The day has come. My oldest, my Frog, is leaving home.
She is working full-time now, and is going to live with my mom. Mom needs companionship and help with things like cleaning and cooking and grocery shopping and laundry, and those are all things that the Frog is very capable of taking on...and although her house is a mere 25 minutes from here, it seems much farther.
I *sigh*.
I haven't yet processed how I'm feeling about this. I am happy for the Frog. I am optimistic for her future and for her time at my mom's. But I'm sad and wistful, too. She's my first little bird to leave the nest!!
The little ones are all anticipating with a sort of anxiety and beginning to miss her even before she's gone. We're reminding them that there will be plenty of opportunities to visit and even have sleep-overs with their big sister, who has been like a second Mama to them. I'm sure it will all be ok.
It's interesting to be in this place: my oldest leaving home, and my youngest still climbing into my lap for milkies--to have one foot taking it's first steps in one life season, and the other foot still firmly planted in the season I've been in for nearly two decades now. It's surreal and exciting and scary and affirming and suspenseful all at the same time.
My prayer is that my Frog will continue to make good choices for herself, that she will remain rooted in the Faith of her upbringing, and that our relationship will remain strong and loving. I pray that she will be happy, that she will be able to work through moments of frustration and anxiety, that she will be able to see the things of her past and remember the lessons she's learned, and draw from all of those things to grow into a confident woman who knows that she is supported and loved, and that she is worthy of that love no matter what.
The practical things are not a concern for me. I know she will be fine in all of those areas. She is a very capable, hard-working, knowledgeable young woman. It's hard for me to step back sometimes and see that for the reality that it is. My instinct is to help--that's who I am! I'm a helper! I want to see the people around me be ok, have the resources and supplies they need, and share with them where I see that they're lacking. I want to check in with people and be certain that they don't need my help. And although I know that my Frog will ask for help if she needs it, there's part of me that doesn't want to wait for her to ask...and that's not always a good thing, either.
Letting go is hard. And this is the first of many letting go moments for our family.
But it's not ever really letting go, is it? Just as parting ways isn't always saying goodbye.
I wouldn't mind your prayers in this. Pray that I would be able to know when I am needed, and to know when I am not needed, and to respect that boundary in a way that allows my Frog dignified in beginning her life as an adult.
My prayers are very much with Syria, with the suffering people in that country who are persecuted because they profess their faith in Jesus Christ, or because members of their families do. My prayers are also with the people or Nigeria who seek the faith despite the imminent danger posed to them and their families by organizations who want to see that faith snuffed out. Please join me in praying for these people.
Wednesday, May 20, 2015
Friday, May 15, 2015
Encountering Marriage
Our Marriage Encounter weekend was an incredible blessing. It was work, it was grace, it was balm, and it was something My Darling and I would do again with absolutely no hesitation.
It began in the evening on that Friday. We arrived at an absolutely beautiful retreat center not terribly far from home (I think our drive time was about 3 1/2 hours, but we had two stops to make on the way). The setting was just lovely--pastoral, blooming, peaceful country, and well off the beaten path. There was no noise from traffic, no view of other buildings, no disruptions whatsoever. We were escorted to our private room, and given time to freshen up and lay out our things.
Once we were settled, we met with nine other couples in the conference room, where we were introduced to three of the couples, who would be presenting talks for us, and a dear priest, who was also presenting. We were given an overview of what the weekend would look like, and we spent some time that night working on how to dialogue. This form of dialoguing is accomplished by agreeing on a particular question, spending some individual writing time answering the question with a few sentences reflecting on thoughts and a few paragraphs on feelings, and then meeting together privately to read one another's writing and talk about it. A decent portion of time in the conference room was learning the important distinction between thoughts and feelings--because the two are not the same thing. Each time throughout the weekend that we had a new question for dialoguing, we were separated into groups of husbands and wives for the writing portion--so the husbands would stay in the conference room while they wrote, and the wives would be dispersed to the private rooms. At the end of the allotted time, the husbands would join the wives in the private rooms so that the reading and discussion could take place.
I found the whole thing to be very laid-back, very informative, and not in the least bit emasculating--and I say this having heard it from My Darling, so it's not just the view of a sometimes emotional woman. ;) The topic of feelings was approached by the presenting couples and priest in a way that did not seem to make any of the attending men squirm in their chairs. I saw no rolling eyeballs, heard no throat-clearing, noticed no twitching. I think one of the reasons for this is because we were encouraged to use descriptors that fall under general categories--happy, sad, angry, and "other"--that help to be specific, rather than wishy-washy. But that's just what I think.
There was no group discussion, no pressure to share anything that we had written or talked about, and there was ample time for us to be together as a couple. We were able to talk with other couples during meals, and the presenting couples and priest as well. In our setting, we had a generously-sized cafeteria available. Each presenting couple had "their table," with Father at one of them, and we couples rotated where we sat. They had place cards indicating where we would sit, which made it easy to not get stuck sitting in the same place with the same (lovely) people at every meal. We had predetermined topics of discussion at each meal, which helped conversation flow easily. And there were plenty of snacks (each couple brought something to share) and always coffee, tea and water available. We were encouraged to pick up a snack on the way to the conference room each time. Another one of the wives and I remarked that it seemed to be like a cruise--lots of time with your husband, and plenty of food at every turn!
We also had plenty of opportunity for confession--Father made himself available to us on both Friday and Saturday night. The Holy Sacrifice of the Mass was offered on both Saturday and Sunday morning. And the chapel was located directly across the hall from the conference room, so if a person wanted to, they could just go spend some time with Our Lord. It was a pretty great set-up.
I think we engaged in the dialogue process about a dozen times throughout the weekend. Some of them were fun, and some of them were just....really difficult. I mean, the questions ranged from, "What quality of yours do I appreciate the most?" (in which we were encouraged to mention traits, and not behaviors--e.g. "I appreciate your work ethic," is different from, "I appreciate that you made our dining room table.") to, "What were my expectations of our life together when we married?" to, "In what area do I find it most difficult to listen to you?"
Y'all, there were more than a few tears shed sometimes. There were some topics that were really difficult to dialogue about, because there were seriously strong feelings involved on both sides.
Now, they made it very clear that these weekends are not intended to problem-solve. And as much as that sounds difficult, it did get easier as we went along. And in the end, the method of communicating that we learned has made it possible for us to actually approach some of our problem areas far more peaceably than we have in the past. We have been able to take elements of these areas and break them down into questions that we can work on in the dialogue format.
So healing. And it's tremendously gratifying to hear My Darling actually talk about his feelings--his feelings!--and not feel so shut out. And it's incredibly comforting to know that my feelings are not only valid, but heard and respected by My Darling.
We needed that weekend, and we'll probably go on another one...or two.....or more.
I strongly encourage anyone who is married, or anyone who is ordained or consecrated, to attend a Worldwide Marriage Encounter weekend. It doesn't matter how long you've been married, nor how strong your marriage, nor how ably you communicate. Even if your marriage is a great one, a Marriage Encounter weekend will make it better.
Take a few minutes to check out the opportunities available to you. You won't regret it.
It began in the evening on that Friday. We arrived at an absolutely beautiful retreat center not terribly far from home (I think our drive time was about 3 1/2 hours, but we had two stops to make on the way). The setting was just lovely--pastoral, blooming, peaceful country, and well off the beaten path. There was no noise from traffic, no view of other buildings, no disruptions whatsoever. We were escorted to our private room, and given time to freshen up and lay out our things.
Once we were settled, we met with nine other couples in the conference room, where we were introduced to three of the couples, who would be presenting talks for us, and a dear priest, who was also presenting. We were given an overview of what the weekend would look like, and we spent some time that night working on how to dialogue. This form of dialoguing is accomplished by agreeing on a particular question, spending some individual writing time answering the question with a few sentences reflecting on thoughts and a few paragraphs on feelings, and then meeting together privately to read one another's writing and talk about it. A decent portion of time in the conference room was learning the important distinction between thoughts and feelings--because the two are not the same thing. Each time throughout the weekend that we had a new question for dialoguing, we were separated into groups of husbands and wives for the writing portion--so the husbands would stay in the conference room while they wrote, and the wives would be dispersed to the private rooms. At the end of the allotted time, the husbands would join the wives in the private rooms so that the reading and discussion could take place.
I found the whole thing to be very laid-back, very informative, and not in the least bit emasculating--and I say this having heard it from My Darling, so it's not just the view of a sometimes emotional woman. ;) The topic of feelings was approached by the presenting couples and priest in a way that did not seem to make any of the attending men squirm in their chairs. I saw no rolling eyeballs, heard no throat-clearing, noticed no twitching. I think one of the reasons for this is because we were encouraged to use descriptors that fall under general categories--happy, sad, angry, and "other"--that help to be specific, rather than wishy-washy. But that's just what I think.
There was no group discussion, no pressure to share anything that we had written or talked about, and there was ample time for us to be together as a couple. We were able to talk with other couples during meals, and the presenting couples and priest as well. In our setting, we had a generously-sized cafeteria available. Each presenting couple had "their table," with Father at one of them, and we couples rotated where we sat. They had place cards indicating where we would sit, which made it easy to not get stuck sitting in the same place with the same (lovely) people at every meal. We had predetermined topics of discussion at each meal, which helped conversation flow easily. And there were plenty of snacks (each couple brought something to share) and always coffee, tea and water available. We were encouraged to pick up a snack on the way to the conference room each time. Another one of the wives and I remarked that it seemed to be like a cruise--lots of time with your husband, and plenty of food at every turn!
We also had plenty of opportunity for confession--Father made himself available to us on both Friday and Saturday night. The Holy Sacrifice of the Mass was offered on both Saturday and Sunday morning. And the chapel was located directly across the hall from the conference room, so if a person wanted to, they could just go spend some time with Our Lord. It was a pretty great set-up.
I think we engaged in the dialogue process about a dozen times throughout the weekend. Some of them were fun, and some of them were just....really difficult. I mean, the questions ranged from, "What quality of yours do I appreciate the most?" (in which we were encouraged to mention traits, and not behaviors--e.g. "I appreciate your work ethic," is different from, "I appreciate that you made our dining room table.") to, "What were my expectations of our life together when we married?" to, "In what area do I find it most difficult to listen to you?"
Y'all, there were more than a few tears shed sometimes. There were some topics that were really difficult to dialogue about, because there were seriously strong feelings involved on both sides.
Now, they made it very clear that these weekends are not intended to problem-solve. And as much as that sounds difficult, it did get easier as we went along. And in the end, the method of communicating that we learned has made it possible for us to actually approach some of our problem areas far more peaceably than we have in the past. We have been able to take elements of these areas and break them down into questions that we can work on in the dialogue format.
So healing. And it's tremendously gratifying to hear My Darling actually talk about his feelings--his feelings!--and not feel so shut out. And it's incredibly comforting to know that my feelings are not only valid, but heard and respected by My Darling.
We needed that weekend, and we'll probably go on another one...or two.....or more.
I strongly encourage anyone who is married, or anyone who is ordained or consecrated, to attend a Worldwide Marriage Encounter weekend. It doesn't matter how long you've been married, nor how strong your marriage, nor how ably you communicate. Even if your marriage is a great one, a Marriage Encounter weekend will make it better.
Take a few minutes to check out the opportunities available to you. You won't regret it.
Sunday, April 26, 2015
Oops. Well time has gotten the best of me once again.
Good thing it hasn't gotten too far down the road from my last post. I'll try to do better. I don't know that I'll ever get back to the daily post, but I'll do my best to not let it get so long between visits here again.
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My Darling and I have come to a difficult spot in our marriage. There are so many things going on in so many facets of our family life and between the two of us that it becomes more and more difficult to focus on our relationship the way we really need to in order to keep things healthy and vibrant. There are other factors too--things that I still just cannot write about yet. Suffice it to say our upcoming Marriage Encounter weekend is sorely needed and well-deserved. I'm hoping with every bit of faith in me that it will help us get past this place. It feels like we've been in the desert for a very long time. Even the promise of an oasis would be helpful. And Manna would be a double bonus.
I would like to give some encouragement to anyone who is suffering in their marriage. There are some things which many would find unforgivable. Unbearable. Worthy of annulment. Without showing my hand entirely, I would like to say that forgiveness is possible even in the darkest of hours. Crosses can be borne. And in all but a very, very few circumstances, annulment is not the answer. Support is crucial. Counseling is imperative. And prayer...well, prayer is the frame upon which all must be built. Without prayer, marriage falls as limp and silent as a shadow.
We're working our way out of the shadow. It's been terribly difficult. It's been painful and exhausting and has all but broken us. The past two plus years have just been...not something I would ever wish for anyone to endure.
It's always been difficult for me to ask for prayer, and this is no different. There are so many who suffer. So many who bear heartache, who bury those they love, who ache with every breath. Please know that all those are fervently in my prayers as well. But I do ask for prayer for me and My Darling, too. We need to persevere to get through this muck that the devil would leave us mired in. But Psalm 40 tells me otherwise.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
My Darling and I have come to a difficult spot in our marriage. There are so many things going on in so many facets of our family life and between the two of us that it becomes more and more difficult to focus on our relationship the way we really need to in order to keep things healthy and vibrant. There are other factors too--things that I still just cannot write about yet. Suffice it to say our upcoming Marriage Encounter weekend is sorely needed and well-deserved. I'm hoping with every bit of faith in me that it will help us get past this place. It feels like we've been in the desert for a very long time. Even the promise of an oasis would be helpful. And Manna would be a double bonus.
I would like to give some encouragement to anyone who is suffering in their marriage. There are some things which many would find unforgivable. Unbearable. Worthy of annulment. Without showing my hand entirely, I would like to say that forgiveness is possible even in the darkest of hours. Crosses can be borne. And in all but a very, very few circumstances, annulment is not the answer. Support is crucial. Counseling is imperative. And prayer...well, prayer is the frame upon which all must be built. Without prayer, marriage falls as limp and silent as a shadow.
We're working our way out of the shadow. It's been terribly difficult. It's been painful and exhausting and has all but broken us. The past two plus years have just been...not something I would ever wish for anyone to endure.
It's always been difficult for me to ask for prayer, and this is no different. There are so many who suffer. So many who bear heartache, who bury those they love, who ache with every breath. Please know that all those are fervently in my prayers as well. But I do ask for prayer for me and My Darling, too. We need to persevere to get through this muck that the devil would leave us mired in. But Psalm 40 tells me otherwise.
1 I waited patiently for the Lord;
he inclined to me and heard my cry.
2 He drew me up from the desolate pit,[a]
out of the miry bog,
and set my feet upon a rock,
making my steps secure.
3 He put a new song in my mouth,
a song of praise to our God.
Many will see and fear,
and put their trust in the Lord.
he inclined to me and heard my cry.
2 He drew me up from the desolate pit,[a]
out of the miry bog,
and set my feet upon a rock,
making my steps secure.
3 He put a new song in my mouth,
a song of praise to our God.
Many will see and fear,
and put their trust in the Lord.
4 Happy are those who make
the Lord their trust,
who do not turn to the proud,
to those who go astray after false gods.
5 You have multiplied, O Lord my God,
your wondrous deeds and your thoughts toward us;
none can compare with you.
Were I to proclaim and tell of them,
they would be more than can be counted.
the Lord their trust,
who do not turn to the proud,
to those who go astray after false gods.
5 You have multiplied, O Lord my God,
your wondrous deeds and your thoughts toward us;
none can compare with you.
Were I to proclaim and tell of them,
they would be more than can be counted.
9 I have told the glad news of deliverance
in the great congregation;
see, I have not restrained my lips,
as you know, O Lord.
10 I have not hidden your saving help within my heart,
I have spoken of your faithfulness and your salvation;
I have not concealed your steadfast love and your faithfulness
from the great congregation.
in the great congregation;
see, I have not restrained my lips,
as you know, O Lord.
10 I have not hidden your saving help within my heart,
I have spoken of your faithfulness and your salvation;
I have not concealed your steadfast love and your faithfulness
from the great congregation.
11 Do not, O Lord, withhold
your mercy from me;
let your steadfast love and your faithfulness
keep me safe forever.
your mercy from me;
let your steadfast love and your faithfulness
keep me safe forever.
12 For evils have encompassed me
without number;
my iniquities have overtaken me,
until I cannot see;
they are more than the hairs of my head,
and my heart fails me.
without number;
my iniquities have overtaken me,
until I cannot see;
they are more than the hairs of my head,
and my heart fails me.
13 Be pleased, O Lord, to deliver me;
O Lord, make haste to help me.
14 Let all those be put to shame and confusion
who seek to snatch away my life;
let those be turned back and brought to dishonor
who desire my hurt.
15 Let those be appalled because of their shame
who say to me, “Aha, Aha!”
O Lord, make haste to help me.
14 Let all those be put to shame and confusion
who seek to snatch away my life;
let those be turned back and brought to dishonor
who desire my hurt.
15 Let those be appalled because of their shame
who say to me, “Aha, Aha!”
16 But may all who seek you
rejoice and be glad in you;
may those who love your salvation
say continually, “Great is the Lord!”
17 As for me, I am poor and needy,
but the Lord takes thought for me.
You are my help and my deliverer;
do not delay, O my God.
rejoice and be glad in you;
may those who love your salvation
say continually, “Great is the Lord!”
17 As for me, I am poor and needy,
but the Lord takes thought for me.
You are my help and my deliverer;
do not delay, O my God.
Wednesday, March 18, 2015
I found the beautiful Agnus Dei which is sung in our parish during Lent. From Hans Leo Hassler's Missa Secunda, it is a lovely, introspective few moments of prayer. I wish we used it all year...but I suppose that would take some small bit away from the joy of hearing it for such a short time.
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I was chatting with a friend late last week and told her that I was preparing my meds for the coming weeks. It occurred to me that she had no concept of what that entailed--in fact, for most people, "bead counting" bears no meaning whatsoever, unless one imagines jewelry or Rosary making or something along those lines. But that's what I'm doing. I took pictures to text to her. She was absolutely dumbstruck at how involved it is.
I've been taking Cymbalta. It's an antidepressant which is also sometimes prescribed for the pain that comes with fibromyalgia. After being on it for 6 months, I had begun really not liking the side effects, and made the choice to go a different way to work on the pain I experience.
The problem with that choice is that Cymbalta is darned near impossible to stop taking.
You can't just stop. You can't even just taper down by reducing the dose. Lots of doctors think the way to help their patients stop taking Cymbalta is to tell them to take it every other day for a couple of weeks, and then go down a step, and take it every other day for a couple of more weeks, and then just stop.
Cymbalta has a half life of 12 hours. And the cold turkey withdrawal effects are absolutely horrific.
Nope. That's not an exaggeration. It's truly horrific.
I started out on 30 mg each day, and within 2 months, I was taking 60 mg each day. That seems to be about average for timeline and dosage. And like I said, I was on it for six months. I had no idea what the withdrawal would be like--but when I ran out of my prescription, I thought, "I don't need to pick up the refill. I'm not really in need of this stuff anymore."
That lasted for four days.
By the end of four days, I thought I was going crazy from the outside in and back out again. I was nauseous, dizzy, my brain was in some sort of fog that felt like I was trying to think through unspun wool. And the worst parts: even just sitting, doing nothing, was excruciatingly painful, in addition to having "brain zaps" on a frequent basis. I wanted to crawl out of my skin. I couldn't breathe. I was absolutely terrified. The nightmares were so real I was waking up drenched in sweat--and that was on the nights I could sleep. The headaches were blinding. My Darling ended up racing to the pharmacy and telling me: "We need to find another way to get you off of this stuff."
Cold turkey is not the way to get off of this poison. And the trouble with the way many doctors tell their patients to taper down is that it throws them into that same pattern of cold turkey withdrawal every other day. That's a real problem. And yet, the doctors do not seem to know the havoc which is wreaked on the minds and bodies of their patients by this awful medication.
But the maker of the drug....they knew. They knew and they did not share that information, and there are ongoing lawsuits addressing this issue.
The only safe way to get off of Cymbalta--or it's generic form, duloxetine--is what I mentioned above: the bead counting method.
When My Darling retrieved my prescription, we found out that there had been something of a miscommunication. I was out of 60 mg refills, but I had remaining 30 mg refills. The pharmacist said I could get the next refill after 15 days rather than the 30 days it was "supposed" to be for.
Pharmacists. They get it. People forget how knowledgeable pharmacists are.
I had already done a bit of searching--mostly at that point, I wanted confirmation that I wasn't going crazy--I wanted to know that I was not alone in what I was feeling because of the withdrawal effects.
Oh boy, was I not alone.
If you go to your favorite interweb search engine and type in "Cymbalta withdrawal side effects," you'll get a real quick education. And it's not a pretty one.
I spoke with the PA I've been blessed to see and he was fully supportive of my need to get off of this drug. The doctor I've been assigned...not so much. More on that later though.
So the bead counting.....here's the scoop. Inside each capsule are tiny little beads. There are either hundreds that are the size of nonpareils (those tiny little multi-colored bead-like cookie sprinkles) or several that are the size of dragees (the bigger silver or gold bead-like cookie decorations). If they're the larger sort of beads, then the unfortunate individual needing to taper down has to contact a compounding pharmacy in order to do so safely.
But the tiny ones? Those are relatively "easy" as it goes. In my generic 30 mg capsules, there are 250 beads. Two hundred fifty. I know this because I removed six random capsules and counted. every. single. bead. in each one. And being on 60 mg each day, that meant I was taking 500 beads per dose. After doing some extensive reading (like, solid hours of reading each day over several days), I concluded that based on my dose and the length of time I'd been taking it, I was probably safe doing a relatively aggressive taper. I decided I could safely remove 11 beads the first day, 22 beads the second day, 33 beads the third day, 44 beads the fourth day, and so on, increasing the amount removed by an additional 11 beads each day. All of my reading told me that if I began to feel the negative effects of withdrawal, I could absolutely hold steady where I was until those effects faded, how ever long that might take. The normal effects? The ones that you just have to learn to cope with? Intense muscle and joint aches. Insomnia. Vivid, strange dreams. Equally vivid nightmares. Headaches. Mild brain zaps. Mental fog. Increased anxiety. Panic attacks. Those things are my constant companions.
It took me about 5 weeks to get down to one capsule. I spent a few hours one night removing the beads from each capsule until I got more than half way through, then began removing all of the beads and counting out what to put back into the capsules. And I saved the beads I removed in a plastic baggie. It actually went pretty smoothly. The insomnia is killer, but my anxiety has been minimal. The aches....I really thought I would get used to them, but they're really bad some nights. Doesn't make the insomnia any easier.
In that second capsule, the day I got down to 117 beads left in the capsule, I started having some pretty bad withdrawal again. It coincided with my needing to be on antibiotics. Apparently the way antibiotics affect gut health also affects the way the body is able (or less able) to metabolize a chemical like Cymbalta. I ended up having to hold steady at 117 beads for an additional ten days.
Last week, I was able to resume counting down. On one of the many nights I couldn't sleep, I finished up. I had pretty solid advice from my pharmacist (who also graciously supplied me with empty capsules so I could use up my saved beads, rather than filling another prescription) that I should be extra careful toward the end.
Here's what my night's process looked like. First, I got everything I needed on my wooden lap desk.
I have my baggie of empty capsules, my multi-dose pill organizer, tweezers, two little glass dishes, paper and pen, and the all important beads of poison.
I start out by counting out ten beads into the glass dish. This is what ten beads looks like, with the tip of my ballpoint pen next to them for reference.
I count out loud--sort of. I listen to music in my earphones while I count so that I don't get distracted by outside noises. Then I make a mark on my piece of paper so that I know I've counted out ten.
This is the same piece of paper I used when I was counting out the 117 beads I was taking while on antibiotics. This time I was doing several days in a row: you can see the numerical progression. My first mark for the evening is beneath 106.
This is what 50 beads looks like:
It really doesn't look as sinister as it is. Evil hides in small places sometimes, I guess.
Here's the whole 106:
Truly amazing.
Even more amazing to me is the amount left in the little dish after I had counted out enough for THREE WEEKS:
I am so, so grateful that those things are not in my body.
And this is what the dish along with the remaining beads in the baggie look like:
And my little scrap of paper...I really slowed the taper down at the end, removing four, three or two some days and one on others.
I'm praying like mad that it continues to go smoothly, that I don't have to increase the number of beads in any of my capsules, and that I'm done counting for good. I still have about 70 empty capsules left, along with those hundreds of beads...so if I need to tweak as I go, I certainly can.
I'm also thankful that I at least have access to the medication I currently need. There are so many people who've had to go cold turkey off of this stuff because they completely lose their insurance or prescription coverage.
Please join me in prayer this evening for those who need medications that they cannot afford or have no access to.
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Please also join me in prayer this evening for the Spader family, especially Tony and Stephanie, and their dear, sweet daughter Rebekah.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I was chatting with a friend late last week and told her that I was preparing my meds for the coming weeks. It occurred to me that she had no concept of what that entailed--in fact, for most people, "bead counting" bears no meaning whatsoever, unless one imagines jewelry or Rosary making or something along those lines. But that's what I'm doing. I took pictures to text to her. She was absolutely dumbstruck at how involved it is.
I've been taking Cymbalta. It's an antidepressant which is also sometimes prescribed for the pain that comes with fibromyalgia. After being on it for 6 months, I had begun really not liking the side effects, and made the choice to go a different way to work on the pain I experience.
The problem with that choice is that Cymbalta is darned near impossible to stop taking.
You can't just stop. You can't even just taper down by reducing the dose. Lots of doctors think the way to help their patients stop taking Cymbalta is to tell them to take it every other day for a couple of weeks, and then go down a step, and take it every other day for a couple of more weeks, and then just stop.
Cymbalta has a half life of 12 hours. And the cold turkey withdrawal effects are absolutely horrific.
Nope. That's not an exaggeration. It's truly horrific.
I started out on 30 mg each day, and within 2 months, I was taking 60 mg each day. That seems to be about average for timeline and dosage. And like I said, I was on it for six months. I had no idea what the withdrawal would be like--but when I ran out of my prescription, I thought, "I don't need to pick up the refill. I'm not really in need of this stuff anymore."
That lasted for four days.
By the end of four days, I thought I was going crazy from the outside in and back out again. I was nauseous, dizzy, my brain was in some sort of fog that felt like I was trying to think through unspun wool. And the worst parts: even just sitting, doing nothing, was excruciatingly painful, in addition to having "brain zaps" on a frequent basis. I wanted to crawl out of my skin. I couldn't breathe. I was absolutely terrified. The nightmares were so real I was waking up drenched in sweat--and that was on the nights I could sleep. The headaches were blinding. My Darling ended up racing to the pharmacy and telling me: "We need to find another way to get you off of this stuff."
Cold turkey is not the way to get off of this poison. And the trouble with the way many doctors tell their patients to taper down is that it throws them into that same pattern of cold turkey withdrawal every other day. That's a real problem. And yet, the doctors do not seem to know the havoc which is wreaked on the minds and bodies of their patients by this awful medication.
But the maker of the drug....they knew. They knew and they did not share that information, and there are ongoing lawsuits addressing this issue.
The only safe way to get off of Cymbalta--or it's generic form, duloxetine--is what I mentioned above: the bead counting method.
When My Darling retrieved my prescription, we found out that there had been something of a miscommunication. I was out of 60 mg refills, but I had remaining 30 mg refills. The pharmacist said I could get the next refill after 15 days rather than the 30 days it was "supposed" to be for.
Pharmacists. They get it. People forget how knowledgeable pharmacists are.
I had already done a bit of searching--mostly at that point, I wanted confirmation that I wasn't going crazy--I wanted to know that I was not alone in what I was feeling because of the withdrawal effects.
Oh boy, was I not alone.
If you go to your favorite interweb search engine and type in "Cymbalta withdrawal side effects," you'll get a real quick education. And it's not a pretty one.
I spoke with the PA I've been blessed to see and he was fully supportive of my need to get off of this drug. The doctor I've been assigned...not so much. More on that later though.
So the bead counting.....here's the scoop. Inside each capsule are tiny little beads. There are either hundreds that are the size of nonpareils (those tiny little multi-colored bead-like cookie sprinkles) or several that are the size of dragees (the bigger silver or gold bead-like cookie decorations). If they're the larger sort of beads, then the unfortunate individual needing to taper down has to contact a compounding pharmacy in order to do so safely.
But the tiny ones? Those are relatively "easy" as it goes. In my generic 30 mg capsules, there are 250 beads. Two hundred fifty. I know this because I removed six random capsules and counted. every. single. bead. in each one. And being on 60 mg each day, that meant I was taking 500 beads per dose. After doing some extensive reading (like, solid hours of reading each day over several days), I concluded that based on my dose and the length of time I'd been taking it, I was probably safe doing a relatively aggressive taper. I decided I could safely remove 11 beads the first day, 22 beads the second day, 33 beads the third day, 44 beads the fourth day, and so on, increasing the amount removed by an additional 11 beads each day. All of my reading told me that if I began to feel the negative effects of withdrawal, I could absolutely hold steady where I was until those effects faded, how ever long that might take. The normal effects? The ones that you just have to learn to cope with? Intense muscle and joint aches. Insomnia. Vivid, strange dreams. Equally vivid nightmares. Headaches. Mild brain zaps. Mental fog. Increased anxiety. Panic attacks. Those things are my constant companions.
It took me about 5 weeks to get down to one capsule. I spent a few hours one night removing the beads from each capsule until I got more than half way through, then began removing all of the beads and counting out what to put back into the capsules. And I saved the beads I removed in a plastic baggie. It actually went pretty smoothly. The insomnia is killer, but my anxiety has been minimal. The aches....I really thought I would get used to them, but they're really bad some nights. Doesn't make the insomnia any easier.
In that second capsule, the day I got down to 117 beads left in the capsule, I started having some pretty bad withdrawal again. It coincided with my needing to be on antibiotics. Apparently the way antibiotics affect gut health also affects the way the body is able (or less able) to metabolize a chemical like Cymbalta. I ended up having to hold steady at 117 beads for an additional ten days.
Last week, I was able to resume counting down. On one of the many nights I couldn't sleep, I finished up. I had pretty solid advice from my pharmacist (who also graciously supplied me with empty capsules so I could use up my saved beads, rather than filling another prescription) that I should be extra careful toward the end.
Here's what my night's process looked like. First, I got everything I needed on my wooden lap desk.
I start out by counting out ten beads into the glass dish. This is what ten beads looks like, with the tip of my ballpoint pen next to them for reference.
This is what 50 beads looks like:
It really doesn't look as sinister as it is. Evil hides in small places sometimes, I guess.
Here's the whole 106:
Even more amazing to me is the amount left in the little dish after I had counted out enough for THREE WEEKS:
And this is what the dish along with the remaining beads in the baggie look like:
And my little scrap of paper...I really slowed the taper down at the end, removing four, three or two some days and one on others.
I'm also thankful that I at least have access to the medication I currently need. There are so many people who've had to go cold turkey off of this stuff because they completely lose their insurance or prescription coverage.
Please join me in prayer this evening for those who need medications that they cannot afford or have no access to.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Please also join me in prayer this evening for the Spader family, especially Tony and Stephanie, and their dear, sweet daughter Rebekah.
Monday, March 9, 2015
Shower of Roses giveaway
There is a lovely Catholic blog called Shower of Roses.
This week, the author has compiled an incredible list of Eastertide products and resources, and she's also put together a beautiful collection of things which are being drawn for in a giveaway.
Go on over and visit. The way to get entries into the drawing is to go to each of the links, and then verify that have done so. There are etsy shops, retail sites, Facebook pages galore (YES, please clutter my news feed with Catholic goodies!), and a few other odds and ends.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Speaking of social media, I've decided that there is enough going on in my life here at home that I actually kind of need the outside link to the world.
Here's the thing: in a typical week, I leave my house once. Definitely once. Mass on Sundays. Before Mass, I rehearse the week's music with the choir and maybe a little bit of next week's music, too. After Mass, I stand in the narthex with lots of other people and try really hard to give my attention to at least one dear friend for more than 2 minutes. Usually, I end up sitting with Honey Bee on one of the two stretches of pews to give her a little milkies.
I don't get to go to choir rehearsal. Rehearsals are on Thursday nights. Frog works most weeknights. Pickle and Reepicheep are in the school musical, and have rehearsals on Thursday nights. It's a good thing I have an incredibly gracious choir director who lets me sing with the choir even though I am not able to be at rehearsals.
Date nights used to be a regular thing, but with the increasing number of musical practices (impending performance and all that) and the Frog's evening job, there just isn't anyone to watch the four littles. We don't do babysitters--they're scarce, I'm not terribly trusting, and our budget is very limited.
So......social media is back in. There are Mamas there. There are people with fibromyalgia there. There are Catholics there. There are a huge number of priests and seminarians there, and even several religious sisters. It's not an entirely bad place to be.
This last week, especially, was not one of my favorite. For about a week preceding, there was a cough going around the family, and then my Honey Bee popped a fever. It topped out at 103.5 under her arm, and I felt solidly good about medicating that fever. (I am one of those Mamas who doesn't reach for the meds immediately: until it gets to be about 101 or a little above, I would rather let it do what it's supposed to do. Tepid baths and cool cloths are great for comfort. Obviously, if one of my little ones is in pain, I do what's necessary for comfort.)
Hence the visit to urgent care (because the clinic could not get us in for a few days, even though I said, "My littlest one has an ear infection, and I think my eldest has a scratched cornea."). Five hours. Six of us seen. Lots of meds being juggled. And we're on the upswing now, thanks be to God!
But when a Mama's buried beneath a pile of coughing babies, Mama sometimes needs to be able to connect with other Mamas who know just what that's like. And those Mamas are there on the social media, the facebook, the place where we meet people on a regular basis whom we might not ever meet in person. It's an interesting time in which we live...today I'm glad for the facebook.
This week, the author has compiled an incredible list of Eastertide products and resources, and she's also put together a beautiful collection of things which are being drawn for in a giveaway.
Go on over and visit. The way to get entries into the drawing is to go to each of the links, and then verify that have done so. There are etsy shops, retail sites, Facebook pages galore (YES, please clutter my news feed with Catholic goodies!), and a few other odds and ends.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Speaking of social media, I've decided that there is enough going on in my life here at home that I actually kind of need the outside link to the world.
Here's the thing: in a typical week, I leave my house once. Definitely once. Mass on Sundays. Before Mass, I rehearse the week's music with the choir and maybe a little bit of next week's music, too. After Mass, I stand in the narthex with lots of other people and try really hard to give my attention to at least one dear friend for more than 2 minutes. Usually, I end up sitting with Honey Bee on one of the two stretches of pews to give her a little milkies.
I don't get to go to choir rehearsal. Rehearsals are on Thursday nights. Frog works most weeknights. Pickle and Reepicheep are in the school musical, and have rehearsals on Thursday nights. It's a good thing I have an incredibly gracious choir director who lets me sing with the choir even though I am not able to be at rehearsals.
Date nights used to be a regular thing, but with the increasing number of musical practices (impending performance and all that) and the Frog's evening job, there just isn't anyone to watch the four littles. We don't do babysitters--they're scarce, I'm not terribly trusting, and our budget is very limited.
So......social media is back in. There are Mamas there. There are people with fibromyalgia there. There are Catholics there. There are a huge number of priests and seminarians there, and even several religious sisters. It's not an entirely bad place to be.
This last week, especially, was not one of my favorite. For about a week preceding, there was a cough going around the family, and then my Honey Bee popped a fever. It topped out at 103.5 under her arm, and I felt solidly good about medicating that fever. (I am one of those Mamas who doesn't reach for the meds immediately: until it gets to be about 101 or a little above, I would rather let it do what it's supposed to do. Tepid baths and cool cloths are great for comfort. Obviously, if one of my little ones is in pain, I do what's necessary for comfort.)
Hence the visit to urgent care (because the clinic could not get us in for a few days, even though I said, "My littlest one has an ear infection, and I think my eldest has a scratched cornea."). Five hours. Six of us seen. Lots of meds being juggled. And we're on the upswing now, thanks be to God!
But when a Mama's buried beneath a pile of coughing babies, Mama sometimes needs to be able to connect with other Mamas who know just what that's like. And those Mamas are there on the social media, the facebook, the place where we meet people on a regular basis whom we might not ever meet in person. It's an interesting time in which we live...today I'm glad for the facebook.
Thursday, March 5, 2015
The rich musical beauty of Lent
For years, we attended a parish where the music during Lent was sparse and nearly austere. It was like being in the desert for the senses; the water of the Holy Water fonts was replaced with sand, no incense was used (well, to be fair, no incense was *ever* used in that parish...), and there was very, very little singing.
The parish we attend now is not that way. Not at all.
I am so grateful.
Lent is enough of a desert. We are mindful moreso of our eat and drink. We practice personal sacrifice and mortification. We give more than usual, and hopefully until it hurts.
And the liturgical beauty is incredibly, incredibly rich.
The Kyrie is chanted like this. The men intone (sing first) the Kyrie, then the people. Then the women sing the Christi Eleison, and then the people. Then the men again, and then the people. It's beautiful, and our whole parish sings with great fervor.
The Credo is chanted like this. And yeah, it totally adds to the length of Mass. By an entire five minutes. And we like it!!
We always have a beautiful choral anthem: this past Sunday, we sang Morten Lauridson's O Nata Lux. The week before, we sang one of the choruses from Handel's Messiah.
The Mass parts are chanted as well. And the Pater Noster--the Our Father--is also chanted, like this.
And if I can put my hands on a link for the stunning choral Agnus Dei that we sing during Lent, I'll post that link here as well.
I cannot for the life of me think how in the world, with such a musical feast before our souls, how one would choose to go without. There are surely enough sufferings to be had. To have a taste of Heaven at the Mass...well, isn't that the point?
The parish we attend now is not that way. Not at all.
I am so grateful.
Lent is enough of a desert. We are mindful moreso of our eat and drink. We practice personal sacrifice and mortification. We give more than usual, and hopefully until it hurts.
And the liturgical beauty is incredibly, incredibly rich.
The Kyrie is chanted like this. The men intone (sing first) the Kyrie, then the people. Then the women sing the Christi Eleison, and then the people. Then the men again, and then the people. It's beautiful, and our whole parish sings with great fervor.
The Credo is chanted like this. And yeah, it totally adds to the length of Mass. By an entire five minutes. And we like it!!
We always have a beautiful choral anthem: this past Sunday, we sang Morten Lauridson's O Nata Lux. The week before, we sang one of the choruses from Handel's Messiah.
The Mass parts are chanted as well. And the Pater Noster--the Our Father--is also chanted, like this.
And if I can put my hands on a link for the stunning choral Agnus Dei that we sing during Lent, I'll post that link here as well.
I cannot for the life of me think how in the world, with such a musical feast before our souls, how one would choose to go without. There are surely enough sufferings to be had. To have a taste of Heaven at the Mass...well, isn't that the point?
Wednesday, March 4, 2015
We've been hit!
It's not a good time to visit my house.
Bronchitis: 4 of us (me, Squash, GinGin, and Honey Bee).
Ear infections: 3 (one double for my Honey Bee and one for Cuppie).
Tonsilitis: Cuppie.
Sinus infection: me.
I've rarely had to juggle so many meds for so many in my family.
Prayer request: the health of my family, and most especially the health of all those dealing with much more miserable and serious health issues than ours.
Bronchitis: 4 of us (me, Squash, GinGin, and Honey Bee).
Ear infections: 3 (one double for my Honey Bee and one for Cuppie).
Tonsilitis: Cuppie.
Sinus infection: me.
I've rarely had to juggle so many meds for so many in my family.
Prayer request: the health of my family, and most especially the health of all those dealing with much more miserable and serious health issues than ours.
Monday, March 2, 2015
I fell in love this weekend.
I have three albums by the Benedictines of Mary, Queen of Apostles. Of late, my little Honey Bee has been drifting off to sleep to the dulcet tones of the sisters as they sing and chant on Lent At Ephesus, and I also have Advent and Angels and Saints.
I've been listening to the beautiful music night after night, knowing much of the music, and not knowing plenty.
So the other night, I grabbed the cover insert from the CD case and took a look while I listened. I happened to be on Track 12, which is the Tartini Stabat Mater. I'd heard the Latin text before, but had not really taken the time to see what it meant, nor why it was written.
Whoa. Blown away.
In some aspects, I'm so much my faith and so much my humanity. This, I suppose, was a humbling moment of humanity.
This beautiful sequence was written in the 13th century and is meant to be sung as a meditation between the Stations of the Cross.
This is the translation found in the booklet:
The sorrowful Mother stood
weeping beside the Cross, while her
Son hung thereon.
A sword pierced her sighing,
compassionate,
and grief-stricken soul.
O how sad and how afflicted
was that Blessed Mother
of the Only Begotten!
How she grieved and suffered,
that loving Mother, when she beheld the pains of
her glorious Son.
Who is there that would not weep,
if he should behold the Mother of Christ in such
distress?
Who could refrain from grieving,
if he should contemplate the Mother of Christ
suffering with her Son?
For the sins of His own nation,
she saw Jesus in torments
and subjected to stripes.
She beheld her sweet Son
dying, abandoned,
until He yielded up the ghost.
Ah, Mother, fount of love,
make me feel the force of grief,
make me weep with thee.
Make my heart burn with love
for Christ God that I
may be pleasing to Him.
Holy Mother, mayest thou bring it to pass that the
wounds of the Crucified be deeply impressed
upon my heart.
Share with me the sufferings
of thy wounded Son,
who thus deigned to suffer for me.
Grant that I may be wounded with His wounds,
that I may be inebriated with the Cross and with
the Blood of they Son.
May I be defended by thee
on the day of judgment, O Virgin,
lest I go down to be burned.
When, O Christ, the hour has come for me to
depart hence, grant that through Thy Mother I may
obtain the palm of victory.
When my body dies,
grant that my soul receive
the glory of Paradise. Amen
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
When I read this text while hearing the sisters sing, I could not help but weep. Give it a listen: I bet you will, too.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Prayers answered:
The woman whom I mentioned in an earlier post, named Virgina, has been rescued. Read the details here. I would loved to have named my friend, Fr. Paul Arinze, in my earlier post, but because of the possibility of extortion, the diocese asked for a media silence until the situation was resolved. We heard about Mrs. Arinze's abduction at Mass the first Sunday of Lent, and within one week, we then heard of her rescue. Thanks be to God!!!
I've been listening to the beautiful music night after night, knowing much of the music, and not knowing plenty.
So the other night, I grabbed the cover insert from the CD case and took a look while I listened. I happened to be on Track 12, which is the Tartini Stabat Mater. I'd heard the Latin text before, but had not really taken the time to see what it meant, nor why it was written.
Whoa. Blown away.
In some aspects, I'm so much my faith and so much my humanity. This, I suppose, was a humbling moment of humanity.
This beautiful sequence was written in the 13th century and is meant to be sung as a meditation between the Stations of the Cross.
This is the translation found in the booklet:
The sorrowful Mother stood
weeping beside the Cross, while her
Son hung thereon.
A sword pierced her sighing,
compassionate,
and grief-stricken soul.
O how sad and how afflicted
was that Blessed Mother
of the Only Begotten!
How she grieved and suffered,
that loving Mother, when she beheld the pains of
her glorious Son.
Who is there that would not weep,
if he should behold the Mother of Christ in such
distress?
Who could refrain from grieving,
if he should contemplate the Mother of Christ
suffering with her Son?
For the sins of His own nation,
she saw Jesus in torments
and subjected to stripes.
She beheld her sweet Son
dying, abandoned,
until He yielded up the ghost.
Ah, Mother, fount of love,
make me feel the force of grief,
make me weep with thee.
Make my heart burn with love
for Christ God that I
may be pleasing to Him.
Holy Mother, mayest thou bring it to pass that the
wounds of the Crucified be deeply impressed
upon my heart.
Share with me the sufferings
of thy wounded Son,
who thus deigned to suffer for me.
Grant that I may be wounded with His wounds,
that I may be inebriated with the Cross and with
the Blood of they Son.
May I be defended by thee
on the day of judgment, O Virgin,
lest I go down to be burned.
When, O Christ, the hour has come for me to
depart hence, grant that through Thy Mother I may
obtain the palm of victory.
When my body dies,
grant that my soul receive
the glory of Paradise. Amen
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
When I read this text while hearing the sisters sing, I could not help but weep. Give it a listen: I bet you will, too.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Prayers answered:
The woman whom I mentioned in an earlier post, named Virgina, has been rescued. Read the details here. I would loved to have named my friend, Fr. Paul Arinze, in my earlier post, but because of the possibility of extortion, the diocese asked for a media silence until the situation was resolved. We heard about Mrs. Arinze's abduction at Mass the first Sunday of Lent, and within one week, we then heard of her rescue. Thanks be to God!!!
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