"There are definite changes to your macula, Tammi. Let's get you set up with a specialist." Those were the words that launched my "eyeball odyssey." In retrospect, there were clues littering the path leading up to that conversation with my optometrist. I attributed the sudden onset of blurriness to simply getting older. A friend once told me that once she hit 40, her eyesight went to hell, so at 45, I was thinking I was really getting away with something. I was also having a hard time figuring out why the light on the surge-protector strip in our room would sometimes flash orange, and sometimes green. (The conversation I had with my husband after I noticed this was actually pretty funny, now that I think about it.) I lost the job I had at the time. It seems that when you sell home furnishings for hundreds less because you've mistaken an 8 for a 5 when calculating the price of a bedroom set, your employers are understandably miffed. But you know? That was actually ok. Financially it sucked, of course. But things went south pretty quickly after that, and I don't think customers would have wanted someone with a weak grasp on color variations assisting them with fabric choices anyway. After several appointments with several different specialists, I was diagnosed with a rare genetic disorder known as, "Best Disease." It's not yet fixable. But there are a couple of stem-cell studies that look promising. There's also the possibility of clinical-trial surgeries that may or may not work, require more than one procedure, and are completely out of pocket. I called for information on some of these trials, but as this isn't at all common, and is definitely not life-threatening, the trials are few and far between. To look at me, you wouldn't know there was anything amiss. I can still make out shapes, read (depending on the font and the color of the letters and backgrounds), and even draw a little. And I'm ever so grateful for the touch-screen zoom on my laptop. But I don't drive anymore. I went shopping for last minute Thanksgiving items last year and got stuck in the store after dark. I cried most of the way home, because I simply couldn't see the lines on the road, and because the oncoming headlights not only blinded me further, but also felt like a thousand ice picks in my cornea. That was the last time I drove at night, and I finally caved on the day driving thing when I realized that colors and depth perception were no longer my friends. I rarely even look up from my phone in the car anymore, because I don't perceive distances the same and I tend to over-react. Vince hates it. Often, when I ask for help at a store, like, "Can you please tell me if this is black or green?" or, "Is this an orange or a grapefruit?" I not only get "the eyebrow," but the occasional, well-intended small talk as well. "It's rough getting old, isn't it?" "I know it's kind of expensive, but my sister had Lasik done, and it worked great for her!" I always smile, and reciprocate with the small talk, but it used to be hard to hear because it reminded me again that there's no fixing this. A lot of folks have helpfully reminded me that lots of blind folks are societally productive, and that my other senses will soon be able to compensate for my vision loss. This is, of course, meant as encouragement and is always accepted as such. But I'm pretty pissed about the super-power thing taking so long to get here. There are so many more things that I'm struggling to re-learn. But I really think the hardest part of this has been trying to work through the layers of my inner-onion. This one's got three different bulbs: bio, psycho and social. The "Bio-onion" wrestles incessantly with understanding and validating the physical changes within my body. The "Social-onion" worries that I complain too much, or is it not enough, or...you get the drift. But the biggest onion, the Walla Walla Sweet of the bunch, has got to be the, "Psycho-Onion." (Great, a new nickname for my friends to call me. You're welcome.) This is the onion that brings the most tears to my eyes. Part of me wonders, "Why? Haven't I endured enough? Who's cosmic Cheerios did I pee in to deserve this?" Another layer is certain beyond a doubt that I've done plenty to "deserve this." Fortunately, there's still one more layer: "You got this." It's not a thick layer, yet, but it's growing up nicely. I certainly didn't share this with you with the hope of garnering your sympathy. Rather, I'd like to encourage you, once again, to be less presumptuous when evaluating your fellow humans. You may think you know them, based on race, zip code, or current life events. I assure you that you don't. My eyes have always been my best feature. I'm a little too proud that my children and grandson have the same eyes (though in honesty, it makes me a little nervous that they may have inherited the "same" eyes if you know what I mean). When you look at me, you likely won't notice anything different about my eyes, other than the tracks of those pesky crows that seem to have built their nests right there on each corner. And when I look back at you, I promise that I will do my best to see you for who you are, instead of what the world has taught me expect of you. It's taken some practice, but thanks to the people I love, I'm learning, and it's getting easier. It's always hard for me to end these posts neatly, so I'll just do what I know works best: K.I.S.S. (Keep it Simple, Stupid!). Be a good human. Don't be afraid to love. We really are all in this together. Much love, and many Bright Blessings! Tammi-
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Authoring a 'blog has it's perks, both for myself, the author, and for you, the voluntary reader. For me, writing is a cathartic process that helps me finally grasp pieces of my internal puzzle and link them together, affording me the ability to view the puzzle as a whole. For you, reading is completely optional. You can lightly browse the title and/or subject matter to decide if any of it sparks your interest. If not, you get to scroll on by, which is perfectly fine. If you are intrigued, however, then you get to briefly live vicariously through someone else for a bit. Someone who might have the same hang-ups as you, or a completely different set of hang-ups you want to understand better. Or poke fun at, which is also perfectly acceptable.
Today's post is no different. You get to decide. Today, I want to talk about being bi-polar. I want to talk about how this diagnosis has affected not only my life, but nearly everyone I've ever known long enough to have allowed them "in," you know what I mean? It's not my intent to cause you any discomfort, but as you may know from previous posts, I'm really not one to be shy about my own challenges. How can anyone benefit from my experiences if I shamefully hide them under a bushel? So, instead, I'm just gonna lob this ball in the air and give it a whack. If you are so inclined, feel free to volley back with any questions, suggestions, or even just comments...I'm too old to be "thin-skinned." I was recently diagnosed with "Bi-Polar II Disorder." What this means for me is that it's not easy to keep my emotions on an even keel. While I have regular, asymptomatic days as well, it's the symptomatic days that really kick my ass. I've always compared it to a rag-doll being spun wildly across a dance-floor by an unseen and relentless partner. And then, the magic really begins. After a few days of this lunacy, the rug is completely yanked from under me, and now I'm flat on my face on the floor, staring up from the bottom of the abyss. And who knows what even triggers me, either way? It sounds overdramatic, I know. But this is my truth, and the best I know how to describe it. The reason I chose to share this very personal piece of our lives with you is that maybe you can relate to some of my experiences. I've found a site that breaks down my specific diagnosis...let me know if you've ever known me to behave like this: "During the period of mood disturbance, three (or more) of the following symptoms have persisted (four if the mood is only irritable) and have been present to a significant degree:
Sound like anyone you know? Hi there!! Yup. That's me, almost to the letter, during one of the "up-"swings. This has been me, my whole stinkin' life! All of this time, being The Onion, I of course have blamed all of it on myself, for being inferior and not normal, like everyone else. So many layers of confusion, and believe it or not, guilt and shame. Yes. Guilt and shame. G&S are always around the corner, pointing their stinky fingers at me, reminding me that I'm weak and abnormal. Pretty sick, huh? I know this affects my family, friends, employers, and just about everyone I have interactions with on a regular basis. But I have to say that learning that it's really a "thing," and maybe I'm not just bat-shit crazy has been liberating. I can work with it, learn to manage it, and maybe even forgive myself a little for so many volcanoes in the past. I'm a little nervous about managing it through meds, because I really do love that creative spark that catches and isn't easily extinguished. So for me, the more natural the better. One more note on this subject (at least for today). I don't know which came first for me, the addiction or the disorder. I can say without flinching that alcohol was always my go-to in the past for trying to quiet the monster. Well, that's not entirely true, because I've always felt that there were certain basic categories of need in my life, and that if one or more of those areas were lacking, the others grow enough to fill in the void. But what that boils down to, at least for me, is that until I've learned to manage a balance within these categories, I'm always going to be trying to force the impossible. This really is just the tip of the iceberg. But I hope this starts a conversation. I've seen lots of doctors to ask for help with these symptoms, but not until recently did someone really take the time to dig deep enough for the answers. I'm certainly not a doctor, nor do I play one on TV, but if any of this has struck a familiar chord with you, please don't hesitate to ask a specialist for help. And remember that you don't have to simply accept whatever the doctor says. I wasn't hoping to find something wrong with me, but you have to listen to yourself, both mind and body, and find someone who will not only listen to you, but work together with you as a partner towards a solution you can live with. As cliché as it seems, there's so much more to life than being miserable. Holiday Wishes, and Brightest Blessings to You! Tammi- *excerpt from "On Being Bi-Polar," copyright Lizy Gibson, 2000 http://www.morgalis.com/bipolar/bp2.htm |
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