ANXIETY

Anxiety is like a little gremlin, and not the cute kind, that comes in and worms its way into your body and festers and lingers, and then attacks when you are at your lowest.  That's how I see it anyway.

After struggling through one bout of depression just a few months ago, I was sure I had a free ticket for the rest of the year.  No more depression, just free sailing, free happiness, free whatever.  I was not prepared for the second bout that followed only four weeks after starting to feel better from the first.

When I finally could admit that I was depressed, it was already well into the downswing of my mood and morale, and anxiety, seeing a tiny little loophole, charged in!  At first I didn't recognize what was happening to me; it'd been 20 some years since I last felt anxiety in all its intensity.

What did it feel like for me?  Physically, it is a kick in the stomach kind of feeling that doesn't leave.  I was spending a fair bit of time dealing with IBS (irritable bowel syndrome) issues as that is where my anxiety seems to gather physically.  Mentally, I could not focus on anything for more than a  minute or two; its like the worst case of ADD ever!

At night, when trying to settle for sleep, I could not settle, I'd lie down and then get up within minutes.  Walk around the house a bit.  Sit down in the living room, and then go back to bed.  Actually, it was more like pacing.  Very restless pacing.  This went on for three to four nights, during which I may have gotten enough sleep to total a full night's sleep.  Needless to say, I felt hideous!  Even my daytime napping eluded me.

It was after several nights of this fractured sleep that I had to go back to work, as I'd already missed three out of my last five shifts and used up all my sick time.  A shift on rehab is a slower pace, but it was there that I made a med error; by far not my first, but the first one that I did not notice I had made and write up myself.  That is by far a worse feeling than writing yourself up, in my opinion.  Any nurses agree or disagree with me on that?  Needless to say, it feels hideous!

Against my better judgement, but following the advice I would have given to a coworker or friend, I asked for and received a prescription for a sleeping pill and have been sleeping like baby ever since and am feeling heaps and heaps better.  There was the balance between having a complete mental breakdown (which I was very very close to) and getting some sleep so I could go on with the business of living.  I chose to ask for the sleeping pill, knowing that it was a short term aid and that I would very quickly have to stop using it as soon as I found my feet again.

And that is where I am today, on my feet and half off the sleeping pills.  Anxiety still visits me as often as I let it; I've named it Bertha (my sister and I used to use that name as a joke for things we didn't like).  Bertha is unwelcome in my home and in my head, and I've taken to swearing at her when she tries to visit.  It was at the advice of a friend that I named the anxiety that was haunting me, and its been a wonderful idea.  It reminds me that Bertha is not real and that I am in control and not the anxiety.

"FAMILY SICK"

It's a rare occasion that I am woken by my alarm on my phone; I only set it as a backup on days that I have to work at 0745. This morning has been no exception as I've been awake since 0300, pondering whether or not to make a "family sick" call to work in order to allow Son #2 to be sick at home. The decision I've reached is a sort of compromise; I'll bring him to the sitter, let her know he's still under the weather and to call me if necessary.

My Mama instincts and heart know that I should be spending the day at home with him. The financial and more common sense part of me says that it's best, financially speaking, if I go to work.

As a single-grandparent, this is an ongoing challenge for me. Trying to balance financial responsibilities with family. Having a sick day does not simply mean a smaller pay cheque and "doing with less" on the next payday. It is a matter of our survival. There is no other income in this household; I'm not just a supplementary income. I AM the income earner, the ONLY income earner.

Fortunately, we have an amazing childcare provider. She will take care of him and love him in a way that is second only to me. If he needs holding and loving, she will make the time to do so. If this were not so, I would most definitely be staying home with him, money be damned.

Even knowing he is in good hands will not ease the desire to be with him when he's ill. I will think about him every minute until its the end of my shift and wonder how he's feeling.

The Right Thing

It's been a relatively routine and quiet day at my house. Got home from work at 0815 and went straight to bed and slept till 1330.

Out of the house by 1400 and at the sitter by 1415. Son #2 gave me the best greeting ever! I closed the house door behind me and heard his voice, "mom? Mommy?!" and he came hurtling up the stairs and launched himself at me. He cuddled up to me as I sat on the floor, looking a bit smug as if he was thinking, "I've got my mommy. She's my mommy and you can't have her!"

He needed no coaxing this time to get his outside gear on and was out the door before I was done chatting with his sitter.

If ever I need confirmation that I did the right thing by "adopting" him, or if ever I need to be reminded that I am a worthwhile person, I need only think back on incidents like this.