Wednesday 26 November 2014
Made it safely across the other side
The system failed our family. The system fails most families having to deal with family members who wrestle with chronic mental illnesses.
However, the story does not end there.
It's been a long journey, from thinking we had to put our loved one into a nursing home to the doctors sending us home. After 3 weeks in the hospital, our loved one is home safe and sound.
The story does not end there!
Two months since hospital release and our loved one is doing amazing-with a few minor setbacks- but overall amazing.
The story does not end there!
In the time of crisis I felt panicked and barely holding on questioning whether or not this journey would end, questioning why God was allowing this to happen to our family. Now, on the other side, I am forgetting how terrifying this ordeal was. Funny how that is. Thankful I forget.
But the story does not end there!
What I do remember is how God's hand was upon us the entire time. He showed up in big and small ways...
From the moment the police arrived at the scene. They showed amazing care and sensitivity. They immediately knew they were dealing with someone with a mental illness so called for the special police crisis mental health team-a new initiative with our local police department. Within minutes this team arrived and were phenomenal with our loved one.
From the moment our loved one was admitted to the hospital-after a few technicalities that needed to be addressed! The nurses and doctors were incredible. In addition, God showed up in a big way by having my close friend in charge of the mental health floor the night our loved one was admitted. She had to be reassigned. However, I know our loved one received excellent care because my friend is highly respected and her staff knew our loved one was a close friend! Our loved one was deeply cared for and the staff supported the family incredibly well, despite the legalities of the mental health act.
From the moment my friends supported us practically by bringing by meals and praying for our loved one.
From the moment a care plan was put in place for our loved one's release, which we felt was too soon and were afraid.
But the story does not end there.
Easing our fear of a relapse, we had the police mental health crisis team, and community agencies follow up to see how all of us were doing.
We were referred to a family support group, which I am still currently attending. It has always been my desire to help other families who have loved ones with mental illnesses because there are practically zero resources for family members. This group has been a God-send. I was encouraged the other day when one of the group members shared with me how hope-filled she is about her loved one who can lead a normal life now after hearing my story. God's hand. Grateful.
The story does not end there because we may have future setbacks with our loved one. But we are more prepared and we have a plan in place. We have been able to be more open with our friends and family helping to reduce the stigma. We are hopeful.
We made it safely across the other side witnessing God's hand in this entire journey. I still don't have the answers as to why God has allowed this to happen to our family, but do know there is a reason and I need to trust my God.
The story does not end there.
The story will continue...
Friday 29 August 2014
The Other Side of the Story: honest, raw, transparent musings about the effect of mental illness on families
I can't remember the moment I began to fear my loved one. But I remember with great clarity the way this fear made me feel. A rush of thoughts ran through my mind rapidly with panic in its undertone.
"Remember this is her illness."
"Oh my dear God, my loved one may injure me."
"Remember this is her illness, it is not personal."
"Oh my dear God, protect my family."
"Remember this is her illness."
"Oh my dear God I cannot call the police on my loved one."
"Remember this is her illness talking."
"Oh my dear God, help us."
"Oh my dear God, look into her eyes. They are empty, blank, evil, confused. This is not my loved one standing before me."
"Remember this is her illness."
"Oh my dear God, she hates me, her flesh and blood who would do anything for her."
"Oh my dear God, what are those words coming out of her mouth - horrifying, abusive words she doesn't know what she is saying."
"Remember this is not personal, it is her illness, this blasted disease."
"Oh my dear God, she is saying she wants to end her life."
"Remember this is her illness."
"Don't let your fear give you away. Stay calm."
"Remember this is her illness. It is not her fault."
"It is not your fault."
"Keep loving her. Don't stop. Pray you won't remember these terrifying, damaging times."
"It is her illness taking over her precious mind."
I hate this disease. It is so unfair that it attacks beautiful humans and latches on with all its might. They did nothing to deserve this horrible illness. I hate how it destroys the lives of families. I hate how it destroys and torments the lives of precious humans. I hate there is still a stigma surrounding it. I hate that I have had to keep it secret out of respect for my loved one and for my family. I can no longer.
The pain is too much. It is a silent killer. I am slowly watching my loved one die- that vivacious, caring, compassionate, gregarious, organized woman has ceased.
I hate that as a family our hands are tied and we cannot get our loved one the help she needs until it seems it would be too late. I understand the Mental Health Act was put in place to stop abuse but it is now hindering families from helping their loved ones. Unless we take drastic measures we have to sit and wait.
And watch.
Watch the frightened look deep in our loved one's eyes and soul.
Watch her paranoia worsen.
Watch the helpless feeling she is experiencing but cannot express.
Watch the depths of her soul know something is terribly wrong with her but for some reason is refusing to get the help she needs.
Over the years our loved one has managed her bipolar disorder. However, as she has aged, specifically this past year, she has not been managing it well at all.
Families are forgotten. In the mismanagement of the disorder, families suffer greatly, if not more, in my opinion. We have to learn to cope with it and constantly figure out the new "mystery" rules our loved one has put in place. We constantly have to "walk on eggshells" out of fear of what our loved one may do. We constantly are trying to repair fractured friendships. We are constantly trying to solve embarrassing situations. We are constantly having to sort out the practical living issues that arise due to her illness. I have to watch my other family members have breakdowns and likewise they have to witness my meltdowns when the stress is too much. We constantly have to hear horrifying words that pierce straight to our heart and pray they are not absorbed into our spirit.
The way we have learned to cope in order to live with this precious loved one with a horrible disease doesn't always work. We are learning new ways to cope and learning how to change some of our strategies that have not been useful. However, when it comes to family, it is emotional. So we have to do what needs to be done in order to survive.
We are learning it is okay to share our pain with our community of friends and is not being disrespectful to our loved one. We have to allow these wonderful people sharing this journey with us to make their own conclusions. So we have been pleasantly surprised at the acceptance rather than the judgemental, hurtful stigma we have experienced in the past. We are grateful they still love our loved one and see past this illness to the true person she was created to be sharing space on this planet.
My exhortation to those of you reading this post is this:
As you walk past a person who seems out of sorts and you want to dismiss them as being crazy,
think of their family.
If you are afraid of someone with a mental illness, think of their family.
And don't be frightened. They are more like you than you realize. They are just trapped inside their mind with a horrible disease.
But think of their family. Their family is just like yours. No different.
Imagine the suffering their families are having to endure.
Show compassion not fear.
Offer a genuine smile.
And think of their families.
This is the other side of the story.
****UPDATE****
In the middle of writing this post, our loved one was admitted to the hospital. The police actually picked her up yesterday for driving dangerously (Another blessing because she cannot blame us for taking her to the hospital). It is a long story (and miraculously no one was hurt or killed), but God had every detail in place. We feel tremendously relieved she is getting the help she needs. It has been difficult to watch but we know she is in good hands now. It has been what we have been praying for all summer. She is safe. We are safe. We are praying as her mind and body heal she will diligently keep on the meds prescribed to her so she will get back to living her life to the fullest as a "beautiful human person." (Pip Wilson)
"Remember this is her illness."
"Oh my dear God, my loved one may injure me."
"Remember this is her illness, it is not personal."
"Oh my dear God, protect my family."
"Remember this is her illness."
"Oh my dear God I cannot call the police on my loved one."
"Remember this is her illness talking."
"Oh my dear God, help us."
"Oh my dear God, look into her eyes. They are empty, blank, evil, confused. This is not my loved one standing before me."
"Remember this is her illness."
"Oh my dear God, she hates me, her flesh and blood who would do anything for her."
"Oh my dear God, what are those words coming out of her mouth - horrifying, abusive words she doesn't know what she is saying."
"Remember this is not personal, it is her illness, this blasted disease."
"Oh my dear God, she is saying she wants to end her life."
"Remember this is her illness."
"Don't let your fear give you away. Stay calm."
"Remember this is her illness. It is not her fault."
"It is not your fault."
"Keep loving her. Don't stop. Pray you won't remember these terrifying, damaging times."
"It is her illness taking over her precious mind."
I hate this disease. It is so unfair that it attacks beautiful humans and latches on with all its might. They did nothing to deserve this horrible illness. I hate how it destroys the lives of families. I hate how it destroys and torments the lives of precious humans. I hate there is still a stigma surrounding it. I hate that I have had to keep it secret out of respect for my loved one and for my family. I can no longer.
The pain is too much. It is a silent killer. I am slowly watching my loved one die- that vivacious, caring, compassionate, gregarious, organized woman has ceased.
I hate that as a family our hands are tied and we cannot get our loved one the help she needs until it seems it would be too late. I understand the Mental Health Act was put in place to stop abuse but it is now hindering families from helping their loved ones. Unless we take drastic measures we have to sit and wait.
And watch.
Watch the frightened look deep in our loved one's eyes and soul.
Watch her paranoia worsen.
Watch the helpless feeling she is experiencing but cannot express.
Watch the depths of her soul know something is terribly wrong with her but for some reason is refusing to get the help she needs.
Over the years our loved one has managed her bipolar disorder. However, as she has aged, specifically this past year, she has not been managing it well at all.
Families are forgotten. In the mismanagement of the disorder, families suffer greatly, if not more, in my opinion. We have to learn to cope with it and constantly figure out the new "mystery" rules our loved one has put in place. We constantly have to "walk on eggshells" out of fear of what our loved one may do. We constantly are trying to repair fractured friendships. We are constantly trying to solve embarrassing situations. We are constantly having to sort out the practical living issues that arise due to her illness. I have to watch my other family members have breakdowns and likewise they have to witness my meltdowns when the stress is too much. We constantly have to hear horrifying words that pierce straight to our heart and pray they are not absorbed into our spirit.
The way we have learned to cope in order to live with this precious loved one with a horrible disease doesn't always work. We are learning new ways to cope and learning how to change some of our strategies that have not been useful. However, when it comes to family, it is emotional. So we have to do what needs to be done in order to survive.
We are learning it is okay to share our pain with our community of friends and is not being disrespectful to our loved one. We have to allow these wonderful people sharing this journey with us to make their own conclusions. So we have been pleasantly surprised at the acceptance rather than the judgemental, hurtful stigma we have experienced in the past. We are grateful they still love our loved one and see past this illness to the true person she was created to be sharing space on this planet.
My exhortation to those of you reading this post is this:
As you walk past a person who seems out of sorts and you want to dismiss them as being crazy,
think of their family.
If you are afraid of someone with a mental illness, think of their family.
And don't be frightened. They are more like you than you realize. They are just trapped inside their mind with a horrible disease.
But think of their family. Their family is just like yours. No different.
Imagine the suffering their families are having to endure.
Show compassion not fear.
Offer a genuine smile.
And think of their families.
This is the other side of the story.
****UPDATE****
In the middle of writing this post, our loved one was admitted to the hospital. The police actually picked her up yesterday for driving dangerously (Another blessing because she cannot blame us for taking her to the hospital). It is a long story (and miraculously no one was hurt or killed), but God had every detail in place. We feel tremendously relieved she is getting the help she needs. It has been difficult to watch but we know she is in good hands now. It has been what we have been praying for all summer. She is safe. We are safe. We are praying as her mind and body heal she will diligently keep on the meds prescribed to her so she will get back to living her life to the fullest as a "beautiful human person." (Pip Wilson)
Saturday 8 March 2014
Boob Lessons
I had my first mammogram last year. It wasn't as horrible as I had heard. In fact, I didn't think it hurt at all. It was just a little uncomfortable. I wasn't worried about the results, even though my best friend conquered breast cancer. I think subconsciously I thought nothing like that would happen to me. Think again.
I received a call from the hospital one year later saying I am due to have my mammogram. I was surprised as usually they do them every two years. Apparently, the Radiologist felt I had dense breasts and wanted me to begin having mammograms yearly. I call them lumpy breasts which, for the record, I was surprised about. They don't feel lumpy to me! But I was impressed the hospital was thorough and notified me of this change. So on December 11, 2013 I toddled off to the hospital to have my second mammogram.
This time it hurt. It hurt a-LOT! The technician used a small plate (Whatever that means) and couldn't fit my boob on it properly. My wish for her to switch to the larger plate to save me some agony was not granted! Ouch! When the scan was over I toddled off to work and enjoyed the rest of my day. Little did I know what lay ahead.
A couple of days later I received a call from the hospital asking me to come back in for another scan. I was a wee bit alarmed but only thought they wanted to redo the scan using the larger plate, like I had wished for all along! According to my friends who have had mammograms, this was a common routine. When I called back to confirm the appointment, I found out it was not a redo. Instead they saw something and wanted me to come in for an ultrasound. I began to panic. An assortment of thoughts came flooding to my mind. Everyone brushed it off as just being routine and told me not to worry. But for me, it was a cause for worry and I couldn't brush it off. Of course I was praying all along but clearly I was not accepting God's offer of peace. Thoughts raced through my mind like, is this really happening to me...do I have breast cancer...why God, why me. Finally I had to say to myself...STOP...many people go through this...you are not alone...don't let fear paralyze you...don't panic yet.
The day came for the ultrasound. All the volunteers and technicians were lovely and calming as I am sure they are used to the look of worry in women's eyes. It was unnerving. Having the ultrasound go over and over repeatedly the spot on my breast they were concerned about was unnerving. Still worried I asked questions and the technician was vague but kind. Finally she told me she had to get the Radiologist so just relax.
Relax? I was awkwardly positioned on the bed and all alone. Tears began to stream down my face as I talked with God. Well I actually pleaded with God to spare my life. This was the first time I was confronted personally with the brevity of life. Yet a peace soon came over me as I accepted the fact I could have breast cancer. What was I to do? Wallow in self pity? Allow panic to ruin my life? Or realize this could be God's plan, accept it and move forward with strength like thousands of women who have gone on before me in this battle. But, I did beg God to reveal it was nothing.
The minutes, seeming like hours, passed as I awaited my fate. Interrupting my thoughts, the Radiologist and technician calmly walked into the room. As they discussed my scan, I immediately knew all was okay. It was nothing apparently...just a swollen gland. Relief filled my whole being. The Radiologist left. The technician was giving me final instructions. I opened my mouth to say thank you but instead my tear ducts opened and expressed my thanks to this sweet, kind woman. She patted me on the hand and quietly whispered, "I know."
The sun was shining brilliantly on that cold December day as I walked to my car thanking God for sparing my life. I was shining brightly too!
Life continued to move on at a fast pace and there was no time for me to process the lessons my boobs were trying to teach me! Aye, but that is the lesson me thinks!
I need to stop. I need to pause. I need to find new ways to get rid of the stress that is slowly eating me so I won't get cancer. It was/is a wake up call. It also allowed me to express my gratitude for a thorough health care system in this great country of my birth!
Life is a gift. As I age gracefully, I need to remember to listen to my body and rest in arms of the One who created my beautiful body, mind and soul!
I received a call from the hospital one year later saying I am due to have my mammogram. I was surprised as usually they do them every two years. Apparently, the Radiologist felt I had dense breasts and wanted me to begin having mammograms yearly. I call them lumpy breasts which, for the record, I was surprised about. They don't feel lumpy to me! But I was impressed the hospital was thorough and notified me of this change. So on December 11, 2013 I toddled off to the hospital to have my second mammogram.
This time it hurt. It hurt a-LOT! The technician used a small plate (Whatever that means) and couldn't fit my boob on it properly. My wish for her to switch to the larger plate to save me some agony was not granted! Ouch! When the scan was over I toddled off to work and enjoyed the rest of my day. Little did I know what lay ahead.
A couple of days later I received a call from the hospital asking me to come back in for another scan. I was a wee bit alarmed but only thought they wanted to redo the scan using the larger plate, like I had wished for all along! According to my friends who have had mammograms, this was a common routine. When I called back to confirm the appointment, I found out it was not a redo. Instead they saw something and wanted me to come in for an ultrasound. I began to panic. An assortment of thoughts came flooding to my mind. Everyone brushed it off as just being routine and told me not to worry. But for me, it was a cause for worry and I couldn't brush it off. Of course I was praying all along but clearly I was not accepting God's offer of peace. Thoughts raced through my mind like, is this really happening to me...do I have breast cancer...why God, why me. Finally I had to say to myself...STOP...many people go through this...you are not alone...don't let fear paralyze you...don't panic yet.
The day came for the ultrasound. All the volunteers and technicians were lovely and calming as I am sure they are used to the look of worry in women's eyes. It was unnerving. Having the ultrasound go over and over repeatedly the spot on my breast they were concerned about was unnerving. Still worried I asked questions and the technician was vague but kind. Finally she told me she had to get the Radiologist so just relax.
Relax? I was awkwardly positioned on the bed and all alone. Tears began to stream down my face as I talked with God. Well I actually pleaded with God to spare my life. This was the first time I was confronted personally with the brevity of life. Yet a peace soon came over me as I accepted the fact I could have breast cancer. What was I to do? Wallow in self pity? Allow panic to ruin my life? Or realize this could be God's plan, accept it and move forward with strength like thousands of women who have gone on before me in this battle. But, I did beg God to reveal it was nothing.
The minutes, seeming like hours, passed as I awaited my fate. Interrupting my thoughts, the Radiologist and technician calmly walked into the room. As they discussed my scan, I immediately knew all was okay. It was nothing apparently...just a swollen gland. Relief filled my whole being. The Radiologist left. The technician was giving me final instructions. I opened my mouth to say thank you but instead my tear ducts opened and expressed my thanks to this sweet, kind woman. She patted me on the hand and quietly whispered, "I know."
The sun was shining brilliantly on that cold December day as I walked to my car thanking God for sparing my life. I was shining brightly too!
Life continued to move on at a fast pace and there was no time for me to process the lessons my boobs were trying to teach me! Aye, but that is the lesson me thinks!
I need to stop. I need to pause. I need to find new ways to get rid of the stress that is slowly eating me so I won't get cancer. It was/is a wake up call. It also allowed me to express my gratitude for a thorough health care system in this great country of my birth!
Life is a gift. As I age gracefully, I need to remember to listen to my body and rest in arms of the One who created my beautiful body, mind and soul!
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