Fear, Depression, and Recovery Part III

I am sitting in the crisis center with a friend and going through all the medical things that must happen before they even begin to decide how crazy I am.  While this is taking place the overwhelming-stop me in my tracks-fear of being back in the hospital hits me.  The doctor has written for blood to be drawn and here comes the lab to do it.  I explain I am a difficult stick.  (the record for sticking me is 12 times - my veins roll, blow, and disappear)  I explain that even the I.V. team has difficulty getting in a tiny 24 gauge.  The gentleman listens but I can see that he doesn't quite believe me.  I look my friend, E, in the eye and I tell her that this is the literal embodiment of what I fear.

Over the next hour (no joke, it took an hour to get a vein and get just 2 vials of blood - they wanted 3 but couldn't do it) she sees firsthand why before I even looked at the paperwork from my childhood last Wednesday I was living each moment terrified and worried that it would be my last day up and about before having to be back in the hospital or bed.  She saw the ridiculous questions doctors ask me. (One doctor explained to me what chiari is.  Seriously.)  She saw firsthand what others only read in the blog or know from talking to me.  I am not an adequate enough writer to begin to convey the tension, emotions, frustration, and exhaustion that come from sitting there for an hour being poked over and over again just to get 2 tiny vials of blood that in the end, they weren't even sure would work as they were clotting too fast since there was so little blood in the vials.
This is my life in technicolor.  Parts of it are beautiful - children, Tim, friends, Mom but there are also parts that are too vivid for most people to handle.  Thankfully, E handled everything like she had been there a thousand times on this journey with me.

She and I talk constantly between the medical staff coming and asking medical history questions and drawing blood etc.  I realize how exhausted my body and mind are.  Finally, a psych nurse asks me if I can contract to stay safe and they will send me home.  I say that I can, sign it and I am out of there....except that I am not sure I can.
As I sign out of the hospital, E senses how conflicted and overwhelmed I am.  I share that though I love my children more than anything in the world, I cannot be Mom right now and take care of myself.  It is too overwhelming.  It breaks my heart to admit that.  As a mother there should never be a time that I cannot set aside whatever I am dealing with to take care of the kids.  But I just cannot do it.  We talk about options - calling friends etc. and I am reticent to do so.  What friend needs 'Debby Downer' coming over to spend the night?  After a half hour, I decide to just go home and all will be fine I assure her.  It does feel great to be home and embraced by my wonderful children and husband.  However, it also increases the guilt that I feel for not wanting to be on this planet any longer which sends me into another tailspin and circular thinking.  Guilt = Bad = No worth = Depressed = Pain = Suicide which leads me back to guilt.
I manage to survive the night and awake Monday around noon.  My body was exhausted and I guess needed the sleep.  However, I still don't have a plan on how to get through all of this and I am desperate.  I wait for Tim to come home and we talk.  He assures me that I am not a horrible parent for not being able to be a Mom right now and encourages me to call a friend.

So I end up spending Monday night at R's and then amble between appointments on Tuesday.  I am still feeling suicidal but I don't have a plan.  I drop by my dear friend K's house and have a great conversation.  Some things become clear.  First, I am not a horrible Mom for needing a break.  Second, there are things in life that I am looking forward to achieving and doing.  Third, being overwhelmed is understandable.  However, in all of this, the most important piece that became clear to me is that my friends love me.  They are not keeping track that in February they chose to help with dinners while I was in the hospital and recovering and I now need them again.  There is no scoreboard in friendship.  I confess that while I don't keep a scorecard for my friends, I guess I always assumed they did with me as I have so much going on.  It is a great relief.
I end up going home on Tuesday night and spending a little time with the kids before bed.  Tim and I talk a bit too but I am wiped out.  Turning a corner was wonderful and yet it sent my body into raging pain as some of the anxiety I had been living with ebbed and in it's place physical pain flowed in.
My therapist and I had a session which hit the nail on the head and while I am not ready to share it, I acknowledge that I have some work to do.  I always thought that by the time I was 37 my past wouldn't really matter much but I am wrong.  It matters greatly and influences so much of my thinking and actions - both positive and negative.  I take amazing care of others and go out of my way to love my children, partner and friends.  However, I take horrible care of myself and don't recognize my worth.  This needs to change.
Since Tuesday, I am still seeing my therapist frequently, talking to my doctor everyday, reaching out to friends, and trying to enjoy my family and not clean the house (for those who haven't been reading or know me - I clean constantly.  It is instant gratification.)  I am too tired to clean or do much more than exist but as a friend told me last night, at least you are existing.

The moral of this story is that sometimes you are going to get knocked on your ass when you least expect it.  You are going to fall hard and it is going to leave your breathless and gasping for air.  Reach out to your friends and allow them to love you.  It isn't easy (I am still wrestling with it) but they will help keep you balanced and walking until you can do it on your own.  I am not there yet but am determined to make it.  Having chiari, fibromyalgia and arthritis make everything worse.  So does my childhood.  However, having friends like Katie, Karen, Carol, Roe, Elsie, Kim and Kerri who remind me I am loved has made all the difference.  Thank you also to my long distance friends who could only be here via email and facebook - your love was and is felt.  I wrote this on facebook last week and though it was true then, it has become more real since.  "Sometimes bravery cannot be seen in the wielding of a sword, a public fight for justice or shown in a tangible way such as a plaque or decree. Rather, bravery is in the consistent determination to not give up despite the consuming exhaustion."