Jim Comes Home!

Where have the days gone? They are all a blur. It's a cliche', I know, but it best describes how things have gone since Jim returned home. 

He came home on 04 September 2013, with a PICC line (peripherally inserted central catheter/ type of I.V.) and a supra-pubic catheter (a line inserted above his pubic bone that goes straight to his bladder). 

Walgreens delivered several bags of antibiotics and an I.V. pole, and after a visit from a home nurse we were on our own. I made his meals, gave him antibiotics, helped him walk with his walker to the bathroom and to the shower, showered him, dressed him and emptied his urine bag. In addition to that, I was taking my son to school, picking him up after school, cleaning the house, doing the grocery shopping and trying to spend some time at work seeing patients. I couldn't have done it all without my daughter and her boyfriend and my son. They all pitched in when they could, taking out trash, running the vacuum, helping me with clothes. Still, the work never seemed to end.

Gradually, he became more comfortable at home. Sleeping in his own bed was a treat, and being at home was a blessing. But sitting around while I buzzed around the house, made phone calls and tried to figure out bills was driving him crazy. When I took Sean to school one morning, he said he wanted to come. We all piled into the car, and it was his first 'non-official' trip in a while. Later we had to go to CVS to pick up some of his medication, and he wanted to come there too. I was afraid he'd have a hard time, but he was a champ! Before we'd left Saint John's hospital, his physical therapist advised me to make sure I corrected his gait and his posture. He has a tendency to lean to the right since it's his weaker side right now.

I know you're wondering about the patch over the eye. It's something his neurologist wanted him to do to help correct his vision. He has "double vision" and his eyesight won't line up so in order to see better and to train his eyes he wears the patch over one eye for a while and then switches sides.

Just a few days ago, he was dying to get out of the house. My clinic has an extra wheel chair, and some of the staff suggested I borrow it. I brought it home and by using it we were able to take him further outside. I walked Paris, and Kira walked Jim (in a manner of speaking). Jim often finds he is 'cold' despite the 70-80 degree weather, and we've had a cool spell in Ventura which is why he's all bundled up!

This week has been full of doctor appointments, home health/ physical therapy and occupational visits, and visits from would be renters of the house we have to move out of. Just yesterday, Jim had to go to see the urologist. Instead of suggesting surgery, or seeing if there was a blockage, the doctor prescribed a brand new medication. "Let's try this first," he said. The physician is an older Chinese man who is very conservative in his practice. I suppose it's good, but I know Jim is getting tired of carrying his friend "Bags" around. He's graduated from having me empty the bag, to doing it himself, which is another step toward autonomy and gives me a little more time to get other things done.

After the visit to the urologist, we had to hurry home because the physical therapist was due to arrive for his PT assessment. The young man had Jim do several exercises and had him sweating like crazy! Still, Jim felt good about the things he was doing and received several 'homework' exercises to do.

Today, the occupational therapist came and did an assessment as well. He taught Jim how to go up and down the stairs by himself, and how to get into the shower by himself. The visit was extremely useful and seemed to cheer Jim up a bit. After the OC therapist left, the home health nurse/case manager came in for a visit. She took his vitals and inquired about how he was doing, then left. We ate a lunch of Tofurkey slices and veggies wrapped in a burrito sized tortilla, and then went for a walk outside. I thought maybe he could make it to the mailboxes down the street, but he was doubtful. He wanted me to follow him with the wheel chair in case he got tired, so, I did . . . 

 He not only made it past the mailboxes, but continued on along a back path/park where we take our dog (Paris) to walk. It's a circular route. He was doing so well, I suggested that he try walking behind the wheelchair while gripping the handles. This worked very well for a bit, but the wheelchair kept scooching together. Ever able to solve a problem, I promptly sat in it and Jim pushed me in the wheelchair all the way around (6/10 of a mile)! He had expected to be tired, but after taking a nap earlier, he found he had the strength and energy to make it all the way. Needless to say, it was a very good and productive day! 

Although he's doing better, we have a long way to go and sometimes there will be setbacks (we know). Jim was doing great physically today, but had trouble mentally finding the words he wanted to express how he was feeling or what he was thinking. I spent a lot of time on the phone talking with his new case manager from Tricare (in Hawaii) and trying to arrange his future appointments. He'll have an MRI and MRA soon, and will see a few more doctors this week and next week. One thing's for certain, neither of us will be bored in the next few days. With the pending move to an apartment at the end of the month, his physical therapy/OC therapy and his doctor appointments, it will be October before we know it!

Changes: They Are a-Comin' . . .

Nothing is permanent. Nothing remains the same. It's a hard lesson to learn, and one we fight against all of the time despite the obvious daily proof that it's a certainty.

August 28th was a particularly hard day. It was 4 weeks since Jim's bike crash and the day Kira moved out of her house and into her first solo apartment with her boyfriend, Owais. It's also the day Jim found out he couldn't come home yet and had to spend at least another week in the hospital due to both a blood infection (septicemia) and a urinary tract infection. 

The worst of the day was when our beloved furry family member Maddie died. Maddie was the oddest creature. She loved to go on walks with the dog, and would cry at the door whenever we left her inside so we could take the dog (Paris) for a long walk. Maddie was the cutest kitty ever, and we were heartbroken to come home and find out that she'd been attacked by a dog and killed. The neighbor across the street tried to save her, and even ran her to the vet, but she died enroute. (RIP Maddie. May your next life be bright and happy! We will miss you!)

All of these changes served as a catalyst for me to make some very big decisions. Finances, in this world, tend to be the key for survival and because of that key I had to change the door and the lock on the door of our lives.

I traded in both of our old cars for new 2013 models. While that sounds like more money spent, it was with a purpose. Now both cars have bumper to bumper warranty, free roadside assistance and gap insurance. 

Our house is a 4 bedroom rental home that now has only 3 people living in it, and so I gave notice the 30th of this month that we would be moving out of it and selected a 2 bedroom apartment not far from here that is $500.00 less to pay per month. Not only that, but we'll have less to pay in terms of insurance, garbage pick up fees, less electricity use and water use, and there will be much less housework (which I really like).

It's a step down in the 'standard' of living one might say, but prudent in terms of financial responsibility. I'll miss my garden, and my quiet back patio (with the exception of the buzz of the Hwy 126), but there's a small balcony at the apartment where I can still place my patio furniture and hang out and write.

Often, as humans, we tend to collect things. Old furniture, pictures, dishware and the like. Those of us who have garages recognize how much we put in boxes and set aside. Half the time we aren't aware of all of the THINGS we've accumulated. The month of September there are two mottos: 1. Get rid of STUFF and 2. Get the jobs done.

This entry will be ongoing and you'll see some pictures below once I get things together, but that's the status today. If you'd like to keep up with what's going on, please subscribe to my blog and you'll get the updates. If not, believe me I understand. The world is too busy, and it's getting more frantic with buzz every day. Just know that I love you all. Each and every one. From those who are my closest family to those far away. From my dear friends, to those who've mentored me, those I've worked with and those who keep in touch professionally. Thank you all for your prayers, kind thoughts and meditations in this time of rapid change for our family. More soon!

Hospital Update on Jim . . .

I apologize for not sending everyone a personal update, but I know you all understand. It's a challenge to try to fill my shoes and my husband's at this point in time, and between household duties, wifely and motherly duties and a number of other jobs, I'm running ragged at this point. If I haven't returned a message, submitted an edit or a paper, or if I owe you a review, please accept my apologies. I'll be running late once again, but will get the work to you as soon as I can. If you need something right away, please don't feel shy about calling. Reminders are helpful.

Jim was projected to return home on the 28th of this month. After this weekend I'm not sure when he'll be home. Many of you were aware that after Jim's admission to Saint John's Hospital for rehab, he started having bladder/urinary problems. The medical personnel ended up putting a supra-pubic catheter in him (a tube just above his pubic bone and into his bladder) so that he could urinate. His urologist was trying to help him build up pressure in the bladder in order to urinate normally, but he's been unable to. We are thinking he may need surgery on his prostate before he goes home so he can go to the bathroom without a catheter, but we'll see.

Last night his body core temperature dropped and then spiked to 103 while we were visiting. His heart rate was 120+. He was shaking very badly and complaining of being cold. They gave him Tylenol and started an I.V., drew blood cultures and started him on a course of antibiotics (Rocephin). At one point he started speaking words/sentences that made no sense. They were strings of random words, and he would look at the nurse and I like we were supposed to know what he was saying. It was the first time I'd ever seen/heard him do that. Eventually, the garbled language subsided, and he was fairly coherent after that. I stayed with him till close to midnight to make sure he was okay. 

Jim has done well during his physical therapy up until now, and perhaps once they get the infection under control he'll be on the mend again, but I suspect he won't be leaving on the 28th and that he won't have physical therapy for a while. No physician has been in to see him this weekend, but they will see him on Monday. The kids went in to see him this morning/early afternoon and said he was very tired and still running a low-grade fever. We still don't know what kind of infection he has.

Meanwhile, we are running some food to him tonight (hospital food is repetitive for a vegetarian there) and taking clean clothes in/bringing dirty clothes back. We really don't need anything except your continued friendship and support.

If you've got prayers and good thoughts to send his way, please send them. I would let him rest today, and maybe call him tomorrow or the next day instead, if you'd like to talk with him. His cell number is 301-801-6661, and he can receive email (jimferg29@mac.com), texts and voice messages. He likes hearing from people when he can.

Take care everyone and be well.

Pictures from when Owais came to California to stay: Day One . . .

 Owais and Kira when they brought Paris to visit Jim

Reality Crash . . .

It's been awhile since I've posted on this blog, and I've neglected the other blogs as well. I blame it on a busy life, and my inability to avoid committing to too many projects at one time.

Today's blog is the ending of one life and the beginning of another. My husband, Jim, loves cycling with a passion. Every "Tour de France" or "Tour de 'something'" has him avidly watching the screen after a TIVO, and getting on his bike with gusto afterward. He tries to ride almost every day, and sometimes he grosses 50 to 80 (or even 100) miles on a Saturday, and then goes after it all over again on Sunday.

July 28th. I'm at home writing when the call comes in. It's my daughter, who wants to know if I've heard about her Dad. "No," I said, and punched a few more letters in while she relayed a quick string of words I wasn't sure I comprehended. Something about "Dad," and "crashing the bike," and "being flown to the hospital." I hung up the phone and realized I didn't have the slightest idea what she'd just told me.

3:30 PM: My husband's cycling friend Kenny calls to tell me that my husband was medivac'd to Ventura County Hospital. I'd already pulled on clothes, and prepared to leave the house with my son. "He's okay," was what I'd been told. That's all I clung to. After going to the wrong hospital, and finally finding the right one, I rounded the curtain in the ER and he looked anything but "okay." His face was scrapped horribly, and his head was encased in a full neck brace.

Every five minutes or so, he'd look at me very confused and ask the same question. "Where am I? What happened?" I'd patiently explain, over and over again, that he'd crashed on his bike, that he had a major concussion and had trauma to his head, and that he was in the Ventura County Medical Center (VCMC). His eyes remained confused. He'd tell me he was sorry. Sorry he crashed his bike. Sorry he couldn't remember. I felt so bad for my son, Sean. Fifteen years old, going on 16 in a few months, and watching his dad suffer and go through such confusion.

July 29th:  Jim was moved to the Intensive Care Unit (ICU) a few hours later. They did tons of tests on him, including an MRI of his brain, some vascular studies and an echocardiogram. The neurosurgeon showed me his MRI, and where the left vertebral artery seemed to have suffered trauma, as well as the small blood clots in the left parietal side of his brain and the frontal portion. Six clots, all small, but in different areas. The doctor said he thought perhaps the trauma to the artery caused a 'shower' of clots in the brain. Regardless, the effect was like that of having mini-strokes.

Jim's speech was garbled and his words were slurred. His right side of the body was weaker and it was more difficult for him to grasp objects with his right hand. I thanked the maker of Bell Helmets that day. If it weren't for their design, and superior fit on his head, he wouldn't be with me today. That much I know. 

 August 1st (Jim's B-Day):  We sneak in a helium balloon only to find out he's being moved to 2 West, a regular medical floor. That is cause for a little celebration. He's graduated to a regular floor. Kira makes him Banana bread for his birthday cake, and we give him our gift: Football tickets to the San Diego Chargers/ Dallas Cowboys game. A REAL game. I found myself wondering if he'd be able to make it.

August 4th (Sunday): After dinner and a shower, Jim and I went outside to look at the sunset. He recognized "Two Trees," but wasn't sure why he recognized them. While we sat there, the kids arrived with Paris, and as soon as Paris sniffed and saw who was ahead of her, she ran like mad to try to get to her human! I think there was tongue in that kiss! :)

August 6th (Tuesday): Jim has received phone-calls from Andy, Mike, Kenny and many others. The phonecalls really help him. They jog his memory, and get his brain cells firing. The bruise on his arm has turned the lovely shades of yellow and purple.

On December 13th, 2012 I turned 50 . . .

I haven't written on this blog for a while now. So many things to do, assignments to complete, kids and husband to take care of and yeah, my day job with the military. But on December 16th, at 4AM in the morning, I'm sleepless in Ventura and trying to stay sane so I've found my blog here to write a few notes.

My daughter Kira turned 19 on the 21st of August. I can't believe this is the last of her teenage years. She's done so much since high school graduation. Kira has thrown herself into Asian Studies, and taken on a mostly full time job at "Massage Place." She's feeling happy and self secure in her trade knowledge combined with a knowledge of what more she wants to do in the future. Acupuncture maybe, and other oriental treatments. There's a school in Santa Cruz that she wants to go to, and so she's preparing to move at the end of summer 2013.

To backtrack a little, my husband Jim turned 50 on August 1st, and his was a lovely birthday. I promised him that for a year I'd be a Dallas fan (yeah, right) and I took him to a preseason game between Dallas and the Chargers in San Diego. I'd never seen the man so happy!

Sean turned 15 on the 12th of November (same day as Joey, my nephew). He wanted a quiet celebration with just family and so we went for greek food at The Greek by the Harbor. His girlfriend Hanna came with us and it was a relaxing and wonderful time.

Not long after that, our whole family made the trip to the East Coast to see friends and family. I returned exhausted. Flying across the country is tiring and it was tough on Air Tran (The World's Most Uncomfortable Flight).

I was looking forward to turning 50. Sure, it's just another day. A meaningless milestone we set for ourselves, but it felt good nonetheless. And my family was all around me which made it much better.

Modern Movie Disappointments

I've had two movie disappointments lately, and I'm mystified as to why the films ended up being so unexpectedly bad.

Let me just say, I looked forward to each film. I rarely shell out $10.00 (or more) for a flick unless I think it's going to be good. Two times in two months I've misjudged a movie horribly. Part of it was because of the way the previews were done (excellent) and part of it was because I love the actors and the producers. It takes more than well-known actors to make a great film and I feel sorry for all of the actors in these two films because they did nothing but hurt their professional reputation.

Dark Shadows was a film I wanted to see the moment I viewed the previews. I simply adore Tim Burton movies and I love to watch Johnny Depp. The cast for this humor horror was excellent and the quality of the film was superb. Where the film falls short is in the final editing and in some of the script writing. This movie had scenes that dragged on and (I hate to say it) made me yawn. The humor could have been punched up some and there were unnecessary scenes that added nothing to the story and should have been cut.

I saw Snow White and the Huntsman with my family today, and most of us (exception of my husband who went with us just so he could be with me...sickeningly sweet) were excited to see the film. The pros of the film were the wonderful cast of actors, the quality of the film and the excellent CG/special effects. The cons were similar to that of Dark Shadows. Poor script writing, poor film editing and the insertion of scenes that didn't do anything to move the story along. There were endless snippets of Snow White stumbling though the dark forest breathing heavily and squeaking from fear, and a scene where a village of women who had scars on their faces could have been cut from the story all together.

When I talked with my family after the movie was over, everyone thought the film was "so-so." It wasn't fantastic. We agreed that there was no emotional attachment to any of the characters. No deep meaning to the story. It was such a shame, because I'd hoped for a quality movie to escape into. Instead I got something that was close to real life. Fun and fantasy combined with boredom and the desire to fast forward on a remote (Precious Buddha, I really wish I'd had a remote...)

Even though these films were an ultimate disappointment, they did awaken something in me that made me look at myself. I realized that, as a writer, I need to be sure not to make the same mistakes that were made in these stories. Quick action scenes and 'meaning' to each scene are important, and if I even think I'm going to write humor then it needs to be funny or else I need to cut it. 

Editing is huge part of developing prose for publication, whether it's a script, short story, poetry or a novel. I had a hard time believing that the producers, writers and editors of these creations actually shared their movies with an sample of the general population before they did the final wrap. Gathering together a real audience to view the films before saying the work if finished is essential. The audience should be a group of randomly selected people (50 or more) who fill out a survey at the end of the movie and who provide their honest feedback in a comment section. I can't believe anyone did this with either of these movies because the average Jane/Joe Doe opinion would have helped these two films to be a hit.

In the end, viewing the films weren't a total loss. I developed  some insight by watching something that could have been popular if the scriptwriting and editing had been better. And I spent time with my family, which is always good. Bottom line is to never be so arrogant (despite your money and popularity) that you don't invite and/or listen to a good critique of your work. As for me, I'll be making sure I've got plenty of eyes on my manuscript. The last thing I want is for my reader to be disappointed.

Semper Fortis!

~Q

Avengers: The Return of Dignity to America...

Today the movie the Avengers grossed over 200 million, and I read it took approximately 250 million dollars to make. That means that this weekend, the film almost paid for itself. Each of the main characters (except for Black Widow, Phil and Nick Fury) had their own movie before the culmination of this Marvel product, but bringing them together under the threat of world domination from alien beings (and an evil god) brought something back to the people of the United States. What this brilliantly written script, filled with humor, self sacrifice, humility and leadership, did for American people is bring back a dose of American pride.


Over my 30 years in the U.S. Military and Public Health Commissioned Service I've seen support for service uniforms wax and wane. After over a decade of war in both Iraq and Afghanistan, fighting against terrorism and extremist ideas instead of some other country, I'd become disheartened at our political ethics. In my career, I've seen more money wasted than what actually seemed to do good. I've seen totem pole scrambles as military and government leadership fought for the top. And all of this time, I'd seldom met a leader that I wanted to emulate.


The first leader I ever met, who I really admired, was my Company Commander, Petty Officer First Class Daniloff. In 1982, the woman exuded strength, and had the Wonder Woman task of whipping 80 wanna-be women into something the Navy could use for service. Our CC was someone who immediately inspired me. She made me want to be better than I was. She helped me to be proud of being an American and I learned to love my uniform and love my country like I never had before.


The second leader I ever met was the same rank as me. She'd gone through Aircrew School in Pensacola, just like me, and was one of the few females to make it through the training. When fellow sailors sat on their ass waiting for each other to park an airplane on the flight line, this woman was one of the first people to pipe up and say she'd take care of the work. I learned to follow suit, and I will always thank Karen Graham for teaching me the value of a hard work ethic.


You might think that during my five years of active duty military enlisted service, I had tons of role models, mentors or people that I admired. But the truth was, I didn't. I had to learn to rely mostly on myself. I learned my own strengths, and I stumbled over my weaknesses. My mental knees were skinned and scarred from how many times I tripped up, but I always found my footing and I was honorably discharged from the Navy and entered Nursing School at Old Dominion University the Fall of 1988.


Nursing school was a huge challenge. It was the hardest I ever worked up until that point. But during that time I met three amazing leaders who changed my life. The first was a nursing instructor, Professor Linda Lilley. The woman was an amazon when it came to medical-surgical nursing. I remember arriving to the nursing floor at the hospital at 5:30AM and reading my patient charts so I could be prepared rather than suffer her wrath. Professor Lilley rewarded hard work, and she eschewed those who were lazy, and it wasn't a passing grade I sought from her as much as it was the reward that I'd done my best in her eyes. She was a professor who worked harder than any of her students combined, and she took her job seriously. Our care for the patients was a reflection of how she trained us, and she would never have wanted a patient to suffer because she'd failed to teach us to do our best.


My most life-altering leader during this time-period was in training under Sensei Hiroyuki Hamada. He was head of the martial arts program at Old Dominion University, and it was through him that I learned that I could do whatever I set my mind to. I learned my body and mind were stronger than I imagined. Respect for others as well as respect for the self were philosophies to be cultivated. And I learned 'Beginner's Mind,' and the priceless art of seeing everything new each moment, learning to understand the spectacular existence of the here and now. Through him, I saw the beauty of life's struggle, where once I used to see tragedy and sorrow, and I learned that we are strongest when we open ourselves up to our vulnerabilities, look deep inside and work to overcome them.


My dearest friend Alice McCleary (McCleary Martial Arts in Dallas Georgia), I first met at a Chuck Norris Martial Arts studio in Norfolk Virginia. I'd started training there, as well as at ODU, and took lessons from a teacher named Ed Saenz. Right before one of my classes this crazy woman sat down on the mat beside me and started talking to me like she'd known me forever. Little did I know that she'd made her life training martial arts since the age of fourteen, and was taking on the style of Chun Kuk Do just for fun. Alice taught me about friendship and love. True friendship and love. Not the kind you have just because it's convenient or popular. She was honest, forthright and lived by her values and to this day she is still that way. I'm indebted to her for always.


Most people aren't as lucky as me, to have found such strong and influential leaders in their lives. Since 1992, after I graduated from ODU, my family (husband Jim, daughter Kira and son Sean), and my brother Rob and my Dad, have each taught me something special. My mother died in 1997, and it wasn't until then that I realized how much she'd taught me about fierce love along the way. I've also met several spiritual teachers, Monks and Ani's, Khenchen, Holiness Penor Rinpoche, Jetsunma Ahkon Llhamo and my dearest Guru Holiness Karma Kuchen. I'm forever grateful for their guidance.


However, there were times in my life when I both witnessed and experienced great despair. I went to Afghanistan in 2010 on a military deployment that I thought wouldn't be so bad. And it wouldn't been half so difficult if it weren't for my military leadership and the people I saw dead or dying each day. It was there that I saw the wasting of American dollars in concert with the military caskets draped with flags and loaded on C-17's bound for the U.S.. I watched the remains of heroes headed toward loved ones who would never see them alive again. The abuses of government authority and poor military planning resulted in an environment of disharmony, poor morale and a failure to cultivate the principles of respect and military conduct essential to win a war. The compelling desire for leadership to climb the corporate ladder in the name of power and fame and the next silver star, led to thousands of Soldiers, Sailors, Marines and Airmen, who were separated from their country by oceans and poor communication, to flail in the stomach acid of a land that housed a terrorist organization determined to vomit them out.


Back in the U.S., the media stopped covering important stories of the war. The struggle became unpopular until the day on May 2nd, 2011, that Osama Bin Laden was killed by our U.S. forces during a raid on his personal hideaway. Even then, our national celebrations lasted a week or so, and then our fighting men and women were forgotten once more. Oh, sure, the care packages kept on arriving, and now and then a mass car bombing made the news on CNN, but the pride of America still floundered in a maelstrom of global upheaval and it still struggles to remain afloat today.


But... can something so simple as a film dedicated to American ideals bring back pride? I may sound crazy to say, "I think so." The artistry of the Avengers movie demonstrated that, both on screen and off, tremendous cooperation can produce amazing results. And for me, as I watched Captain America become the group's leader because of his strategic and military skills and his quick decision making, even though I knew it was a movie, I started to feel pride in my country once more. I thought of the years I'd served fueling airplanes, doing patrols, nursing the sick, delivering babies, helping troops with their healthcare and sacrificing time away from my family so our military service-members could get home to theirs...and I realized how much I love the United States of America.


Maybe it's silly to think that a 2 hour and 22 minute film can bring back a shred of American dignity. Perhaps, like Captain America, I'm naive and altruistic. But who's to say that's a bad thing? If I can keep this feeling just a big longer...if I can hold on to the ideals of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness, then maybe, just maybe, others can too.


When I wake up in the morning, is it too much to hope that the thousands who made the pilgrimage to the movie theaters and who watched the Avengers on screen, and the millions more who will see it in the future, will take it's message to heart? Group cooperation in the face of adversity, belief in fighting for freedom and knocking down those who want dominion over others, protecting the weak and recognizing our differences while loving and accepting each other in spite of them...maybe it IS too much to hope for.


But hope I will.


Tomorrow I vow I will be a conduit of the ideas behind Captain America. I'll use my shield to serve and protect. I'll use the training and the gifts that all of my leaders selflessly gave me, and hell or high water, political vampires or bullies, terrorists or aliens... I will work with others to make the world a much better place. After all, given the lives who've fought for our freedom, who've bled and died for my freedom and the future of my children, it's a pretty small thing to ask. Not only that, but I realize that I really want to.


I practice a Buddhist way of life, and though I don't believe in a white man sitting on a cloud watching over me, I do believe in a higher power. That power is indescribable, and comes from a place that is beyond my human ability to completely conceptualize. And I don't feel hypocritical when I look at the flag of the United States billowing in the wind, when I hear the Star Spangled Banner, or hear Lee Greenwood belt out, "I'm proud to be an American..." and the tears stream down my cheeks like the Mississippi river.


I don't feel a shred of conflict or a need to conform and be 'politically correct' when I say with all my heart: "God bless the U.S.A."

Bipolar...the Feared Diagnosis...

Up one day, and on top of the world! Down the next, and can barely get out of bed.


Does this sound familiar? Do you deal with erratic highs and lows? Do you have days when you have the energy of three people taking on the world? And do you have days when all you can do is crawl under the covers, hide and cry? If this sounds like you, you might be Bipolar. How do I know? I might be Bipolar too.


How many of us have made fun of the person whose moods seem like a light-switch? They are off one moment staring into space, or irritated and/or angry for no good reason. The next time you see them, they're riding high on the moon, full of optimism and doing two, three or four things at once. I've made fun of such people, when I was younger. When I didn't understand the reason for their weird behavior. Before I understood that these 'tantrums' and 'overboard optimisms' were caused by a physical imbalance. Before I had a name to go with the disorder. And now I know the word for what I once thought was comical. And I understand...because the word just might describe me.


I started counseling a couple of months ago because despite the fact that I felt I was handling my episodes of depression okay, I thought it might be good to have someone to talk to. I'd tried an anti-depressent once in my life (Zoloft) and I hated it. I felt like a zombie, unable to 'feel', unable to 'emote' and I thought the medication just made me numb. Because of that, I quit taking the meds and focused on meditation and exercise and it worked for a while. It worked until I was placed into a job I didn't feel suited for...a job that didn't have anything to do with my multi-thousand dollar education...a job at a desk supervising people I'd rather be friends with.


In this job/position, I couldn't make friends. I had no one to talk to. My boss was, well, my boss. And the subordinates were my subordinates. My one shining light was (and still is) my husband and children, and three close friends who live very far away (Virginia, Georgia and Kansas: You know who you are...). During my counseling sessions, my psychotherapist asked me if I'd ever been diagnosed as bipolar. Given my training as a nurse-practitioner and forensic nurse, I wasn't exactly sure what bipolar was until I went to research it. I took my therapist's question as a gentle push to read and learn more about the disorder. As I read, I thought about my mother's behaviors before she died. She went through highs and lows, erratic spending sprees, she'd tried to commit suicide (two times that I know of), and all of that time I just thought she was a hypochondriac. Maybe she was. But just maybe she was Bipolar.


I've been on Cymbalta the past two months, and the medication has helped to improve my outlook. It's improved my body pain some, only by making me not mind it so much. My muscles and joints still hurt, and I continue to take pain medication, but the pain is still there. The difference is I can deal with it better. My husband says that he can tell a difference in my 'moods' and my attitudes. My mood swings are not so sharp, and I'm more social than I was before. Every now and then, though, I feel my impatience talking with people creep up on me, and I wonder how long this medication will hold out. Will it continue to be effective? Will it stabilize my moods? AM I, as the psychotherapist suggests, Bipolar?


My therapist suggested charting my moods for the day, and I went online and downloaded a "mood" chart. There are several if you Google "Mood Chart" and so if you find yourself having very high "ecstatic" moods and then find yourself feeling so low that only a tow-truck filled with happy elves could pull you out...you just might be Bipolar.


There are two types of Bipolar. Bipolar 1 is a disorder where the person feels 10+ on a scale of good moods and sometimes has delusions of grandeur or other delusions. These people overspend money so much that sometimes they get into trouble with finances and sometimes have legal trouble or very real trouble with coworkers. Their coworker troubles can be so prominent that sometimes the person gets fired or loses their job for other reasons. When a person with Bipolar 1 gets depressed, they may (literally) not get out of bed and spend days in a 'funk' where nothing seems to pull them out.


Bipolar 2 people will notice their "high" moments but they will not be quite so erratic. They'll feel good for a day. Just as good as a 9 or a 10 on a 1-10 scale. On their low days they may say they're at a 1 or a 2. They can still get out of bed, but they may cry alone in a room, into a pillow or in the car. They may struggle from extreme fatigue and feel too tired to do any of the activities they love to do. Then, just like that, they may suddenly feel good again. Ready to go surfing. Ready to go to work, and looking forward to working with people.


If any of this sounds like symptoms you are going through, it may be worth it for you to schedule time with a counselor, and talk about these issues. There may be a name for what you are suffering. A name that I won't make fun of ever again. A name that just might be what I'm suffering from too.


Am I Bipolar?


Bipolar Self Test

Arthritis, Fibromyalgia, Exercise...and Weight Loss

I'm almost 50 years old. In my past I used to run 5 miles a day, and regularly participated in 10k races and other running functions. Several years later, and after the birth of two children, I found my joints giving out. Running caused hip and knee pain and no matter how hard I worked with changing my  running form or how much I tried to rehabilitate my joints... running hurt. I laid off the running for a while and went into weight lifting, and then tried running again, but still the joint pain returned. Weight gain became a constant battle, and I dealt with the endless cycle of dieting to lose weight, running again and regaining the hip pain, stopping running because of the hip pain and then putting on more weight again. It gradually became clear to me that running was an exercise my body needed to stay away from.


Bicycling was another option I tried, and long ago I used to ride professional style bicycles (helmet, pro-shoes, foot clips) and go to and from work with the wind, rain and other elements challenging me. Again, once I got older, I was less likely to want to go out into the elements which reduced the time I would want to spend on a bike. Uphill climbs bothered my knees. Staying on the seat too long bothered my bum, and no matter how much I positioned my body for better mechanics my back began to ache. Bicycling became a 'fair weather' exercise that I didn't do regularly, and then I gained weight which made it harder to cycle.


In an effort to find something to do for exercise I tried elliptical training, theorizing that the pounding of running was causing the hip pain, and hoping that the elliptical training would be a great replacement. After all, the elliptical took away the force from my hips and knees and transferred it into a more circular action. But even with the elliptical machines (and I tried all kinds) after a while my hips and knees would hurt.


Now understand that I'm a member of the military, with 30 years in military/government service, and so being able to remain physically fit is not only a healthy thing to do but it's required for my profession. My yearly performance rating is based on whether or not I pass or fail the physical requirements test (PRT) and whether or not I pass my body fat weight or calculations. I'm 5'8", or 68", and as a female my max allowable body weight is 170 lbs or 34% body fat. Remaining at, or under, that requirement has been a huge source of frustration for me and I've searched and studied for methods that would help me maintain and/or reduce my weight while allowing me to stay physically fit without pain.


In addition to my exercise frustrations, my body started going through episodes where I constantly felt hip and other joint pain regardless of whether or not I exercised. I developed muscle pain in the morning, and extreme fatigue during the day, even if all I'd done was sit at a desk and work for my clinic in the Department Head role that I currently fill. I decided to see a physician because the level of daily pain I felt, regardless of exercise, severely impacted my quality of life. It became difficult to get out of bed, difficult to sleep, difficult to get through the day because of fatigue and pain. I looked at my nutrition (I'm vegetarian) and my nutrition factors were fine. Finally I decided to go to a physician.


It's important to understand that I'm a Nurse Practitioner/Certified Nurse Midwife. I know all about health, and particularly women's health. Still, I couldn't figure out why I was having so much pain, why my levels of fatigue were so astronomical on some days, and I couldn't figure out what I could do for exercise that wouldn't increase my joint pain.


After working with my physician, and undergoing several tests, I found I had osteoarthritis and a negligible amount of rheumatoid factor (that shouldn't be impacting me yet/no inflammation in my joints) and that all of the rest of my labs were absolutely normal. I'd developed some depression because of work and exercise issues, and because of my pain. My physician still continues to rule out other reasons for the pain but thinks I may have fibromyalgia. I take Ultram and Flexiril for pain when I have to, but when I'm at work I try to stay away from the medications because they make me drowsy.


I researched exercises for both arthritis and fibromyalgia patients and found three that seemed to give the most benefit for these type patients. One was yoga, another was Pilates and the last was swimming. To help with my depression and mood swings, my physician prescribed me Cymbalta to take on a daily basis. This helped with my mood/depression (my husband stating he saw a real difference in my demeanor) but it didn't help my joint and muscle pain. What it did was help me 'not mind' the pain so much. It also helped me with my appetite by reducing my constant desire to eat. I'm not sure why it helped, but it did (just a little).


In addition, I joined the YMCA. There are gyms available on the military base, and there's even a pool, but often I leave work at 6PM (18:00 for you military types) and there is no option for late night or weekend swimming there. The YMCA stays open until almost 10PM (22:00) and there's a sauna and other equipment to use in addition to a 25 yard pool. I started swimming almost regularly over the past month and I've noticed a difference in my muscle structure. I've also noticed an overall decrease in my level of body pain as long as I swim 3 to 4 times a week. In between swimming, I try to incorporate a yoga or Pilates class and these also seem beneficial. My pain isn't completely gone, but my weight is slowly coming down and overall I feel better. 


The cost for a family to join the YMCA is $80.00 a month, and though I was worried about the extra financial expense it's been well worth it. I try to spend less on carbonated beverages (soda) to help defray the cost, and I've had the added enjoyment of my son coming with me to swim laps at the pool. I'll often go swim around 7:30-8:00PM (19:30-20:00) and if I have a late night at work I can swim as late as 21:45 or 9:45PM. Both the base gym and the YMCA also offer yoga and Pilates classes and so I can structure core strengthening exercises and stretching into my weekly routine as well.


If you are struggling with weight loss and whole body pain, this workout option may suit you well. If you aren't used to swimming, many YMCA's offers free adult swimming classes once a week. The key to improving your swim is constant practice. I've used You-Tube videos to learn about how to swim better and discovered a variety of swimming 'drills' that work various parts of the body and help improve swim stroke.


In the end, you'll need to find out what works for you and your body but perhaps this method will help you along. I keep a diet of fresh fruits and vegetables and drink plenty of water, and maintain a lean protein intake which consists mainly of tofu, seitan/tofu meat products and a variety of beans. Sometimes I have eggs and/or cheese but it's rare. For my sweet treats I try to get fresh berries or melon at the store and every now and then I do love my oatmeal raisin cookies. And chocolate? Oh yes, I still have the occasional chocolate (dark 75% or more) but I don't crave it as much as I used to.


If this article helped you, or if you have questions, please feel free to refer it to your friends and/or ask me questions. I'll be happy to respond. Until then, keep the faith and keep trying to find what works best for you and your pain and/or fatigue. One of the BEST ways to deal with it is to become involved in your own health care and search for the answers that eventually help you improve your daily life and be happy.  :)  And most of all: Never give up. Keep moving forward.

Writing in the Information Age...

It used to be that a writer sat down with pen and paper in hand, or maybe s/he pulled a chair up to a cozy typewriter and the writer scribbled or pounded away at story pieces in the wee dark hours. Writers still spend hours writing, although now we have computers, Word documents and spell check, and writing has become so much easier for us. Or has it?


Thirty to forty years ago, when a writer hit a mental block or couldn't breach the wall of a plot or story-line, there was little to do except maybe turn on the television, read a book or head out to a bar or a late night diner for inspiration. Today, computers wired in to the Internet provide writers with a number of distractions to pull him or her away from the unwritten page. There's facebook and Twitter and a host of community websites. There's online games, video games, Netflix and Clicker.


Mired in a quicksand of unproductive thought? There's Farmville and many other cyber-games that can pull you away from your writing task at hand, and there's nothing to stop you except the writing deadline that either your publisher, your agent and you yourself have imposed.


Don't get me wrong. There are endless benefits to the Internet for a writer. Social media sites allow an author to promote their novels and allow infinite connections with other writers, readers and potential publishers. But it is ever so easy to be pulled into the cyber-world and put off that novel unless you learn to set limits and craft a personal schedule.


Writing requires thought and time, and for some it demands a great deal of research into topics both familiar and foreign. Writing is a process. And it doesn't happen with incessant blogging, tweeting and facebook chats. In order to pump out those words that will eventually be your completed work, you need to devote time and effort toward it, but how do you do that? I say the answer lies in learning how to unplug. Consider cutting the time you spend on the Internet. If you have a hard time doing this, then just shut your Internet off for a certain period of time on your computer. Each day, set time aside some time just for writing, and DO NOT turn the wireless on, or plug in, until you've achieved your desired word count, or until you've written for a certain number of minutes.


If you hit a wall, or run into that feared 'writer's block'... take time to read your manuscript from beginning to end, or choose a few chapters you know will galvanize you. Or better yet take a trip to the bookstore (alone), and go through magazines that deal with the topic on which your plot or subject is built. Science Fiction crafters will find a world of great ideas in Popular Mechanics or Popular Science, and other genre writers will find much the same in their genre style magazines. Bring a pen and paper to the bookstore, or your i-Pad or computer. Buy that cup off coffee, sit down and read and when you've got some good ideas start writing them down. Do NOT turn on the Internet. Do NOT answer the phone. Set aside time for yourself and for practicing your craft and you'll find that the words WILL come, and the ideas will flow, and you won't be mired in the muck of Internet traffic. Instead, you'll be on your way to finishing your piece and you'll be proud of the work you did that day.


As for me, after sitting to write this short piece, I'm turning of my wireless and getting back to my novel. I try to set aside two twenty-minute intervals with a ten minute break in between to stand up, stretch and/or do some research, then off goes the Internet once again. I finish another twenty minutes and by the time I'm done I end up with a five to ten pages of useful material. The journey of 100,000 words begins with that first word, but you'll never make it if you stop and camp out on a page for too long. Keep on crafting. Keep on writing.  And know that with a little self discipline you will achieve your goal, and you'll be proud that you did.

Seeing Impermanence in Action...

My son turned 14 years old today. Birthday's are milestones we (as humans) set up in order to quantitatively measure age. And although I don't take much stock in human systems, I feel time slipping away as he grows older. My daughter is already eighteen years old. And now my son is fourteen. And it's cliche' to say it was just yesterday that I held my children in my arms, and danced with them across the floor as I nestled their small bodies against my chest. Days of Santa Claus, Easter Bunnies, and hunting for fairies in Luray Caverns are long gone. Games of hide and seek, and tickle-fests, and rides in a red wagon hunting for little gravel rocks to collect as "ammo" are obsolete.

The modern version of my son glides on skateboards, and leaps high on a BMX bike which he is way too tall for.  I'm 5'8" and he towers above me. Towers over his father. And my son loves every minute of it. And instead of little gravel rocks, my boy plays with air-soft guns and games online with others in "Modern Warfare."

He texts girls on his cellphone. Often. After they text him.

My son's pants always seem too short no matter how many new pairs we buy him. The bottom of the legs ride up beyond his ankles, and I wonder how many of his friend's parents have looked at him, and his pants, and said, "Can't his mother afford to buy him new clothes?" Which, at the rate he is growing...no I can't.

I never knew motherhood could be so complex. The feelings, the worries, the number of things in the world a parent has to constantly keep up with...  I never knew it could be so joyful, and so (ultimately) rewarding. And it's odd, because I stare at this young man in my house, and still get flashes of the time he jumped off the diving board when he was five, and could barely swim, and landed with a solid belly flop only to come up sputtering and ask to do it again. And those flashes cause an odd mix of pleasure and pain like that little jolt of electricity that bites you when you accidentally get shocked from an errant wall socket. Part of you wants to move on and not do it again, but another part of you wants to try it just one more time...

And as my son sleeps this morning, (probably until noon because he more than likely stayed up until two A.M. playing "Modern Warfare" with his friends), I can't help but wonder what tomorrow will bring? Will he stay healthy? Will he grow much taller? What will he decide to become in the future? And when will he bring his first girlfriend (or boyfriend) home to meet me?

Oh, I know worrying about the future is as useless as wishing I could change the past, but I wonder more than I worry. I wonder, and I pray with all the energy I have that each day for him is a better one, and that his mistakes are few but result in a developing awareness and kind understanding toward himself. I pray that my son learns something useful each moment he treads the path of life, and that he values humanity, love and the joy of giving.  There are so many things I wish for him. So much I would give if I could, but the greatest gift of all that I can hand to him is that of gently guiding him to the person he was meant to be. A person who I am sure will make a difference in this world, and a good one at that.

A Visit to Scary Dairy...

Scary Dairy

            Scary Dairy is located near University Drive in Camarillo, California, near the California State University of Channel Islands.  It’s in an odd hilly region near the ocean and close to Point Mugu Navy Base, and surrounded by some agricultural fields on one side. There are no main buildings in sight, and the area is devoid of anything that appears urban.
            The place is located near what was once the Camarillo State Hospital, a mental institution and it was supposedly a dairy farm and/or a slaughter house. After the place burned down a few years ago, it was renamed “Scary Dairy” by the locals. It’s rumored that a number of murders occurred on the grounds, but now it seems to be more like a place for University plebes and graffiti artists to hang out.

            I traveled there Saturday morning (September 17th) with my daughter. It was my second attempt to find the place. Luckily, on our first pass near the main University road, there was a gate that was open which I hadn’t noticed before.  We turned down the dirt road, and passed a group of people flying model planes and helicopters at the Model Airplane Landing Strip, then rounded a bend of trees, and there stood a dilapidated barn and a low white structure just beyond that.

            It probably didn’t help that we visited during daylight hours, although the sky was gray and overcast, but the place didn’t seem very scary. It had more of an artistic feel to it.  The falling, rotting barn was missing several metal panels, but on almost every bit of wood and aluminum sheeting still attached to the frame, there were a number of interesting pieces of graffiti artwork.

            When we traveled into the main building, large holes in the walls and burnt wooden beams above made the place just a bit eerie. There were concrete troughs, such as those that might have been used for feeding cattle. I imagine if I’d been out there alone at night I might have found the experience quite unsettling, but my daughter and I took pictures and talked with a photographer that was there taking shots of the building. It was obvious from some of the artwork that local fraternities and sororities used this place occasionally, but as I looked out on the strangely vacant hills that surrounded the structure I could only imagine what types of nefarious activities might have once occurred here. I've added some pics below for you to get a feel of the place.