The Effects of Stress From Grief ...

                                                    picture from here

.... are hell-bent on killing me.
Or .... at least making me miserable till the end of my days.

Before I became a widow (I abhorred that word for at least a year and a half) I was healthy.
Really.  Well, I had high cholesterol, but I'm totally laying that at the feet of my mother, whose genes caused my cholesterol to rise over 100 points.
In less than one year.
Thanks, Mom.
:)

Anyway,  I was perfectly healthy.  I played tennis 3-4 times a week. I worked about 20 hours a week.
I was happy.  In more ways than one.

And then Jim died.
And I grieved.
I grieved hard.

And my body has been paying the price ever since.

First there was the deep, dark, cold cave of depression from which I could not climb out .... on my own.
And I still can't.
So add that med to the cholesterol med.

Next came a UTI.  My first.
And then another.
But not too bad.  Just pop some antibiotics and life moves on.

Then there was the kidney stone.
Don't ask.

Soon after that I started having trouble with my right shoulder.  The pain was 24/7.
I tried injections, physical therapy, not playing tennis .... you name it, I tried it.
I finally had surgery last year to repair and clean out that shoulder.


A year after Jim died I went to visit his family for New Year's.  A couple of days into the visit ... on New Year's Eve day, I thought I had another kidney stone so a lovely doctor told me to come in .... even on that day.
He thought it might be appendicitis, and ordered an MRI (or a CT scan, I can't remember).  It turned out to be a minor problem, which was a relief.  Ever had a kidney stone?  Again ... don't ask.
But as he showed my the scan from the film and said that all was relativity ok, he added, ..... "except for this" and pointed to a mass that they had found deep within my left hip.
He wasn't sure if it was cancer, but told me to see my doctor as soon as I got home.
Great.  Dad dies and one year later Mom MIGHT have cancer?  Think that might have scarred my children much?

My dr. sent me to a specialist at MD Anderson.  He claimed, after doing a botched biopsy (meaning, the IV med they gave to knock me almost unconscious ... did not work.  At all.),  that he didn't think it was anything to worry about, that I could just wait and they'd "keep an eye on it" every 6 months or so, or I could have surgery to remove it if that made me more comfortable.
I chose the surgery.  I've never been very good at waiting.  Especially not with something like this.
So I had surgery a few weeks later.  A surgery after which I thought I'd spend one night in the hospital.
I spent 5.  Or 6.  I can't recall.
The mass had doubled in size in less than 4 weeks and was starting to grow into my hip joint.  He had to file some of the bone away .... trying not to make the decision to break it to remove the invading tumor.
And guess what?
It was cancer.
Thankfully it was a very rare, very "tame" cancer.  It should not appear anywhere else in my body.
I had MRI's done for a year and a half every 3 months.
And the surgery and the results were horrid and painful.  I'd love to say something more than "painful" but I don't know a better word at the moment.
It took over a year for me to fully recover from that surgery.
Ugh.

Next, heart palpitations.  My heart seemed to flip flop every 5-6 beats.
Off to a cardiologist and another med .... but only for a year.

Then I developed something called "pernicious anemia".  Which just means that suddenly my body won't absorb B12 the way the normal person does .... by eating it or taking a supplement, or nose spray.
I found out people used to die from this, not knowing they had it, nor knowing the affects it has on the body.
So I went in for injections .... until I decided to learn how to give them to myself, which I do every 2 weeks now.

Last May I went on a beautiful cruise to Greece and some surrounding countries.  From the first day on I started having excruciating pain in my legs and then it started spreading up my body.
It was a miserable vacation and one I do not have fond memories of.
Which is pretty sad.

I came home to find that I have Rheumatoid Arthritis.
Or so he thought.
I started taking a chemo drug last year.
This past week my dr. decided that it my also be Fibromyalgia.
He thinks.
And he added 2 more meds to the long list I'm already on.

This past December I had sinus surgery.
Not a lot of fun but it could've been worse.

Tonight, I started writing this post after I got home from a trip to an ER .... for another UTI.  My 5th (or 6th, I can't keep up anymore) since January 1st.  Yep,  except for the 3 past weeks, I've had a UTI since the first of the year.
I knew this did not bode well for the coming year.

So now I will go off to see yet another specialist.

I hate my body.
It's trying to kill me.
Or so it seems.

If you look on line for articles of stress and what it does to the human body .... it's astounding.
It can cause your body to change chemically as well as physically.  Some of the things that the stress of grief can bring out?  Cancer, RA, pernicious anemia, heart problems, etc., etc., etc.

I wrote this long, boring post not to make you feel sorry for me, but to let you know that the physical effects of grief are not in your mind.  They are a fact.  A horrible, unwanted fact after the horrible, unwanted loss of your spouse.
You are not crazy, nor are you a hypochondriac.  (Trust me, the last place on earth I want to visit is my dr.'s office.  Or any dr.'s office.  I am fed up with doctors.)
You're not making this up .... you are experiencing the effects of grief.
And they are real.

So hang in there.
And breathe.
You are not crazy.
Just widowed.

Although some days, I do feel a little of both.
:)

It's gonna be alright

It is school holidays here and to get ourselves out of the house, we've been frequenting the local mangrove wetlands to sit and watch the birds.  There's a safe - yet - quiet walking path to an elevated shelter shed where you can sit and look over a large lagoon full of migratory birds.  Some with chicks, some loud and cranky, some funny.
It is a very peaceful spot and the bird life, along with a couple of pairs of cheap binoculars has kept us entertained on quite a few afternoons.

After walking around the lagoon and onto the nearby boardwalk one afternoon, the kids and I sat in the late afternoon sunlight and gazed down to the lagoon, teeming with birds and not another human being in sight.

Peacefully.

 Quietly.

 ...and just as I was thinking that Greg would have loved this place had we known it existed, and wishing he was there to share the experience, almost feeling his hand on my shoulder as we stared off towards the sparkling water when my darling daughter put her head on my shoulder and whispered ...

"It's going to be alright Mum.  I promise.  It's going to be alright"

...and I held her while silent tears slipped down my cheeks.

...and I knew Greg was there with us.

....and I just know I'll return to this magical place, week after week.  
Just to sit and stare at the water and feel like he is really with us.
Just for a while.

Flame

from here

Some days I wander around the place a little aimlessly, crying off and on in an almost distracted way. Going from calm, humming, puttering mode to ugly crying, hands-over-face-snotty-mess and back again, easily. Today I was in this phase of back and forth, talking to Dave, working on a poster for a friend, and doing laundry when it occurred to me that I will have to protect my delicate urge to do something new with my life. I will have to think of that tiny flame as a precious, precious thing and guard it, fight for it, claw and gnaw my way to it, until it is a roaring bonfire. I will have to be like my own little superhero, inside myself, beating back thoughts of doubt and fear. I have to bludgeon the hell out of them or they’ll extinguish the little flame. I have to build a little shelter around it and tend it.

I sat at the desk in front of the window, taking a little break from drawing and talking out loud to Dave. It’s one of those days here when the sun keeps playing peekaboo with the clouds and it suddenly broke through a thick clot of steel gray and shone down directly on me. I thought of Dave sending me that sunbeam and realized how much his death has made me the kind of person who entertains thoughts like “my dead husband sent me a sunbeam”, instead of explaining it away with science and coincidence. Now, it’s simple. Nothing is explainable anymore. Nothing is impossible. If Dave could be taken from this life like he was, than anything is possible.  And I honestly don’t care if the sunbeams come from Dave or not. I don’t care what might be true. Only what could be.

That sunbeam was like a blessing. Encouragement from the Universe (which to me, IS Dave. They are indistinguishable to me).

You can do it. You can do what most people try without success to do. You can fiercely protect the urge to find happiness. You can beat back the fear of taking the leap and let the flame grow. You can do what you thought you couldn’t. And, in fact, that is exactly why you should do it. Because you thought you couldn’t.

I want to write and make art and see how those things make others happy. Or changed. Or different in some way. I want to do those things because I want to, not because they will make me a living. What I want has to come first and the rest will come along for the ride. This is the hardest thing for me to tell myself. I’m the daughter of a man who had a depression mentality. He worked his ass off because that’s what you did. You didn’t take time for “yourself” because that was ludicrous and self-serving. You did what would bring in the money whether you liked it or not. You go to school to get a good job and make money. Period. And I was with someone with similar values for 15 years. The voice of logic is very loud and convincing.

Hey, the economy sucks and you are giving up a job that pays well and has great benefits AND gives you tons of time off. ARE YOU NUTS?!

Well yes, I am, but that’s beside the point. Maybe I might have to work at a job I don’t love so I can do what I love. But maybe it’s possible to make a living doing what I love, too. It could happen. It might take sacrifice. It might take hard work. It might be scary, scary stuff, but it could happen.

So I’ll keep tending that flame and protecting it like a mama bear protects her vulnerable little cub. Keep it close and warm and treat it like the miracle it is. And I'll keep letting the sunbeams remind me that I'm on the right track.