Category: Suzanne

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I Wonder As I Wander

Saturday, I wandered aimlessly around LOWE’S in my Sloggers and Bow Tie o’ the Day, while Suzanne was on the search for, as she tried to tell me, “Blah blah blah… crown molding… blah blah blah… a wood shelf… blah blah blah… above the kitchen sink… blah blah blah… to display the salt-and-pepper shakers collection.” Suzanne had a purpose. I did not. Quite happily for both of us, I might add.

I am not a household project kind of gal. I’ve fixed my share of toilet tank hardware, and I’ve cleaned the snow off the DIRECTV dish. Other than those two things, pretty much anything else around the house that goes wrong really doesn’t matter to me. I can merrily live in ruins, as long as I can pee and watch tv. Besides, Suzanne can fix it. I don’t know why I’m not handy, but I’m not. I didn’t get the handy gene. Suzanne is handy though. I’m not even handy enough to be a helper.

I’ve written about this before, but it’s worth repeating: It’s good that Suzanne can do house projects on her own. Every few years, we try to do a house project together, which is why every few years we both end up calling divorce attorneys. OK, we don’t really make the phone calls, we just think about it. OK, we don’t really think about calling– we just joke about thinking about calling. We work well together on most things, but we can’t “build” together. We can’t “assemble.” Suzanne can only work in “boss” mode, and she thinks I should be able to read her mind about what she wants me to do next. I have no clue if there even is a next. It doesn’t mean we have a problem. It means we are wise enough to know our limitations. Now that I think about it though… I’m probably all the limitations. Suzanne can do anything.

At LOWE’S, I followed Suzanne to the crown molding section, and after a while I ambled off as I usually do. When I’m in a home improvement store, I somehow find myself in the DEWALT tools section for a while. DEWALT ‘s labeling and design uses black and yellow colors. Those colors remind me of Dad, aka, St. Ron of the Bees. And then I eventually end up by the orange cones o’ danger, thinking about the Coneheads on SNL back in the olden days– as well as how it would probably be wise for me to buy a few cones o’ danger to surround myself with if I get angry. How else will people know to keep their distance when I’ve got a ‘tude? Here’s a clue how you readers can tell if I’m angry: My first name will be spelled with two L’s, as in HELLen. If you see my name spelled with two L’s, do not make eye contact. Back away slowly from your screen.

I’m always amazed that when you go to LOWE’S for a particular item, you will likely walk out of the store with something completely different, for a completely different project. So what did we walk out of LOWE’S with? We walked out, not with crown molding, but with a bigly bag o’ paver sand and a full-coverage set of TYVEK safety coveralls. It was probably a successful home improvement store shopping trip, but I’m not even handy enough to know if it was, or not.

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Gracie Gets A Blessing, But Not A Photo

The divine Miss Grace Anne Blackwelder received her name-and-a-blessing in church yesterday. It was a momentous occasion, so I knew I needed extra eyes to take it all in. My wood, eyewear Bow Tie o’ the Day volunteered to give me two extra lenses for the event. Suzanne even accompanied me to Provo for Gracie’s bigly day. It was Suzanne’s first time attending church with me at Bishop Travis’ and Bishopette Collette’s ward. It was also Suzanne’s first meeting with Gracie.

Of course, my SWWTRN was there. My oldest sister, Mercedes Rae, and her husband, Nuk, attended the bigly event as well. Bishopette Collette’s entire Family Tree seemed to be in attendance too. They are a gregarious and welcoming bunch of folks. As far as I could tell, not one of ’em was afraid of Bow Tie o’ the Day.

Bishop Travis’ blessing on Gracie was a marvel. He does not give cookie cutter, fill-in-the-blanks blessings. When Bishop Travis offers a prayer of any kind, you have to pay attention. You have to think. For example, his blessing upon Gracie included a brief acknowledgement and appreciation for the birth mother who made the difficult decision to give up a baby, which made it possible for Travis and Collette to receive the miracle of Gracie. And it also made it possible for Gracie to receive the miracle of Travis and Collette. Sometimes others pay a big part of the price, for something which enriches us.

Gracie’s fans lined the pews of the chapel. We covered at least three of the long, center rows. All through Sacrament Meeting, Gracie was lifted over heads and over pews, from one person who already loves her, to the next, and to the next. She was body-surfing the crowd. Gracie slept through almost all of the holding, rocking, kisses, and love. But I’m sure her soul drank it in.

Gracie was so busy receiving loves and smooches from the multitudes, I couldn’t get one snapshot of her.

FYI Suzanne made the quilt you see here especially for Gracie to share with Mom and Dad. Bishop Travis was never a child: he was a caped superhero throughout his kidhood. Mostly, he was Batman. Now, Travis and Collette work for BYU as important Cougar superheroes of some kind. The quilt had to combine superheroes and BYU. Gracie really is a Wonder Woman already, so that fabric was a must. The BYU fabric was a perfect clash-match choice. Suzanne nailed the themes beautifully.

Another FYI I like bragging about what Suzanne creates.

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It’s Lookin’ Good

SCAR UPDATE! Bow Ties o’ the Day present my scar, exactly one year after it was carved into my belly during my pancreaticoduodenectomy. 6 inches o’ scar! It is healing well. It’s gradually whitening up, especially on the left end so far. It will never be invisible, but it will fade. I don’t mind having a scar on my body. It’s like my wrinkles and gray hairs: I earned them all. Deal with them or look away. In a way, they are my body’s evidence of parts of my life’s story. This is my only physical scar. If it were my style to wear bikinis, I’d still wear one. I am not ashamed to show what my belly has been through, inside or out.

RECOVERY UPDATE! My handsome Hanky Panky scar is an adequate symbol for my year o’ post-operation recovery. I can report that every step in the healing process has been textbook, best-case scenario, near-perfection. I’m feeling substantially less Hanky Panky pain. I’ve done everything Dr. Mulvehill told me to do to heal. Suzanne made sure of that. She has taken good care of me and she did all the heavy lifting, as they say. She fussed at me to slow down when I got over-zealous about how much I could do. I learned Suzanne knows how to scold when she sees bad behavior. (It’s kinda funny though. She didn’t seem to know how to use that disciplinary skill when Rowan was a young’un. Alas! I was always the bad cop o’ his kidhood.)

I continue to feel weird tugs and pulls in my torso, but throughout the last year, they have lessened in terms of pain, oddity, and regularity of occurrence. I notice them most now when getting in and out of bed, and when using my bigly strength to push something down– like closing my car’s obnoxiously heavy hatch or pushing down the lid on my mini keg.

I’ve been extra cautious with my recovery. (Except for falling down the stairs while running. Twice. And a few other not cautious things we won’t talk about now.) I rested and rested and rested until my rester was sore. I didn’t lift anything but Popsicles and Diet Cokes for the first two months after the operation. I’ve gotten my stamina back almost completely, because I go for walks.

Also, I take what I call My Pancreas with every meal. My Pancreas is a bigly capsule containing a prescription pancreatic enzyme which helps what’s left of my pancreas do its job. I take My Pancreas very seriously. I am beyond diligent about taking it when I feast. I have, on only a couple of occasions, forgotten to carry it with me when we’ve gone out to eat. At one restaurant, I was so surprised and aghast I didn’t have My Pancreas that– upon discovering it wasn’t in my pocket– I said a little too loudly, “I forgot to bring My Pancreas!” That entire evening, I got the distinct impression nobody at the restaurant noticed my bow tie or my cape. Instead, they were straining to see if there was evidence of a nook, cranny, or cupboard somewhere on the side of my gut where a pancreas could be kept or let out.

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My Eyes Are Getting Sleepy, Sleepy, Sleepy

That kind of day when one of your email accounts locks you out and you’re not sure if you’ve been hacked or if you just hit the wrong button the last time you used it and you’ve run out of options for troubleshooting the problem so you decide to grit your teeth and call CenturyLink to unlock your account and let you make a new password so you can use your CenturyLink email again and after a while the techie on the phone tells you it works now and so you end the call and go to check your account and you’re still locked out so you call CenturyLink a second time and go through the whole Concocting o’ the New Password and the Unlocking o’ the Old Account with a second person and finally your account really works this time but you realize that you have spent almost three hours of your morning on the phone with CenturyLink just to get you back to normal in your email situation and then you realize that being patient with techies on the phone for almost three hours not only blew your entire morning’s work and errands it exhausted your bipolar noggin and now all you want to do is tie on a wienerdog-wearing-a-bow-tie Tie o’ the Day and take a nap in the recliner while curled up in the tv blanket Suzanne made you and then you’ll contemplate how it is that being polite and patient with your email account problems and the phone techies who helped solve them can make you so very very sleepy.

Yeah, that kind of day.

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If You Think Nobody’s Given You A Gift, You’re Just Plain Wrong: Part 2

Skitter is like Mom: Her eyes are sensitive to light, so she tends to wear sunglasses indoors quite often. Skitter is wearing Bow Tie o’ the Day shades this morning. You’ve seen these sunglasses on Mom, on me, and now on The Skit. We share well.

All the gifts in all the universes can’t save you from a mental illness like bipolar depression. Depression doesn’t care what material gifts you have been given. It doesn’t care about the gift you’ve received of being loved and wanted. It does what it wants to your head and, therefore, to your life.

I have mentioned before that I decided to do TMS to jump start my depressed feelers and level my mood. I had been “not feeling” for a while. Simultaneous to my “not feeling,” I was in a crippling depression. It might seem like a contradiction to “not feel” while also drowning in depression, but I assure you it’s possible. I have been there more times in my life than I’d like to count. This time was significantly more debilitating and dark. I honestly believe my mental illness was getting close to being terminal, if you get my drift: Bye, bye, Helen Jr.

Anyhoo… It’s been two weeks since I completed TMS, and I want to tell you what I’ve noticed. There’s been no bigly cookie at the end of the TMS rainbow for me, but I see and “feel” a trail of crumbs which will add up to at least half a cookie when I gather them and put them all together. As I wrote yesterday, TMS has been a smallish welcome gift– despite 36 treatments that felt like a woodpecker beak knocking at my skull.

I got part of my appetite back, which is probably good cuz my weight went down to 7th-grade level. I have been unable to focus my attention enough to read for the last year, and I didn’t even care about it. Not reading is sooooo not me. But I’ve been back to reading for the last month. My moods are back to being lighter, though not as light as my usual, weird “normal.”

I can’t say my “feelers” are back to feeling, but I get little bursts of feeling, so I’m confident TMS has helped to get that coming back to me. Until feeling shows up more often, I’ll stick to knowing what I anticipate I will feel in the future. Suzanne says I am talking more, which is a bigly change back to my true self– since I am a chatter-er like Mom. I’ll let you know when/if I notice other changes I think are TMS-related. TMS wasn’t magic for me, but it helped pull me up a couple of rungs on the slippery ladder in my depression pit.

Before TMS, aside from thinking it would be best for everyone if I jumped off the planet, the worst idea I ruminated over was…. hold on to your bike helmets…. are you sitting down?…. I told Suzanne I was going to shut down TIE O’ THE DAY. Forever. No more website. No more Facebook posts. I didn’t care about it or my stoopid neckwear anymore.

And I ranted to Suzanne about how I’m too old to write these stoopid posts about my stoopid, uninteresting life. And I ranted about how this stoopid tie/bow tie thing makes me look like a stoopid fool, and I should feel embarrassed. And I ranted about how nobody cares about my stoopid ideas about living better lives. And nobody thinks my writing is funny. Blah, blah, blah. You know… all that prattle, which is kinda true.

The tragedy! The tragedy! Junking TIE O’ THE DAY might have actually thrown me off the runaway train. Sticking with writing my posts– despite not caring about the venture for a while– anchored my depressed and sunken days with a purpose. I somehow convinced myself my readers would miss TIE O’ THE DAY to the extent that their souls would lose a wee bit of joy forever. Oh, if I were to quit writing and posting, it would destroy y’all’s lives! I told myself I had to keep TIE O’ THE DAY up and running, for the good of all mankind. I’m SuperBowTieLady, patron superhero of all neckwear!

Seriously, TMS has helped. Mostly, I am still here, and here is where I want to be. I’m not positive I would be here on this blue-skied day in June if I had decided against doing TMS.

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Putting Away Winter

Most TV commercials are lame, but I love my funny Flo commercials. She makes me snicker. I want a Flo bobblehead, so I hope somebody out there makes such an item. Maybe Suzanne can craft me one while sitting at her Ultimate SewingBox, which she does 23 and 1/2 hours per day.

In this magazine ad, Flo looks outstanding in her Cape o’ the Day, but she needed a Bow Tie o’ the Day to top off her style. I was glad to help her out. Now her attire astounds the eyes. Her cape and bow tie seal the deal: Flo’s an authentic superhero.

This morning, I gathered my Suzanne-made capes, and I put them away until Fall. I was sad about it, but capes and summer heat don’t make a pleasant pairing. Suzanne says she will make me a summer-y cape out of a very light, perhaps sheer, fabric if we find some material I approve of. I’m thinking she should make me a cape out of mosquito netting. Such a creation would be incredibly useful when I’m out on the patio or deck. And it would look snazzy. No one else would have a cape even remotely like it. But I’m sure it would start a seasonal trend.

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Better Than TV

School’s out, but Bow Tie o’ the Day and I took a drive out to Syracuse High School this morning. Suzanne was the bigly deal speaker at a professional training day, held at SHS. She got the gig at the last minute, and she’s been working non-stop on her presentation for the last week. I asked her if I could attend her presentation. I’ve never watched her spread her education wisdom to other education professionals, but it has always been on my Bucket List. She let me know my butt was welcome to sit in her audience.

Suzanne is not good at everything, although I can’t really think of anything she can’t do. Her presentation this morning, called “Find Your Passion,” was brilliant, and her speaking performance on the stage was captivating. She is masterful at what she does. I learned plenty. The rest of the audience gained new insights too.

Suzanne moved from being a superb teacher at Clearfield High School to working for the last decade as a district administrator. Part of her job is teaching other educators, but she misses teaching kids. Suzanne makes a huge impact where she is, but I feel kinda bad that high school students are deprived of her teaching. Just sayin’.

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“Cost” And “Worth” Are Two Different Things

Yesterday I went to an appointment to check in with one of my crazy head docs. I see Dr. Day sporadically, for meds maintenance and talk therapy. I see her probably a half-dozen times per year. My last appointment with her was a couple of months ago, before I began the TMS. In fact, she is the one who told me– months ago– about a number of brain therapies for bipolar drepression which I might want to check into, one of which was TMS. She hasn’t been involved in any aspect of the TMS itself.

Anyhoo… The last time I visited with Dr. Day, I was flat and affectless as could be. Of course, that’s the reason she brought up TMS in the first place. But yesterday, before I could sit my butt down on the couch in her office, she said, “You have some life in you today! You’re looking alive!” I said, “I only have two TMS sessions left.” And then she said, “Oh my gosh! I forgot you went forward with the TMS. Do you feel like it’s helping?” It must be working if she noticed a difference in me. That was exactly what I needed to hear.

The truth is I haven’t been sure TMS is working. I don’t know how I’m supposed to be feeling while I’m going through the treatments. I do know that whatever’s going on (or isn’t going on) is happening gradually. It’s like that pesky ten pounds that somehow makes its way to your gut: It creeps on. You don’t see every tiny blob of fat as it decides to make its home on you, but one day you go to button your shorts and you finally notice ten pounds somehow showed up under your very eyes.

My potential brain change, however, would be a welcome change. But mostly, I think I’m too close to my situation to really notice TMS effects. I’m with me 24/7. I’m looking so closely at every little thing I do, every thought I have, and every hint of emotion that I don’t know if I’ve improved or not. Is my depression really improving? Am I starting to feel authentic things deeply? Or is it just my wishful thinking that I see some progress?

But Dr. Day’s reaction to my simply walking into her office yesterday eased my worries of TMS failure immensely. Her reaction makes it pretty clear to me that I’m probably doing noticeably better than I was before the TMS.

When Suzanne and I first discussed the possibility of me trying TMS to combat my evil bipolar depression, one of the minuses of going ahead with treatment was the high cost. Insurance covers only a wee bit of it, and that’s after the Treatment Resistant Mood Disorder Clinic @ UNI did much begging with the insurance company on my behalf. I think I’ve been trying to see more bang for my buck, so to speak. If I’m payin’ bigly bucks, I expect to see bigly positive change. But I’ve decided it’s kinda selfish and demanding of me to think that way. The desired outcome would be one enormous emotional change, but I’m thinking the non-flashy, simpler, thousands of tiny changes might add up to a longer-lasting, more thorough mental change.

If you think about it, you’ll see that’s how most change happens. Need a cinderblock fence around your yard? That’ll happen one cinderblock at a time. Teaching your kid how to walk? That’ll be one step at a time. Teaching someone to drive a car? That’ll be one driving skill upon another. Need a doctor to hack out 2/3 of your stoopid pancreas? The hours-long surgery officially begins with one cut. And then the next thing happens, and then the next, next thing happens. And so on.

It’ll probably take some time for me to truly analyze how effective the TMS has been. Patience is better than fretting about it. Since Suzanne is the person I’m around most, she’s the one whose opinion on the treatment’s success or failure is most crucial. She’s not ready to offer up her vote yet.

When we talked about cost and time commitment for the required 36 TMS treatments, I asked Suzanne, “If, after the boatloads of money and eons of time spent, TMS ends up helping my loony head improve only 1 percent, will it be worth it to you that it cost us our emergency fund?”

Suzanne is famous for being silent while she completely thinks through every word of her answers to even the simplest questions before she speaks. (Sometimes it’s annoying.) But she wasn’t silent at all after I asked her that question. Her head cogs didn’t turn. They didn’t even creak. She just immediately said, “Yes. It’ll be worth it.”

See why I agreed to give it a try?

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In Utah-speak, It’s Pronounced “EvINGston”

In the extra weird state of my head over the weekend, I thought a drive might assist me in my effort to get some of the air out of my skull. I said to Suzanne, “Hey, let’s go to Evanston for Sunday brunch.” I could say that to her every weekend and she’d be game for it. In Evanston, we eat only at the Gateway Grille at the Purple Sage Golf Course. Suzanne’s brother, James, is owner and chef at the restaurant, which is in the course’s clubhouse.

James is a swell chap, and he always gives me permission to steal pastries on the way out the door. This time, in fact, James’ son, MacGregor (who works for his dad there), came out of the kitchen with a “doggie box” full of pastries for me to take back home. I didn’t have to steal ’em! And you know what? The pastries I was so freely given were almost as yummy as when I steal them. (Forbidden fruit, forbidden pastries– you know what I’m saying.)

Buckin’ bronco Tie o’ the Day was a fitting choice to wear for a day-trip to Wyoming. And of course, when you’re in Evanston (even on the Sabbath), one really must make a stop at a liquor store to buy a few lottery tickets.

It’s not a problem for me (drunk that I used to be) to saunter into a liquor store. It doesn’t tempt me. To me, liquor stores are just more sights to see. I would not want to miss the treasures that haunt any and every liquor store, anywhere. For example, my life would be less full if I had not seen this amazing bottle of SILVER SPUR JALAPENO BACON FLAVORED VODKA. I’m sure your life is also fuller now that you’ve merely seen the photo of it. I bet you’ll tell at least one person about its hideous flavor, and you’ll both have a chuckle. Everybody’ll be better off, just cuz I walked into a liquor store. This post will have done its job for the day.

The ABSENTE absinthe box decked out with Van Gogh’s likeness is a dandy gem too. Yup, it made my life fuller just to gaze upon it, just like seeing the vodka flavor. I liked the fancy box so much I’ll probably visit it next time I steal pastries from my brother-in law’s dining establishment.

BTW The Saddle Purse was with me all the way to and from Evanston. How could I not take a saddle of any ilk to Wyoming?

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My Saddle Purse Is Not Bipolar

Bow Tie o’ the Day and I stole Suzanne’s lunch hour by invading her office to do our usual off-the-wall routine. Just because we’re there, it doesn’t always mean Suzanne ceases working. On this day, not even The Saddle Purse could make her look away from the three computers sitting on her desk. She thinks she’s so important that the entire Utah public education system will fall apart if she stops to eat some yogurt and string cheese for ten minutes. She might be right.

I decided I should add something I didn’t include in yesterday’s post about depression and the depression side of bipolarity. It’s important for people to understand that a devastating depression does not generally correlate to the quality of a clinically depressed person’s life. [There is something called “situational depression,” which can occur when someone’s life is in tatters. But it tends to be not very deep and it goes away when the situation improves.]

Real depression doesn’t care about the quality of your life. It just shows up, like any illness. Take me, for example. I’ve experienced bouts of depression since I was a kid, and yet I’ve had a relatively tragedy-free, love-filled, opportunity-filled life. My life has been rich, and peopled with decent characters wherever I’ve been. All of that didn’t keep me from being bipolar though.

At this point in my life, I have the freedom to write all day. I live in a swell house. I’ve got a few bucks in The Saddle Purse. I get to travel quite a bit. I have a fine family, fine in-laws, and Suzanne. Skitter’s sleeping head is snoring on my lap even as I write this post. The evil parts of my pancreas got hacked out, and the pain they caused has mostly disappeared. I’m even satisfied that Mom is in the absolute best place for her to be for the last chapter of her life. As far as I’m concerned, I have everything. Not only does my cup runneth over, I’ve got more cups than I can count and they all runneth over.

But none of the gifts my life contains has kept me from being bipolar. None of it has kept this swamp of depression away. Mental illness does what it wants. All I can do is try to manage it. Meds help. Talk therapy helps. Practicing mindfulness helps. Writing about it helps. I hope TMS will help. Each of these things helps a little bit. At least, they help ME. I know they do not help everyone who is bipolar or depressed. See, my life is lucky even where that’s concerned: There are things that help me manage my bipolar head– and still this deep depression shows up whenever it wants.

I don’t get cocky about how well I have been able to manage my bipolarity throughout my life. I don’t get complacent that I have access to things that help me. All I can say is that I’ve managed to make it to this day. I can’t afford to act like I will still be able to manage it tomorrow. So far, so good.