Tag Archives: depression

>Resiliency, Depression, and 9/11

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I could post a flag. But there are flags all over the Internet, on Twitter and Facebook profiles and more. The blogosphere doesn’t need another flag.
I could post a photo of a candle. One of my strongest memories of 9/11/01 comes from the candlelight vigil a few days later. Our entire neighborhood was lit up, high school kids carried candles with them as they walked around the block, and our neighborhood police officer played Amazing Grace on his bagpipes.
But a candle on a blog wouldn’t evoke the kind of emotion that came that night. I don’t think that’s really what I’m after on this day, ten years after our nation changed forever.
People close to me know that I’m recovering from the worst depression of my life. The key word is recovering. I’m not there yet, but I’m steadily gaining ground. It’s a marathon, not a sprint, as I’ve stated before. I can’t say I’m precisely the person I was before this illness hit so hard. I may never be exactly the same, feel exactly the same way. That’s okay. I might not remember exactly what healthy feels like, but I’ll at least be healthier.
People across the nation recovered from the shock of the 9/11 attacks. I’ve seen the word “rebounded” used in place of recovered, but our recovery as a nation wasn’t quick like a rebound. We didn’t heal immediately. Through the healing process we’ve changed. We’re more vigilant, more aware.
Another form of resiliency came about in a focus on home, on family, and on friends. That trend continues, and I hope it never stops. When it comes to healing of any kind, a strong support network is not just important; it’s essential.
Part of my healing comes in the forms of gardening and cooking and canning. It’s part of being a provider. I may have lost income while I was on sick leave last year, but I can still feed my family. My dollars go farther at the market, and we eat healthier as a result. Healing, emotionally and physically, can come in a cloth bag of fresh produce.



It’s not red, white, and blue, but it’s colorful. And strong. And downright patriotic.

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>Gatekeepers. I hate them.

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>”Good news, Daisy! You’re off the wait list for our clinic. We have an opening on August 31 at 7 AM.”

Me: I’m sorry, I can’t make that date and time. What else is available?
Gatekeeper: We have an opening Monday, August 1st, at 8:00 AM.
Me: I’ll take that one.
Gatekeeper: We’ll send out paperwork for your initial appointment.
Scene: Daisy getting mail on Friday.
Me: Oh, no! This date is wrong! It says August 31 at 7! I said no to that date!
(calls clinic, connects with new gatekeeper, explains problem)
Gatekeeper: Okay, we’ll cancel the 7:00 appointment on August 31st.
Me: I have 8:00 on the 1st on my calendar.
Gatekeeper: With which doctor?
Me: (reads name off paperwork)
Gatekeeper: He’s not even here on the 1st. Your appointment is on the 31st.
Me: No, I refused that date. It doesn’t work for me.
Gatekeeper: Okay, we’ll cancel the 7:00 appointment on August 31st and put you back on the wait list.
Me: But… but… I’ve been waiting since March.
Gatekeeper: Is this okay?
Me: No, it’s not okay. (pause) It doesn’t sound like there’s any other option.
Gatekeeper: (pause) Thank you. Goodbye.
Now what? Another five months’ wait? The local health care system certainly doesn’t take depression very seriously. I guess I’m on my own – again. Still.
Note to self: it’s a marathon, not a sprint. Take time, and look at the big picture. Family doc is doing a good job so far; all will (eventually) be well.

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>Finally – or at least a probable maybe

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>La Petite and roommate have found an apartment in their new home city. It will be finalized by the weekend, I believe. I hope. She is hopeful, and it sounds like a good choice for them. After much searching and visiting and calling and emailing, this appears to be their destination. Finally.

Amigo has asked to be more involved with the household cooking. Today he helped prepare the sauce for the pork in the crock pot. The house smells delicious, and he assisted. Later we hope to make ice cream. Vanilla this time: I’m planning on topping it with fresh berries from the farmers’ market. Whipped cream, probably, too. Maybe nuts on top. Why am I writing in fragments? No clue.
The ice cream is very rich and high fat because it’s made with whole milk and heavy cream. This might not be good for Chuck’s cholesterol. Don’t tell his doctor, please.
Speaking of doctors, I am finally off the waiting list for a psychiatrist. I’ve been in limbo since April, wondering if my depression is improving slightly or if I’m just getting used to it. Starting Monday, I’ll be working with an expert. Finally. There’s a shortage of mental health professionals in our fair city, so months-long waits are typical. Thank goodness my illness wasn’t life threatening!
A close friend and coworker found out the source of her own health problems. Her condition can be life threatening, but the medical professionals found it in time to keep her alive. She is finally working with a doctor who understands her rare condition and knows how to treat it. She’s a determined woman, and will do what she needs to do to fight this disease and stay as healthy as she can.
I remain active in Organizing for America (OFA) and the recall efforts in our State Senate. I’ll be happy when the recall elections are over – at least I hope I’ll be happy with the results. Maybe, just maybe, a change in the balance of power will encourage our state legislators to cooperate instead of fighting. Finally.

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>Good signs?

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>I had cabin fever yesterday – just wanted OUT of the HOUSE. This may be a good sign. Instead of wanting to curl up on the couch or hide in my bedroom recliner, I wanted to get up and out.

I took Amigo to see the family doctor yesterday afternoon. Amigo greeted him with “Long time, no see!” Doctor and I just smiled at each other; I’ve been in his office many, many times over the past six months. Many doctor visits: bad sign. Almost two months without needing a visit: good sign.
Good sign of what, you may ask? I’m beginning to think there’s hope for recovery from this long-lasting, never-ending, terrible, horrible, no good very bad case of depression. That would be a good sign. Even if I experience a relapse, I’ll know improvement is possible.
Good sign: I’ve been busy in the kitchen and in the garden. Productivity: good. Energy level: improving.
Good sign: I’m spending less time online and more time walking. Activity, even in small amounts, is good.
Not so good sign: I’m still on sleep medication.
Good sign: Doc thinks I can kick the habit, and gave me a few tips for handling possible side effects. Readers, if I have insomnia for a few nights, I promise I’ll update Compost Happens. I’ll share a few garden stories, a few Amigo stories, and even a few La Petite events.
Meanwhile, it’s late morning and I hear someone moving around the bedroom upstairs. I think it’s Amigo; the rabbit doesn’t usually open drawers and closets. This is a good sign something, isn’t it? A sign of brunch, maybe. I’ll go start the bacon.

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>Not everyone loves the rising phoenix

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God help you if you are a phoenix
and you dare to rise up from the ash
a thousand eyes will smolder with jealousy
while you are just flying past
–Ani DiFranco, “32 Flavors”

The quote from “32 Flavors” resonates with me, and not necessarily the way DiFranco intended when she wrote the song. Recently I told my family that I am tired of being a trailblazer. I’m hearing impaired. I teach, I write, and no one in the school district seems to know what to do with me. They’re accustomed to shuttling their disabled students off to special classes, but a disabled, capable, professional? They’re stumped.

Maybe the image from DiFranco’s song is what I need. If I can re-imagine my role not as the one out front stepping in front of the crowd, leading the way through the mud and getting slashed with low-hanging branches, if I can envision instead the phoenix rising from the ashes, it might give me the strength to fight my battles and leave a good, clear path for those who follow.

It’s not easy being – well, it’s like Kermit the Frog. It’s not easy being different. I wonder if some perceive my success as somehow easier, rather than harder, than theirs. Do they think I got a break because I don’t hear well? I have a hearing aid compatible phone. I.T. provided me with a longer cord so the computer monitor doesn’t interfere with my telecoil setting. Those reasonable accommodations, however, didn’t make teaching easier than it is for other, non-disabled teachers. These accommodations merely leveled the playing field.

Now I’m moving to a new position, one that I feel will be a better fit for my abilities than attempting to hear and react to a large, noisy classroom. I applied for and got this job through seniority, not through disability. I hope no one thinks I’ve jumped the line by virtue of my hearing loss. Then again, who cares? Anyone who thinks so is wrong. I know what the truth is, and if I rise from the ashes on my own, it’s a gain for all around me.

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>To ADA or not to ADA?

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>”Don’t throw ADA at me; it makes me angry.”

Let’s set aside for the moment the fact that the principal who growled this at me was actually quoting the wrong law; he should have said “IDEA” or the Individuals with Disabilities Education Act. This quote is a strong memory from Amigo’s primary years. We’d reminded the principal that he needed to use appropriate methods for dealing with a blind child, and he put on an attitude. That attitude was part of his problem; he didn’t want to recognize the need for reasonable accommodation, much less take responsibility for accommodating for a student’s disability.
Now the position is different. I’m seeking reasonable accommodation for my hearing loss. I’ve handled all necessary adaptation for fifteen years – buying and maintaining hearing aids (not covered by insurance), working with the IT dept. to get a usable phone and a slightly longer cord so the computer didn’t interfere with the telecoil settings on my hearing aids.
Now I’m seeking a preferential placement: one that will allow me to use my teaching skills, but not constantly adapt to noise levels around me. It’s taking forever, and I don’t feel supported. Thanks to our clueless governor, when our contract expires in July, I may no longer have a professional association for support, either.
ADA, however, is a federal law, not state. It should still work in my favor. I’m not talking about a lawsuit or taking anyone to court; I’m just looking for a way to continue teaching despite my disability.
Documenting this disability feels impossible. I jumped through hoops to get an appointment with the Ear, Nose, & Throat doctor (ENT), who told me he couldn’t write what I needed because he had no knowledge of teaching. He then referred me to a doctor in Occupational Medicine. My regular clinic wouldn’t take me unless I get a referral from my employer or it’s a workers’ compensation case. The other large medical group in town agreed to make an appointment. Now I just have to worry about whether or not this doctor can write the letter I need.
This garbage is not helping my depression recovery. Not a bit.

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>The Depression roller coaster

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>Some days. I mean it. Some days my anxiety level goes up and down like a roller coaster, and my stomach feels like it rode one, too. Yesterday, for example:

Woke late, with sinus headache, after nightmares: high
I know better than to go back to bed when I wake near my regular time. I don’t know what possessed me to go back to bed, but I paid dearly for it.
Drank coffee, concentrated on data entry for local politicos: med. high
Sinus headache started easing, but still painful; entering data is a tedious job, but it feels good to make a contribution. I kept thinking, though, about how I wouldn’t be able to keep up the volunteer work when school starts. School – now that’s another nightmare.

Showered, employed Neti Pot (apologies for that image): improvement. Lowered pain & anxiety
Between Neti and the steam from the shower, sinus headache finally eased significantly.

Lunch, noon news: low, somewhat relaxed
No news may be good news, but I still like to check in mid-day for the Ag Report. Just kidding. My favorite segment is really the PetSaver.

Ran errands to pharmacy & credit union: anxiety rising
Staff meeting looming at my new school; almost forgot to use my own bag at the pharmacy, I was that distracted.

Sent daughter to vet with rabbit: medium anxiety (routine visit)
But she was driving my minivan with the rabbit cage in the backseat, and paying with my debit card. Okay, I shouldn’t worry. So I didn’t. Much.

Killed time before staff meeting: anxiety rising higher and higher
This was my first staff meeting at my new school, my first staff meeting since going on medical leave. I was manufacturing stomach acid by the quart, if not the gallon.

Attended staff meeting: anxiety high, but stable
Introduced myself to new principal, participated in reconfiguration routine (don’t ask, it’s a routine procedure, but wickedly stressful for those changing grade levels).

The roller coaster analogy came to me as I put up my umbrella and walked the short distance home. My heart was still pounding, but my mind was listing all the reasons this was a good move for me. Good coworkers, escaping the bullies at my previous school, heading into a positive change. Maybe. Hopefully. Stomach acid subsided, and I went to meet a friend for soup and salad at our favorite family restaurant.
Then the anxiety level went up suddenly as I plugged in my laptop and the cord began sparking and smoking at a spot that had been spliced. Aargh!

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>Daisy and the Gatekeeper

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Actual phone call with clinic; I am not making this up.

Me: I’d like to make an appointment to see Doctor DHH (deaf- hard of hearing).

Gatekeeper: Regarding?
Me: Creating a letter discussing medical accommodations for my job.
Gatekeeper: Oh, we don’t make appointments for that. He just writes a letter.
Me: He already wrote a letter, and my attorney says it’s not suitable.
Gatekeeper: In what way?
Me: It needs to be specific, suggesting an accommodation and giving a medical reason for that accommodation. I need to talk to Dr. DHH. Could you please check his schedule?
Gatekeeper: We write letters to employers all the time. The one you have should be sufficient.
Me: I’ve run it by my attorney, and she says it’s not specific enough. I’d like to talk to Dr. DHH so we can draft a new one.
Gatekeeper: We send these out all the time to employers and SSI for disability cases. No one has ever had a problem with this.
Me: Please schedule an appointment for me so we can resolve the letter completely.
Gatekeeper: Oh, no, instead let’s see what’s in your file.
Me: (pacing next to phone)
Gatekeeper: Okay, he sent a more detailed letter to your family doctor and a short one to you. You picked it up two days ago.
Me: Yes. I have it. It’s a short summary, and it needs detail. Maybe Dr. DHH could call me.
Gatekeeper: Let’s see if the family doctor letter has what you need. We could send that one.
Me:(pausing while she looks it up)
Gatekeeper: Maybe you don’t need a doctor’s letter at all. You just need the audiology report.
Me: No, I’ve already asked. I need a letter from an MD. If I need to include audiograms, I have several years of them on file.
Gatekeeper: Oh, Dr. DHH won’t need more. He has the one from November.
Me: If he needs to show that the loss is progressive, he’ll need a series of audiograms over time.
Gatekeeper: Oh.
Me: Shall we schedule an appointment?
Gatekeeper: No, I’ll ask Dr. DHH if we should use the medical letter.
Me (firmly, but politely): I will stop by to pick up a copy. Do not send it to my employer until I’ve reviewed it with my attorney.
Gatekeeper: Oh. Well…
Me: I’ll pick it up Monday morning. See you then!
Notes: I managed to make an appointment a week later by going through a different receptionist. Dr. DHH was appalled to hear that his “gatekeeper” had refused to schedule my appointment the first time I called. We’re still working on the disability documentation, but at least I made it one more step up the ladder.

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>Light a Single Candle

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>It is better to light a single candle than to sit and curse the darkness.

Attributed to Confucious, Eleanor Roosevelt, Old English Proverbs, no one really knows where the phrase began. Some insert a word, slightly changing its tone by saying “…sit and curse in the darkness.” Most are clear, however, as to its meaning.
To me, lighting a single candle means focusing on a goal, one goal, rather than giving up in an overwhelming world. In my world of clinical depression (and a sinus infection on top of it all), I feel like too many decisions are looming. I have too many candles. Can I cut down to one?
There’s school. I’m preparing for a new position next year. This is still uncertain; I’m working on Plan B while Plan A simmers.
There’s the book project. There’s resting, gathering energy, building strength.
The single candle doesn’t last if I burn it on both ends. Pushing too hard just gets me sicker and slows my recovery. Some days I don’t have a choice; I need to take a deep breath and go out in public to get the details of my job in place for next year. As long as I plan to rest the next day (or two), I can make it through an occasional tough day like that.
So really, what’s my single candle? Recovery? Recovering and taking care of myself is number one. When I’m ready for the next step, I’ll light the candle of Educating Amigo, our book project. While I’m working, the bunnies might just have to feed themselves. I’ll be very focused on my single flame.

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