My Son January 31, 2008

My oldest son will be twelve come July.  Since he was born he has either been laughing or crying.  Now that he is almost as tall as I am and wears the same shoe size I have to be very patient with him when he looks at me and says, “No, I won’t.”  When he was a baby it was easy.  I could pick him up, put him in a “time out” and let him cool off.  Two days ago he wanted to skip his martial arts class in order to go to the basketball game of a very special girl.  I did not give him permission pointingout that he needed to honor his prior commitments.  But Mom!!!!  No.  But Mom!!!!!!!  No.  But Mom!!!!!!!!!!!!!  NO.  When I didn’t give in (which incidentally I would have done in the past out of exhaustion) he kicked a hole in the wall.  So I pay for his martial arts classes and this is how he shows thanks!  I was proud of myself because I did not react.  In stead I handled it very well.  I remained calm, yet firm and consistent.  Amazingly it didn’t seem too difficult compared to my pre-medication days.   The stakes are definitely getting much higher when it comes to parenting.

So, now he and I get to take a trip to Home Depot for some dry wall, tape, mud, lots and lots of sandpaper and a mask or two.  As his punishment he gets to pay for the items out of his own savings.  Most importantly he gets to fix the wall himself.  For my part I will supervise him while he patches, lets dry, sands, patches, lets dry, sands, patches lets dry and sands over a four day period.  I absolutely detest dry wall.  Once I ripped out a door, casing and all between two rooms to open up the space.  (Ripping things out or otherwise “remodeling” was a common activity for me prior medication.  I would start out with energy and intention only to abandon the project.  The following day I would colapse exhausted, confused and overwhelmed.  Unfortunately, I started way more projects than I finished.)  Anyway, for this particular project I ended up with one side that was exposed down to the stud.  I naturally had to cover it up.  When I was done, I must say, I was very proud of myself.   The most difficult part was making the corner!  

My tendancy when I ”go livid” is to throw things:  Plates, clocks, books, you name it, whatever is closest at hand.  Luckily I never turned my aggression on anything living.  But I am sure that my odd behavior wasn’t the best example.  So, at this point, my son is still young.  I am going to assume that it is a bad behavior he learned by watching me, rather than assume it is a symptom of manic-depression.  Never the less, I must be vigilent.  The last thing I want for any of our children is to suffer needlessly for 16 years like I did.   I will assume/pray that he got his brain chemistry from his father.  Unfortunately, of our three children, he would be the one I would most expect to be bipolar.  (Incidently he is also by far the most creative.)

Puzzling ’til My Puzzler Gets Sore December 12, 2007

This entry is a re-written one from last month that didn’t express well what I was trying to say:

I don’t know if it is part of the illness or just a character flaw, but I seem to frequently become caught up in my thoughts.  This happens mostly when I’m depressed.  What I ponder and ponder some more are ideas or problems.  I will analyze something over and over until I am tired.  It’s like a broken record. Then when I have exhausted the topic, when my “puzzler gets sore” as Dr. Seuss would say, I will consider another issue.

Helicopters and Hay December 1, 2007

Timothy hay that is.

Every morning I am the first to stir.  Without fail our children’s guinea pigs begin to squeal in excitement.  Weeeeek, weeeeek, weeeeek, weeeek in unison they cry.  They know it is I.  Like Pavlov’s dog they also know that if they make enough noise I will reward them with their breakfast, big fists full of hay that we keep in a large Rubber Maid container on the back porch. (I wonder how Pavlov’s cat would have reacted?)

Sometimes I am completely at a loss for something to write about.  This morning (3:35 to be precise) I am not having that problem.  In fact, my mind is racing.  I woke up to the loud sound of a low flying helicopter that apparently went right over our house.  Most likely it was someone being medevaced (I think that is an interesting word) to the hospital half a mile away.  

Generally once I finally get to sleep I will sleep without being bothered by sounds.  Most likely I was right at the end of a REM when one is most likely to wake up.   I went to bed at 11, so I woke after only 4-1/2 hours of sleep.  Interestingly enough,

“Studies show that the length of sleep is not what causes us to be refreshed upon waking. The key factor is the number of complete sleep cycles we enjoy. Each sleep cycle contains five distinct phases, which exhibit different brain- wave patterns. For our purposes, it suffices to say that one sleep cycle lasts an average of 90 minutes: 65 minutes of normal, or non-REM (rapid eye movement), sleep; 20 minutes of REM sleep (in which we dream); and a final 5 minutes of non-REM sleep. The REM sleep phases are shorter during earlier cycles (less than 20 minutes) and longer during later ones (more than 20 minutes). If we were to sleep completely naturally, with no alarm clocks or other sleep disturbances, we would wake up, on the average, after a multiple of 90 minutes–for example, after 4 1/2 hours, 6 hours, 7 1/2 hours, or 9 hours, but not after 7 or 8 hours, which are not multiples of 90 minutes. In the period between cycles we are not actually sleeping: it is a sort of twilight zone from which, if we are not disturbed (by light, cold, a full bladder, noise), we move into another 90-minute cycle. A person who sleeps only four cycles (6 hours) will feel more rested than someone who has slept for 8 to 10 hours but who has not been allowed to complete any one cycle because of being awakened before it was completed.”

So since I couldn’t sleep anyway . . .  I thought I would sit down and capture some of my many thoughts for future posts.  As a bipolar person it seems as though I am more at the mercy of the cycles our species has evolved with:  Circadian rhythms, menstrual cycles, and the gravitational pull of the moon during different times of the month to name a few.  A nurse in the obstetrics department at the hospital and an E.R. nurse, independent of one another, both mentioned that there seemed to be more births and more accidents when the moon was full.   Have you ever wondered why we call a crazy person a “lunatic”?  Luna in Latin means moon.