Thanks

I just have to say how incredibly wonderful it is to know that there are people who pray for me. With all my heart - thanks!

The Best Cleaning Solution I Have Ever Found

Three days of Celexa later I am beginning to find my old self, pull my shoulders down from up around my ears where they have been hanging out, and relax a little bit. Which means, its time to clean the house.

Yesterday, I had lunch with an old friend whom I had not seen for 16 years when we were in a terrific show together. She is great fun but that is not the point. She is fun and organized, which proves you can be both. She has a lovely home in Burbank, which she says she always keeps clean and comfortable. I was there once or twice all those years ago and I remember it. It was very neat and comfy. And she was fun back then too. So I asked her about it and she said that she can't be in a messy home because it makes her head crazy too. Which is exactly how I feel - so judging by the condition of my house, I have been crazy for a while.

My husband, Prince Bob, has been so good and he has kept the insufferable kitchen very clean and things generally picked up. And Jenny too - she is turning into something of a housekeeper. But there is dust. And laundry. And bathrooms. And linens need to be changed. And days and days and days of junk mail to be sorted through and tossed. Which means there is garbage too. And vacuuming. And probably three large bins of things left hanging around - like shoes and sweaters and tweezers - that need to find their way back to their proper places. Not that I remember what their proper places are anymore. And the absolute worst room in the entire house is my bedroom - where a week ago I pried my fake acrylic french-tip nails off and left them - ghoulishly - on my night stand. Gross. Truly.

So it appears, I have been off my game for a long while. Because while I knew my house was a mess, I didn't know it was this big of a mess. And I can tell you that I have not been fun.

So tomorrow, I have to get up early and focus on one room at a time. And hopefully, when I am finished, my house will reflect my newly re-organized mind - the one that is getting less obsessive on every tiny twinge I feel internally.

Who knew that Celexa was such a great cleaning agent? I think I'll put it right next to the Windex.

She Lives!

So I had the doctor appointment this morning. I have to say I really like my doctor. She's new but I have a lot of confidence in her. And the whole staff is so friendly and they actually seem to enjoy their work - from the doctors to the receptionists. For those in the Conejo Valley - they are the Arroyo Oaks Medical Associates. (There's my first plug!)

Anyway, blood tests, and x-rays, and EKG and lab work later, it appears I am going to see tomorrow. I do have another appointment for an ultrasound in a couple of weeks but I am reasonably assured. And beyond that: she gave me another prescription for Celexa!!!

Now I am going to tell you why I am harping on my health for the second day in a row and then I'll walk away from the subject - but I do think it is important because I know many people who suffer from depression or anxiety.

There are a gazillion reasons why people get depressed or feel anxious (and anxiety is a form of depression) and some of them are completely legitimate. But when it takes you over, as it has done with me in the past, as it was threatening to do again recently, and it interferes with your living and your behavior changes and you struggle to get through a day, attention must be paid.

I started having depression as a teenager and it took all sorts of different forms. Initially, it was paranoia and I spent a crazy amount of time worrying about being followed or watched. Or doomed. (????) I knew it was nuts but I felt it none the less. Later, I just had a general black cloud thing happening and I could sort of get stuck there. With kids, this depression turned into irrational anger (I could go from laughing to yelling in a New York minute). I had counseling for - EVER - spent a load of bucks and nothing really changed for me. My faith helped me more than I can say as I began to practice it more and more and "listen" to what I felt God was telling me. But I could not altogether shake the dark pit.

Eight years ago, at a routine appointment, my doctor found a small lump in my left breast. A mammogram and ultrasound later I was assured that this was not a cancer but I wanted it OUT! I insisted on surgery and they removed a small mass of "fatty tissue" (a bit of humiliation but it was worth it). However, all my anxiety, all my depression, all my anger (well most), was redirected to my health and I became something I had never been in my life. A full blown hypochondriac. For years and years I was certain I had breast cancer. After my dad had colon cancer, that became my focus and for the last year, it has been ovarian cancer. In addition to MS or other degenerative illnesses. Again, I know its is nuts - but when you are a hypochondriac you can know that you are fine but the grip of sheer panic (and that is the word that best describes it) never leaves you.

Doctor appointments are a horror. You are so terrified to get test results. And if they tell you you are fine, you believe they missed something.

The truth is, hypochondria is a mental illness.

I won't write a book about my experience here but I will say that I lived in fear that I was dying each day and whatever strength I had was set upon acting as normal as possible. It was exhausting. And it was worse during the times when I was alone. It is a cancer of the mind. That is the best way to describe it. And it is painful and it took its toll. There was literally nothing that happened - a little twitch, a tiny pinch or pain - that that I didn't turn into stage 4 cancer or heart failure or some sort of degenerative disease. It was all consuming and eventually I didn't have the energy to find happiness. So I would go to work and routinely come home, go to my room, shut the door and shut down. For days and days on end. I cannot remember this but my family tells me I missed an entire Thanksgiving one year - never coming to the table at all. Over the years, I tried many medications but none of them worked for long or at all. And the side effects could be intense.

Finally, in 2007, my dear friend Candace gave me a miracle - a referral to a top psychiatrist at UCLA who could not take me on but, as a favor to her whom he knew professionally, agreed to meet me for two or three visits. The first time I was in his office he spent two hours asking me questions and making notes. I did not fill out any questionnaires, which is all I ever did with previous doctors for them to determine what to prescribe. His questions were led by my answers. After a very revealing first visit, he told me what he thought and told me he would give me a prescription for Celexa - something I had not tried. He was a good doctor who knew his business. It changed my life.

I thank God for it - I really do. If my story sounds familiar - get a good doctor and get better. For real.

Consider this a public service announcement.

Dead Woman Walking

I have a doctor appointment in the morning. It is a physical. Which means, of course, I am dying.

As I have mentioned before, I am a practicing hypochondriac and this is what I do before any and all doctor appointments. But I am going because at the end of December, the government assistance program for COBRA will run out and if I remain unemployed I will have to move over to a catastrophic plan - one that carries a $5,000 deductible. So if I am going to require any life-saving surgeries or treatments, I need to have it over by Christmas.

So I am preparing myself. I have to say that it used to be much worse. I would work myself up into a non-functional frenzy a full month before any doctor appointment. The hair would stand on the back of my neck and I would obsess and pray like mad. It is a horrible and impossible way to live. And I did it for many years until a wonderful psychiatrist gave me a prescription for Celexa. I got on that miracle drug and returned to the world of the rational and sane. But I took myself off it a year ago and now I am thinking that at this doctor appointment, I should probably ask her to prescribe it to me again because I am feeling a little too afraid of what could be going on inside of me.

I suppose that there is some rationale for believing they could find something to be concerned about - in spite of the fact that I had to do a series of tests to change life insurance companies a couple of months ago and they accepted me. But currently, in addition to any form of female cancer, I expect to find heart disease and brain anyerism. Of course I know that while they may find something, it is unlikely that they will find all of it. In fact, while the possibility exists that I could have any number of things, what is more likely is that they will tell me to lose weight and exercise or I will get something. Still, I am idling in "the world of what if" and it is not a pleasant place to be.

By the way, in case you can't imagine it, "the world of what if" is the world where I die and somehow life goes on without me. And its been done. Just not by me. Yet. And in spite of the fact that I believe in heaven, I'm not in a hurry to leave this life just yet. And of course I have little control of the inevitable. And as a control freak...you get the idea.

So my head keeps telling me I'm okay. And it is also telling me that if I ever do have some problem it is better to know sooner than later. And it is also telling me that most things have treatments, and medicines, and cures even. And God keeps telling me that He is enough. For anything.

I sincerely hope that you don't stop reading this blog because you have decided that I am highly unstable. The fact is, there are many of us out there in your midst. Anxiety is a horrible disease. I am saying a blanket prayer for anyone who suffers from it. And perhaps you'll return the favor.

Note to self: Celexa.

What I Am Learning. Huh.

Periodically, I go back and randomly read some of what I have posted previously. Today, I read them all (yes, I certainly do have a lot of time on my hands!) and I am beginning to see a picture.

Early on, I did a lot of talking about what is next, fear of change, needing a purpose, leaps of faith and what I really wanted for the next (hopefully many) years. Back in July, I wrote something I called "Fear of Jumping". I wrote about having known the life of being served but now,I felt I probably needed to learn about serving someone to find some fulfillment. And then, as is my special way, I forgot all about it.

However, my very dear friend upstairs did not. And in fact, I am looking back and can see where He has subtly been putting "service opportunities" in front of me for a while now. And, because I have the time - endless amounts of it - I have stepped in, if for no other reason than I have no excuse not to.

Now look, I'm no hero. But I have been praying for a "heart transplant" for some time. My internal "empathy switch" has never worked so well; compassion often seemed to elude me. And this has been a secret a shame for a long time - something I could never really admit to - except to the few who sort of figured it out on their own. It wasn't that I was a bad person. But my focus, for whatever reason, was always on myself - I always operated on survival mode. I could certainly "be there" for someone, but unless their problem involved me personally, I didn't carry it. Not that I want to. I have enough things to worry about - but understanding is what I think I am really talking about here. I couldn't understand. As such, it was kind of hard to feel what I think most people feel.

In walks unemployment. And I have months to consider all this stuff. And low an behold, I am needed by someone: an acquaintance who I ordinarily would have made promises to that were nothing more than gestures. Someone whose challenges would have scared me to even be around. Someone whose life was really turned upside down. She is recovering from a massive stroke. Without much thought, I made a commitment to her. I see her every week. I listen and try to encourage and take her out. And surprisingly, I think I'm getting as much out of it as she is. I don't get scared when I get a phone call from her. I know she needs assurances, and I don't feel at all that I am going to suffocate. I like her. I really do. And I really look forward to spending time with her - even though communication takes a bit of effort. She is a gift. To me. She is a new friend of mine. And in addition to friendship, I feel I understand. Huh.

Similarly, I find I am going a little further with the kind of help I would normally offer. When a another friend of mine came home for the hospital after a really major surgery, instead of dropping by the market to pick up ready-made food to bring on my way to visit, I contacted my ex-husband (oh yes, there is an ex and he'll show up in these posts eventually), and asked him for his chicken split pea soup recipe. I went to the store and bought all the stuff and made my own stock and made this soup from scratch. For her. And the only reason I am telling you this is because I had to stop in the middle of it and say to myself: "Wait a minute. I don't do this." But I want to do it because I know this is scary and difficult for her and I understand. Huh.

I have been asked if I could volunteer my time and services for some non-profits I have peripheral involvement with. I immediately said yes. Because right now, philanthropies are in real need of help. And I do understand. Huh.

It seems that every time I turn around, I am getting a call or an email - asking me to help or talk or do - and I am totally not freaking out! Huh!!!

Okay the point here is not to boast about how wonderful I am. In fact, many of you are probably thinking: "what in hell is she talking about?" What I am trying to say is that this is, for the most part, new for me. New in that I'm not thinking about any of it first. New in that I'm not weighing the consequences of getting involved before the decision to jump in. New in that I'm not frightened to be needed more than I might need. Good God! (Literally!) I'm 52 and I think I'm - can I say it? - growing!!

And I have to say - I have nothing to do with it. It is happening to me and I think I am supposed to be getting this in the grand scheme of things. And I find this oddly encouraging in that it makes me think that I am on a path that will, in fact, take me somewhere new. My friend who is recovering from the stroke seems to think so too. She makes a circle gesture to her heart, points to me and says: "Big things coming". I believe her.

Huh.

The Insidious Black Hole

We all know of the mysterious black hole that sucks one of each pair of socks we throw into the dryer into the abyss. I do not know who or what is responsible for this phenomenon but apparently these holes are multiplying because something in this house is sucking up keys and cell phones and nail clippers and stuff like that. Oh my lord - and glasses!!!!! It is maddening!

I just set my glasses down. 15 minutes ago when I got home from taking Grace to school. Black hole sucked them straight up. Gone. I don't know if they got sent to some parallel universe where the other "me" (am I employed there?) is in need of them for a while or what, but I know I will be spending the next several hours looking for them until they magically turn up in a suspiciously obvious place.

I occurs to me that maybe they got sucked up and randomly dropped off at someone else's house. Have any of you seen my glasses?!?!? If you find them, please let me know. And check around for my husband's cell phone while you're at it. We're losing our minds over here.

Ah! The Thea -tah!

This morning I had to wake up at 6:00 because Grace had two shows for local schools and I had to have her at the theatre - in makeup - by 8:00. When the alarm went off I saw that my blackberry was blinking red. A message!! From dad. He sent me a link to an article from the New York Times saying the ratio of unemployed (14+ million) to available jobs (just over 2 million) was the worst ever. Good morning!

I rolled over to see that my husband was not there. I was too tired and cold to track him down but when the alarm went off again I managed to find a way out of bed and pattered down the hall. He was on the couch with a blanket with one dog at his head and another at his feet. He said I was snoring.

Great! I'm unemployed AND I snore. And I so wanted to lead a glamorous life.

Grace, excited to be doing something on a weekday other than school, was no trouble this morning. She got herself ready. I, on the other hand, could not get moving. The problem for me came down to the fact that since this is community theatre, parents are required to volunteer and today I had to be backstage for both shows to make sure the kids were quiet and didn't miss cues. Now kids are fine, and this was certainly not a difficult job - like say - hanging lights or building sets - but these are theatre kids. You should know that "theatre kids" are very smart for the most part, and they tend not to be in the kind of trouble other kids sometimes get into. But as the theatre in "theatre kids" implies, there is almost invariably drama. Not the least of which is coming from my own kid. So 6 hours of sitting backstage with budding thespians just seemed to me to be too long plus a month.

We arrived on time but as lovely as this venue is (and it really is lovely) I was reminded that this was community theatre and not a union contract by virtue of the fact that there was no coffee to be found. I allowed myself a few minutes to recover from that revelation, refocused, and set about to be today's "kid wrangler".

These kids are really very sweet kids and they have found their passion - at least for now. The thing about a theatre kid is that everything about the theatre is discussed ad nauseum and with such passion. Words like "brilliant" and "amazing" and "phenomenal", uttered liberally from the mouths of 11-year-olds, fill the air. Phrases like "incredibly talented" and "moving to New York" spill from the lips of blase teenagers. And above all, there is the spontaneous bursting out of show tunes. And apparently there is a show tune written for every occasion. And Grace is a diva in training - most annoying! And I was exactly like them when I was a "theatre kid". In fact, I was worse.

At the grand dame age of 15, I knew every teeny bit of trivia from the theatre there was to know. I knew who won what Tony for the past 10 years and who was going to be up for them this year. I knew what was in previews and what was opening when - who was in it and who was directing - even if I really didn't know who they were. I knew where Bernadette Peters was born. And I knew

the lyrics to every obscure Sondheim song that was thrown out during out-of-town tryouts. Backward. And you didn't even have to ask to get me to regale you with one amazing theatre story after the other. I'd tell them with affected worldliness as I flicked the extremely long ash from my Virginia Slim menthol.

Here I am as the sophisticated, brassy, sexy, world wise, somewhat tarnished, con artist/evangelical crusader, Reno Sweeny - in a community theatre production of the Cole Porter musical "Anything Goes". As an "incredible talent", I was confident that I could bring this role to life by drawing on all the wisdom, experience and understanding I had acquired, 3 years before I could legally drink.

And did I mention that I was "brilliant"?