“The pencil of God has no eraser.” ~ Haitian Proverb

This morning I watched footage of a news reporter standing on top of a huge pile of rubble, listening to the desperate cries of two women trapped deep below, sadly reporting that there was no way possible to extract them…no machines, no diggers, no tools….no way at all to remove the debris to save these trapped lives.

This whole tragedy takes on a more personal note as a close friend of ours tries desperately to reach his brother who was visiting family in Haiti….the earthquake hitting only a day before he was scheduled to return home.

There have been countless images of children wandering the streets looking for their parents, children huddled beside the bodies of their parents.  Stacks of corpses are beginning to line the streets, making it difficult to even walk.  The true severity of the situation became stark as I watched Rene Preval, the President of Haiti, tell a CNN reporter that he had no idea where he was going to sleep or seek shelter because the presidential palace and all government buildings had been reduced to piles of rubble.

My love of photography always pulls me towards those images that capture the pain and strength of the human soul.  Pictures that don’t need captions or subtitles…..when the story is written on faces and reflected in their eyes.  I’m sure in the upcoming weeks, more and more tragic images will flood in….here are a few that stood out to me.

Please remember our family friend in prayer and positive thought as he continues to search for his brother.

“You must have been warned against letting the golden hours slip
by; but some of them are golden only because we let them slip by.”

~James M. Barrie

So yesterday was my first pdoc pow-wow of the new year.  The subject of STRESS was discussed at length.  I’ve had a bellevue couple of months which I initially attributed to the holidays.  After yesterday’s meeting of the minds, it was determined that I done went and over-stimulated myself.  That’s right.  Went and worked myself up into a lather.  Specifically between the months of May and October.  The Folk School, the writing, the submitting of manuscripts, the emotional high of mind-blowing opportunities showing up on my doorstep every hour on the hour.  All of that combined with Matt’s surgery and my warped desire to have  Martha Stewart Christmas Happy Times resulted in a most undesirable forehead-vein protrusion and a mood most foul .

I stopped making New Year’s resolutions a long time ago.  I think they’re a farce.  But this year….okay, I’m not gonna call them resolutions.  We’re not agreeing to anything via a vote or anything here.  I just saying….this year I’m making a concerted effort to relax more and commit myself less.  OH yeah.  Slacker you say?  Eh?  Please.

We’ve become a jacked up society that views rest ‘n relaxation as a luxury…when in all actuality, it’s a God-given necessity.  Even the big man in the clouds had the good sense to rest instead of putting in some overtime so he could give Jesus that new robe he’d been asking for.  No.  He put the foot down and rested.

Growing up, my parents had the STUPIDEST MOST DUMB RULE ON THE PLANET OF EARTH AND SPACE.  (That’s what I called “The Rule” when I was 7 years old.)  The Rule was this:  No screwing off on Sundays and there was a mandatory nap approximately 45 minutes after the usual pot roast/carrots ‘n taters lunch.  We didn’t have a choice in the matter.  Get in the bed and I want to see those eyes closed, sister!

Nowadays if I lay down in the middle of the day to rest, I immediately begin to flog myself with the guilt-stick.  Naturally,  my ADD makes it a tad difficult to stay still.  And as odd as it sounds, I can’t really relax unless I’m working on something.  Painting, gluing….working with my hands.  So vowing to stop all of that would be like a big fat yummy stress samich.  Instead, I’m going to bring the bar down a hair.   I’ve been told I set the bar so high that God and the angels in heaven would need a compass and pygmy guide to find it.  So I guess I’ll bring it down to cloud-level.

The bottom line is this:  When I’m stressed, ain’t nobody happy.  So I plan to find time for more useless activities…and to ease up on the guilt-trippin’.  So while I was hanging out in the waiting room yesterday, I kicked things off by downloading a game onto my LG Neon:   “Brain Exercise”  by Namco.

Apparently my brain age is 60.  I’d like a do-over because my elderly fingers ain’t swift with the the new texting keyboard.  I saw this little 10 year old brat across the room smirking…looking me in the face while she texted away…her thumbs looking freakishly Hobbit-esque.  I fought back the urge to inform her that if an Atari were to magically appear, a butt-whoopin’ of monstrous dimensions would go down, followed by me doing the Rocky dance while dumping water all over my head.  Hey.  It was the pdoc waiting room.  Things like this don’t even warrant a look from the desk-lady.

So to all my chronically stressed homies out there who have minimized the Excel spreadsheet in order to read my Blog…and are feeling really crappy about their choice….I applaud you!

Slack on, people!  Slack on!

Spc. Alexis Hutchinson is being both praised and reprimanded for choosing to stay home with her son instead of deploying to Afghanistan.  I myself am torn on the issue.  Part of me is like, “Let that Mama stay home with her baby!”…..while the other part understands the commitment a person makes when they sign on the Army’s clear and dotted line.  Everyone is required to sign Form D-A 53-05, a form that specifically states that failure to put together a family care plan while you are away on deployment could result in disciplinary action.  So it’s not like this was new news….Hutchinson knew the drill.

According to Hutchinson’s civilian attorney, Rai Sue Sussman, Hutchinson was informed by her superiors that she WOULD be deploying and her son was placed in foster care.  After 10 days, Hutchinson’s mother stepped in and agreed to take the boy…albeit grudgingly.  Apparently she’s stressed out with having to take care of other ailing family members and running a daycare out of her house five days a week.  I guess the problem I have is that in the middle of rules, regulations, complaints and paperwork, there’s a 10 month old kid getting bounced around like a rubber ball.   Yes, Alexis Hutchinson knew exactly what she was required to do…what she was being paid to do.  I’ve been reading comments that say stuff like, “Women wanted equality, well here you go then!”  Or, “Maybe she’s related to a ‘Katrina’ victim…they sure know how to work over the system.”  Myself personally, I don’t have enough facts and info to make judgments about whether or not she’s trying to weasel out of deployment.

What I do know is that Hutchinson signed a binding contract that super-glued her soul to the United States Army.  And I don’t see an unwed mother who broke the rules standing a chance at winning a legal battle with the Army.  Over 30,000 single mothers have already deployed to either Iraq or Afghanistan….and I’m willing to bet they don’t feel a whole lot of  sympathy for those who can’t “keep up”.  As civilians, we are clueless about how things work in the military.  Broken families, back-t0-back deployments, mental fatigue, wrecked marriages…this is, sadly, what has become the norm for most military families.  To give the Army some credit here, they were emphatic about stating that they would not deploy a single parent without anyone to care for their child.

One word that I hated hearing my Mother say over and over…and the word that I find myself telling my own daughter….CONSEQUENCES.  And for Spc. Alexis Hutchinson…it looks like she’ll be living with those for quite some time.

What?!  Two days in a row??  Surely I do not jest.

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Most of my readers will remember an article I wrote back in June about my cousin, Sean, getting shot in Afghanistan and his amazing recovery.  Shortly after the shooting, his wife received a call that noone but a military wife can begin to understand.  From there, phone calls were made to family, then emails, then forwarded emails, prayer chains, special prayers, strangers with a genuine and sincere interest in Sean’s fate.

I was raised in a religious family, but denounced religion as an adult…..up until I had a near-death experience of my own.  As I lay hovering between life and death, I became acutely aware of a presence that cannot be described with words.  There wasn’t a man with a beard in flowing white garments….no angels with wings and harps.  Just a presence.  My experience pales in comparison…..actually, it can’t even BE compared to what Sean endured for this country that we sit safely in today.  A country that most of us take for granted because we’ve never stepped foot in a third world, communist or terrorist-run country.

As I said back in June….it was surreal to have a family member become a near casualty of a war that had affected OTHER families…certainly not ours.  In my mind’s eye, Sean is still a little tow-head running around in brown corduroys and fuzzy socks.  In reality, Sean is a man with a tenacious and unyielding spirit.  A man who has triumphed over malignant hate with his pneuma intact.

Yesterday, Holly Zachariah wrote an article entitled, “Carver’s Gift”,  featured on the front page of the Columbus Dispatch, telling the story of Sean’s miraculous recovery and a woodcarver by the name of Jake Jacobsen.  Jake presented Sean with a beautifully crafted, hand-carved cane…Jake’s personal contribution to those men and women wounded in Iraq and Afghanistan.

“It was about 3:30 p.m. on May 31 in Afghanistan when Sean led a line of soldiers through a village. They snaked their way to a house where a suspected terrorist was having dinner.

Sean tried to kick in the door. It didn’t open. He stepped back and kicked again.

The door gave way, and he hit a wall of gunfire.

“You know, it’s like, have you ever stood next to a big concert stereo speaker when it comes on full blast?” he said. “You can just feel this vibration, this energy pushing into you, moving you. That’s what it felt like to me. Blow after blow after blow.”

A 7.62-mm bullet from an AK-47 hit his chest — the body armor that stopped it still bears the mark — and another pinged off his helmet. A warm feeling oozing just under his waistband told him he’d been hit low, too.

“I wasn’t panicked. I thought I could make it out. I knew I could still back out, still live.”

Then, a round blew through his left wrist and forearm, the one that supported his M-4 rifle. The arm went limp; his weapon fell. And a soldier without a gun in a firefight is as good as dead.

“When I saw my arm drop, I thought of my boys. I’m going to leave them without a dad. And Sarah. My Sarah. How can I leave her?”

Then, his thoughts turned to himself: “What’s it going to be like to die? Was I good enough?”  ~ Holly Zachariah (Columbus Dispatch)

Yes, Sean….you’re “Good Enough”.  So good, in fact, that the Angels knew the world would be an emptier place without you and hand-carried you back home.

“When a resolute young fellow steps up to the great bully, the world, and takes him boldly by the beard, he is often surprised to find it comes off in his hand, and that it was only tied on to scare away the timid adventurers.”

~Ralph Waldo Emerson

I have an odd fascination with the stereotypical 1950’s housewife.  If I had access to a time warp machine, I’d go back there just to see how long I’d last.  I’d give it less than 24 hours.  Those women mentally afflicted.  Getting up at least two hours before your husband so he wouldn’t see you in the bathroom slathering Preparation-H under your eyes to reduce unsightly puff.  By the time he sat down to a full breakfast of juice, milk, coffee, toast, bacon, sausage, maybe a pancake, a poached egg…..you’d be fresh as a daisy in your crinoline and pumps, lipstick perfectly applied, the right amount of perfume…not too strong…just enough to assure your husband that you still took pride in your personal hygiene.  The kids would come down, yawning, sweetly rumpled.  The lunches already packed and sitting by the front door, you’d make sure Jane’s hair bow was in place and Dicks socks matched.  You’d wave them off, shut the door and commence to cleaning your house from top to bottom….same dress, same pumps…all without sweating…..and by the time your man comes through the door at 6:00 pm, you’re sliding rack of lamb under his nose while you take his hat and coat, handing him the sports page and an after-dinner cigar. 

There’s a reason why divorce and suicide rates were low back then.  “Mother’s Little Helper”.  That’s right.  Valium and Speed.  The Speed was responsible for that insane amount of cleaning that got done in under five hours….and the Valium was to keep you from killing your husband and beating your ungrateful children.

So the question that begs to be answered is this:  What does a perfect housewife look like in 2009?

This?

Or maybe this?

“Perfect” is a stupid word anyway.  And any mother who implys that she is perfectly superior to another mother NEEDS to take a Valium so it won’t hurt so bad when they hear the truth. 

Here’s a little Housewife Humor for the divas out there ignoring the dirty dishes piled up in the sink and secretly wishing Spongebob would come take your kid hostage:

The Husband was gone for a few days last week and every time he goes, Cali gets all squirrely and tempermental.  So on Thursday morning, she informed me she was leaving home to find a new house and a new Mommy and Daddy.  She packed her rolling suitcase with a bottle of water, two pairs of shoes, my earplugs and grocery list, a couple of Little People and some weird pillow thing.  As she headed down the drive-way, dragging her ecclectic blend of prized possessions behind her, she looked over her shoulder and informed me:

“I’m headed outta this town like sputter sputter sput.”

(She got that from the book, Sputter, Sputter, Sput! by Bob Staake.)

But really.  How you can you take someone seriously when THIS is how they pose for pictures on a regular basis?

Anyway…on a completely different and irrelevant note, I began the 14 day Activia challenge yesterday!  They’ve got their work cut out for them considering my digestive track has been hosed since birth.  I fully expect a refund in two weeks.  How do they verify their products’ ineffectiveness?  By the amount of toilet paper that has or hasn’t been used?  I’m just saying….something to think about.  Anyway, I’m always up for a challenge…especially when the challenge spotlights my colon.

About a month or so ago, Mental Health America contacted me about doing an interview with iVillage’s ‘Your Total Health’ about my life experiences with Bipolar.  {To read the full article, click between the parenthesis.  (Article)} Of course, I said “YES!” right away.  Thankfully the writer contacted me immediately and we did the interview shortly thereafter;  otherwise, I may have just chickened out and sent an email stating, “Uh, I forget everything.”

I think it must be terrifying for anyone putting their “junk” out there for the whole world to see.  I certainly don’t do it for the ridicule!  I did it because I’m convinced that I’m not the only mother out there who is living clean with a dirty past…and it’s not exactly something you bring up while hanging out with other Mommies.  Like I mentioned in the iVillage article, signing over your parental rights is the unforgivable and ultimate maternal sin.   People don’t see the circumstances behind these decisions, yet they feel it’s their moral obligation to point a finger of condemnation.   Society turns their back on us, deeming our behavior despicable and unfathomable.  With a few pen strokes, we are immediately marked with a stain of ”Less Than”.  So we put our dignity six feet under and replace it with shame. 

My argument isn’t one of, “Let the kids stay with the crazy, irresponsible mom, no matter what!  How dare you steal those babies?!”  That’s not it at all.  In my case, it was definately in the best interest of my children to be under the wing of a more responsible human being.  I saw that.  As gut-wrenching as it was, I saw it. 

Motherhood is a challenge, I don’t care who you are.  Mothers living with Bipolar have an even bigger challenge with little to no support from their community and peers.  Educational materials are scarce and hiding under a bush somewhere because no one seems to know where to find them.  Support groups specifically designed for teaching life skills to Bipolar mothers are virtually non-existent.   

I think fear and ignorance are the driving forces behind stigma.  By “ignorance”, I mean being uneducated about mental illness.  It’s easier to “not talk about it”.  Have we not progressed in 100 years?  A member of our family is diagnosed with a mental illness….worse yet, the illness is ignored and never diagnosed…and we go to great lenghts to hide it from public scrutiny, often denying its very existence?  Fear itself is a mental affliction.  Something we are born without and acquire as we grow.  That being the case, aren’t we all afflicted then?

We fear the unknown.  When we pull fear out of the shadows and shine a flashlight in its face, it becomes less scary.   The stigmatized fear and judgement surrounding mothers living with Bipolar needs to be addressed with public and consumer education.  I feel it’s my personal obligation to help another Bipolar mother up off the ground…whether it’s with a kind word, my personal story or sharing some “survival” tips that could make life a little easier….that’s what I feel compelled to do. 

No longer do I hang my head in shame, deeming myself unworthy and defective.  I’m proud of who I am…of the MOTHER I’ve become.  I choose to live my life wide open, flaws and all…a testement to overcoming adversity.   I choose this for one reason and one reason alone.  To support mothers like myself and continue fighting for better education, competant health care and a strong community support system designed to give parental support and guidance.

This one’s for the ladies today….guys too, I guess.  If you’re hormonal. 

A couple of months ago I was so sick it wasn’t funny.  I was paranoid I was dying, thought I was riddled with cancer, lethal PMS, depressed, nauseous, anemic, dizzy when I’d stand up, could hardly walk in the mornings, I hurt all over, constant headaches, crazy fatigue…it was nuts, I tell you!  So I started looking into the signs and symptoms of vitamin and mineral deficiencies and BAM!  I had every single one of them with a few extra for good measure.  It was crazy to find out that a fear of dying is from a Potassium deficiency.  Well, not always…sometimes you’re just clinically paranoid.  I also learned that I was dehydrated and had an electrolyte imbalance, so I drank Pedialite nonstop for over two weeks.

After two months of swallowing handfuls of supplements, all of my symptoms disappeard and I feel marvelous!    I can’t remember a time when my joints didn’t hurt…now there’s no more pain.  I have boundless energy.  My PMS has  vanished and my husband has placed the supplements within a golden chalice and worships it every morning with candles and chanting. 

 So…I thought I’d share some of the signs and symptoms of these deficiencies, along with the supplements I’m taking. 

I’m currently taking these daily:

* Balance B-Complex with Vitamin C and Rose Hips and Rice Bran

* Raw Adrenal

* Calcium Citrate with Magnesium

* Natural Cellular Defense drops

* Zinc

* Potassium Gluconate

* Chromium Picolinate Plus

* Probiotic

* Total Omega 3.6.9

* B12 sublingual drops

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

SIGNS/SYMPTOMS OF POTASSIUM DEFICIENCY

SIGNS/SYMPTOMS OF MAGNESIUM DEFICIENCY

• Drinking seven or more alcoholic beverages a week
• Anger
• Angina
• Heart arrhythmia
• Anxiety
• Blood tests showing low calcium, potassium or magnesium
• Bowel problems including Crohn’s disease, IBS, constipation or diarrhea
• Chronic bronchitis
• Diabetes
• Depression
• Chronic Fatigue Syndrome
• More than three serving of caffeine a day
• Fibromyalgia
• Headaches
• High blood pressure 
• Infertility
• Insomnia
• Poor memory
• Coldness or numbness of hands and feet
• High sugar intake
• Easily startled by noises

SIGNS/SYMPTOMS OF CHROMIUM DEFICIENCY

SIGNS/SYMPTOMS OF CALCIUM DEFICIENCY

SIGNS/SYMPTOMS OF B12 DEFICIENCY

SIGNS/SYMPTOMS OF ADRENAL FATIGUE

*  Excessive fatigue and exhaustion, chronic fatigue
*  Non-refreshing sleep
*  Sleep disturbance, insomnia
*  Feeling overwhelmed or unable to cope
*  Craving salty and/or sweet foods
*  Sensitivity to light
*  Low stamina and slow to recover from exercise
*  Slow to recover from injury or illness
*  Difficulty concentrating, brain fog
*  Poor digestion
*  Irritable bowel syndrome, IBS
*  Low immune function
*  Premenstrual syndrome
*  Menopause symptoms
*  Low blood pressure
*  Sensitivity to cold
*  Fearfulness
*  Allergies
*  Arthritis
*  Anxiety
*  Irritability
*  Depression
*  Reduced memory
*  Low libido, sexual drive or interest
*  Lack of lust for life and/or food
*  Excess hunger
*  Low appetite
*  Panic/anxiety attacks
*  Irritability, impatience, quick to anger.

Doctor’s offices and waiting rooms are like the Red Light District for the medically afflicted and we’re like those guys that hang outside the windows patting their pockets, looking for the exact change to get with that hunny behind the glass.    Movies and urband legends are the only reference points I have for the Red Light District.  Nowhere have I seen or heard of the pimp standing behind the girls throwing propoganda through a mail slot in the window.   That would be an insult to our obvious intelligence. 

You know that creepy guy from Willy Wonka that went around hissing into the ears of children?  Mr. Slugworth.  THAT is who Big Pharma needs to send into these waiting rooms.  Not paper, pens and pamphlets.  Slugworth.  He could walk around whispering his tasty little secrets while you salivate, waiting your turn to hear the grim results of your afflictions. 

“Your heart is one cheeseburger away from coming to a screeching heart.  You need Crestor or you will die.  Due to your dietary irresponsibility, your cholesterol is higher than Michael Phelps.  You need Lipitor or you will die.  Your last divorce has lead to heartburn and a troubling trifecta of impotence, irritable bowel syndrome and depression…and understandably so!  It’d be a shame to have lived through that marriage only to die from its aftermath.  Don’t be a pansy.  Take Viagra, Lotronex and Zoloft.  What..you don’t believe me?  You think I’m a figmentation of your mentality?  Then you better take some Geodon for your blatant paraoid schizophrenia.”

Then your doctor shakes your hand.  “Yeah.  What he said.”

Check please.

Are we all this gullible?  We look back into our history, marvelling at how dictators were able to persuade the masses to do harmful things to themselves and others.  We paid over $8 billion to Pfizer last year so they could tell us how sick and dysfunctional we are.   I’d do it for free!  I understand that certain medication is necessary.  I happen to know that personally.   We are a depressed country with hyper kids and none of us can sleep at night.  Anti-depressants are beneficial if nothing else seems to work.  But does anyone even TRY anything else?  Not so much.  Gimme a pill…I need to be happy happy HAPPY!  I need it NOW!  And do something about that kid of mine over there in the corner slamming his head against the wall, refusing to receive a solid education.  Otherwise I’m gonna kill myself. 

I did an interview a couple of weeks ago and made a point to sing the praises of cognitive and behavioral therapy as an additional treatment for most mental illnesses.  It was this type of therapy that allowed me to keep my meds at a minimum so I wouldn’t lose my artistic edge…and it gave me the basic coping skills to get from one day to the next.  Psychologists aren’t exactly welcoming this concept with open arms, even though it’s one of the oldest and most effective “tricks” in the book.  What’s even more important are recent scientific findings on the effectiveness of cognitive and cognitive-behavior therapy.

“We now know that cognitive and cognitive-behavior therapy (teaching patients to think about their thoughts in new, healthier ways and to act on those new ways of thinking) are effective against depression, panic disorder, bulimia nervosa, obsessive-compulsive disorder and posttraumatic -stress disorder, with multiple trials showing these treatments – the tools of psychology – bring more durable benefits with lower relapse rates than drugs, which non-M.D. psychologists cannot prescribe.  Studies have also shown that behavioral couples therapy helps alchoholics stay on the wagon, and that family therapy can help schizophrenics function.  Neuroscience has identified the brain mechanisms by which these interventions work, giving them added credibility.” ( Newsweek, “Ignoring the Evidence”, by Sharon Begley)

It all boils down to Big Pharma’s almighty dollar and its hold on our medical community.  I don’t think there’d be such a strong and nasty debate on health care reform if there weren’t tons of money on the line.   Science has been tossed in the ditch to make room for quick-fixes and snake oil salesmen. 

Amsterdam has nothing on us.  Behind the stained glass of America,  Lobbyist is in bed with Pharma and Doctor is watching, gleefully rubbing his hands together, anxious for his turn.