The Bipolar Express

Never Ask...

...what can happen next.

Four days before Christmas I slipped off the last step of a ladder and fell hard - all 180 pounds of me, at the time - on my right side. I missed 10 days work - non-paid, as my sick time was gone - on a work-comp claim

A week ago, I was in a car accident and have been off work ever since; again, without pay. Yesterday I failed the physical therapy exam that would have allowed me to return to work. Today I saw my PCP who took me off work for another two weeks, and prescribed muscle relaxers and 3X/week PT.

Last night at our therapy session, Jack shared with me that he'd gotten a very negative performance evaluation from his boss. He is a computer programmer for a very large bank. In August, he accidentally discovered that a 35 year-old colleague is making 10% more than he is. Without being too tacky, let me say that that is a lot more money than it sounds like. He also found out that although he has been employed there nearly twenty years (who stays at a career that long, let alone one job??) he is the lowest paid member of the team.

Although he could not share this knowledge with anyone, he approached his boss and asked what additional responsibilities he could be given to merit an advancement in title. (There is only one above his, and that would carry with it the additional income.)

His boss basically gave him a pat on the head, told him he was doing a great job, and sent him on his way.

Jack is not the type of guy to accept a non-answer as an answer, but what are you going to do when it comes from your boss?

Now he gets this - grossly tardy - performance evaluation that is absolutely terrible. It makes him sound like a slacker, and an entirely ineffectual employee. Also, there was a third party at the eval meeting, which has never been the case before. Can you say CYA?

Did I mention that Jack is two years from full pension? Gee, do you think that has anything to do with this???

We paid off a large bill last month, and promptly replaced it with an almost equal car payment. In case that sounds foolish or frivolous, my old car has 97k on it, and I put on about 400 miles/week. It will be a great school car for R.J. in a few months, but it wasn't going to handle that many more miles for much longer.

Yesterday R.J. told me, yet again, that he really, really, really wants to go to a very exclusive private college that is world-renowned for its music program. Total cost: 38,500/year.

I have no trouble telling my kids that they can't have everything they want, but at the same time I privately applaud his ability and confidence in aiming so high.

As a music teacher, and not as his mother, I can safely say that he would be admitted in a heartbeat. He is a good trumpet player, which are a dime a dozen, but a fabulous tenor with excellent relative pitch. Perfect pitch, in layman's terms. Excellent tenors are scarcer than hen's teeth - gee, how many hackneyed two-hundred-year-old phrases can I incorporate into this paragraph - and he is beyond excellent, even at 15.

Even with a full-ride music scolarship and a partial academic one, though, he would still fall short by about half the cost.

Leigh is headed for law school this fall, unless she chickens out. Even though she will be on her own financially, you can bet there will be frantic phone calls home the first year. I guess Jack will have to learn to say "no" too.

On the "little boy" front, Michael's shrink proclaimed his recent horrible behavior to be just that, and said that it does not have an organic source. She wrote him a refill for his Seroquel - an antipsychotic used to treat the mood swings of bipolar disorder - and that was that. She is a terrific dr., and I don't doubt her for a moment. It's just always easier to throw more meds at a situation than to modify behavior.

My grandmother used to tell me that "fear takes the place that faith should fill," so I'm not only paralyzed with fear, I feel moderately guilty as well.

I firmly believe that God will take care of us; S/He always has. But it's still scary to sit and wait for the actions of mortal idiots to shake our lives to the core.

So dear readers and friends, please send us your prayers/thoughts/vibes, whatever you believe in.
We can use all you can give...

Mel

Fragile

It amazes me in this 'go 90,000 mph' society that we live in, how we forget our own fragility, and that of those we love.

A dear friend of mine is going through a tremendously awful time in her life right now. From the outside, she has it all: looks, brains, talent, personality to spare, generosity of spirit... I could go on and on.

On the inside, poor darling, she doubts all of the above, and it seems like when something bad happens to her, she almost expects it. She seems very Zen about it most of the time, but I know it tears her up inside.

Now for generalities: why are we so proud? Why are we SO hesitant to reach out for love and understanding? What are we afraid of? If we reach out and are rebuffed, well, there's one person we can cross off our list as being a real friend.

Sometimes love and understanding comes from unexpected sources. There was a gal in the bathroom stall at school last Saturday who was obviously vomiting. Standing back and to the side of her stall, so that I could not see in, I asked her if I could get her anything or find someone for her. I thought nothing of it. It was no huge heroic gesture. I wasn't saving a 2 year-old from the surf, for God's sake. But she thanked me at least a half-dozen times, genuinely surprised that a stranger would offer help.

Maybe this is a Midwest thing? Maybe we're friendlier? I don't think so. I think we're as afraid to reach out to help others as we are to ask for help ourselves. We're afraid of appearing silly or uncool.

Let's be silly and uncool. Let's take better care of each other, and ourselves.

Life is too short to be hesitant and frightened. Remember inside each of us is a little girl or boy who wants reassurance that somehow - even if not how we want it to happen - everything is going to be alright.

Love,
Mel

PS My 43 year-old ex-sister-in-law has bilateral breast cancer, lymphoma, and cervical cancer. She will probably "reach out" from necessity. Let's not wait for something like that to happen. Let's reach out now.

Bouncing Around

177.2

I either need to stop weighing myself every day, or learn to deal with the fluctuations. One thing that may have contributed is that I had a total carb-craving day yesterday. I don't know what the deal is. I was craving carbs as if I were pre-menstrual, and I'm not even close. Oh well...

The dietician's plan allows for one "free day" per month, and I guess yesterday was it! The bad part about it is that I have to go through carb withdrawal again. I don't really think it's worth it. Maybe I'll have a little treat, like a coctail made with low-carb mix.

That reminds me: in addition to Special K2O, I've found another tasty mix/juice substitute. Minute Maid's lite fruit drinks. They come in limeade, orange/tangerine, and raspberry. They are SO good I had trouble believing they are nearly carb-free.

Starbucks: I had a lite caramel frappucino yesterday. The barista insisted that it is made with Splenda, but the thing was coated with caramel syrup on top. It tastes way too good to be sugar-free. Does anyone know anything about this particular product? I really like it, but if it's full of sugar, it's gotta be off limits.

I'll probably be somewhat silent - for me! - for a couple of days due to the time it's going to take to finish write my research memo. Hope everyone has a great weekend!

Dodger didn't dodge

A funny thing happened to me on the way to work today.

After finding R.J.'s phone on his dresser, I decided to take it to the high school. I knew I was going to have to reach him after school, and I had a bit of extra time this morning.

I left the phone at the office desk, went back to my car and drove down the high school lane to the main road. As I was gently braking to a stop, a teenaged girl driving a car just like R.J.'s - how ironic - turned way too fast , missed both her lane and a middle turn lane, and hit me nearly head-on. Hit. My. Brand. New. Car.

I just made the first payment on it last week.

It's an '07 Dodge Charger, which I nicknamed Dodger, for reasons unknown even to me. Well, my Dodger didn't dodge. He didn't have room. He just sat there and took it.

I do feel sorry for the girl though. She said this was her second accident this morning! but that the other one wasn't her fault. My guess is that she was still rattled from that collision, late for school, and trying to make up time.

She was ticketed. Dodger was towed (flat tire, bent wheel, headlight hanging on by a cord. Simply lovely.) The police estimate for damages to my vehicle is - ready for this? - five thousand dollars!! The estimate for hers is two grand, which is a couple hundred more than her car is worth.

I'm now off work for three days due to whiplash and back pain, and since I'm out of sick and personal leave, it will be three days without pay, unless I can get the girl's dad's insurance company to pay for it.

Oh well, no one was seriously hurt, not even Dodger, and I have two full days to finish write my memo for advanced research.

Hope you all had a better day than I did!

And the Surgeon Says...

I had my appointment with my DS surgeon on Monday. He also had me meet with his dietician.

During his examination he palpated my (horrific-looking) vertical abdominoplasty scar and found no hernia. There is one spot near the top of the incision that is very tender to the touch. He thinks that some of the internal stitches popped; either immediately post-op or since the weight gain.

Lacking a hernia, there is no way my insurance will pay for a scar revision. I wouldn't want one now anyway, but would like to have it done when I get back down to my goal weight/range. Jack said we could just pay for it and Flex it; that it shouldn't be a fortune because the dr. would only be dealing with a couple of the outer layers, rather than going all the way down to the abdominal wall.

Dr. Sudan then told me about a "weight management group" run by his dietician. It meets 2-3 times per month. He affectionately calls it the "3-year group" because that is when many people gain what is to them an unacceptable amount of weight. He said that our bodies adjust to the malabsorption and we may absorb a bit more fat than before. He also said that that is a time when the "honeymoon period" is over; many slack on food choices and exercises. (Who? Me???)

Then I met with Shelly, the dietician who weighs about 260 or so. Now Lord knows I'm not going to judge someone by their weight (I would hope!) but someone who's going to lecture me on making good food choices probably shouldl be at a reasonably healthy weight? Am I wrong here?

Anyway, to use her words, "I'm just little Susie sunshine today, huh?" after telling me that I can't have pop any more - not even diet - and that people who are or have been morbidly obese must work harder to lose or maintain a weight loss.

What?? Didn't I have this stupid surgery, have my gut re-routed, spend three weeks in the hospital and another three at home on a feeding tube so that I wouldn't have to diet anymore?

Wrong again, oh wise carb-counter!

It's not forever, of course, any more than it is for a "normal" person. Cut back, exercise more, lose weight, and make good food choices to maintain. It's not like any of this is news to me. It's just depressing.

After that, I got to go to the lab and have five vials of blood drawn. The first gal hit me once in each arm and got nuthin. (Tuesday I looked like a really incompetent junkie.) A guy came in then, hit it on the first try, and filled all the vials in no time at all.

They're doing a CBC, plus thyroid/T4 and iron levels. I bought some "Slow-Fe" iron tablets that are supposed to be less irritating to (what's left of ) my stomach.

I am going to go to the support group. It can't hurt, right? It'll be nice to be with people who are having the same struggles I am. Maybe there will even be folks there who were in the hospital when I was. At one point there were four DS post-ops on the post surgical floor.

I'm continuing to use FitDay for logging my food intake, my exercise, and am also using the diary component to record my "deep thoughts."

I'm down to 176. Thirty - forty pounds to go.

My Husband is So Weird!

A little background: my husband, Jack, is a 5'9" muscular guy with a beard and a deep, gruff voice. In other words he looks and sounds crabby even when he's not. As a result of this, I sometimes take offense at things he says, he has no idea why I've taken offense. Since we're both stubborn as hell - he's the oldest of five boys and I'm an only child spoiled brat - we dig in our heels and have ridiculous arguments about the stupidest things you can imagine.

This happend more frequently when we were first married. Perhaps that was because we'd only known each other for four months? :-) but it does still happen occasionally.

That said, he is not a bad guy or I wouldn't be married to him, but he is rather mercurial.

Without warning, he goes from grizzly bear to teddy bear. I firmly believe that the teddy bear is the real thing and the grizzly bear is a big act he puts on when he feels defensive.

Tonight, for example, Michael and Andrew - the twins - had a lot of cleaning to do and were not working very hard. Neither of them feels very well, each having missed two days of school last week - but it's hard to tell where the "not feeling well" ends and the slacking begins.

Since I'm working on homework and it was a movie I didn't want to see, Jack went to see "The Hitcher". On his way out the door he was growling at the boys about not getting their work done.

When he came home, he checked on Michael, who's still sick and sleeping, and is now sitting next to me in front of the fireplace searching through printouts of legal cases looking for information I need for my next research assignment. Boy, doesn't that sound interesting for him?

Men. I don't believe I will ever understand how their minds work. It's a good thing they're so cute. :-)

Mildly Freaking Out

You remember that memo I finished the other day for Advanced Legal Research? Well, I got it back this morning with a big, fat 85% at the top. The teacher was very positive in her comments, but a certain degree of frustration seeped through as well. Apparently in my citation work, I did not use the format we discussed in class. (I have no recollection of this discussion, but have no doubt that it took place. Did I mention that this class starts at 8:00 on a Saturday morning?????)

Our next assignment is another memo, but this one has two or three separate legal issues within it, rather than the single issue contained within the first memo. She said if this one is done well, it will be 7-10 pages long. (The last one was 4.)

Here's where the freaking out comes in: due to having an incompetent boob as a teacher for Intro to Legal Research, who didn't know how to lecture, explain, grade... in other words teach!! I ended up with a B. I don't mind getting a B (well, ok, I do, but not if I've earned it.) I earned an A in her class without a doubt.

If I end up with a B in Adv. Research, I will likely have trouble finding an internship and later a job. I know that sounds a bit extreme, but legal research is what paralegals do all day: look up an issue, find precedential cases, make the necessary arguments, etc., and wrap it in a nice neat document to submit to the supervising attorney(s.) If I'm not absolutely 100% sure of the techniques involved in this to be successful, I will not be retained long, even if I am hired.

Drugs: My psych just increased my mood stabilizer, but eliminated my Ritalin. She feels that the stimulant effect of the Ritalin is throwing me into manic episodes. Unfortunaely, the higher the manic, the lower the succeeding depression. So I'm an inattentive, spastic mess right now, who's future career requires a level-headed, detail-oriented person who simply doesn't make errors; at least not big ones, and not small ones often.

What's really sadly ironic is that I absolutely love to do research! (I know, I'm a freak. I also used to enjoy diagramming sentences!)

I'm going to make an outline for what I have to do this weekend, both for school, work, and home, and stick to it faithfully. My family is going to have to take back burner for awhile.

Oh, and I'm also behind at my job.

You know that pre-flight spiel you get about oxygen masks? "If you're traveling with someone who needs assistance, please secure your own mask first before assisting others." My household has turned into that atmosphere, and I keep running around adjusting everyone else's "masks" and then find myself unable to breathe. (sometimes literally.)

Mom's stuff's gotta come first for a few weeks, maybe longer. The youngest kids are 12, for god's sake. They should be able to function without me standing over them.

That reminds me: I was reading another blog which mentioned adult children who never really leave home; never really cut the apron strings. I think when I was a single Mom - even though it was only for 2.5 years - I babied them a lot. Probably out of guilt. Then, I've continued babying the twins because they're the size of 9 year-olds. So, I tend to treat them as if they were 8-9, and then when I get frustrated, I'm all - "You're 12 years old! It's time to grow up a little!!"

Poor kids.... Momma's nuts! lol...

Finally Moving!

The scale and my body. I weighed 177 this morning, down 4.4 pounds from yesterday morning. (I checked it three times.)

I am not going into some kind of elated shock. The scale is weird because what it measures is weird: did I have a lot of sodium today, did I drink all my water, etc. So, I'm trying to be nonchalant about it, but I am so glad to be below 180. (I will try not to depress myself by remembering that I typed the same thing on the DS board in 2004.)

177. 40 pounds to goal. 4 10-pound chunks. Ok, poor choice of words. :-) Or perhaps I should think of it as 8 5-pound chunks. Either way, I believe it's doable. And yes, I realize I will not only not lose 4.4 pounds in a day, but that there may be a month that goes by in which I don't lose that much.

My goal date is July 1st; my four-year DS anniversary. That may be too ambitious; we'll see.

Tonight I went to Curves for the first time since joining last month. I managed to get my heart rate into the target range, although not for as long as I was supposed to, but I was encouraged that I didn't fall over dead. (Hey, keep your expectations low, that's what I say.

I was also very productive at work, although not on work things. I got all the homework done for my advanced legal research class and am now working on next week's. Absolutely unheard of for me.

So, all in all, I feel pretty good about today. How was yours?

Visit to Dr. Sudan

Well, I've tracked my food intake on Fitday for 8 days now. I'm happy with the numbers, and the proportion of protein:carbs. However, I am still not losing weight. Not even an itty bitty bit. In fact, I am gaining!! This morning I was 181.4 for the fourth day in a row. 180 for a few days before that.

Let me be clear: at 3.5 years post-op, I do not expect to drop a couple hundred calories off my daily intake and have the scale begin that wonderful downward spiral I experienced three years ago.

I did expect some change, though, and am becoming discouraged to the point of depression.

This afternoon I made an appointment to visit my surgeon, Dr. Sudan, next Monday. I want to get his opinion on my gaining 20 pounds within the past 6 months. I don't know what, if anything, he can do. My dream scenario is that he runs a few tests, determines that my common channel has grown to an astonishing length, and that an immediate revision is in order.

It is far more likely, I fear, that he will gently but firmly tell me that I need to get more exercise, etc., etc.

Even so, I didn't realize until writing it: 20 pounds in 6 months! I realize that I was far-from-perfect over the holidays, but I wasn't horrible. 20 pounds in 6 months. Absofrickinlutely mind-boggling.

I feel truly blessed to have such a compassionate person as my surgeon. I've had many surgeries, and with the exception of one obstetrician, I have never met a surgeon who wasn't a complete ass. Honestly, the bedside manner of a porcupine with an abcessed tooth and hemmoroids!

Anyway, cross your fingers (toes, eyes, legs...) for me next Monday that I can find some answers.

Thx

Back to the Grind

Starbucks, here I come!

Well, after my sort-of-four-day weekend, it's time to go back to work. If you can call what I do work.
I spent four years in undergrad, two years getting my Master's and have taught on and off for 20 years.

My latest teaching assignment is elementary band. I teach in five low-income schools. Unfortunately, in addition to their myriad of other problems, low-income students' families cannot afford to buy instruments. Because our district is so poor, we don't have enough instruments for all the students who are interested in playing, so my enrollment is abysmally low.

Among my five schools, I have a grand total of twenty students. My colleagues who teach in more affluent neighborhoods have that many students in each of their buildings.

During a 6-hour day, 8 hours minus lunch and plan time, I teach an average of two hours. Sounds like a great gig, right? Teach a little, sit around and do nothing the rest of the day. Well, if there's a treatment for brain paralysis, I'm going to need it soon!

The good thing about it is that I have time to do the homework for my paralegal studies. The bad thing is that my "teaching spaces" are on stages, in oversized closets, and underheated hallways; not conducive to teaching or studying.

Two weeks before Thanksgiving we had a "lock-down" at one of the buildings because there was gunfire in the street in front of the school. Thank God no one was at recess. I wasn't there that day, but it scares the hell out of me every time I go there.

My husband works in a high-rise, ultra-high security building. He has to swipe himself into the building, onto his floor, and into his office. I can't wait to work in an environment like that when I'm a paralegal. I'll be working more hours for less money, but I'll actually be using my brain. What a concept.

Oh, and PS - I weighed in at 181.4 this morning.

I think I'll go get some cheese to go with my whine.

Thanks for "listening."