Suicide Awareness Month
Scientists were shocked to learn that the Vagus nerve, found in the gut, carries 90 percent of messages to the brain and not the other way around. While Egyptians posited that the heart was the seat of the human emotional experience due to the abundance of visceral fluids found within its chambers, those of us who have a sinking feeling in the pit of our navels when unpleasantness is encountered know that it is the "bowels that are filled with compassion..." Luke 15:20. Last night, however, it was my esophagus...still part of the gastrointestinal system, that acted up when I heard something I did not want to hear. What is that lump that forms and tightens and rises up, sometimes bringing vomit, or "baby barf" as my kids are fond of saying? Like an elevator going the wrong way up, someone pushed the wrong button on my esophagus control panel and I found bile rising in my throat when I heard a physician say, "Over the years I have decided that those with severe mental illness are simply the recipients of adverse childhood trauma or years of drug abuse". I turned my back and took my misfunctioning elevator down the hallway toward the sound of the friendly chatter of my fellow nurses at the middle nurse's station. Giving up at the upper nurse's station, the heart of the unit, I settled for the belly of the unit instead...where the seat of emotion really lies. I thought of my nurse friends over the years who had been so kind to my family chock full of severe mental illness, and I huddled in the midst of their light-hearted loveliness. They answered the call lights of patients who requested hospital slippers for "their visitor in a size 12 please" and fetched cranberry juice on another long trip down the hall. and "Oh, some Ritz crackers", because sometimes a patient is nervous when stuck in bed and feels out of control... their small requests give them some control over an environment that is foreign and often chaotic. I am grateful for their kindnesses toward their patients, their light-hearted banter, and love for me.
(Thelma with Logan, Frank with Zach)
I started thinking of my grandmother, whose sister said she started displaying odd signs when she was in her teenage years. The onset of puberty brought on her first throes of depression which were quickly covered up when other human frailties were swept under the rug in the Victorian age. Meticulous and orderly, Thelma thrived in the operating room as an RN for over 40 years. There were times when her schizoaffective bipolar disorder would creep in and she would have to take a few weeks off, but she managed a household of 2 children, a husband of 60 years and a career while making the best carrot cake and waffles I have ever tasted. While neighbors or friends were allowed to discuss their bunions, heartburn or even hemorrhoids, she had to keep her medical condition hidden that many of the time thought must be the result of childhood trauma, bad parenting or demons. When my husband and I had children with Tourette's, schizophrenia and autism, I approached her and tried to draw her out with discussions about mental health. I joked about my anxiety disorder and how God must have had a sense of humor if he sent kids with needs like my kids to a mother who loved children more than anything under the sun but had anxiety herself. She immediately changed the subject, just as she had been taught to, probably from a young age. Over her frail body, after she lived a long life, I stroked her forehead and kissed her cheek. She had not wanted a funeral but had allowed us in to say our goodbyes at the funeral home. I whispered something in her ear that no one else heard. "Grandma, if it is the last thing I do, I am going to find out what caused you to have to suffer so much. If it's the last thing I do I am going to find out what has caused my own kids to suffer." I squeezed her hand and told her "thank you for never giving up"... she had died of natural causes.
Years later, an angel family moved next door to us in Las Vegas Nevada. We had moved from a small town in Idaho when rumors about my children's conditions had postulated from "demons" to "incest". We hoped Vegas would be a more welcoming community. My new friend was the mother of many girls as well and our kids got along like sisters. She had survived 2 open-heart surgeries after the birth of her last child when she discovered she had a clotting disorder called MTHFR. Autism had also affected their family, but they took it in stride just like they had the surgeries. It was her story that led me to be tested for MTHFR and we found out that everyone under our roof carried the defect. One person had a less severe form, but many of us, including myself had the type that led the body to have only 7 percent circulating folate. I said a prayer of "thanks" to my father in heaven and asked him to pass the message onto my grandmother that I had found the cause of our troubles. I let my aunt know who had suffered many, many miscarriages and never had children that MTHFR had probably caused her infertility. I gave my sister the news that the death of her 25-week premature baby was likely due to the MTHFR genetic expression. My other sister and I giggled that her unusual fear of "gingivitis" and my hyperventilation worry about being put in a box in the ground someday and having all my blood replaced with preservatives while I slowly decay...OK I GOTTA stop, is probably due to our 7 percent circulating folate levels. My kids, who are champions and heroes in their own right are not possessed, mistreated or druggies. We don't even drink or smoke, they simply have to take several milligrams of special folate a day and avoid toxins, cleaners, smoke and bad food. However, there was a time when we had tried over 7 medications for our second daughter with schizophrenia that were not effective. When I read of a few studies out of South America that had found "chain smokers sometimes found relief from schizophrenia", I told our psychiatrist, "You either try the clozapine or I am going to buy her the strongest pack of cigarettes I can find." I think this woke him up to our situation and we finally got the go-ahead for the medication that is most effective in every way for schizophrenia, working with 5 different types of dopamine.
September is suicide awareness month. I pay tribute to my grandmother Thelma and anyone else who suffers "severe mental illness". Even if it is the result of drugs or trauma...do the best you can, take one day at a time. Remember God loves you and people don't think before they speak. Let the sun warm your head, the breeze dry your tears and hang out in the middle of things where warm laughter and many hugs will fill your belly with much-needed serotonin surges!!! If you sneak a nicotine-laced fire stick once in a while or sip from the wide-rimmed jar of a moon-shine container, I ain't going to judge 'ya, I'm just going to hug 'ya.
I started thinking of my grandmother, whose sister said she started displaying odd signs when she was in her teenage years. The onset of puberty brought on her first throes of depression which were quickly covered up when other human frailties were swept under the rug in the Victorian age. Meticulous and orderly, Thelma thrived in the operating room as an RN for over 40 years. There were times when her schizoaffective bipolar disorder would creep in and she would have to take a few weeks off, but she managed a household of 2 children, a husband of 60 years and a career while making the best carrot cake and waffles I have ever tasted. While neighbors or friends were allowed to discuss their bunions, heartburn or even hemorrhoids, she had to keep her medical condition hidden that many of the time thought must be the result of childhood trauma, bad parenting or demons. When my husband and I had children with Tourette's, schizophrenia and autism, I approached her and tried to draw her out with discussions about mental health. I joked about my anxiety disorder and how God must have had a sense of humor if he sent kids with needs like my kids to a mother who loved children more than anything under the sun but had anxiety herself. She immediately changed the subject, just as she had been taught to, probably from a young age. Over her frail body, after she lived a long life, I stroked her forehead and kissed her cheek. She had not wanted a funeral but had allowed us in to say our goodbyes at the funeral home. I whispered something in her ear that no one else heard. "Grandma, if it is the last thing I do, I am going to find out what caused you to have to suffer so much. If it's the last thing I do I am going to find out what has caused my own kids to suffer." I squeezed her hand and told her "thank you for never giving up"... she had died of natural causes.
Years later, an angel family moved next door to us in Las Vegas Nevada. We had moved from a small town in Idaho when rumors about my children's conditions had postulated from "demons" to "incest". We hoped Vegas would be a more welcoming community. My new friend was the mother of many girls as well and our kids got along like sisters. She had survived 2 open-heart surgeries after the birth of her last child when she discovered she had a clotting disorder called MTHFR. Autism had also affected their family, but they took it in stride just like they had the surgeries. It was her story that led me to be tested for MTHFR and we found out that everyone under our roof carried the defect. One person had a less severe form, but many of us, including myself had the type that led the body to have only 7 percent circulating folate. I said a prayer of "thanks" to my father in heaven and asked him to pass the message onto my grandmother that I had found the cause of our troubles. I let my aunt know who had suffered many, many miscarriages and never had children that MTHFR had probably caused her infertility. I gave my sister the news that the death of her 25-week premature baby was likely due to the MTHFR genetic expression. My other sister and I giggled that her unusual fear of "gingivitis" and my hyperventilation worry about being put in a box in the ground someday and having all my blood replaced with preservatives while I slowly decay...OK I GOTTA stop, is probably due to our 7 percent circulating folate levels. My kids, who are champions and heroes in their own right are not possessed, mistreated or druggies. We don't even drink or smoke, they simply have to take several milligrams of special folate a day and avoid toxins, cleaners, smoke and bad food. However, there was a time when we had tried over 7 medications for our second daughter with schizophrenia that were not effective. When I read of a few studies out of South America that had found "chain smokers sometimes found relief from schizophrenia", I told our psychiatrist, "You either try the clozapine or I am going to buy her the strongest pack of cigarettes I can find." I think this woke him up to our situation and we finally got the go-ahead for the medication that is most effective in every way for schizophrenia, working with 5 different types of dopamine.
September is suicide awareness month. I pay tribute to my grandmother Thelma and anyone else who suffers "severe mental illness". Even if it is the result of drugs or trauma...do the best you can, take one day at a time. Remember God loves you and people don't think before they speak. Let the sun warm your head, the breeze dry your tears and hang out in the middle of things where warm laughter and many hugs will fill your belly with much-needed serotonin surges!!! If you sneak a nicotine-laced fire stick once in a while or sip from the wide-rimmed jar of a moon-shine container, I ain't going to judge 'ya, I'm just going to hug 'ya.
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