Life’s Little Obstacles

“Whether we’re prepared or not, life has a habit of thrusting situations upon us.”

Lucille Ball

 

So, it is probably no big news that someone who suffers from depression, anxiety, and a major illness (not that depression and anxiety aren’t major illnesses) would seek out counseling services. I am not ashamed to say that I need help from time to time. We should never be ashamed to ask for help when we need it.

We should also never be ashamed to take time for ourselves, to carve out of our day whatever it is we need to not only survive, but thrive.

Each one of us is valuable and deserving of our own compassion, our own goodness. I am worth the effort it will take to get my own “stuff” taken care of. And part of that “stuff” is getting my book finished.

My main excuses have been that I don’t have space. I don’t have the freedom, with Ken home all the time now, wanting my attention. I don’t have the time, with all the other things that need to be done so that we can get on the road. I don’t feel good. I am tired. Blah, blah, blah.

Yesterday, I confessed to my counselor my real reason for not finishing my book, which is so close to being finished. I fear it will fail. I fear no one will read it. I fear my message will not be heard, despite all my efforts.

My wise counselor asked one simple question, which put everything in perspective. (He has that habit.) If you could help just one person with your story, would it be worth it?

Yes, of course. If I could save one person from suffering the torture and abuse I have been through. If I could help one woman to find the courage to love herself enough to walk away. If I could help one person, of course it would be worth all my effort and all my tears bringing this book to fruition.

Yes, I need to finish my book. Now. Not someday.

So, I need to tackle some of those obstacles that are currently standing in my way.

Today, I took step one to create my own workspace in this small home of ours. The living room is not a viable work area for me because of the television. There isn’t an adequate space available in the tiny bedroom to set up a desk and chair, and I cannot comfortably work on the bed.

And of course, the Raven isn’t back yet. So I cannot work in it. I did talk to Trent today, though. It is going to cost more than I had hoped, but less than I had feared. So, I guess we will be okay, so long as there are no more surprises, like the catalytic converter I found out about today.

I have chosen the utility room in the basement. It may seem like an odd choice, being in the “dungeon” without windows, but it will give me a quiet space of my own. Since Trevor works during the afternoon, it is perfect because he won’t be making noise down there either. His bedroom is right next to the utility, after all. If I really want daylight, I can just open his door, and peek through to his window. There is a way to get around everything, if you try hard enough, even sharing space with the food larder and the washer and dryer.

My furry family album had to be put on hold for a while, too, because of my lack of space. I realized after starting that line of posts that the majority of pictures taken during Suzie’s younger years are not digitized yet. For some reason, when the stores started offering CDs when you got your pictures developed, I forgot to check that box at least half the time.

But never fear, I bought myself a Christmas gift to take care of such a problem: A negative scanner.

And as soon as Trevor gets the power cord for me and takes the scanner and a few boxes of photos downstairs, we will be back in business!

And look here, he did it already! What a sweetheart.

Pug-a-licious

I have all of these awesomely cute pictures of my Pugs as Puglets, er, puppies, and so I thought I might share a few, along with each of their stories. And since I like to talk about my babies, I will give each of their stories its own post.

Please enjoy this little side trip through our furry family history.

Our first little darling was Max. He soon became known as Maxamillion Puddles. You see, Max was a rescue. He came to us at two years old, with absolutely no training or house manners whatsoever. His previous owner had gotten him, evidently as a Christmas gift because Pug puppies are so darned cute, and then they decided it was too much effort to train him. Being a male, he must have taken to marking the furniture, because they chose to stick him in an outdoor kennel and basically left him there for his first two years of life. Pugs are not built for outdoor life. They cannot handle the heat of even a mild summer, nor the chill of a mild winter for any length of time.

When we got him, he was so excited to have the attention of a family. He was the happiest dog I had ever seen, but it did take quite some time to train him and make an attempt at socializing, even though that is all but impossible after the first year of life.

He was also the sickest young dog I had ever dealt with. He had infections in his ears, wrinkles, and eyes and various other areas, which took at least six months to get under control. These infections left him with scars and the beginnings of blindness due to corneal scarring. His corneas have continued to deteriorate in part due to the breed’s tendency to not make enough tears, but I also believe that such severe infections probably had something to do with his inability to produce enough tears.

Despite his blindness, which is almost complete now, he is still one of the happiest dogs around. His arthritis acts up once in a while, but at twelve, that is to be expected.

This is Max enjoying the comforts of the good life.

Here, we are camping at the beach his first summer with us. The pollen from the trees was a real nightmare for Max his first few years with us, probably an aftereffect of the infections.

Max really enjoyed running on the beach as a youngster. Here he is with my daughter and her friend on his first beach trip.

Max also loved playing tug-of-war, especially with my daughter’s pant legs. When he could still see well enough, he also liked catching mice in our garage. Who needs a cat when you have a multipurpose Pug?

My sweet boy.

Max and Ken used to play as much as Tinker Belle and Ken play now.

Next episode: Little Miss Suzie Angel Eyes

 

 

Mental Health Day, Please

“It’s a great life, if you don’t weaken.”

That’s what my wonderful hubby always says. It is usually said when I am blubbering, bawling my eyes out, yelling and screaming, or otherwise having an emotional breakdown of one kind or another. I do have moments of self-pity. They usually last a whole ten seconds, until worry of others takes over my life again. One cannot spout constant “why me’s?” when others need her. I guess it is called being a mother, being an adult. Priorities and responsibility. Okay, sure, I do have self-pity sessions that last longer than ten seconds. It is called depression, and it strikes hard and fast sometimes. But that is not what this is about.

We all need to vent once in a while. To cry on someone else’s shoulder. To scream into a pillow. To have a mental health day, as it is now politically correct to call an otherwise unapproved day off from work. To just be alone for half an hour without being bothered. Or just to get a hug. We all have a need to be weak every now and then.

Life. It is great. But about weakening? Sometimes being vulnerable is a good thing. It shows we are human, that we need each other, and needing each other is definitely a good thing. That is how God planned it. That is why God gave Eve to Adam. Even Adam, big, strong, first-man, needed someone.

But do I have to be needed so much, sometimes? Don’t answer that. It is rhetorical.

Two days ago, my seizure prince, my son, had another grand mal. Usually I can see them coming, if I am there. He blacks out first, just stares off into space, and conversation ceases. This time, we were watching television, and he took a nosedive sideways off the sofa. He got himself into quite the predicament, with his head stuck between a piece of furniture and my totes of craft projects, and his legs became jammed under the couch. If I had seen it coming, I may have been able to safely guide him to the floor, as usual. This feat isn’t easy, guiding a seizing, hulking young man to the floor safely, but it tends to be a whole lot easier than fixing the situation after he goes down alone.

But that is where adrenaline comes in. After all, a mother has been known to lift the car off her husband, run back into the burning building three times to make sure all her kids and the dog get out safely, and face down an armed robber trying to steal what she managed to get onto the lawn before the building exploded—all in one day—and still have a wholesome dinner on the table by six, with a smile on her face and a sparkling clean kitchen to boot.

Wow. Talk about stretching it. What I am trying to get at is that adrenaline can kick in, and we can do miraculous things when we have to.

My problem is that I don’t make enough adrenaline. I have enough for that initial surge, but with adrenal insufficiency, it doesn’t go very far. I can guide my 6-foot-5-inch, 260-pound son to the ground safely, and I can even pick him up enough by the waist of his jeans to pull him out of trouble, as I did the other day, but that is as far as my adrenaline goes. With adrenal fatigue, I then don’t have enough to keep me going the next few days. My brain stays on high alert, and I don’t sleep that first night after he has a seizure, and then my brain is still on high alert the next day, causing panic attacks at every noise, every phone call, every knock at the door. But my body has given up at this point. There isn’t even enough adrenaline to carry out the normal functions of daily living. I spend the next day or two in bed, trying to recuperate.

I don’t know how adrenaline junkies do it. Sure, I used to love the rush, too. I used to tempt fate as a teenager like so many other young people. Who doesn’t at one point or another in their life? It is the thrill of knowing you are alive by facing your fears. An adrenaline high is like no other. But do the adrenaline junkies have a letdown after their thrill seeking adventures? Does their adrenaline eventually run out?

I wonder.

Even though vulnerability is seen as a weakness in this modern world, I will remain just that. Vulnerability and needing each other are vital human qualities. We are not robots.

Responding to the vulnerabilities of others is also vital. God gave us compassion and empathy so that we might help each other in times of need.

And adrenaline is there to help us face our fears, initially the fear of hungry beasts or marauding savages. Today with our penchant for bungee jumping and parasailing, we forget why God gave us that all-important fight-or-flight hormone.

Survival. But survival of humanity, not just the fittest. The strong are there to help the weak, not just take home the prize.

Do you see yourself as weak or as strong? Or are you the perfectly imperfect, weak and strong, human whom God created you to be? Think about it.

And thanks for listening to this imperfect human.