My son, J, is sound asleep in bed and I’m bored. I’ve cleaned the front of the house and am now ready to make some noise in the back, but I can’t. Normally, I would be delighted to hide and quietly sleep my day away, but today for some reason, I’m wide awake, clearheaded and ready to act alive. What’s up with that?
I’ve been on a downer for some months now, barely able to keep myself afloat to work, eat and sleep. This week during my vacation, I dragged myself through some long-overdue shopping, cooking and cleaning. All of this was more my dear mother’s accomplishment than mine due to the fact that she spent much time at my side helping, cheering me on and giving me a push when I got sluggish. Rather than taking this time to frolic, play and rest, I needed a vacation to catch up with life–to complete chores that had been building up for many months while I slept through all my days off.
Yesterday, I sent a desperate plea to my precious doctor. During my past several appointments, I’ve whined about a generalized depression, but unsure if the clouds in my head were situational or chemical the doc has been hesitant to hand out more pills. Just lately, however, my brain has felt raging and restless. I haven’t been able to sleep but I haven’t wanted to do anything either. Miserable. Long story short, I added a new drug to my regimen, started the first dose last night.
Volatile as my moods can be, I’m always hesitant to ascribe benefits to a new drug until I ride it out for a few months. Nonetheless, I’m in a good mood today. I have energy and I want to use it. Get up, son, get up! I want to play!
It has been four days now, but still I find remnants of him–a dried turd here, a piece of litter there, matted fur on the ceiling fans. Each strawberry that I bite into reminds me of him. Each creak, shuffle or clunk I hear in the night is him. So many times, I turn to talk to him when I walk through the living room, and every time I enter my apartment I expect to see his soft, friendly face welcoming me and pleading for a treat.
Bubbles, my precious companion of 6 years, got his name by an unusual technique that I learned for animal naming from my niece. I looked around the room, and the first thing that caught my eye was bubble wrap. From the moment I first lifted him out of the horse trough filled with bunnies at the pet store, I knew we would be great friends. The best pet I have ever been blessed with, left his earthly aches and pains and cares behind on April 30, 2014. I loved him dearly! I miss him like crazy! He is gone from this earth, but never from my heart and mind!
Photos of young Bubbles frolicking in my living room:
My good friend, Philip, fell in love with Bubbles. They entertained each other during his visit while I was at work. Philip created two cute videos of Bubbles which are too large to upload here. 🙁
My son feeding Bubbles something he should not have been allowed to eat.
I grew up with a mother who loved having company and always had open arms to adopt the needy or the orphaned. Our home at holidays, and really any time, was open to friends and often to complete strangers who did not have family with whom to spend the days. There was (and still is) always room for one or two more at Mom’s table, and so I took advantage of the extra space this past Easter and invited M., my new friend from a previous post.
With the exception of street corner panhandlers (okay, and yes, even them), my heart breaks for people in need, especially if they are experiencing a pain or need that I have felt in my own life, a trait I likely inherited from my dear mother. Throughout my life, I have oft passed a few bucks–and once my last $20–to a stranger in need, or purchased a pack of ciggies for a bum who was digging through the dirty ashtray for butts. I am at my best when I transfer focus from the cares and insanity of my own life to someone else whose struggles may be worse than mine. Helping others makes me happy! Continue reading The Adoption Option→
So, it’s Easter. I was looking forward to dinner and visiting with my family–Mom, Dad and son. I don’t know what his problem is today, but he’s pissed off at the world and cranky and last minute backing out. Typical of my volatile son this is, but still I am saddened and concerned and frustrated. Why is it that holidays seem to always bring out the “best” in people?
We’ve all experienced it, that punched-in-the-gut feeling you get when you’ve been betrayed or when someone or some situation hurts you deeply. It’s like a sickening cloud that moves back and forth between your head and your stomach and you can’t escape it. One of those clouds is threatening to control me at this very moment.
I have a very close relationship with my doctor. He’s seen me through many of life’s ups and downs, and he’s one of the sweetest, kindest men I know. My access to his care and advice is only a phone call or an e-mail away any time of the day or night thanks to a paid membership in a concierge medical program, which I pay in addition to my health insurance. Although the extra fee is a struggle sometimes, we all enjoy the benefits of this membership.
Conversely, my relationship with my doctor’s staff–nurses, medical assistants, office manager, etc.–and the service that I receive from them has been much less than could be expected. Many times over the past several years, messages I have left for the doc have not been delivered, prescriptions have not been sent to pharmacies in a timely manner, and referrals for procedures have taken longer than they should. With my membership, I am entitled to same day and next day appointments with the doctor, if necessary, but his staff has tried to put me off many times, even when the doctor has personally told me to tell them to get me in a certain day and time. Continue reading Doctor’s Office Blues→
Thanks to my son and in spite of the rain and all the recent articles I have read that question whether or not exercise is actually a factor in weight loss, I dragged out my poor, neglected bicycle yesterday, pumped up its tires and went for a ride. It has been so long that I honestly believed I would be lucky to make it two or three feet before I had a heart attack or a stroke and came crashing to the ground. It was a beautiful day, started out with a soft rain, and when the rain ceased a light cloud cover and a soft breeze took its place. My son was easy on me and supportive, allowing me to set the pace. Having a gentle encourager made the effort so much more bearable. I would never have made it without him. I have gained so much weight since I last rode that just pumping up my tires and bending to put on my athletic shoes had me breathing hard and ready to quit. Continue reading Metformin, My Bicycle and Me→