The Pill Box

 

Each morning I start my day at the pill box. 

As far as I can tell, nothing seems to happen when I take my medication, and nothing seems to happen if I forget to take them for a day. 

Bipolar runs thick in the family roots.  It assaults some of us more than others, and all we can do is deal with it the best we can. 

It reared its head in my life in my thirties, and it’s still a juggling act.   

A nine year, happy streak, ended winter of 2021 and I could not get back to normal. 

 

A trip to Target provided an unexpected panacea.

“Mom, come with me to Target.” My eighteen year old invites.

“Nah.” I answer unapologetic. I have no desire to leave the house, and want the day to end so I can go to bed.

“Please come with me.” She begs.  “I don’t want to go alone.”

Every fiber of my being hates the thought of being in public.

“That is the last thing I want to do right now” I say bluntly, feeling irritated with my mood.

“It will be fast, I promise. P-l-e-a-s-e don’t make me go alone.” She pathetically tries again.

I give in, and mope to the car.

 On the way we stop by Twisted Sugar to say hi to a friend and she gives us two speciality drinks, for free.  I’m not a soda drinker but drink it anyway.  Soon we are at Target and the World is right. I feel great!

 “Mom, it’s not right that you need caffeine to be normal.” She observes as I ride a cart down the aisle. “You need help.” 

 

“Caffeine?” I question.  “The drink did this?” I am genuinely surprised. Could it be? Something as simple as caffeine changed the rainy forecast of my life to clear and sunny skies in a matter of minuets?  I know this makes me sound naive. In the soda realm I am. I am not soda drinker.  I don't like the taste of Coke, Pepsi, or Dr.Pepper. I never have. My drink preferences are water (no ice) and if dining out, Rootbeer. 

The rest of the day the caffeine makes me feel like I have reconnected with an old friend.  It is good to be back.  I am motivated to return to this life.  I decide I need medication.

For the next few months I supplement caffeine tablets with bipolar medication as I ease into the right dose.  Migraines appear out of nowhere and I realize the caffeine is sabotaging my progress.  I give it up and painfully wait for the meds to kick in.

On the way to a routine visit with my Psychologist, a year later, I feel I have successfully climbed out of my pit.

I am annoyed I needed to arrange a babysitter to drive to his office, only to tell him everything is fine, and then pay him…for nothing.

“How did the winter go?”  He asks as I plop down on his couch, on a bleak day in March.

“You mean it’s over?” I reflexively turn to the window to observe the skies.

I sailed through winter and hadn’t realized it. This is very unusual for me. 

“I guess that means the medication is working.” He declares while scribbling in his notepad.  

 

“It is a big change from Winters past, right?” He continues, not looking up at me.  

He is right!  I had a fantastic fall and winter. Nothing about it bothered me.  January and February flew by and I have been my productive, happy self. 

It embarrasses me that I haven’t thought to give the medication credit for the improvement, just as I had naively overlooked it with the caffeine.

“I thought I felt 100% normal because I am back to normal.” I admit only to myself. “I just need tweaking to get back on my feet.” I ignorantly justify.

He reminds me feeling normal is our goal so every thing is working.

“Every thing is working?” I criticize him in my thoughts.  “Nothing is working because nothing is wrong.”

Feeling deflated that I cannot take credit for my own happiness, I agree to continue the meds.

“Why do others observe me more accurately than I see myself?” I wonder as I drive home.  “Why does my “normal” exist only through fabrication, and why am I the last one to see it?”

Despite not a cloud in sight, genetics remind me, dark days await if I don’t return to the pill box each morning. Happiness feels like mine, but my reality is, it’s a gift.  

Family missteps

"Blue Valley" 2023

 Dad and I casually walk along a cliff's edge enjoying Aeriel views outside Capital Reef National Park, Utah.  He calls the place "Blue Valley", his home away from home. I would call it... a Desert.

He see’s beauty, refuge, potential and respite.  I see dirt, dead trees, some mountains and a dried up river. 

 This is the first thing he wants to show me.  “Take a good look at it”. He says.  “It’s your family inheritance.”

I look to him to see where he is directing his gaze and realize, we are indeed, looking at the same thing.

I’m not sure how to respond.  Are we metaphorically speaking? Is he telling me my inheritance is like  this dried up desolate land?  If so, I wouldn’t expect anything different. I didn’t know there was a family inheritance. 

“All of this is ours!” He says with pride as he traces the land between the mountains with his finger.

“Dad and I purchased it back in 1968.”  He remembers.

I smile at him.  We don’t call him “Crazy Kelly” for nothing.  

We haven’t spent meaningful time together since I was 12 years old.  This is our first personal connection since.  

I came out here to get “reacquainted.”  It is just the two of us for the weekend.

I don’t have any expectations for the trip.  My plan is to step into “his world” and see what comes of it.

Meeting him is not awkward.  Dad is approachable as a puppy. 

Our relationship is odd, I guess.  I have described him as an Uncle figure.  We see each other at family functions, greet each other with hugs and smiles, chit-chat and I introduce the new kids I have had since the last time we saw each other, then go our separate ways.  

I hear bits and pieces about his life through the family grape vine between our next run in, and the process starts over again.  

No hard feelings, no expectations, and no real connection.  

A few months ago I sent him a text.

And that is what brings us to this spot.

I follow him along the ridge jumping over crevice’s as we go. 

Some steps require a little leap.  I calculate my footing to ensure a clear jump. In one of my efforts, the leap didn’t happen. I was mid stride across the gap when my planted foot broke through the earth and I went DOWN instead of advancing forward!   

The crevice is wide enough that my body easily falls inside, but narrow enough that I can cling to the edge of the other side- where I was supposed to land.  I am able to stop my immediate fall with my right knee, but it only helps me stick to the wall. I can’t use it as leverage to pull myself up. The only part of my upper body above ground is my head and arms.  I’m hanging by my armpits.  The ground is too soft to get traction.  I’m scratching like a cat at the dirt.  In this moment I am struck with terror. The thought of falling to the bottom is a reality and I know bones will break.  I am bracing for pain, and hoped not death.  

“Dad!” I call out wondering if it’s too late. The dirt under my left armpit is crumbling under my weight. 

He is about 5 steps ahead of me with his back turned.

“Oh Emmy!” He panics, lunging back at me. 

At this point my momentum is going backwards.  

I am eye level to his boots running at me, praying his 76 year old body will be strong enough to lift me, or that he won’t go down with me in the effort.  Everything depends on him.  

The last time I spent time with him was 33 years ago!  I do not know his current health condition. Thoughts like: “Will he be fast enough?  Is strong enough?” and “Am I going to DIE?” shoot through my head at lightening speed.

He reaches me in time and I brace myself for the results.  Will I be going down or will I be going up?

He pulls me out with more power than I expect, and without struggle.  I am so relieved to be on solid ground and already wonder if that really happened. 

I am embarrassed at the situation.  At surface level it looks like I had put more effort into falling into that space than it took to simply step over it.

Dad shakes it off easily.

“How would you have pulled me out if I fell in there?!” I yell in a panic looking down into the death trap.

“I wouldn’t have”. He laughs.  

Pointing back into the pit he says: “I’d say, this is the last place I saw her.” (Hands up in the air proving innocence)

I appreciate his humor.  That was terrifying. 

Of all the days of my life; this is the day I need him most.  And he was here.

I guess it is not my time to go...after all, I have a desolate desert to inherit!

I didn't get a picture of the exact crevice. (can't imagine why) but it's like this spot.

   

What?!!

 This is the face one makes when they find out they are pregnant with baby #6 

after making New Years resolutions like this more than once:

After giving away all things Baby...more than once.

After dedicating a year to getting back in shape to be "Fit by 40"

Be like "Puppy"

 

Some of you may know that Joshua has a speech delay.  Around 1.5 years old we started to notice something wasn’t right.  He is my 5th child so I knew by that age he should be at least attempting words.  We took him to specialists and enrolled in Speech therapy once he turned 3 years old.  At 3 years old he could say maybe 10 words. ( and only I understood what they were)  

This has it’s Pros and Cons for sure.

Pros: I didn’t have to answer 1000 questions a day from a 3 year old.  

He didn’t beg or whine for things

He’s quiet on my long walks

Cons:

I don’t know what his first day of school was like.

He has never said I Love you mom.

I don’t have cute 3 year old conversations with him.

One thing we did know about him was he loved dogs!  Every time he saw a dog he would light up and bark.  It was so cute to see him see a dog.  Jace dug up a stuffed animal dog we had and gave it to him and it became his best friend.  He has slept with it every night since.  Puppy, He would later name it became his source of comfort.  

He always knows where puppy is.

Puppy is a site to see.  He is missing his nose, lost his shape and most the time smells like a wet rag.

Last month I took pity on Puppy.  He needed a pick me up.  I decided I would buy a new one and surprise Joshua with it.  When the new one arrived there was a problem.  A big problem.  Even though they were the exact same puppy they were NOT the same.  This wasn’t going to go as easily as planned.  I decided I would need to be extra tricky to pull this off.

I told Joshua we needed to wash puppy.  He seemed to be ok with the idea.  He understands the concept of clean.  SO I gathered a load of laundry and I told him to go get puppy.  Happily he did and I told him to put puppy in the washer.  

My plan was to have him involved in the magic.  If HE put puppy in the washer I would swap the old puppy with the new puppy and have him pull it out with the clean load and I’d discretely discard of the old puppy.  

He’d see the magic the washing machine did on puppy and the new and improved puppy would take over.

  The problem was he refused to put his beloved puppy in the washer!  He looked at me with disgust when I told him to put puppy inside.  There was no way he would do that to puppy.  He knew that the washer filled up with water and tumbled and turned. 

Instead, he ran away from me and threw puppy over the banister to the downstairs to get him far away from me.

His loyalty and love to puppy was admirable.  I truly felt sorry for attempting to replace his little buddy.

He doesn’t want a perfect fluffy, clean, puppy.  He wants his deeply loved rag dog.  It is worn out in all the perfect ways for Joshua

Heavenly Father is asking for us to be “Puppy”.   A puppy who will be there for someone when they need comfort.  Someone who isn’t afraid to get dirty and change shape while serving others.

When we return to Heavenly Father which puppy do you think He will be most pleased with?

The perfect one that looks exactly the same as the day he was purchased or the one that lost himself in love and service?

He is looking for helpers who will CHANGE for him.  

I have had to learn to watch Joshuas actions to learn what he needs/wants.  He has never said I LOVE you mom, but I know I am his favorite because he lights up when I’ve been away from him for 2 seconds 

I know he loves going to school because he jumps up and down when the school bus pulls up.

Its been almost 4 years that Ive had to learn to communicate with him by watching his actions.  

Growing up my favorite quote was “People may doubt what you say but they will always believe what you do.”

We can say we are Latter Day-Saints but stay hidden away safely in our homes and keep to ourselves or we can be “puppy” and give every part of us that we can to bring others to Christ.

“Let your light so shine before men that they may see your good works and glorify your father in Heaven.”  Matt 5:16

Under Pressure

I’m not a big fan of the kitchen.  Never have been.  I remember my mom trying to coax me as a teenager into helping her prepare dinner and I’d refuse.  She come back with “Your poor husband.”  and I’d retort with “I’ll just marry a man who loves to cook!”  Turns out I did!  He is way better in the kitchen than I am. Yay for me! 

A few weeks ago I blew up a pot of chili. I litterally blew up a  A pressure cooker.  Chili went EVERYWHERE!  I was volunterring at the Ronald McDonald House with the Young Women from Church.  One of the main dishes was Chili and it was time to eat.  Families were lining up for dinner and my pressure cooker was done cooking but the release valuve was still releasing steam.  Rule number 1 with cooker pressures is you DO NOT open the lid until the pressure has been released completely.  The way you know when it is ready is the pot hisses like a teakettle and shoots steam out of the vaulve as the pressure us released.  When it’s done the hissing and steam stop.  I knew this but I was impatient because people were ready to eat and I knew it was close to being done so I tried to hurry the process along by opening the lid.

As I forced the lid open the Spirit warned me this wasn’t a good idea and before I could heed that warning I heard a loud BOOM and screams.  I stood in complete shock as chili dripped from the ceiling and covered everything in front of me.  The floor was slippery as I tried to move away from the stove.  The aroma of hot chili filled the entire room.  I didn’t know what to do.  The mess was so big I just stood there completely shocked and embarrased.  Then I realized I was in pain.  I needed to get to some cold water.  I scooted out of the puddle of chili beneath me and rushed to the sink.  I turned on the cold water and stuck my arm under and washed the chili that had landed on my sweater then i felt heat on my face and I tried to stick my face in the water.  As soon as my arm was out of the water it began to burn again so i danced between sticking my face and arm in the cold water.   I couldn’t tell how badly I was burned but the way my friends looked at me I could tell it was going to leave a mark.

Thankfully, no one else was hurt and I was taken home while the mess was cleaned up by all the Young Women and dinner was served... without the chili.

The following few hours the pain was minimal as long as I kept cool towels applied to the burns.  I slept fine that night and woke up feeling like I dodged a bullet.  Things weren’t that bad...so it seemed. 

Day 2 I woke up and my face didn’t look so good.  Parts of burned skin were staring to show up in dark spots.  Day 3 my face looked like I had been in a dog fight and my arm looked like something right out of a horror movie. The dead skin was falling off revealing a deep raw 2nd degree burn.

Hi

Weight or wait?

I’m wearing scrubs as pants today because my pants don’t fit.  Maybe they “could” fit but all my jeans are “skinny jeans“  so maybe they are supposed to be tight?

   Or it could be that I just ate 5 pieces of pizza today with a bag of Chocolate covered Macadaminan nuts and 3 (yes, THREE) pints of Ben & Jerry's yesterday?  

Weight doesn't show up that fast does it?

Oh, it doesn't matter!  I'm starting a new diet and getting into shape tomorrow.  Well, it’ll be tomorrow if I get enough sleep tonight.  I’m still jet lagged from our trip to Hawaii last week.

Maybe I’ll just go buy new jeans?

Introvert Problems

Sometimes I put on an extravert hat.  I don’t wear it often but when I do, I think I wear it well...most the time.

Last month I wore it and ended up planning a Neighborhood Party.  I hate things of that sort.  For me they are awkward and painful to endure. 

It happened on accident really.  A family dear to us was moving and another neighbor mentioned we should have a neighborhood party before they left. 

 I happen to be a Block Captain for our Community Emergency Response Team and they advise us to hold block parties once a year to connect with our assigned block. I wasn’t going to do it.  The thought of it made me want to throw up, but a going away party for a family I loved had a complete different effect on me. I was all in.

 I agreed a Neighborhood party would be nice, and I would just count it toward my obligation! Invitations were made and just like that I was hosting/Co-Hosting a Party I never would have attended otherwise.

Oddly enough, I didn’t stress over the event days prior  to Party time.   On a Hot July evening Neighbors showed up with Pot Luck items, kids cooled off with water balloons, and adults relaxed with wine and conversation until we couldn’t see through the dark.   I enjoyed meeting the many new move-in’s and found myself actually enjoying their company.  Everyone seemed to be “People, People”  I felt like the only Introvert wearing an extrovert hat! 

While at the party, a new family I really liked invited me to their House warming party the following weekend and I gladly accepted!  In that moment I truly thought I’d enjoy attending.  “I’ll be there!”  I committed on the spot.

The rest of the week I dreaded it.   Every. Single. Day!

All week I was an anxious mess when I thought about going. My insides would turn and I felt regret and dread for accepting the invite.

The day arrived.  I bought them a gift and I litteraly moped like a wounded dog as I walked the short distance to their house, wishing I was under the covers at home instead.

Deep inside (WAY deep down inside) I was proud of myself for going through with it, and not dragging my husband along with me.   This is outside of my comfort zone in a huge way and I wanted to show up.  For me!

Two and a half hours later I left their house with a plate full of Indian food and some new friends.  I stayed two hours and 15min. longer than I wanted to. Many times I wanted to text my husband something like: 😫🤯🥵🥴  but instead I decided to be brave and be in the moment.  I never pulled out my phone.  I forced myself to be SOCIAL!  I joined the group pictures, ate food among strangers, and made small talk with at least 5 other people.  It was AWFUL to be honest!  They were wonderful.  The party was welcoming.  The only problem was I’m an Introvert.  It was an Introvert’s Nightmare...and I rose to the occasion! 

I arrived at the party feeling like:🥺  During the party I was🥳 🙄and I left the party  like 🤯

 I was exhausted.  My head was in a daze.  My emotions were everywhere.  I felt like I needed to sit down and process it all.  I tried to explain to my husband how awesome I just was at being an extrovert but I didn’t have the words.  I didn’t want to talk.  He reached for me to give me a hug, proud I was away so long, but I  recoiled like a threatened snake. 

 “Don’t touch” I half laughed but mostly begged.  “I need space!” 

#IntrovertProblems