The Bipolar Diva

But I Don't Have To Go!

noreply@blogger.com (The Bipolar Diva) — Sat, 18 May 2013 23:32:05 PDT

Jeff: "I'm SO tired. I can't sleep because of the pain."

Me: "Then take the pain meds the doc told you to take.

Jeff: "They make me loopy."

Me: "So, you'll be asleep."

Jeff: "I'm so tired and can't sleep."

Me: "So take an Ambien."

Jeff: "What if I have to pee?"

Me: "Then go now before you go to sleep."

Jeff: "I don't have to go now."

Me: "I don't see any pee in the jar. When was the last time you went?"

Jeff: "Oh, several hours ago."

Me: "You don't think you have to go because the pain meds might be masking the feeling."

Jeff: "I don't have to go."

Me: "Fine, then take the Ambien and pee in the bed."

Jeff: "FINE! I'll try to go!"

Me: "Good idea."

Jeff: "Hand me the jar."

Me: "Here."

Me:"Well?"

Jeff: "Be quiet. I'm trying to concentrate."

Me: "Whatever. Just go."

Jeff: "I am."

Me: "Good."

Several minutes pass..........

Me: "Are you finished yet?"

Jeff: "Not yet."

Me: "So I guess you did have to go?"

Jeff: "Be quiet"

Jeff: "OK, here's the jar."

Me: "Gross! It's hot, AND full!"

Jeff: "You're a baby!"

Me: "And you would have peed in your bed! Take your Ambien and go to sleep!"

Jeff: "You win."

Me: "I know."

Jeff: "Goodnight."

Me: "Goodnight, oh, and take your glasses off before the Ambien sets in."

Jeff: "Shut up and go to bed!"

Me: "Nikki, take your dad's glasses off before you go to bed."

Nikki: "Hahahahaha!"

Go visit his site, give some love, tweet it, FB it, share it. Please?

Much love and appreciation,

XOXO

Uh, Ok, I'll Try

noreply@blogger.com (The Bipolar Diva) — Thu, 16 May 2013 00:03:17 PDT

By now the world knows Jeff was in a severe accident and Life Flighted to a trauma hospital in Portland. He was left having a difficult time doing ordinary things......like getting to the bathroom to pee. The wheelchair barely squeaks through the door. Plus, he was unable to get to the chair to get to the bathroom. So we had a bit of a dilemma.

One of the kids had a great idea, a BIG jar. Yeah, I thought I could live with that.

Yes, you read that correctly, thought. I'm trying, really trying, to be with him as often as I can, doing as much as I can, and that includes emptying the jar.

However, I cannot touch it when it is hot, I have to hold my breath and close my eyes as I empty it and rinse it out. By now you're thinking, "she had how many kids?" I kind of sucked as a mom too.

I could do diapers and spit up ok, but big kid pee, poop, or puke, uh, no. Really, I AM terrible. I'll throw them a pan, and a wet towel from the doorway and tell them to call dad if they need something.

They puke, I puke. Simple as that.

While I was emptying one of the jars the other day, it reminded me of the time in 1996 when Jeff was living in Oregon and the family was still in Washington.

We made a surprise run down to Portland to see him. It was about a 2 1/2 hour drive from where we lived at the time, so it was an easy shot.

We only had five kids then, they were 14, 11, 6, 5, and 3. The two oldest, Karli, my daughter was 14 and Cole, my son, was 11.

I had all of the kids pee before we left the house. Then we stopped for a bite of food, and of course something to drink. I made the kids all go to the bathroom again.

I thought we could make it the rest of the way to Portland. Cole couldn't. He cried, he whined, and carried on until we had no choice but stop for him. He did his thing and jumped back into the van.

We got about 45 minutes down the road and he had to pee again. There was no way I was stopping another time, no way. The kids searched around and finally found a soda cup, without a lid, in the van. I told him to go to the back of the van, do his thing, then give the cup of steaming hot pee to Karli and she would pour it out of the window.

Well, he peed, and he peed, and he peed, nearly filling the cup. Then he gave it to Karli, she began gagging because it was so hot, and, well, it smelled like pee. She put down the window, while carefully trying not to spill a drop, and went to pour the pee out of the window.

Well, I guess when you're flying down the highway and attempt to pour something out of the window, it sort of, goes up your arm.

Karli let our a shriek and promptly began to gag and gag badly. The other kids and I, however, were laughing hysterically. There was no towel in the van, so we searched around for napkins, anything to try to dry her arm and her long sleeved shirt. There was nothing.

So we had to drive the rest of the way to Portland with Karli gagging, the smell of really strong pee, and hysterically laughing kids.

I think of that drive every, single time I empty the pee jar. I always grab it from the top part of the jar so I don't feel the warmth, I'd totally lose it. Then, as I said, I hold my breath, rinse the jar, take it back and use a bottle of Purell on my hands.

I must love him, I guess.

Get Fundraising Ideas from GiveForward

No Time

noreply@blogger.com (The Bipolar Diva) — Wed, 15 May 2013 00:49:49 PDT

I have no time lately since the accident.

So here's a poodle that thinks she's entitled to everything!

What a brat!

Also there is a link to Jeff's fundraiser started by my daughter, A Bipolar Princess. Check it out.

Share it please, FB, Twitter, Email, however. Severe Accident.

So here's Nina, AKA "The Poodle."

Was Supossed To Be About Hot Pee....

noreply@blogger.com (The Bipolar Diva) — Mon, 13 May 2013 00:22:15 PDT

Mama Diva, A Bipolar Princess, and my baby Madeleine

But tonight my mind is too scattered, to scrambled and too stressed to write the promised story of holding a jar containing hot pee.

Yes, there is a story there, a pretty damned good one at that.

But tonight I will leave you with this.

I'm going to direct you to a blog called A Bipolar Princess, my first borne, and unfortunately has faced and endured more than many have ever endured.

She's going through a very trying time now with some very ugly things going on and she is handling them pretty well.

But this post of her's is about me, her mom, the genetic connection the defective gene decided to travel. Unfortunately her's is worse than mine, and she struggles from time to time.

But in the comment section of this post I had to set her straight. And let her know I can damn well drink a hot latte any freaking way I want to. I'm 51 after all.

So, go, read, and realize how much she means to me, and I to her, even though we've have our differences. So, please go give a girl that has been through several lifetimes of tragedy packed into a short 31 years a little encouragement. Just click here and give her some love when she needs it most, She has some behind the scenes major changes in her life right now and needs a friend that really cares. Give her a like to, please encourage her.

She needs encouragement. I think everyone knows her dad, my husband was in a severe accident April 27 and life flighted to OHSU and admitted to the ICU.

He's home now with serious injuries.

So go visit these two pages.

The first one is about my relationship with my daughter, or rather hers with me.....and yes, she has called me many horrible names, and I think I remember a mouth slap a time or two that kept her in line for a while anyway.

The other is a plea for my incredible, faithful husband. He has worked endlessly to provide for our large family and ahs taken nothing for himself. He's unselfish, giving, compassionate, emotional (he cries at the most benign of TV commercials). He cried yesterday when his barber came to the house and cut his hair, gave him a strait razor shave, flowers and a card and would not accept any money.

Jeff broke down sobbing and convulsing at the generosity of this man. Jeff has given his entire life to others, now, his daughter and friends have put a fundraiser together for him. He's down, and he's down bad.

His site can be found here. If you can donate, it would be awesome, if your can share by FB or twitter, it would be awesome, and if your could share his story, especially if you're a biker, I'll love you forever. Like I said he's loyal to a fault, and has always been there for others, now he needs some help.

a very, heavily medicated, kiss, or maybe a thought of a kiss...Love you ALL.

xoxo

Stop The Spiral

noreply@blogger.com (The Bipolar Diva) — Thu, 09 May 2013 01:46:31 PDT

Dr. Jakob, in the ICU


Worried in ICU

Sara and blood thinning shots

My focus lately has been the recovery of my husband, med doses, baths, pillows, water, company, talk, togetherness. Applying pain patches, talking to doctors, Physical Therapists, all things medical.

So much to do that no one really can "see." All they see is that I'm gone a lot. Insurance, fighting, arguing, negotiating, bids, invoicing, contracts, getting things notarized, gathering belongings from freaking YAMHILL COUNTY. That's a LONG FREAKING drive from Happy Valley.I get the feeling people think I'm doing nothing, well if they want to step into my shoes, they are more than welcome to.

Working with insurance adjusters, looking for more insurance with much higher medical coverage, negotiating between the repair shop and the insurance adjuster, speaking with deputies, gathering images and reports. No one else can do those things.

We all have a part in the care taking of our main guy, and it all matters.

But I've been pushing the limits both physically and mentally. I'm recognizing the signs, but seem to be able to do nothing to side track them. I have to focus, and for me, sometimes focus is difficult, sometimes too intense.

But I smell it lurking around the corner, the black dog. I'll keep him caged, even if I have to cut ties with the world for a day to do it.

As of now I feel really selfish. I've spoken with all of my doctors, they have all said the same thing, take time to breathe, get out, forget, if only for a moment. Actually, I need to make it my top priority, or I will be no good to anyone. It's difficult when I have a broken husband, not only physically, but emotionally as well.

She won't leave him

He's trapped, alone and can do nothing for himself.

For me I know I need my sleep patterns uninterrupted, major factor in bipolar, I need my meds regulated, I need to breathe deeply. I need to rely on others to help. And some have been very helpful!

Right night now, as of this moment, maybe not tomorrow, I feel afraid, not only for Jeff and our basic financial obligations, and medical bills, but also of my emotional state. I need to hang on, I need to make it through, for him.

I need to remember, this too shall pass. I also need to realize to ignore the haters, the ones that say horrible things, and the ones that have shown their true colors. Lies, gossip and maliciousness, I have no use for.

I also need to be thankful for the new friends we've made because of this tragedy, and to be thankful that were things in place, both physically and spiritually, that spared my husband's life.

Right now the fear, The sleeplessness, the over medicating, the emotional drain, and dealing with people that only recognize humans as numbers, and nott by their names and faces, is temporary, it shall pass.


Still by Daddy

Spiraling is no choice, has it ever been? No, but I need help to control it. I've lost even more weight, which I didn't t need to do, and my resting heart rate is hovering around 140, I'm thinking that's not good. But I assume it can wait. The lump I found, I should probably have checked out, but when?

You want to know a secret? I know Jeff has Hershey Kisses down in the office with him. I think I'll sneak down there.

Tomorrow will be another day and we will conquer it.

I would like to ask, however, that you share my husband's link, if you can donate $5 or $500 it would be awesome, but what would be incredible is if you would be able to find it in your heart to share his link, share his story, share his need. Scroll through the pictures, I tried to keep the graphic images out of the spotlight, but I have shown some of the kids, some of the hurt, some of the faith, some of the human side of my, now, very fragile husband. By the way, the smiles he has in the photos are a bit, well, totally fake. He's trying to hide immense pain from our children and grandchildren.

Better times, our 25th anniversary, the week before the accident

I'm sorry, I did not proofread this before hitting publish. I'm tired, my eyes are not focusing, and all I want ti sleep, and chocolate.

Thank you for you kindness and generosity.

It Was A Perfect Day Until Life Flight Was Mentioned

noreply@blogger.com (The Bipolar Diva) — Mon, 06 May 2013 20:47:01 PDT

Jake packed the last of the jewelry, and other things needed to set up for that morning's party, in the trunk of my car. I was walking down the front stairs with an armful of items, as Jake was neatly fitting his things in. He and I are independent designers for Origami Owl. All of Jakob's profits will go into a trust fund for his college payment account.

I glanced over and saw Jeff polishing his motorcycle, which I always found a strange thing to do, especially when it's only going to get covered with bugs on a ride anyway. We hadn't spoken about riding that day. I knew he had a meeting with a potential new client in the early afternoon, so I thought he was just being himself and cleaning his bike.

Jake and I gave his Papa a quick kiss and we jumped into the car to go off to help him earn money for college.

I'm not quite sure exactly where we were in the party when a number, unknown to me, came to my phone. I silenced it. Soon it came through another time, and again I sent it to voicemail. Then my son called, he never calls. I said something like, "I'm sorry, but I have to take this call."

The words he spoke took their time entering my brain in a way in which I could comprehend them. I remember hearing, "severe accident," "Life Flight," and, "OHSU."

I wasn't sure what to do, it was all attempting to sink in, and I knew Jake and I had to complete our party, so we carried on.

I don't remember much after the phone call from my son, except the hostess packing us a bag of food, and another woman helped up pack up. I think those two women will become, have become, amazing new friends.

On the way to the hospital the Deputy that was on the scene called me. He was amazing. I don't remember much except, "how's your husband?" "too much sun," and, "no citations." I had Jake write his name and number on a scrap of paper I still can't find.

We got to the ED of OHSU, which is a nightmare to get to on a day when thinking is an easy thing to do. We parked and ran to the desk and asked where my husband was. Then things get really blurred. I remember things happening, but I'm not really certain in which order they occurred.

There were several people asking for my payment information. I think, I'm really not sure if it was then, or after I found Jeff. I remember blindly handing my business debit card over and over again, and signing a mountain of paperwork. The entire day, week for that matter, was/is a blur of activity.

When I remember first seeing Jeff, he wasn't looking so good. Neck brace, tubes, wires, machines, and all types of other medical equipment was crammed into the tiny room. He was loopy from the meds, and unable to move. I think he recognized me, I'm not sure. But I remember the sheriff saying Jeff was alert and coherent when the Deputy got to the scene of the accident, maybe the drugs were affecting him.

The first nurse we had was amazing. He walked us through what he thought was true at the time. He told us Jeff had a shattered shoulder and would require surgery the following week. He said he also had a severely fractured pelvic bone that could also require surgery, and Jeff had multiple broken ribs and vertebrae. He also said something about a collapsed lung, so they had Jeff breathing with, what ever the thing was, several times an hour.

That nurse's shift soon ended and a new team came in. We were told then things that contradicted what the previous nurse had, just moments before, told us.

I asked for an "attending," to come in and we were told they were short staffed and would page one.
Well, we waited. The next team that came in gave us differing information again. It went on like that team after team.

Finally I asked for a manager, a leader, an attending, someone to come in and go over it all with us accurately. Soon a nurse practitioner came in. She took us through every note and gave us her opinion on what was going on. What she told us was really pretty accurate to what we were told when we took Jeff to the orthopedic surgeon after we removed him from that hospital.

He has a fractured shoulder and cannot bear weigh on it. The top piece of the shoulder blade (?) had broken off, no surgery needed. He has a fractured pelvic bone, and, as with the shoulder, as long as he doesn't put weight on it, and displace the bones, it should heal well.

The neurosurgeon looked at all of the images and told us, "no surgery needed." The vertebrae will heal on their own. His ribs, unfortunately, have to heal on their own as well. They, I think, are the most painful of all of the injuries.

Yesterday I spoke with the Deputy again. He told me he thought the way the sun was positioned was the major contributor to the collision. From what I understand, Jeff was making a sharp right hand corner and a woman in an SUV was coming from the opposite direction. For some reason, they collided. The deputy said he was issuing no citations, it was just an unfortunate accident.

The motorcycle is in amazingly good shape, I saw it a few days ago when I went to retrieve Jeff's belongings from the Yamhill County Courthouse, yeah, that's a post in itself!

After piecing things together, looking at the bike, and all of Jeff's injuries, we kind of think he took the full impact of the car and the bike went the other way. The driver is fine, thank God.

It's going to be a long journey, but he will live.

I debated a bit about putting this link on here. I talked to a friend about the pros and the cons. Reality is reality, and without going into the down and dirty details, financially, we're in trouble, we've been teetering for years.

The economy of the last four years has hit hard, especially in our industry, as many in business for themselves know. Now, especially with Jeff not being able to work physically, and add on the high co-pays, life flight and ICU, home care, lost income, and uncovered expenses, we're in for a hit that I don't think we can recover from. So after much debate I'm posting a link to the page a friend and my daughter developed.

Start Crowdfunding for Medical Expenses Today

If you can help, we thank you so very much. If you can share his story and link, we really thank you as well. Whether you do or not, know your decision in no way affects our friendships. You all are important to us, and always will be.

And I have to give a special shout to the man that kept us focused and, somewhat, calm, my brother in law, Tom. As well as the kids that have done so much, those that have graciously donated, and all of those that have kept my husband in your prayers.

xoxo

The Longest Day

noreply@blogger.com (The Bipolar Diva) — Thu, 02 May 2013 09:07:21 PDT

Did a little business this morning and had a nice, fresh latte. Then hopped, or rather, slid, into my car and started off to complete the tasks at hand.

First I had to drive to freaking Yamhill County to retrieve Jeff's belongings from the Sheriff's office. That took time, well finding the place first, then the deputy hadn't filed out a report yet. The woman I was speaking to told me everything I was describing had come in, but since there was no report she couldn't release it to me. And also since Jeff wasn't there to give his consent, it got a little more sticky.

Finally, they decided a verbal ok from Jeff was good enough to release his possessions, all but the ammo that was in his glock. They would give me the glock, and the magazine, just not the ammo.....in the same visit, I'd have to return.

I said, "you have to be kidding me! I have a concealed permit, I realize you have to walk me out of the court house with the gun, but I have a fully loaded weapon in my car, AND that's 40SW ammo you're holding onto, and that's not cheap."

She made a couple of calls, and they decided it would be ok to give me everything, including the ammo, out of the magazine. That' s the good thing about small town Sheriff's offices. They make it work. Would have never happened in Portland.

Then I drove to the tow yard to get more things, most importantly, his glasses. I saw the bike and it looked really, really good. The tow truck guy was awesome. Every credit card and every piece of change was still in the bike. When Cole totaled his Civic a few years ago, the company that towed it, somehow managed to "lose" the wheels. Yeah.

After many hours I was on my way back to town and had to drop off CDs at the ortho office, go to the bank, and found a cool, open box deal on a flat screen TV for the office, along with Apple TV. So now he can watch Netflix, read his email, whatever he wants. I really need to go through it all and figure it out, but I'm brain dead.

Finally I stopped for burgers and drove home.

We ate, talked, and then made the decision Jeff needed to be cleaned before his doctor's appt tomorrow. Yes, that was interesting. Kids helped maneuver, mom washed and rinsed, kids kept eyes closed. He smells a little bit better not, not much, but a little bit.

I gave him his meds, grabbed the dog and I'm now in bed. What a day. You know what I just realized? I think I'm avoiding writing about the accident. Give me some time to process everything, and come to terms with what's happened, and I will tell you what I know, how I felt, how we saw things, the emotion, the reality.

In the mean time, enjoy this pic. Yes, you are right. She is MY dog, but she LOVES Jeff and has not left his side.

xoxo

Yes, The Story Is Coming

noreply@blogger.com (The Bipolar Diva) — Tue, 30 Apr 2013 23:51:10 PDT

Kind of had to step out of my world and into an unknown universe. So much to learn, so much to do, and so far to go.

Short update, promise to post an account of what happened, what's broken, how life has changed for the time being, and foreseeable future.

But, for the last few days, I've been exhausted, fueled only by coffee a little Moscato, a few bites of Brie, a little more wine, and the kindness of friends. Not to mention very little sleep. Yeah, and, a Valium or three.

I will tell the story, but tonight am just too tired. Thanks for hanging in with me and for your encouragement, it's helped me put one foot in front of the other, take one step at a time, breathe one breath at a time.

Good news, hospital equipment delivered today, Jeff is home and doctors we trust have his images and all written records.

Long day tomorrow as well. But here's a pic of two very happy souls. Now they both have what they want, what they need, each other. Dogs are great therapy, and Martini will lead the way for Jeff, bring him friendship when he's alone in his hospital bed confined to the office.

I have awesome friends, neighbors and family. Work, well that's the scary part. Money, even more scary, I have no idea how bills will be paid, or groceries bought. But I know somehow we will make it and be able to look back and say, "We survived yet another tragedy and came out all the better."

Celebrate life. Celebrate faith. Celebrate friends and family. Celebrate Life Flight. Just celebrate, be thankful and take life one step at a time. Remember, it could always be worse.

Gratitude

noreply@blogger.com (The Bipolar Diva) — Mon, 29 Apr 2013 18:21:00 PDT

Thank you all for the encouragement. It means so much to us all. Conflicting reports and answers from everyone. Gathering records to take to our orthopedic surgeon and neuro-surgeon. Will update when I can. Thank you so much.

xoxoxo

May Be Missing For A Bit..........

noreply@blogger.com (The Bipolar Diva) — Sun, 28 Apr 2013 01:39:53 PDT

Facebook status copied, because it's been a freaking long-assed, horrible day.

I may be away for a bit, I'll try to sit for while and explain it all soon. Maybe while I'm sitting in the hospital waiting for my husband to awake.

But here it is:

Since so many of you already know some of what has happened today, I'll fill you in on what we know so far. Jeff was in a severe motorcycle accident this morning. He was life flighted to OHSU and is in ICU. He has a fractured shoulder blade, multiple broken ribs, a partially collapsed lung and a fractured pelvis, that's what we know so far. He's heavily sedated now and probably will be for a few days. Right now it looks as if they decide he needs surgery to repair his pelvis, it will be Monday or Tuesday. He doesn't have access to a phone, his phone is at the police station in McMinnville and I can't pick it up until Monday. You can always contact me if you wish. I may not be able to get right back to you, but I will eventually. My phone number is in my about section and feel free to text if you want to. If you are a believer, we'd like to ask you to pray for his recovery, and how we're going to handle his recovery and work. Oh, and for my friends that are asking, "but what about the bike?" haha, it's in remarkable condition I'm told, just a little fender damage, and he has no road rash. He's a little pissed they had to cut his leather jacket though! And he was so funny, he asked me if I could sneak Martini, our yorkie, in to see him. I guess we can facetime him so he can see his baby! If anyone feels left out, or upset because I didn't call you, you have to understand that I thought others would make calls, I was swamped, and truthfully I can't remember who I talked to today or not, I couldn't think about much at all. But I apologize, there was so much going on, I just couldn't do it all. I delegated a lot of it to others. I had to focus on my husband.

Joshua, if you're reading this, please, please call me.

Ok, now sleep.

Romance And Funerals

noreply@blogger.com (The Bipolar Diva) — Wed, 24 Apr 2013 01:08:01 PDT

It was late in the afternoon of my 25th anniversary and things had been rockin' pretty well all day, a little busy, but all seemed in sync. I had all but a few things packed for my trip to Texas to attend my Uncle's 70th birthday and I was ready to go out. A few weeks prior, my husband had made reservations at one of my all time favorite restaurants, Morton's The Steakhouse.

I glanced at my watch, don't know why I did that since I didn't have my contacts in or my glasses on and couldn't see a damn thing. I blindly went about searching for a pair of glasses. After a few minutes I found a pair tucked behind the TV in the bedroom, why I didn't just look at my iPhone (the numbers are BIGGER), I have no idea. I guess that's what happens when you get old, you tend to forget things, or at least pretend to. Reaching 50 pretty much gave me a reason to deliver the words, "Oh, I forgot," on much needed occasions.

Our reservation was at 6. We needed to leave by 5:15 and it was then 4:20, wow, 4:20, I just realized that as I wrote it. I hadn't showered, I was wearing no make up, I had no dress ready, nothing, nada. I quickly threw off my jeans and shirt, put my glasses on the night stand, and jumped in the shower. It wasn't long before I realized that when I cleaned the shower earlier in the day I forgot to put the shampoo on the left and the conditioner on the right. That's the only way either of us can tell which is which. Neither of us can see shit without glasses, or in my case, contacts. Crap.

I got out of the shower, soaking wet, dripping all the way to fetch my glasses. I put the glasses on, went back in the shower and they promptly fogged up. What the hell ever. I took them off and placed them on the upper rim of the glass wall. I'd just grab a bottle and see what came out. It must have been my lucky day, I selected correctly!

After the shower, I hurriedly did my hair, put make up on, and wriggled into the infamous, "high low, crochet dress, with a crisscross back." This time, however, I remembered to take off the charm bracelet. I was ready to go out with Jeff for an incredible evening in celebration of his putting up with my crazy for 25 years.

The ride to Morton's was beautiful, I really love downtown Portland. It's like no city I've ever seen. I was looking forward to spending time with Jeff alone. It seemed we hadn't really seen each other, much less had a real conversation, in weeks.

When we arrived, the valet opened my door, Jeff cautioned me to watch my dress in the front, you know, the "high" part of the "high low" because, truthfully, I was in such a hurry to get ready, I sort of forgot to put on, uh, yeah, anything under the dress. I got out holding my breath to see if the valet would slam the door on my car or not. He didn't, I allowed him to live. And, yes, I did a fabulous job of getting out of the car, I guess I should show Paris and Britney how it should be done.

The staff at Morton's welcomed us, showed to our table and handed us our menus. We noticed, on the top it said, "Happy 25th Anniversary." That's one reason I love Morton's, they attend to every detail.

The signs were all pointing to a wonderful night. It was after we ordered cocktails that Jeff turned to me and said, "I want to talk about my funeral."

Wait. Stop. Rewind.

"You want to talk about what?"

"My funeral. You need to know what I want. I only have a handful of years left and you need to know how I want things to go."

"Uh, Ok, but I thought this was supposed to be a romantic time?"

"No, I want to talk about my funeral."

"Ok, should I take notes?"

"No, this will be easy."

"Uh, ok....."

"First of all there will be no crappy funeral songs, nothing weepy, nothing mournful. I want 80's music, you know, dance music."

"Alright, and then?"

"No suits, no dress pants, only shorts, t-shirts are fine, no ties, nothing like that. I want people to speak, but not of my death, not how they're going to miss me, none of that crap. I want funny stories, I want people to laugh."

"So what am I supposed to do with your body?"

"Oh, throw me out so the coyotes can have a good meal."

"You know THAT''s not happening!"

"Cardboard box, cremate me, whatever you want to do."

So, I was kind of feeling the romantic evening was taking a turn for the other side of life.

"So you got that?"

"You mean, do you understand or do you have that?"

"Stop correcting my grammar. I'm a Texan and we can speak however we want."

"Ok, I have it. Casual dress, upbeat songs, and coyote food, right?

"Exactly."

After he got that off his chest his conversation turned to our relationship and he began to cry. He told me how much he loved me, and how he loved me more each day, that I'd changed his life (uh, no shit! We adopted 6 kids and he had to put up with my crazy).

He was sweet, he was awesome, and he was himself.

The rest of the evening flowed beautifully, as if scripted. It was inspiring, touching, and had the occasional pulling of heart strings.

Then a girl came over and took our picture. Within a couple of minutes she brought it back to us. It had been signed by everyone there, and a very touching gesture for them to make.

After dinner they brought us a lemon souffle in honor of our anniversary. The ending of the night was incredible, and we spoke about all we had endured during our 25 years together, and of how we anticipated the remaining years to be.

Then we paid our check, they pulled the table away from us so we could get up and we went to have the valet bring my car.

It was after Jeff started the car, and began to pull away, that I remembered he'd had a "few" Long Island Teas. I took a deep breath as we headed out of Portland and wondered if maybe I should begin to plan my funeral as well. In actuality, we had been there for hours and he was fine to drive, although I was a little nervous when he began to mess with the stereo system. He had NO idea what to do and had his eyes on the video display instead of the road, but after a few tips he got it and we cruised the rest of the way home listening to Collective Soul.

The evening couldn't have been more perfect. I'm an extremely lucky person to have this amazing man in my life, taking care of not only me, but our kids as well.

Although, he did kind of creep me out with the "cardboard box" suggestion. Just where does one find one that size? Hell, what am I talking about? I still have my two past dogs in boxes in the closet, I still can't part with them, and it's been years. But I think I'd really be creeped out with Jeff in an urn on the mantle.

It's Been A Very Long Time

noreply@blogger.com (The Bipolar Diva) — Sun, 21 Apr 2013 23:58:56 PDT

It's been a whirlwind, every minute packed as full as it could have been, but it's been wonderful. So many people I haven't seen in ages, and some I've never met before. It's difficult when you only have a few days squeeze everything in.

I think next time I need to come back for a couple of weeks! But in the mean time, this is what I've been up to....my family....and I have one more day with them before I have to fly 2500 miles away again....sad panda..I have more pics on my iPhone I need to stream to the cloud, but seeing that it's 2 AM here, I guess I should say good night.....

The reason for the trip, my uncle's 70th birthday!

Let's No Longer Pretend

noreply@blogger.com (The Bipolar Diva) — Wed, 17 Apr 2013 22:32:59 PDT

Sometimes I just don't know where to start, or really what to say. I think it's during those times, for me anyway, writing is the most therapeutic.

I'm really sleepy, or at least I think I am, but I know that sleep does not fall upon me easily. I'll turn off the light, snuggle under the pillows, and before I know it, three or four hours will have passed, and my mind will still be processing thoughts of the day.

It's been a difficult day to get through. Cores have been rocked, and thoughts, never before imagined, have run through my mind, actually they've been brought to fruition. Nothing physically harmful, nothing physically dangerous, only, before last night and today, emotionally unimaginable. It made me realize that I am more fragile than I like to portray. It's a weakness of mine in reality.

I think the fear of abandonment runs deeply within my veins. How does one really, I mean really, not just going through the movements, get through that? How does one heal, move forward, and find a sense of value, of worthiness and of security?

So much of the time I attempt to ignore the fear, the gnawing, but ignoring it doesn't make it go away, it only hides it for a time. The soul of fear hides in the shadows awaiting the perfect time to dig in its talons, and hold me tightly, attempting to asphyxiate the feelings that should prevail, feelings of light, and solidarity, of faith and of familial belonging.

I guess hitting it head on might work for some, ignoring it for others, but for me, I've not yet figured it out. I think it's in those times I fall into the welcoming arms of self indulgence. My therapist would tell me, and has told me, that is a good thing. I need to take care of myself, he says. I need to step away and focus on myself and my needs. I, however, I know the truth.

Self indulgence, for me, is as harmful to my being as razor blades, in the past, were to my arms. It does have the same effect, euphoria, numbing of all things hurtful and a sense that I do exist, that I am alive. I know that, truthfully, it's nothing more than superficial motions. Motions, that for awhile, take away the sense of being alone in the world, of wandering lost within a darkened forest, with not another sole on which to lean.

I play a good game, most of the time. There are a few, a very select few, I entrust with the reality of the fears that haunt me. I've not even revealed the depth of those feelings with the one I should trust more than any other living being.

This morning was especially difficult to navigate. Because of my hurt and confusion an argument ensued, not one that was warranted, it only signaled something more deep, more sinister, and so totally unexpected. But the one that was used as a target for my pain, only brought me a glass of iced tea, a slice of pizza, closed the door and left me alone.

He's learned, through the years, that there are times I just need to "be." He's learned not to ask questions, but to wait for me to share, or to not. He's felt isolated far too many times because of my shutting down and withdrawing from everything I should cling to.

Yes, this writing has been therapeutic. A light has suddenly been illuminated and I've realized what I've done to him is the same thing I've feared happening to me, abandonment. I've unintentionally inflicted insecurity on him, and have rocked his core, his sense of worth, his sense of belonging.

I know how painful it is, I know how scary it is, and I know how hurtful it is when someone you trust, you love, turns their back. Now I know I've done that to him, and now I know it's something I need to change.

I don't want him to experience the feelings I've experienced, I don't want that uncertainty to bury itself within his soul. I want him to know he's important to me, I want him to know that he does matter. I want him to know, to feel, to live and to breathe, that not only do I need him in my life, but that he is important, that he does matter. Yes, he is all those things, and although I've always known that he is, I now know that I need to show him.

Yes, it's true, at least in this instance, every cloud does have a silver lining.

Now, who do I write the co-pay check to?

She'll Die

noreply@blogger.com (The Bipolar Diva) — Wed, 17 Apr 2013 00:02:16 PDT

April 12th is a day that brings not only joy into my life, but memories of heartache and uncertainty.

You see, five years ago today, the surgeon that was about to bring my granddaughter into the world bluntly said, "She'll die."

When I fist saw her lying on the table, minutes after being freed from what had been her home for less than 26 weeks, I knew she would die.

Barely 2 pounds, and 14 inches long, she was motionless, purple and I felt a fear I'd never before experienced. We couldn't lose another grandchild, my daughter couldn't have another baby die.

But the baby surprised everyone, and not only survived, but thrived.

Today she is five. She is a fighter. She is a survivor. She is the great granddaughter my mother had hoped for, but didn't get to see. Maybe God allows my mom to peer down and witness the child she'd longed for.

Here it is in pictures. The survival of Anna-Grace Elizabeth.

My heart stopped

Her daddy's hand

25 and 5/7 weeks

Nana holding her and her Papa's hand

First day home, being held by my Princess, CoCo

Uncle Michael admiring the Miracle

Jakob holding her for the first time.

Papa and the tiny bottle

Surgery for heart failure at 8 months


Wearing her great grandmother's cow girl boots!

Last week

The Green Cords

noreply@blogger.com (The Bipolar Diva) — Wed, 10 Apr 2013 00:25:24 PDT

It began as most nights around here do. Jeff took off for bed, I took Martini out, grabbed my laptop, phone, various cords for my various electronics (I am SO my father's daughter), and a glass of iced tea.

When I got to the bedroom, Jeff was already sleeping. I got settled, I plugged in the phone, I measured out my meds, then plugged in the computer, and searched for, and found, the most coveted item....the remote.

I tossed the dog on the bed and she immediately dug her way under the blankets to snuggle up next to Jeff.

I wriggled out of my jeans and dropped them on the floor. I tried to undo the top, back button on my top and ending up turning myself in circles while doing so. Why do I buy such complicated clothing? Finally I got it undone and tossed it in the laundry basket, then climbed up and into bed.

I was opening the laptop when it started. I wasn't sure if he was talking to me, or just talking back to the TV.

I looked over and he was sound asleep. He was saying something about, "she buys things where ever we go. Just let her have it." Oh, I pounced on that one!

I went into it carefully, "Buy what?"

"The green cords, or whatever you want."

I kept watching to see if he was really asleep and I carefully asked a couple more questions, and he was definitely asleep.

"So you said I could buy anything?"

He kind of scrunched down into his pillow a bit and replied, "Yes, you can get the green cords."

"So, I can buy whatever I want?"

He wrinkled his nose, scratched it lightly, and mumbled, "Yes."

"So I can buy new lingerie?"

As soon as the words were out of my mouth, he opened his eyes, looked right at me, and firmly said, "Hell No! Do you think I'm an idiot?"

Damn! I pushed it too far! He was still looking at me when he said, "I said you could buy the green cords."

"What green cords were you talking about?"

"Hell if I know, I was dreaming."

"So no new lingerie?"

"No!"

I should have stopped asking questions when he simply said, "Yes."

Just Crush The Ambien And Put It In His Food

noreply@blogger.com (The Bipolar Diva) — Mon, 08 Apr 2013 01:14:35 PDT

I knew recovery from having a knee replaced would be agonizing for Jeff, but I had no freaking idea how it would impact the entire family. He desperately needed it done, he was in constant, intense pain. Just a little hint, if you're relatively new here, click the link above and read that post. Ha! It does have to do with an episode before his surgery...and is well worth the read. It makes me laugh just seeing it play out it in my mind's eye.

Knee replacement surgery is a major surgery. I didn't really understand the magnitude until the surgeon told us about saws, hammers, pounding, bone chips flying all around, grout and all other kinds of horrible things. There was one very important piece of information the doc neglected to mention, which I think should be required, and that little tid-bit was that everyone within a mile range should have to take a class on exactly what to do with a manly man that doesn't take pills, especially any type of pain pill. He wouldn't even take an Advil.

The hospital pretty much had him doped up for the time he was there, but the pain relief wore off much too quickly after we left for home. Just getting him up two half flights of stairs onto the main floor and back to the master bedroom was difficult, but I had no idea it foreshadowed what we were in for.

Nikki and I got him settled into bed and I scurried off to fill his prescriptions. Nikki kept his knee iced, she also wrangled pillows, sheets, blankets, and a newly re-constructed knee, all in the hopes of making her daddy more comfortable.

The pharmacist seemed to take forever getting the meds ready, but in reality, it probably only took a few minutes. I knew Jeff didn't do medications, but I thought he would surely take pain pills.....holy crap.....his bones had just been sawn in half and had a rod pounded into the middle of each piece. He was moaning and groaning, squirming and thrashing about. Surely this time would be different, I was certain he would take something to relieve the agony.

The minute I had the coveted pills in hand, I rushed home, got a glass of water, took out a couple of Oxycontin tablets and hurried back to where he was. I could hear him yelling in pain from the kitchen. I practically ran to the bedroom, and there he was, tangled between sheets and blankets from all of his twisting and turning from the intense pain. The ice pack had been thrown across the room and he was yelling, crying and in a constant state of motion. I put my hand that held the magical pills up to him and offered water with my other.

"Get that shit away from me!" I knew from that he was in pain. Jeff never, ever uses curse words, ever. That's kind of my role.

"Please, Jeff, take them. You can't heal well if you're in constant pain. Please, just take them."

He pushed my hand away, making the pills fly, and I spilled the water all over him. Oh boy, he wasn't pleased with that in the least.

I tried to dry him the best I could, but it was a losing battle trying to help a man writhing in pain. So the quandary began.

That first day consisted of me begging him to take his meds and him refusing each and every time. he was "going to get through this." He was in so much pain he couldn't lie still, let alone sleep. Since he would lie in bed at night squirming like an earthworm being put on a fish hook, and making noises like a horribly wounded animal, I couldn't sleep, I don't do "no sleep." I don't do it at all. He wasn't sleeping, therefore I wasn't sleeping. I wasn't having that. Him wanting to lie there like a dying squirrel was one thing, me not sleeping? Well, that was something entirely different.

I was beginning to get annoyed and angry instead of compassionate and loving. If he would have just taken the freaking pills we would have all been better off. But, no, he didn't do pills. Holy Mother of God! Relief was sitting, un-opened, on his night stand, available to him at any time.

On about the third day I'd had it, I was frazzled, we all were. The entire family was walking on egg shells. My compassion level was just about non existent so Nikki and I devised a plan. We would crush up the Oxy and hide it in his food, and since he wasn't sleeping, we did the same with some of my Ambien. It worked! The pain lessened and he was finally able to sleep. I knew how angry he would be if he found out, so we tried our best to sneak the drugs to him. Hell, he and I both needed sleep, and that wasn't happening with him in so much pain.

It worked for a few days. He felt so much better he insisted he was the conqueror of all pain. With that came getting out of bed for a bit and making his way into the living room with the help of a walker. He felt so good he over did it. The writhing, moaning, groaning, and all around un-needed pain, yelling and anger returned.

Nikki and I crushed up more meds as he was sitting in the living room. About that time a big mouthed kid of mine, walking up the stairs, yelled out, "are you still hiding pills in Dad's food?"

The blood totally drained from my stiffening body, my breathing became shallow, and I thought my heart was going to jump from my chest. Nikki was holding her breath and I could see beads of sweat falling from her hair line down her perfectly chiseled face, there were tears forming in her dark brown eyes. We stood motionless and waited for the soon to follow anger that was going to come our way. And boy did it come. He was pissed, he was beyond pissed.

The walker went flying across the living room as he screamed, "you've been secretly drugging me?" Oh hell, there was no getting out of that one. We had been caught and it wasn't going to be pretty.

One of the other kids rushed across the room and retrieved the walker while Nikki and I stood facing the window, afraid to turn and see his blue eyes shooting rays of death at us. He yelled at the kid that was trying to get the walker, "I don't need that damn walker! I'll walk on my own, damn it!"

After a step or two, he relented and asked to be given the walker after all. He slowly made his way toward the kitchen. Every sound he made with the walker was magnified. Nikki and I stood motionless. We had been caught. We were positive we would soon meet God.

He made it to the kitchen island, and very quietly said, "The two of you will NOT make any more food for me! I will NOT take pills! I WILL get through this on my own!" With our backs still to him, we heard him thumping and muttering down the hallway to the bedroom. We looked at each other and we both took a deep breath.

"Mom," Nikki asked anxiously, "what about tranquilizer darts?"

Life Changing Phone Call....

noreply@blogger.com (The Bipolar Diva) — Sun, 07 Apr 2013 21:35:02 PDT

If you've already read this, forgive me for posting it again. For some reason it wasn't showing up in RSS or in my feed consistently, so trying again.

We arrived at our new home in Washington, after enduring a long drive from Texas, on August 23, 1990. At the time had no idea how life changing that date would be. We settled into our new house and began to build another life far, far away from all we had ever known.

Then one day it happened, a call came in to a second phone line we had recently installed for only one reason. We waited and waited for that phone to ring, one morning it did.

It was from a woman at a church that had received one of the hundreds of letters we’d sent out about our deep desire to adopt a baby. We had made the decision to adopt only 3 months prior.

I have a tendency to be a wee bit, well quite a bit, impatient. Waiting for that phone to ring was torturous, so we decided to adopt from overseas. We had started the paperwork to adopt two children from Romania the very day that phone call came.

The woman introduced herself and asked if we were still interested in adoption, that she had someone that might want to meet us. She asked us what was important to us about the baby we would adopt. We had no criteria as long as it was a baby.

She explained the woman was about four months pregnant and didn’t yet know the sex of the baby, and that the baby was of mixed heritage. She wanted to know if that would be a deal breaker for us. We only wanted a baby, not a special order baby.

We set an appointment to meet two days later. Those two days were some of the longest days of our lives. We didn’t know what expect; we had no idea how to act or what to ask.

On the day of the much-anticipated appointment we were sitting in a Shari’s restaurant, impatiently waiting, when we saw two women walk through the door, one was pregnant. We all introduced ourselves and began to engage in a bit of small talk. About 15 minutes later it came to the important questions. We really didn’t have any, but they had many.

I can’t really remember their questions, only a statement the pregnant woman made. She told us from the moment she found out she was pregnant she knew the baby she was carrying was not her's. The, married, birth father had demanded over and over she have an abortion. She refused and each time he insisted, she told him the baby wasn't hers, but belonged to someone else.

Two hours after the meeting, the woman from the church called again. She said the decision had been made, the pregnant woman had instantly known we were the parents of the baby growing inside her. We were elated! The woman, however, had one request, and that was we record a tape telling stories, talking, and singing. She wanted to play it many times a day in the hopes the baby would know our voices when it was born. Since there was no way I was going to sing, Jeff did, he sang Amazing Grace.

Soon there was appointment made for an ultra sound and we were invited to go. It was then we found out we were going to have a boy. We already had names chosen, Madison Olivia for a girl and Michael Julian, my Dad’s name was Julian, if it was a boy. We left the appointment knowing Michael was healthy and everything was well. Then the woman revealed another bit of interesting information, our child had been conceived August 23, the very day we had moved into Washington.

We were included in birthing classes and doctor appointments, so while Michael was developing, we were there every step of the way. She wanted Michael’s parents to go through the pregnancy, and develop a bond with our soon to be born son. She always referred to him as “you’re baby,” and introduced us to people as “Michael’s parents.”

That was 22 years ago and cell phones weren’t common, so Jeff carried a pager. We had a special code I would enter to alert him when the time came to go to the hospital. We were to be present when our baby boy was born. Jeff was to cut his umbilical cord. Then the day came the code was entered.

Everyone got to the hospital, and soon we met our son. He was screaming as Jeff cut the life sustaining cord. They tiny room was filled with nurses, Jeff and me, the woman that had introduced us, and the doctor.

As soon as Michael was born the nurse wrapped him tightly and tried to present him to the birth mother, she refused, telling the nurse Michael’s parents should be the only ones to hold the screaming infant. She never held him, she wanted him to realize we were his parents.

The screaming bundle was placed in Jeff’s arms, and Jeff began to sing Amazing Grace. Michael instantly stopped crying, turned his head and looked into Jeff’s eyes. The entire room of people began to cry, even the doctor, who told us later, in all her years of delivering babies, she’d never once cried.

Unknown to us at the time, the hospital had prepared a room for us, and Michael would be staying in our room. Michael was born at 5:02 that Tuesday afternoon in May. In Washington at the time you had to wait 48 hours to go to court and to have the judge approve the adoption. Since he was born 2 minutes after the courthouse closed we had to wait an agonizing third day. We spent every second of those days getting to know our new child.

The minute the courthouse opened, on that third day, we were on the steps. As soon as the judge signed the adoption papers, we quickly left the courthouse and drove directly to the hospital to officially claim our son. The nurses greeted us with tremendous joy. Then we noticed the board that had previously had the name “Baby Boy Blue,” written on it had been changed to “Michael Julian Worley.” All of the nurses were crying, as were we, while we dressed our tiny son. After we dressed him, we carefully strapped him into his car seat, hugged everyone there, and took the newest member of our family, our gift, home.

One Phone Call Can Change Your Life

noreply@blogger.com (The Bipolar Diva) — Sun, 07 Apr 2013 21:21:38 PDT

We arrived at our new home in Washington, after enduring a long drive from Texas, on August 23, 1990. At the time had no idea how life changing that date would be. We settled into our new house and began to build another life far, far away from all we had ever known.

Then one day it happened, a call came in to a second phone line we had recently installed for only one reason. We waited and waited for that phone to ring, one morning it did.

It was from a woman at a church that had received one of the hundreds of letters we’d sent out about our deep desire to adopt a baby. We had made the decision to adopt only 3 months prior.

We set an appointment to meet two days later. Those two days were some of the longest days of our lives. We didn’t know what expect; we had no idea how to act or what to ask.

I Don't Like Feeling I Have To Defend Myself

noreply@blogger.com (The Bipolar Diva) — Fri, 05 Apr 2013 01:33:50 PDT

This isn't really me. This is not what I choose to write about, but I think it's needed, my button has been pushed. Usually I let things go and don't worry about what's being said around me or about me, but this time is different. It's affecting my husband, it's affecting my kids, as well as me, and, well, I'm a wee bit pissed.

There's trash talk being spread out there and it's time I addressed a few things. I think it's kind of funny, well, that may not be the right word, pathetic might be a better choice, what gets back to me via people that know people that read my blog and follow my personal Facebook page, as well as my fan page.

I'm very transparent, for the most part, there are a few things I don't let many people know, but pretty much what you read, what you see, is what you get. Mostly.

I'll never forget the woman at Starbucks. She has to be in her 70's and usually when I'm there...like every morning,....she sees me in "business" mode. Then there was the day I was there in my leathers, a leather halter, most of my back tattoo showing, and all my biker jewelry on, I was going to a photo shoot, and was totally in biker mode.

Until recently, I've only had tattoos that could be hidden. So when she saw me in my "sub culture" persona, with most of my back tattoo showing, she was a bit taken. She lightly touched my shoulder and said, "Honey, I've never seen this side of you." I really wasn't sure how to take it, but I realized then that I'm much more multidimensional than most people realize.

With my life in my blog, and my life on Facebook, almost everything can be pieced together, such as, being bipolar, loving my Harley, great shoes, expensive lingerie, and traveling with my husband, whether it be on our bikes, or in a plane. You all know I have 8 kids, was a foster parent, I've made good choices, and I've made bad choices. I'm pretty truthful about it all. I really don't have anything to hide. If you ask me a question, I'll answer it, usually.

Some people may think I put too much out there, and that's fine, we're not all alike. I know I walk the line with a lot of things in my life, and bottom line is that it's my choice what I allow to get out. But what I've recently come to realize is that I am pretty cool. I treat people the way I want to be treated. I'm not a "talk smack behind your back" type of person. I'm friendly, outgoing, and sincere. I say "thank you" and "you're welcome." I open the door for people, I try to do my best to make another person's day a better one.

But, and this is a big BUT, things get back to me. I find it interesting what people say when they don't have the full picture of things in my life, they assume, they talk, and spread smack, and it does get back to me. Yes, I go on a lot of bike rides with my husband. I save all year for those rides. What they don't know is that I get distributions from my Dad's estate, or that I get oil checks. It's usually my money we spend, not what we make as business owners.

It's like my car.....Oh My God.....you would have thought the world came to an end when I bought my first Mercedes, and then my second Mercedes. What these people don't know is when my mom was killed, my dad begged me to take her Jaguar.. I paid off what was owed on it when I refinanced my house. So when I went to trade it, I had a TON of equity in it. I put all of that money down on the GL so I had a ton of equity in that car when I traded it for my E350. All these people see is that I got a new Mercedes, but they don't have the full story, and they make assumptions.

I hear the same type of snippy comments about the ring I wear on my left hand. Yes, it's platinum, yes, it has nearly flawless diamonds in it, and yes, it was custom made. Most of the diamonds I had in other jewelry accumulated over the years, I bought the five center stones and the platinum. But what the back biters fail to realize is how I paid for the ring. I was in a motorcycle accident. I was very lucky I wasn't killed, my bike was totaled. I couldn't walk for five months, and I got a settlement, and with part of that settlement, I had my ring made. On my other hand is my mother's engagement ring. She gave me another ring that I gave to my sister in law because I love my brother, even though my mom and dad told me to be sure to take her all of her jewelry, keep it safe and one day give it to Karli. Hopefully one day it will be back where Mom wanted it, and if I know my brother and sister in law, it will be.

And I don't think they take into account that my husband works his ass off to make a living and to provide a living for the two incredible guys that work for us. I don't think they realize his job doesn't start at 7 and end at 5. He's up about 3:00 or 3:30 working on bids, plans or whatever may be on the agenda that week. They don't realize he works on the weekends, there is no time off for someone that's in business for themselves, especially my husband. He pretty much works 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. There are times we pay our employees and there's nothing left over. That's a risk we take, and it's a scary one.

I've gotten used to him being on the phone, working out problems, while we're on vacation. So when I'm hanging out getting a tan, he's talking shop, solving problems, and making decisions over the phone. He's always working. So if I can get him off on a motorcycle ride, or a trip somewhere, I kinda think he deserves it.

We've been foster parents and have been in situations that we would have never imagined we'd be in. We've helped kids that could be helped, and provided a safe place for those that, unfortunately, couldn't be helped. We've given a lot back to our community, in one way or another, and will continue to do so.

I'm also willing to bet that you haven't had to deal with a stalker, waited and watched as your grandson died. I bet you don't have a daughter that's had around 15 emergency, life saving surgeries, and had two grand kids born 3 months early each. And I bet you don't have a son that was hit by a car and left for dead. A passerby found him and he was life flighted to Emanuel. And I bet that none of the things I can't speak of in public have happened to you.

So, yeah, if you're talking smack, it does get back to me. I know who you are and what you've said, or implied. I guess all I can really say is I'm sorry you feel you have to attack, or smear, my family's lifestyle. You don't have the full story, and you probably never will. So be careful making assumptions, they can come back to haunt you. And let's hope that you never have to watch as your husband shovels freshly turned earth onto your grand son's grave.

Now, let's forget this garbage and get back to our usual programming!

I Walk The Line

noreply@blogger.com (The Bipolar Diva) — Thu, 28 Mar 2013 23:08:51 PDT

Jakob and me today

It’s a fine line, and I don’t expect many people outside the circle of the Bipolar Club to understand it.

Today was an incredible day. The sun was shining, the moon roof was open, and I felt great as Lynyrd Skynyrd was filling the air around me. It was the kind of day people live for, cherish and truly enjoy.

I, however, walk the line. I walk the very fine line of being able to enjoy what others may realize is truly a great day, and wondering if my joy, my happiness, is only a symptom, and not reality.

And ya know what? It freaking sucks! I really don’t complain much about my disorder, hey, it’s me, I deal with it and get on with life, right? Right.

But it’s always in the back of my mind that happiness, means hypo-mania. Hypo-mania means euphoric days, that may last for weeks, followed by the crash I mentioned earlier in the week.

While I’m not worried about the darkness and the spiral much anymore, I do worry about the crash. I recognize, that at the moment, I’m overloaded. I need a break.

I don’t want to crash. I don’t want to spend days on end in hiding in the attempt to balance what’s become unbalanced. I don’t want to always wonder if my happiness is tied to a defective gene.

I’m hyper vigilant in attempting to notice symptoms, anything out of the ordinary, that may signal I need to “re-arrange” things a bit.

The truth is that I’m scared. I’m scared to freaking death of letting this unintentional, inherited flaw control my life. I’m tired of always wondering if my joy is real or only a symptom. I feel I’m allowing it to win. That scares me.

It makes me afraid and I don’t like afraid.

No, Pink Floyd Didn't Assist

noreply@blogger.com (The Bipolar Diva) — Wed, 27 Mar 2013 23:25:41 PDT

I’ve done it! Really I did! And oh am I feeling the effects. I’ve hit the wall, and not with the help of Pink Floyd.

The hypo-mania, that visits from time to time, always seems to come with a bit of a crash. Today, it is here. Not as bad as times before, but definitely here. However, maybe that’s not what it is. I’ve been working non-stop on an insurance issue, some contract irritants with a new company, a few family things, and a myriad of other little annoyances that seemed to have cropped up along the way.

Tonight I totally crashed. Every noise was amplified, I didn’t want to be touched, I didn’t want to be spoken to, I didn’t want to do anything but go to my room, get in my bed and attempt to exist in solitude.

I kind of feel like a game of Jenga when that one piece has been removed that allows the rest to come tumbling down in a heaping mess.

It took every ounce of energy I had to make dinner and not use the cheese grater as a tool of torture. I kept it solely for the cheese. So I think I did pretty well. Everyone is still in one piece, there was no flesh in the Croque Monsieurs, and I, well, I am in bed. Accomplishment!

Everything’s quiet, but my heart is still racing, my breathing shallow and my jaw is clenched. I need to, want to, sleep, but I have a feeling it’s going to be difficult to do so tonight, well, I should say….more difficult than most nights.

I have to be careful what I ingest to help my decent into the much needed land of dreams and deep breathing. I have an, for me, early appointment tomorrow.

I’m meeting with a friend to see if she can help me understand my new camera. I think I should call it my “manic camera.” Impulse buy. Not even going to open the credit card bill, I’ll just pay it and no one will ever have to know. Except that "no one" is extremely detail oriented and notices every, single thing. Great for his job, and our clients, not so great for me.

Him, "That's new."

Me, "You're crazy."

Him, "You know I notice everything."

Me, "No shit! You're a man damn it! You're not supposed to notice every. little. thing. I. get."

Him, "Don't you like that I notice everything about you?"

Me, "Not really. I have to hide things for a REALLY long time before I can say that I bought them eons ago."

He called me when I was at Nordstrom yesterday. He asked me where I was and I hesitated a bit too long. He knew where I was. I swear he had a GPS system implanted in me while I slept one night.

"Teri, NO new lingerie! You must have $10,000 worth in your closet."

He takes all my fun. I put the lingerie back on the rack and pouted all the way to the car.

Back to meeting with my friend. I’m really looking forward to seeing her, even though she told me to wear “comfortable” shoes. I’m not really sure what those are. But she did narrow it down to “no stilettos.” There goes the outfit I had planned for tomorrow. I guess I need to search through my massive shoe collection and find a pair of, much neglected, Nikes.

(Nikes, I have this weird compulsion to be loyal to all of our Nike clients. All my work out gear, all my tennis shoes, everything is Nike.)

I’m excited to see my friend though! I’m going to try to put work off for tomorrow, as much as I can, and attempt to calm my system. What’s funny is that I always felt like this before I was diagnosed and medicated. It was the norm. I never knew what they meant when they, being psychiatrists, asked if I felt as if I were being run by a motor. Now I know, and I don’t much care for it. I get a lot done, but I hate the crash, as does everyone that comes in contact with me when it happens.

Such is life, for me anyway.

Oh, and by the way, I'm really pissed with Louis Vuitton. I've been a loyal customer, bags, wallets, credit card holders, luggage....... One of my bags is beginning to crack. I took it in for them to look at and was told they have no warranty! What? You've got to be freaking kidding me? A company like that has no warranty? Total bullshit.

If you find errors in this, grammatically, punctuation, whatever, just ignore them and we'll forget they every happened.

Dios me ayude.

They Should Post Warnings For People Like Me

noreply@blogger.com (The Bipolar Diva) — Wed, 27 Mar 2013 23:26:24 PDT

I saw it. I liked it. I bought it. Should have been the end of the story, but nooooooooo, not in my house, not in my world.

I really didn't think it through, which was evident yesterday afternoon. It's an absolutely beautiful Free People "Belladonna" dress. And that, is where it all began. Well, actually it began with a half bottle of wine, a credit card, an Ambien and the most dreaded symptom of hypo mania.....insomnia.

Wine, Ambien. hypo-mania, insomnia, a credit card and a lap top mean things tend to show up from time to time that I have no memory of purchasing. Oh, I have to admit something else showed up today. It's in the back seat of my car, waiting. It's waiting because I'm too afraid to bring it in the house and too in love with it to send it back. So, patiently it waits while I come up with a reason to justify it remaining a member of the family.

The night I ordered the dress I should have read the description a little more closely, or maybe pictured the description with clearer vision, before I clicked "purchase."

"Crochet high-low dress with "V"-neckline and crisscross straps in the back."

Sounds simple, right? The clues are all there, "crochet," "high-low," and, "crisscross straps in the back." They were proudly displayed beside the picture of the much coveted dress.

Simple. To the point. And so very dangerous.

The UPS guy rang the bell, Nikki ran to the door and grabbed the package. I asked her to open it. When I looked at the dress, as she shook it out, I thought it might be a little too short for me in the front.

"Mom, go try it on. I'll tell you if it is too short and if it is I'll buy it from you."

Sounded like a perfect plan at the time. I grabbed the dress, went to my room and began to undress. When I was ready to try the dress on, I remembered it said, "crisscross straps in the back."

No problem, I had it. I fooled around with it for a few minutes, trying to get my arms through the correct straps, so the crisscross would actually be in the back and the "high" part of the dress in front. It also has a slip lining. Crisscross back, slip lining, always a bit tricky. You'd have to be a girl to know that I guess.

I finally thought I'd figured it out. Got my arms and head through the straps of the dress, then the next over looked danger sign, "crochet." Oh, Lord God in Heaven.

I wear a Tiffany bracelet on my right wrist, and on that bracelet dangles a jet charm that has propellers that spin. It''s to remember my father, a jet pilot. The problem with that charm is that it tends to get caught on my clothes. Yep, you got it.

Crochet and jet propellers do not mix. I ended up in the precarious position of the dress half on, arms all twisted over my head, I couldn't move. I couldn't get the charm out of the crochet. I couldn't do anything. I yelled for Nikki to come to my aid and try free me from the giant tangled mess of black crochet, straps and jet propellers.

It took her a minute, but she was able to work her magic and free the propellers from the fabric without damage to either. Then I wriggled into the dress, pulled down the lining and something wasn't quite right. It fight strangely. I couldn't get it straight.

"Mom, I think you might have it one sideways. I'll look for the tag."

She found the tag, and sure enough, hands and head were put through the wrong straps. I thought it would be easy to just take my arm out, twist the dress and all would be good.

As if! The dress is made to be form fitting, meaning tight. I tried to get my arm out and it wasn't happening. As I tried to remove said arm, I began to spin in a circle. Nikki was laughing hysterically. The more I tried, the more I spinned, and the more Nikki laughed.

Then I lost my footing and fell into the counter top, still all tied up in the beautiful, crocheted, high low dress with the crisscross in the back.

"Mom, STOP! You're going to fall into the bathtub and kill yourself!" All this said while laughing to the point of crying. She has a bronchial infection, so her laughter sounded more like a barking seal. She couldn't catch her breath. She was bent over at the waist, laughing, crying, and barking.

She laughed herself nearly to death as I struggled. Finally I was able to get my arm out, turn the dress, pull down the slip, and was able to see how it looked. It looked great! It was short in the front, but not too much, it would be fine. It fit perfectly. I loved it!

Then, well then I realized I had to take it off.

It May Not Be Your Choice, But It Is Mine

noreply@blogger.com (The Bipolar Diva) — Wed, 27 Mar 2013 23:27:10 PDT

There have been many times I've been sucked into the depths of hell, sometimes from my very lucid bad decisions, sometimes from my neurons not firing the way another person's may fire, sometimes I've been thrown in by another, and sometimes it just happens.

There are times I see the world in black and white, other times I see it in full, vivid technicolor. There are blessings, and curses, that are attached to me as a person living with a disorder too often misunderstood, and feared, by the world in general.

What I've come to understand in the last few years, the years that I've grown enormously as a person, as well as dropped the ball time and time again, letting down not only those around me, but myself as well, is that no matter what affliction I've inherited I have to realize that I have to take full responsibility for those times, as well as the times others have intentionally, or not, given me a little nudge, into that hellish depth of darkness and demons.

I can't always control what happens in my life, or what others choose to do that affect me, but I am trying to ensure I accept responsibility for my reactions in those times. It's not always easy, or evident, to me at the time what I need to do, but it is something I work toward on a daily basis, and truthfully, I still kind of suck at it.

Even though there have been times that, purely by the luck of the draw, bipolar has controlled my abilities to see things clearly, and has been the cause of choices I made, I can't place sole blame on it.

It's my responsibility to keep myself in check. It's my responsibility to control something that all too often tries to control me. I made a firm decision, many years ago, not to play the victim card. I also made the choice to share my journey with the world, to come out of the shadows and take control of my life, and hopefully allow people to see that, while sometimes I do struggle, I'm really no different than they are.

Someone said to me the other day that I'm happy, outgoing and friendly with people that "don't matter" in my world, those outside the circle of the family core, and that I rarely allow people, those so called unimportant people, to see me when I'm at my worst.

I chose to try not to let bipolar be the puppet master, not to control my life and not to be a crutch on which to blame my failures. I made a choice to attempt to break the stigma, and attempt to take control of something I had no choice in being afflicted with. I don't always succeed, but I try.

I try not to allow the times I experience the dark realities of the disorder to be seen by others that "don't matter." Those are the times I've learned to rely on a very select group of people to lean on. That group does not include the entiriety of family, but is made up of people I trust to know that it's a momentary glitch in time and not the sum total of who I am.

I do believe that it is my responsibility to be outgoing, to be friendly, to smile, to attempt to understand that which I don't, and to respect those around me in this world we all occupy. The truth is that those people that "don't matter," really do matter. If I only help one person see that labels are not always something to be feared, I've accomplished what I set out to do. If I can encourage others that are afflicted, as I am, that they can take control of their lives, that they can be accepted, that they can lead a productive life, then I've done so much more than I set out to do.

I don't always succeed, I don't always reach my goal, I don't always make the right choice, but I can say with confidence that I try, and I will continue to do so.

Manifestation

noreply@blogger.com (The Bipolar Diva) — Wed, 27 Mar 2013 23:27:40 PDT

I knew it would manifest, so when it raised it's head and peeked through the shadows, where it had been hidden for so long, I wasn't surprised. I wasn't surprised by my reaction to its ability to hold me hostage, and its attempt to take control of not only my life, but my inner most being as well.

Actually, to be truthful, it's like visiting an old friend, one that you haven't seen in years, yet are able to pick up where you left off as if no time had passed.

It's strangely comforting, while at the same time, frightening. I've missed it, longed for it, if only for a short time. I knew, however, that its presence could instigate darkness, confusion and potentially harm.

Even though I knew it was inevitable, it came upon me slowly, as if it were stalking its prey. I guess in a sense it was, and in the in end, it captured me. I need to enjoy it while it lasts, as well as try to tame it, and send it back into the shadows.

It has a clinical name, hypo-mania, as well as physical feelings of jubilation, freedom, happiness and a sense of all being right with the world. Then why, many would ask, is it something I need to be circumspect with? Feeling wonderful and full of life is a good thing, and for many it is.

However, for me, it's something to be carefully monitored. I have a difficult time discerning whether my mood is just the typical good mood of an outgoing person, or if it is a symptom of something that could possibly consume my soul.

I'm angry that I've been put in the position of being tempted to go with the flow, and ride the wave of sunshine and rainbows, I'm angry that I'm tempted to toss all the meds and allow this feeling, the feeling I associate with the "real" me, to be freed from its cage and allowed to fly unencumbered.

I can't allow myself to go with the flow. The symptoms of hypo-mania are prevalent and I know them well enough to call them by name, to recognize them for what they are, and to know to try my best to keep them at bay. If I allow them to take me, as I'm so tempted to do, I know there will eventually be a fall that will be deep and a darkness will envelope me.

There is an upside of the spiraling fall, my creativity will thrive, my writing style will become more poetic, lyrical, and insightful. Most of my best pieces were written while being tightly held in the talons of the demons the fall brings. I can't allow that to happen, others will be pulled in with me, and their lives will be affected. They will become hyper vigilant and my every movement will be monitored.

Even though I enjoy the overwhelming feelings of joy the hypo-mania brings forth, I'm angry a doctor that solely deals with the physical body, and knows very little of afflictions of the mind, demanded I toss one of my most critical medications. I'm angry that I was put in a position of having to defy his warnings and defend the regimen that has kept me stable for a very long time. I'm angry that I yielded and insisted I would only half the dose, not stop it.

Since I have realized what is really happening, I've taken appropriate action and conferred with the man that is responsible for the stability of my moods. I will resume his recommended dose of the forbidden medication, and I will increase another one slightly.

If I'm lucky, I will be able to hang on to the best of my personality, and quell the sleepless nights, the ever present need to be doing something, to be doing anything, and other tell-tale symptoms of hypo-mania.

I will enjoy it while it lasts, I will mourn its passing and I will rejoice when stability, once again, enters my life.

It's Worth a Try

noreply@blogger.com (The Bipolar Diva) — Wed, 27 Mar 2013 23:28:53 PDT

I'm always up for all things new, as my credit card will attest, but this time I'm a little anxious.

I have, and always have, had trouble falling asleep. I guess that kind of goes hand in hand with bipolar, or so I'm told. When I lie down, close my eyes and try to sleep is typically when I have the racing thoughts that plague so many people with the disorder. My mind won't calm, and therefore I can't sleep.

I saw my psych today and we tried to come up with a solution. I don't like all I have to take to be able to do what so many take for granted. Every night, when I take the vast array of medications, I fear I may make the Heath Ledger exit. I don't like the thought and I don't like having to take the meds.

When I brought it up to him, he talked about various options, searched his vast collection of research on the topic, and then came up with an idea, as long as weight gain isn't a side effect, I'm game.

He's had several patients that had previously described the very things I am experiencing. He put them on a quick release dose of methylphenidate, which is generic Ritalin, which is a stimulant. They reported back to him that it worked, it quelled the bouncing thoughts and allowed them to sleep.

The theory being that Ritalin helps release dopamine, which acts to calm the over active thoughts and actions caused by low levels of the chemical in some brains. Whatever, I don't really understand the whole thing, I just have trust in my doctor.

Tonight will be my first night taking it, and if all goes according to theory, my thoughts will calm and I'll be able to sleep.

He also asked how my general mood had been since we stopped one of my medications that helps control mania. The side effects I was experiencing were concerning to say the least. But I've done well, I think, and Jeff said he's been noticing I'm more level than he's seen me in years. Plus, I'm still on a half dose of another mood stabilizer that has no side effects, so all's cool.

But, isn't there always a "but?" But, I have a sneaking suspicion that I'm on the outer edge of the beginning of hypo-mania. That can be a very good thing though. My mood is great, my creativity is more prevalent, and I seem more like myself, I feel good, the sun shines and all is right with the world.

The bad thing, the thing I need to watch for, is the urge to spend. That's a huge signal for me, but I recognize it as a symptom and can work to avoid places I shouldn't be, like Nordstrom, or Free People's website, or any place with lingerie or shoes. I guess that leaves me with going to the grocery store where I can search for exotic stuffed olives and weird things I'd never before bought.

Now I'm rambling, so I guess it's time for the first dose of the, hopefully, miracle drug.

Here goes. Wish me well!