that not all men are like my father. Not every man can fix anything that needs fixing, or wants to. Not every man knows the answers to impossible questions like, “which one is worse, a heart attack or a stroke?” Or, “is a tornado worse than a hurricane?” Or, “who is Dow Jones?” And not every man will take the time to explain the answers to a little girl who still remembers needing to know, 40 years later. Some men do not care to be subjected to the Little House on the Prairie series, all eight books of them, read aloud by a fumbling, bumbling eight year old beginner. Some men do not stay up late to fashion the best polyhedron ever, for a girl struggling in geometry, or spend an afternoon teaching her how to stop and start on a hill with a standard, so that she no longer avoids stop lights on an incline.

My father and I spent a lot of time together when I was growing up. He was usually puttering around outside, and I often tagged along. We spent a lot of time just hanging out, not necessarily saying much. It wasn’t about what was said, it was the fact that he enjoyed spending time with me. A little girl learns a lot from a friendship with her father, most importantly she learns how she wants to be treated by men in the future. I’m thankful for the ease of our relationship which many little girls do not have with their fathers. Sadly, some have grown up with a distrust in men; they were not the fixers they should have been in their lives, they were the breakers. I’m thankful that he set the bar high, and that my husband has lived up to those expectations, except for maybe fixing that broken necklace.

Happy Birthday, Dad!!

Posted in Uncategorized

Protect and Serve

Posted on by Susannah Warner

“The Oath of Honor” you swore,

long, shifts you bore.

The pay wasn’t enough,

the work was tough.

But you wanted to protect and to serve,

it wasn’t about what you deserved.

Integrity and Honor you gave,

with the lives you may have saved.

You gave all that you could give,

a life well lived.

Now to your reward you may go;

there is one thing more though,

watch over us from above,

shower us with love.

Let your death be not in vain,

on our towns, may peace now reign.

 

 

 

Posted in Uncategorized

Wanderlust and Wonderlust

Posted on by Susannah Warner

 

Webster’s dictionary defines wanderlust as a “strong longing for, or an impulse toward wandering” and wonder, as “a cause of astonishment or admiration.” In the case of travel, it seems these are very closely related. Why else would a rational person spend sometimes thousands of dollars, only to return home exhausted, constipated, sniffly, and possibly back, leg, and footsore, if not in search of wondrous things? Why indeed? I ask myself this question right before we leave for every vacation, as I’m frantically stuffing (my husband rolls his things, I stuff) my whole life into a 12 X 24″ canvas rectangle on wheels, or worse, a well-intentioned, but now ridiculously small backpack. “I guess I’d rather just stay home,” I always think to myself, or as I said to my mother the night before my husband and I departed for Europe, “I think I really just want to take a day trip to Greenville instead.” She laughed, but she knows exactly what I mean, because she has said something similar herself.

All those dreams of grandeur, so many months ago, when I perused the world, or the country on my laptop, searching for the perfect spot, dreaming of wandering, wondering and marveling at new sites, my equally amazed and jovial partner at my side, have suddenly evaporated into a mist of palpable folly, a reality smack in the face, as my husband and I quibble about who will be responsible for the liquids, who has to stuff my flatiron into their already bulging bag, and why do we have to take all of this damn candy? Sort of an emperor’s new clothes situation, where everyone says how wonderful it is,  and only the honesty of a child or a simpleton (née genius) will reveal the truth; that planning and execution are two very different things.

The joy of planning and the anxiety of packing aside, in this day of social media, there is at least the pleasure of plastering smiling selfies everywhere, Facebook proof that we are having  a wonderful time!!! My husband complains that we always look the same in every selfie, and that we could easily get away with using only one picture with multiple different backdrops. I can only attribute this statement to the undeniable fact that my face looks decent from only one angle, something my daughter calls “a snapchat face,” and the sad truth that my husband does not know how to fake a smile without looking like a psycho. Thus, we look the same in every shot as far as pose, but with a smorgasbord of emotion plastered on my husbands face, depending on what day of vacation we are on. His countenance runs the gamut from bemused and tolerant on day 1, to somber, midway through, to downright surly by the end. See what I mean?!?39F5BC0D-32CD-4FEF-B764-5D632CDF7BD7.pngMe? Every shot shows me with my head turned slightly to the side, a knowing half-smile, meant to portray confidence, yet fun! fun! fun! on my face. Don’t get me wrong, I do enjoy the trip itself, or else what is the point? But I, like many travelers before me, have reconciled the fact that there are, and will be multiple annoyances, including, but not limited to the traveling companion, along the way.

Maybe it’s the way my husband and I attack our vacation. First of all, our destinations thus far, have not been conducive to peace, harmony and rest. We tend to pick bustling cities (Rome! Florence! NYC! D.C.!) or amusement parks ( Six Flags! Disney! Bush Gardens!) where the goal is to see as many things as you can, and really get our money’s worth. We pounce on each trip as if we are contestants on the reality show, “The Amazing Race.” Striking forth purposefully, a trusty backpack on someones back, which is loaded with drinks, money and a selfie stick, we march forth. We cover at least 10 miles a day, often closer to 15, seeing the sites, taking photos as evidence, and then on to conquer the next wonder. So much time is spent on foot, that my only consideration when packing footwear is comfort, and my only consolation is the fact that I always lose weight while on vacation. We pride ourselves on never using public transportation even to the point that my husband and I recently bickered about taking Uber to the airport. It’s true, it was only 3 miles from our hotel, BUT, we had already walked 13 miles that day, AND there was the little matter of navigating the interstate, backpacks on our backs, looking like a couple of well groomed hobos. I won this round, Thank God!

I think we must like this, since we keep planning the same kind of get-away. Certainly anyone who suffers from, or who is the loved one of someone with ADHD, knows that this is necessary for the sanity of both people. No leisurely cruises or lying prostrate in the sand for us. The shore is not the friend of a person who must perpetually move, unless hang gliding, scuba diving or possibly deep-sea fishing is involved. Also, a vigorous march, enough to produce a sweat, and a horrible case of chaffing, in search of interesting items vomited from the ocean must be accomplished until the sunburned, cranky and sandy bottomed family returns home; the parents having vowed not to return next year.

I just realized that I must seem like a Negative Nelly, or a Debbie Downer (Suzie Sunset he just called me when I read this to him). I’m really not, I’m actually a rose-colored glasses kinda girl, an eternal optimist, a “Suzie sunrise.” So much so, that even on the way home, an overstuffed backpack at my feet (the very one that caused my bag to be emptied and searched because I forgot about a few items that were supposed to be declared) because he couldn’t stuff it into the overhead, a nicotine withdrawing husband at my side, and an 11pm flight, after we just hiked a half marathon, we started planning our next trip. No matter that we always lose at least half a day to a sullen silence while we are “enjoying ourselves” born from too many days together, or that we just spent a pile of money so that we could be excited to go home. No, there is something about traveling that although uncomfortable, stressful and intolerable at times, makes you want to do it all over again. There is a natural amnesia that I liken to childbirth. The planning is great, the execution can be brutal, but minutes after it is over, the bad stuff is history, and by the time you want another, you’ve forgotten most of it. It’s a travel bug, and we have it. We lust for new adventures and new places. It’s a wanderlust I guess, or maybe just a wonderlust. Either way, there will be more traveling in our future, if only to provide anecdotal fodder for my blog. Stay tuned.

C7C8E4F2-6FCC-46E6-872A-061FEA4AFD3C
Last selfie he allowed for the rest of the trip

 

Posted in Uncategorized

It’s My Blogaversary!!

Posted on by Susannah Warner

“Don’t be ‘a writer’, be writing.” ~William Faulkner

Today marks one year since I started a blog. “Happy Blogday!” My husband said when I told him, although we both agreed that “blogaversary” sounds better. In any event,  this is my 58th post, so I’m averaging about one a week. That’s a lot of words, and I’ve yet to run out of them. Actually, it has only wet my appetite to write more. It’s almost like other good-for-you good habits like exercise and eating right; they are both hard to start, but once you do, it almost becomes an addiction.

“To write something, you have to risk making a fool of yourself. ” ~Anne Rice

I had five viewers on my first post, a year ago. Two of which, were my views I think. Of the other three, I think one was my husband, one was my sister, and one was my niece, all of the members of this OG trio have been tireless cheerleaders this past year. My last post by comparison, has had 498 views so far. My blog has 109 followers on Facebook now, I have 115 e-mail followers, and I’ve had views from people in 39 countries, some of them quite surprising (hello, Kazakhstan and Guyana!). This is really nothing in comparison to some bloggers with thousands of readers, who can make a living on blogging alone. I must say, to get paid to write would be a dream come true, but I have no plans of giving up my day job of nursing. I wonder if people who get paid to blog have editors or if they have to still rely on their own skills. Boy, that would be something. I try my best, but the fact that I slept through my sophomore honors English class has become woefully apparent over the past year. My apologies to those of you out there cringing at the lack of commas, misuse of colons and semicolons (I can never get those straight!) or out-and-out wrong words, such as last week when my mother pointed out after I had posted that I wrote “feint of heart” rather than “faint.” Oh well, one of the first hurdles I jumped when I started, was the feeling that I should only post something if it was perfect. I decided right from the beginning, that I’m not an editor, nor perfect, and my blog won’t be either, and that I wouldn’t let that stop me. However, I’m not embarrassed or upset if someone wants to point out my errors. I welcome constructive criticism.

“Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart.” ~William Wordsworth

Even more than that, I welcome all the wonderful comments, on Facebook, on my site and in person. The fact is, I would write anyway, it’s gotten to be a necessity for me. I don’t post everything I write, a lot of it is therapy for me, and not intended for the public. But, I do put alot of personal things out there, because I believe that good writers are honest writers. It has been the things that I write that make me emotional as I write them, that people have responded to the most. Some have said that they’ve cried when they read certain ones, some have said that they have laughed. To have someone say that they felt something, good or bad, from what I wrote, is the biggest complement I could ever receive.

“No tears in the writer, no tears in the reader.” ~ Robert Frost

Reflecting over this past year, I’m very grateful to my family and friends who encouraged me to start a blog. My goal, a year later, is the same as when I started, which is to get my thoughts out of my head and on paper, hopefully for someone to enjoy, but as an oulet for myself if nothing else. I would love to write a novel, and to that end, I have pinned about a hundred inspirational quotes on a Pinterest board, from some of the world’s greatest writers. As I’ve yet to write one word of this future best-seller, I might have to stop pinning and start doing. Hmmmm, that reminds me of that pallet swing I want my husband to get going on. Anyway, as most writers do, I do my homework (ha!) by reading for pleasure. But mostly, I just observe and notice. I try to remember to smell, feel, look and listen wherever I am, and whatever I’m doing, because stories are everywhere, something my poor family and friends have learned over the past year. Be careful what you say in front of me, because it might end up in print!

“My aim is to put down on paper what I see and what I feel in the best and simplest way.” ~Ernest Hemingway

My first post is below, and as only five people saw it, well, possibly only three, I decided to show it again.

My first post ( I’m sorry this is ridiculous but I had to start somewhere)!

Posted on 
  • Well, this is exciting! My first post! I found my way here by literally googling “how do I start a blog” this morning. My desire to write and to share my life has finally outweighed any reticence I have felt about this strange new world. Currently I am befuddled by terms such as widget, gadget and cookies. I know this is pathetic but if you are out there and are miraculously still reading, please be kind and offer any insights and pearls of wisdom that you may have. In the meantime, I will carry on, stumbling through the blogosphere like a virtual Mrs. Magoo, blind and clueless, but basically harmless. No doubt, many blogging blunders await as well as an occasional social gaffe. But like thousands of explorers before me, I will plunge in and forge ahead, secure in the knowledge that at least for me, movement in any direction, even occasionally backwards, is better than sitting around and waiting for something to happen.  Thank you for reading.

Susannah Warner

 

Posted in Uncategorized

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.

 

Posted in Uncategorized

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.

Posted in Uncategorized

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?

 

 

Posted in Uncategorized

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.