3 Weeks A.P. (After Patti.)

I have an odd feeling of my life being on "pause." That while all around me things are going on same as usual, I am stuck in the realization that the activities and interests I cared about on March 9th suddenly meant nothing on March 10th, the day my sister died.

I've always been one to love projects--at least the idea and planning of projects--and books and yarn and ice cream with friends and going out to coffee. But right now I'm stuck. Stuck in the space in my head and heart that knew Patti as a constant.  But now, the constant of my sister and our shared history and inside jokes is the rug pulled from under my feet. And I'm stuck, trying to keep my balance, Keystone Cops style.

I know eventually I'll find equilibrium. I know that eventually I'll care again about books and yarn and starting a new project before I've finished the last one.

I know eventually I will smile when I see a beautiful landscape she would have loved to photograph, and to laugh when daughter Cori (who Patti seems to have imprinted her attitude on at birth) makes a snarky remark that channels her aunt.

And I know I'm missing her this much because I had her in my life. Our father gave that up when he chose to molest her throughout her childhood. Our mother gave that up when she couldn't accept any of her children unless they agreed with every last thought of hers.  Our missing brother Michael gave that up when he turned his back on us some 23 years ago.

And once again, in the land of my birth family, it's been their loss.

So I'm kind of privileged to be missing her this much, because

*****I have much to miss.*****

Miller kids, left to right: Julie (me,) Michael, Patti

Skimmer's Recap: Missing Patti = "Good Grief."  
I'd like to thank my Mental Health Care Professionals, my family and my friends, for helping me be at least as stable as I currently am. :-)

Taking care of business (everyday.)

As much as I'd like "self-care" to look like me and a big ol' bag of Lay's Barbecue chips with a side of cheesecake, I've learned much over the past years about what real, healthy self-care looks like.

I've worked on the mental/emotional part of it over the last decade, and the physical part over the last year. I'm learning to make better choices, to be aware of when my idea of self-care looks more like shooting myself in the foot. Don't think I've got it all straightened out with perfect self-discipline, oh no. I've even had some barbecue chips, just not the whole bag. I've had an ice-cream sundae, I just had a smaller one. And not every day. (Honestly, I've never been prone to huge binges, just lots of little bad choices that add up!) And the big part:

I went back to the gym this morning for the first time since my sister died on March 10th. I decided to show up for myself, for my health. It was tough, I haven't wanted to go out much the last couple of weeks. I feel a little helpless and a little hopeful on this whole grief thing; helpless because I don't know what to do or think about it, and hopeful because I know in time the blow will soften.

And meanwhile, I'll be taking care of myself, in a more positive way.

Good Grief.

The Miller siblings 1956, left to right: Julie (me), Mike, Patti

i like to call it "clean grief." That's the best way i can describe it. A grief uncluttered. A purity of "i miss her" with no complications.

Not that i mean it's an easy grief, for grief to me will always be painful, hitting me out of the blue, taking me to the mat hard at the least provocation.

But with my sister...i just miss her. i miss the reality of never hearing her voice again, or seeing her face, never again sharing a laugh caused by her off-beat, cynical sense of humor. i miss the thought of sharing the good memories of the time i spent with her in the Colorado Rockies. i miss being able to ask questions about our childhood of things i only remember on an emotional, fearful level.

 i miss. i miss.

With other relatives who have died, there have always been the wrappings of the dysfunctional family we were born into: the packaging of accusations that we had not-done-right-by or enough-for the now deceased relative, the bow tied with a flourish usually the pronouncement that We Were Lacking. Guilt, my family loved them some guilt.

With Patti, my only sister (and the only sibling left to me after our brother also decided We Were Lacking and left with no forwarding address back in 1989,) i see no gift wrap of Not Good Enough. She loved me like no one else in my birth family had: without condition. It was a New! Improved! way of relating in our birth family. We had changed things for the better within our gene pool.

That change makes it hard to say goodbye. There is so much Goodness to miss. But at least it's a New! Improved! grief, an uncomplicated grief, untouched by large servings of guilt. My only regret? That i will never again be able to tell her "i love you!" and hear her answer with a smile in her voice, "I love you more!"

i will miss.


Skimmer's Recap: i miss.

3 days A.P. (after Patti.)

How am I today, you ask? Oh, just your regular, everyday sort of devastated, thanks.

Remembering Patti.

When we were young i thought she was the pretty one and she thought i was the pretty one. As adults, when we talked on the phone after i said "i love you!" she would always say "I love you more!"

As young adults, she welcomed me into her home after i had left college and was at loose ends.

When my daughter was born, she stayed and took care of us, feeding the baby in the night so i could sleep, doing our laundry, making my bed each day so it felt fresh when i got back in. We tried every new outfit on the baby like she was a doll.

When our mother had her lawyer send me a letter after her death to tell me what a disappointment i'd been, (though i was the last of her 3 children still speaking to her) my sister helped me through the pain, having made peace years before with the knowledge that our mother could never be pleased.

She loved hard.

She had a wicked sense of humor and could always make me let out a big ol' belly laugh.

i will always remember Patti Miller Woodard, gone at just 62 on March 10, 2012.

i can't believe i'll never hear her voice again.



i love you, Sissypoo, always and forever. <3

Life by the Numbers.

< imagine funny cartoon about numbers here because

 i couldn't find one. numbers just aren't that funny. >

I've long had a love/hate relationship with numbers. I don't love math, but I love that my birthday is 9/9. I was a giggling (old) girl about my 09/09/09 birthday. People just looked at me when I mentioned it with that half smile/half quizzical "not sure what you want me to say" expression.

 My British son-in-law and I have spent an exceeding (Brit-word alert!) amount of time during the birth of each of his children trying to add up the date numbers to come out as an even number (his favorite) or odd (mine.)

 I can remember important points in my life by the number of my weight at the time: my wedding (down 20 because of my nerves,) or just before the birth of my daughter (roughly the size, shape and weight of a dirigible.)

And driver's licenses. How many lies have I told filling out that form over the years? I've always tried to stay in the believable ballpark, not wanting to risk the raised eyebrow of the store clerk reading my I.D.

And there have been more numbers since December, since I've been using MyFitnessPal.com to count calories. I've learned things that cause my blood to run cold, like the calorie count of a Costco cookie (230) or Costco's Cinnabons (over 500, for cryin' in a bucket!) And I've learned just how much time I need to spend on the treadmill to warrant having that super buttery, yummy pasta dish my daughter Cori makes (a lot. But so worth it.)

SO: between my Year Of The Gym and starting MyFitnessPal, I've lost enough weight that, get this, I WEIGH LESS THAN THE NUMBER ON MY DRIVER'S LICENSE! I hate to say it, but this is probably the first time. Ever.

I'll probably never turn into someone who does Trigonometry for fun, but I'm definitely feelin' a little more love for the numbers these days.


Skimmer's Recap: For once in my life my license weight is a lie. In a good way. (Thanks, Sabrina, for introducing me to MFP.)

On depression and the magic of cupcake papers.

What is so magical about these little cupcake liners? Maybe it's that they look like little sunshines. Or that cupcakes usually mean some fun is around the corner. All I know is that as I've been fighting my way back uphill out of depression-land, seeing them made me smile.

I know I'm hard on myself--I don't "do" enough, whatever it is. You know: work out/eat salads/cut out chocolate/contribute to life... And I find that I can't seem to forgive myself for having Fibromyalgia and being "less than" because of that too.

BUT--tonight is a fun and special night. Granddaughter Cassidy turned 12 yesterday, and tonight her mommy, my eldest daughter, is bringing dinner over and we're having cupcakes for Cassidy's birthday. Candie's making her awesome 90 gazillion calories per serving macaroni and cheese, and I'm making a salad--and the all-important cupcakes.

If you're not familiar with depression, it has the talent of robbing a person of their interest in life, their desire to do the things they'd usually enjoy, so couple that with the lack of energy and the body pain of Fibro and life can become a struggle. So it surprised me when I found myself smiling over such a simple little thing as cupcake papers with their crinkly little sides. It was a lovely little gift.

It's good for all of us to look for the happy little positive things of life, they called it "intentional happiness" in my pain management class. All I know is I had to put a picture of them on my blog and see if they make you smile too.

Under the heading "Things i've never thought of."

Hubby had to change out the toilet. This was on the box.

Huh. Good to know.

January in my little corner of California.

Last week I went for a walk in the neighborhood. I saw gorgeous citrus growing,



but there were still plenty of red leaves that hadn't yet fallen

and roses in bloom!

And not even two weeks after Christmas.  

Oh well.

I tried. I really did. I tried to clear myself of Cymbalta and live a more naturally medicated life. But today, somehow fittingly on the 11th anniversary of the death of my mother, I embraced the fact that it isn't working. Maybe some would say I didn't give the 5 HTP a long enough chance, or that I lack the strength of character to somehow "tough it out." But they don't have to live in my head and my body.

The moments I've been able to step back and observe and assess myself, I've seen signs that point to the return of depression: lack of interest in things I'd normally be interested in, daily anxiety about every little thing of life, more difficulty than the usual "not a morning person" experiences getting going with the day, feeling chronically overwhelmed. And there's enough "chronic" in fibromyalgia to contend with. All these things have increased over the past few weeks. My trainer at the gym says I've remained more stiff off the Cymbalta, so apparently it really does do some good for the physical aspects of fibromyalgia. At any rate, my experiment has come to an end. I survived the withdrawals only to be unable to survive the absence of the drug in my system. But, "quality of life" being what it is, I choose to once again embrace my need for Better Living Through Pharmaceuticals.

Hopefully I will soon feel more hopeful and less anxious. I mean seriously, I have been anxious about eating, about cooking, about shopping, about every ridiculously small thing! Even my fatigue seems more pronounced to me, which (again) makes me anxious. *Sigh*

Time to move on and get some help for those synapses!

Trying to leave Overwhelmed Lane.

borrowed from LOL Zombie
http://lolzombie.com/2551/get-er-done-with-jesus/

What did I used to tell my kids when they needed to do a project that seemed overwhelming? Break it down.

Like I mentioned in my last post, I'm feeling mired in the Land of Too Much Information, stalled out on Overwhelmed Lane. What did I do yesterday? Let myself hunker down to picnic on aforementioned lane. What did I do today? Assessed my options, which seemed to me to be 1) let myself run screaming into the night, or 2) follow my own advice. Being chronically fatigued and inherently lazy made option 1, while appealing, seem like much too much effort, so I chose option 2.

Faced with too many supplements and medications at too many different times, I made myself a chart. I suppose I could take a page from my preschool teacher daughter and make a sticker chart where for every time I got the right pills taken at the proper time I get to put on a sticker of my choice. (This worked well to potty-train said preschool teacher daughter as well.) But instead I stuck with making the chart in pretty colors, something like this:

So now all I need to do is get about a half-dozen more of those old-lady-weekly-pill-holders, fill it, and I'm set! Oh, and then remember to take them!

Skimmer's Recap: Sometimes it's just baby steps, yunno?

Life on Overwhelmed Lane.

I'm currently feeling overwhelmed by Too Much Information on health.

In the past couple of months there have been belly issues and gall bladder issues and fatigue issues and I've read and talked to doctors and talked to my naturopath and I'm traveling in the Land of TMI and seem to be stuck in Overwhelmed Lane. GAAA!!

The doctors have said various things like Just Exercise More and I Can Only Treat What the Numbers Say and the naturopath says Think About Acid/Alkaline and Take Two More New Things and by the way you can't take those together and this needs to be before you eat and these need to be this many hours away from food and other vitamins. The naturopath also says You Should Juice and that simply opens up a whole new realm of where do I put another appliance/ one more thing to learn about/ one more thing to clean and GAAAAAA!!!

I'm thinking it's much less work to just be unhealthy. Maybe not as enjoyable in the long run, but easier.

Writing Exercises.

I get the Writer's Digest newsletters in my email because I'm a wannabe-writer. Sometimes I even read them.

Along with their 12 Days of Christmas sale they had a 12-Day Plan of Simple Writing Exercises. I thought that since I have felt very much like Winnie-the-Pooh as "a Bear of Very Little Brain," I might use this as a way to both amuse myself and possibly write some posts on my neglected blog. So please "Bear" with me. (Pause for long groan.) See, I've amused myself already!!

Day 1:
Write 10 potential book titles of books you'd like to write.

Hmmm.

1- For years I've secretly (in my head) been writing "Ode to a Dysfunctional Life." It's just my life, really. But now I have to think of nine others...

2- "Keeping the Fun in Dysfunction" could be a sister title.

3- "Behind the Shower Curtain." Who are we really when we're stripped down to just our real selves and multiple scented bath products?

4- "The Body in the Tub" First line: "She hadn't expected to see a body when she pulled back the shower curtain that morning." A murder mystery--or is it?

5- "Bark First, Ask Questions Later-- Possibly Useless Things I've Learned From My Dogs."

6- "Fatigue in the Fast Lane." Me feeling like the biggest underachiever ever in a fast moving society.

7- "When Children Amuse." I think I could fill this one just off the stuff my Facebook friends' kids and grandkids say, and of course my own.

8- "Control is But an Illusion"

And I'm out of ideas.

Thoughts for numbers 9 and 10??

Gall bladder surgery proves effective distraction from Fibromyalgia.

I don't think I'd recommend it, but overall, emergencies involving gall bladders and gall stones and surgery prove quite effective in taking one's mind off other concerns. First there's the amazing pain, then there are the good drugs to rid you of the amazing pain. Then there's the "eeewww" factor of having four slits in the belly, and the fact that you now feel like you've been mule-kicked repeatedly in the torso. All good distractions.

It was suggested to eat a low fat diet for the month after the surgery and allow my body to adjust to the fact that it's missing the gall bladder, previous fat monitor and cholesterol collector. (That's what the Child Surgeon said the stones are made of, cholesterol. How gross is that?) My very kind oldest daughter offered to bring dinner one night: chicken and rice soup for me, and her rich, homemade, eternally yummy macaroni and cheese for the rest of the family. I will not discuss here my jealous and petty thoughts about all that. I am choosing to be The Better Person.

My appetite has suffered with this event, and that takes a lot, so I was grateful for the easily digestible and tasty soup--aaaall week. Yup, I ate soup and saltines for a week. Not too surprisingly I've lost a few pounds. Too bad "a few pounds" on me is like bailing the ocean with a teaspoon, but I'll take it.

And when did I start even thinking about My Friend Fibro again? Not till I slowed down on the Really Good Drugs. I know there are multiple things at work here. The trauma of the surgery and the anesthetic come into play too, so my pain and fatigue is at the moment many-faceted. Some people have said they were ready to get up and get on with life right after surgery while others said they were exhausted for months. Guess there's no single outcome.

Okay, I'm boring even myself here. I'm done.

Skimmer's Recap: Want to forget your current chronic pain? Try a bigger, more acute pain. It worked well for me.

Things to do instead of shop on Black Friday.

Who knew that all the Thanksgiving feast loveliness would end in a Friday run to emergency? Too much creamy-goodness for my gall bladder, apparently.

I'd only recently found out I had a gallstone--it had shown up in a routine x-ray my doctor had done. She and  I had agreed that since it was giving me no trouble we wouldn't do anything about it. But now at least I knew where my gall bladder was, something I'd never given much thought to before. But Friday evening that bit of information became quite useful. Yup, that there's my gall bladder where that pain is!

Who needs Black Friday shopping when they can visit the emergency room instead? Dear hubby took me after I'd made a couple of calls to the advice nurses. The pain was reminiscent of labor, but to my knowledge, no baby was forthcoming. (Thankfully. I'd like to leave that kind of thing for the younger folk.)

By the time we arrived at the emergency room the pain had lessened, and I was begging quietly to just go home. But no, a couple of tests later and they had decided to keep me, and two very eager young surgeons visited me with their intentions to remove the offending organ on Saturday morning.

God bless intravenous drugs, everything after placing that cute little cap over my hair was a fog until I was back in a regular hospital room. My nurses were all great, and my baby-surgeons seemed pleased with their handiwork. (Well done, boys.)

And here it is, Monday. Got to sleep in my own bed without the distractions of various alarms going off in the night or doctors walking in at 5:30 to talk to my roommate, flipping on all the room lights. Finally got a shower too. (I knew you'd want to know that.)

How did you spend your Thanksgiving weekend?? Hopefully more traditionally. :-)

The As-Finished-As-It's-Gonna-Get Puzzle.

Round puzzles are tricky. The pieces are shaped strangely. Hubby-Dearest finished off the blue section for me in minutes--guess his brain works differently than mine, but then he's one of those sheet metal layout kind of guys who gets that spatially relative stuff.

The funny bit is, there's a piece missing. So it's as finished as it's ever going to get.

We have a kitty who thinks puzzle pieces are the bomb to play with. She even took some back into the bedroom with her. Did she steal the missing piece? Or is it that the puzzle came from a friend's father's house who must have gotten it second hand since the Christmas tag on the box has someone else's names on it entirely?

A Facebook friend said if you look at it really quickly it could be a WWII bomber or large winged creature. Made me giggle.

I'm good with the imperfection. It reminds me that nothing is perfect, this side of heaven. Our health is flawed. Puzzle pieces go missing. I need to keep my sense of humor and see the flaw as a large winged creature, since I get way too frustrated when I see these things as Interruptions rather than life.

More on Cymbalta Withdrawals.

In light of my previous post, "Cymbalta Withdrawal Is the B Word," I thought I'd post a link to an article I came across. It's always SO good to know I'm not the only crazy person out there!

"Cymbalta Discontinuation Syndrome." Look! It even has a name! An interesting fact in this post written by Christina Lasich, MD, is she has found antihistamines (such as the over the counter Benadryl) to be helpful with withdrawal symptoms. Maybe being sleepy is a good thing when your mood dictates ripping someone's head off due to the mood-swings of the withdrawal...

Sharing is our friend.

i'm trying to catch up on some blog reading today. It's an enjoyable pastime, though i'm not getting much done that truly NEEDS to be done this way! But i wanted to share a couple of things from other blogs that i thought you might enjoy.

First: Gorgeous fall photos by Betina at B-Happy, a blogging mom and photographer who has dealt with infertility and adoption and then surprise fertility. She has a knack for capturing a moment whether it's fall's leaves or the antics of her kids. And she has a way of expressing things that makes me smile.

Second: A borrowed idea from SouleMama about savoring a moment from the week over at Sperlygirl. The quote from SouleMama that explains this idea:

{this moment} - A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember.

i love the idea of finding a way to mark time by the good things. i wonder what way i could do that? They've used photography to capture a moment to remember from their week, but my photography runs more to quickly snapped shots of my dogs being cute--on my iPhone. i tend to be a journaling sort, or a crafty sort. Perhaps a crafty journal?

i need to find a way to be more hopeful. i need to capture good moments to review, rather than only remembering if it was a good week or a bad week in fibro-world, or how i fell short of the things i thought i should have gotten done.

Seriously, follow the links and go see the photos. i think it's stealing if i put them directly in my blog, and i don't want the blog-police to come and take me away to blog-prison, though if it's a prison made of words i might like that.

How would you mark the moment? Thoughts? Ideas??


Skimmer's Recap: Just follow the links and look at the pictures. That's the good stuff anyway!

Crafty Goodness.

Clutch Purse on Interweave.com

"Crafty Goodness" is the name of a folder on my computer desktop. In it resides directions for knitwear patterns, how to dye your own yarn, ideas for multi-media art pieces, weaving, stuff like that. Like I mentioned before, I'm kind of a "Jack of all crafts and Master of none." Crafting is just....GOOD.  And even if I never do all the projects living within that folder, they exist there in that magical land to welcome me when I open their door. An escape for my imagination to a land with unlimited artsy supplies and space to do them, where I can dream and plan... Exploring the different ways to create makes me happy.

Where do you escape?

Things i'm learning from a jigsaw puzzle.

I've been on a bit of a jigsaw puzzle thing lately. When my brain is not working adequately in more fruitful directions, working on a puzzle keeps it busy and out of trouble.

I've been working on this round puzzle. Notice how I've done all the "fun" bits, all the parts with recognizable shapes like flowers and buildings.

This left me with all these shades of blue pieces, nearly indestinguishable. Blecch.

Notice the big blank spot below, waiting to be filled with those same-y same-y looking pieces.

But I just keep hacking away at it,

piece by piece.

Need I actually speak the comparison to life? The fun bits are important too, and they go fast. We can be left with all the boring filler same-y same-y bits. They're important too. At the moment in this puzzle I feel stuck with the blue bits that are hard to figure out. But if I keep slogging along, eventually the whole thing will come together.

Wonder if I should have done a better job of balancing out the boring bits and the fun bits? You know, done some of the blue while there was still some of the colorful bit left to work?

I feel stalled out on the puzzle. Also feeling a bit stalled out on my Pursuit of Health as the removal of Cymbalta does seem to have left me with some agitation and anxiety even after nearly 8 weeks, along with a loss of word and creative mojo. This doesn't feel as clearcut as the decision to quit the Fentanyl. With that I KNEW it was causing more harm than good. With the Cymbalta, I'm less sure.