How Do YOU Spell Anxiety?

How about

o-v-a-r-i-a-n c-a-n-c-e-r
m-e-l-a-n-o-m-a
l-u-n-g c-a-n-c-e-r
b-o-n-e c-a-n-c-e-r
b-r-a-i-n t-u-m-o-r

and most recently, b-l-a-d-d-e-r c-a-n-c-e-r

Yes, anxiety can be spelled many different ways. So why am I writing about this tonight? Because I'm struggling more than usual with my ever-present anxiety disorder that specifies itself to intense fear of fatal diseases. Over the years, I've dealt (in my mind) with all of the above- mentioned illnesses and many others. Why talk about it? Because I've found that with most taboo topics, secrecy only gives them exaggerated and undeserved power. Talking openly about such topics strips them of this power, and that is good. Very good.

I can't remember a time that I didn't worry about terminal illness. I'm sure it has been since childhood. In the early days of our marriage, I had this comprehensive health book. I would follow Gerald around the house, reading him all the symptoms of whatever illness I was sure I had, which he referred to as "the disease of the week."

Me: "Look! Look! It says exhaustion is one of the symptoms of this? I MUST have it."

Gerald: "Of course you're exhausted. We're BOTH exhausted. You haven't let either one of us sleep for the last three nights!"

Please feel free to laugh here. Because it's funny. It really is. And if we don't laugh about it, we're going to cry. Laughing is better.

With the advent of the Internet, I had the world of diseases at my fingertips. I could Google any disease I wanted and immediately find all the gory details of its symptoms. From there, it was only a matter of hours before my mind caused me to develop the exact physical symptoms I read about. It's amazing how that works. My grandma was a Christian Scientist. I am not. As most of you know, I'm a committed Latter-day Saint, and as such, I'm thankful for the care of competent physicians. Still, in this one way, the Christian Scientists are spot on. The mind/body connection is incredible. While they would maintain the body doesn't actually exist (and, therefore, cannot become sick), I would maintain that the body most certainly does exist, and that the mind has incredible power over it.

Anxiety, itself, is biological. The saying "It's all in your head" couldn't be more true. For those of us with anxiety disorders, the serotonin in our brains does not hang around long enough where it needs to. End of story.

Eventually, Gerald basically banned me from all medical sites. The only medical condition I am allowed to research is anxiety. Nothing else. Seven years ago when we first moved to Montana and lived in a dorm for four months, and my anxiety was spinning out of control (was it lung cancer that time?), I sought the help of an employee assistance mental health counselor named Joe. He was really great, more help than I could have imagined, having lived with this stuff for so long. One thing he suggested was that I not allow myself to focus on the specific illness I think I have. Instead, I'm supposed to say, "I'm struggling with my anxiety" because that is the truth.

It's not easy, but it's good advice. And I try. In recent years, I've stopped waking Gerald at night. I figure at least one of us should sleep, right? And he can't really help anyway because regardless of how many logical and rational arguments he makes to support the fact that I'm the most physically healthy person he knows, when I'm sure I have a terminal disease, nothing can dissuade me. There's nothing logical or rational about it; that's what makes it anxiety.

So tonight, I'm trying hard to stay focused on the things I know to be true, at least intellectually. One of those is that I probably don't have bladder cancer. Try as I might, though, all the "fight or flight" anxiety symptoms are in full swing. And since I choose to deal with this disorder sans medication (because I'm at least as frightened of taking medication as I am of dying of a fatal disease), I'm doing everything I know how to do to combat it in other ways: plenty of exercise, healthy diet, regular sleep schedule, and relaxation/visualization.

And blogging. :-)

"There is NOTHING you have to do": Anxiety dreams? Anxiety non-dreams?

I just wrote a note to myself on an actual piece of paper that I will place strategically here on my nightstand, easily accessible throughout the night. In big letters, it reads "There is NOTHING you have to do for school or on your computer: ABSOLUTELY NOTHING! (Go to sleep!)"

Who remembers the student anxiety dream? You come to the very end of the semester. Finals week looms just ahead, and suddenly you realize you were registered for a class that you never attended. Somehow, some way, this whole class slipped past you. Now you're going to earn an "F," which will plague your GPA for the rest of your natural life. You'll probably never graduate from college, and if you manage to somehow squeak by with a degree, one look at that transcript and no one will ever hire you. The classic student anxiety dream.

My kids tell me there's a similar dream for servers. You suddenly realize that you haven't greeted half your tables, and all your food comes up at the same time, except for the one table whose food you forgot to ring in. Then you deliver the food, but it's all wrong. Every order is completely messed up, everyone is yelling at you, and every time you pick up a glass to pour a beverage, it breaks. The classic server anxiety dream.

But what about anxiety non-dreams? Lately, I spend way too much time awake at night, certain there is something urgent I need to do for one of my classes, something on the computer, but hard as I try, I can't figure out what it is. It feels like it's right on the edge of my brain, so close, but I can't quite access it. This is not a dream. I am not asleep. I lie in bed, convinced I have forgotten to do this critical thing for my students, always on my computer. I've even gotten up, opened my laptop, and tried remember what it is, always to no avail. Why? Because it's a pile of crap. It doesn't exist. There IS. NO. THING.

This anxiety non-dream makes a small degree of sense during the semester, you know, when I actually have classes. With real students. Right now, I'm between semesters. I submitted final grades for spring last Wednesday. I'm officially off contract. I'm not getting paid, meaning I'm essentially unemployed until mid-June, and yet....and yet. This stupid anxiety non-dream continues to haunt me practically every night.

Last night was especially bad. I was awake at least three hours trying so hard to remember. This "thing" was right there in front of me, I felt like, but I couldn't grasp it. At least with anxiety dreams, you wake up. You wake up! And you realize none of it was true. But I'm already awake. It's way scarier.

So tonight, I try a new plan: this note. Wish me luck, dear readers, because this super sucks. I need to sleep, uninterrupted. I'm on break, for heaven's sake. I shouldn't be thinking about school. Or students.

Or make-believe stuff I forgot to do.

Anxiety. It's kinda like privilege.

I was thinking recently about privilege and how those of us who have never been in a particular marginalized group cannot understand what it's like to be there. We can try to understand. And we do try. We try our best. But no, unless we've experienced it, we can't fully understand. My hope is that acknowledging our inability to understand brings us a baby step forward, and with each baby step, we grow kinder, more tolerant, more accepting, and more Christlike.

Then I was also thinking about anxiety. I've been struggling with it a lot lately. Too many precious people I know have serious illnesses, and unfortunately, hearing about those throws me (and my anxiety) right into the stratosphere. It occurred to me that, like privilege, those who have never experienced anxiety can't ever really understand it.

As I've mentioned before, I do this little part-time gig called VIPKID, where I teach Chinese children English, using a platform similar to Skype. When I started way back in May, I never thought I'd do it this long, but truth be told, it's somewhat addictive. You wake up at some ungodly hour of the morning (the hardest part of the whole thing); put a shirt over your pajamas; chat with a cute Chinese kid for 25 minutes, using fully-prepared lesson slides; and you're suddenly $10 richer. So you think, "Hmmm. I could do that again." And you do. You can see the pattern of addiction.

Anyway, the topics of these English lessons vary widely. They include school, colors, physical activities, recreation, shopping, landmarks, countries, and more. And animals. They include ALL KINDS of animals. Do you see where this is going? Yep, you guessed it. Recently, my favorite student Jessica (her English name) came to a section of lessons called "Fish and Reptiles." When I first saw this lesson title, I thought, "Well okay, then. My VIPKID days are over." Because no way I can look at slides with pictures of snakes. I can barely look at that word right there that I just typed; it's seriously uncomfortable.

Shulamith to the rescue. She patiently went through all 25 lesson slides, as I wrote down which ones had bad pictures. Then she told me what to say for the bad slides because I would be covering up the screen and wouldn't be able to read the instructions. If this all sounds like a giant hassle, that's because it is!!

At one point I posted a message on the VIPKID Facebook page about this, asking for suggestions of how to teach the slides without looking at them. Responses varied. I found another soul as ophidiophobic as I am. Well, almost. But this one response is what got me to thinking about anxiety as it relates to privilege. The poster commented, "Just teach the lesson. The picture of the snake can't hurt you, you know."

No shit. (Sorry, but that's exactly what I thought.)

Yes, I'm well aware that pictures can't hurt me. Or sticks. Or ropes. Or garden hoses. Or Play-doh. That's the thing about anxiety. It isn't rational. No amount of logic will make it go away. And though it isn't rational or logical, and though it makes zero sense to anyone who hasn't experienced it, trust me, it's 100% real.

As I was teaching Jessica the following morning, anxiously and systematically watching for the 12 out of 25 slides that had unfavorable pictures, and taping a piece of paper over the screen while I taught those 12 slides, I thought more about anxiety, privilege, and lack of understanding. I'm pretty sure Shulamith has never had an anxious thought in her life. I'm so grateful not to have passed my anxiety disorder onto her. As a result, she can't fully understand what it's like or why it happens. Yet she was willing to help me, without judgment, and has done so multiple times since. Why? Because although she can't understand, she loves me and believes me.

Maybe that's the second baby step in our effort to understand privilege. Maybe it's love. First, we acknowledge our lack of understanding. Then we seek to love and believe others whose circumstances and experiences are different from ours.

Anxiety. It's kinda like privilege. Maybe the answer to both is love.

Four days ago, I had a panic attack. It sucked.

Four days ago I had a panic attack.

I realize this blog often contains sarcasm, hyperbole, metaphors, and irony, the product of my personality, voice, and writing style.

But I'm not being sarcastic, or exaggerating, or using figurative language for dramatic effect today. I had a real, genuine panic attack. A friend of mine and fellow blogger, writes frequently about her struggle with mental illness, particularly anxiety, in order to shed light on a subject so often misunderstood. Recently, she shared a video of herself at the end of an actual panic attack.

I've never recorded myself, and I probably won't, but in light of the two suicides of well-known celebrities this past week (and the countless others, no less important, of people we don't know), I thought I'd share a bit about my own struggle, especially what happened to me four days ago.

I've had anxiety for as long as I can remember. I can't think of a time when I wasn't worried about something. I was an anxious child and young adult, and motherhood only exacerbated my already-present anxiety, as I worry compulsively over the health and well-being of my five children. In the middle of a particularly bad night, I've even been known to say, "People with anxiety this bad should not have children!" Now, I don't really believe that; as I've said many times, motherhood was my divine destiny. Nothing compares with the joy I find in my role as a mom, and I wouldn't trade it for anything. Yet in the depths of despair, I have uttered those words.

Although I experience general anxiety literally every day, my experience with full-on panic attacks is limited. I've only had a few. But let me tell you; that is a few too many! I know such experiences vary among people, but let me try to describe what happens to me, what happened to me four days ago.

I was sitting in my rocking chair. I'd just come home from school, and I was thinking about what I should eat (yes, food is always at the forefront of my mind) and what I should feed Isaiah and Seth. Suddenly, I began to feel pressure in my chest, pressure which worsened and then became painful, like an elephant was standing on top of me.

Thoughts raced through my mind:

I'm having a heart attack! What am I gonna do? I'm all alone. I'm going to die. 

Next, I began to feel numbing down my left arm. I shook my hand, trying to get it to go away. I rubbed my arm, but it was still tingling and numb. I was breathing rapidly and my pulse was racing. I felt sweaty and cold at the same time.

At that point, I tried to control my thoughts through self talk:

Terrianne. You are not having a heart attack. You are having a panic attack. The symptoms are similar, but people with heart disease have heart attacks, while people with anxiety have panic attacks. You have anxiety. Get up and get a drink of water. Breathe. This will be over soon.

I got water and walked around the house a bit. My symptoms began to decrease. The whole thing lasted maybe 10 minutes.


I tried to figure out what triggered it, but I'm still not sure. I had been on a hike earlier that day with Shulamith and her kids. Coming down the mountain, Shulamith was about five minutes ahead of me, and she and her daughter Kennedy encountered a big snake right on the trail in front of them. She and Kennedy prayed that I wouldn't see it on my way down behind them with Swen, and I didn't. She waited to tell me about it until we were already in the car because she knew I'd never come down, and Swen and I would live on that mountain forever.

Was that the trigger? Maybe.

Anxiety is, by definition, irrational, and these panic attacks seem so random. It's all very hard to understand, especially for people who haven't experienced it. I know people who think I'm making it up, that it's all make-believe, some sort of ploy for attention. Believe me; if I wanted attention, I'd find it some other way than feeling like I'm having a heart attack. I promise.

Since then, my anxiety has been high but no more panic attacks. For that I am grateful. I was awake much of last night, worrying about getting cancer and going to jail (not at the same time). I hope tonight is better. Probably will be because I'm so, so tired.

Four days ago I had a panic attack. It sucked.

Try Something Relaxing, Like Painting or Ceramics, (they said)!

Well not "they." 

He.

My doctor.

With my debilitating anxiety disorder, you will not be surprised to learn that I tend to avoid doctors, to use the proverbial simile: Like the plague. I avoid them until my inner sense of duty takes over, and I realize that there are a couple annual or biennial screenings that do need to be done. Eeek! Knowing these medical appointments will shoot my anxiety right into the stratosphere, I usually spread them out over several months, but this year I had a different idea. What if I scheduled all these appointments (including the dentist, which also scares me spitless) in the same week? That way I would have one horrifying week, but then it would be over, and (once all test results came back clear), I could enjoy the remaining 50-51 weeks of the year.

As I sat in one of these healthcare provider's offices (Day 2 of my weeklong visits with medical personnel), just ever so shy of a full-on panic attack (!), he decided to ask me about my anxiety and what steps I take to reduce it.

"WELL, I TRY TO SYSTEMATICALLY AVOID DOCTORS...DUH!" 

I wanted to shout this in is face, but shouting in people's faces is a bad idea these days, and also, he was really such a nice dude that I refrained. You see, I don't have a personal physician, like someone I see regularly. I have no health issues other than anxiety, so when I force myself to brave up and go do these damn screenings, I see whomever happens to be available. It makes zero difference to me who that is. They are all terrifying.

I tell you that so you'll give this nice guy a break when I tell you the rest of the story. He doesn't know me from Eve. When he asked what steps I take to reduce anxiety, I promptly gave all the right answers:

• relaxation 
• meditation
• yoga poses
• breathing techniques
• regular exercise
• healthy food
• no alcohol
• no tobacco

"Do you drink coffee?" he wanted to know.

"Nope, I drink Diet Coke."

"Me too; it's my favorite," he replied.

Well, look at that. We're BFFs already. Soulmates really.

Then came the most hilarious part of the visit. In a genuine, caring attempt to help me better control my anxiety, he kindly suggested that I "try something relaxing, like painting or ceramics." It was all I could do to hold in the laughter that was bursting inside every part of my body. The irony is that if I wanted to find two things that would most efficiently increase my anxiety, I can't think of two better candidates than painting and ceramics! 

Again, the guy doesn't know me. I didn't want to be rude. Or disrespectful. He had already surpassed my expectations when, as an introduction, he said, "Hi Terrianne. I'm Michael Strombly." I am so impressed with doctors when they aren't so arrogant that they call you by your first name but expect you to use the courtesy title "Dr." and their last name. He didn't do that. Yay!

I told him writing is my sole creative outlet (other than speaking in church, and I only get to do that when they let me), and I promised to do lots more blogging.

Then I got the hell out of there because oh my goodness, those places are bad for me.

P.S. Screenings all came back clear. Good to go for at least a year.

But Mostly, I Think It's the Wind.

Anxiety is a frustrating disorder. For one thing, everyone feels anxious sometimes, so those of us with genuine anxiety disorders are forever second guessing ourselves: "Is this how a 'normal' person would react in this situation," we ask, "or is my anxiety creeping in?" Often, it's hard to tell. I am definitely feeling anxious today.

But mostly, I think it's the wind.

You would not believe this wind. For days now, Billings has been nearly swept off the map by a constant, harsh, relentless wind. It's like nothing I've ever experienced, at least not continuously or for this long. Last evening, as Seth and I walked through the Albertson's parking lot, I felt compelled to grasp his hand (something he doesn't much appreciate these days) to keep him from blowing into oncoming cars. He only weighs 60 lbs., after all! Then during the night, I lay in bed listening to the rumble overhead and the clash and boom as trees hit windows over and over all around the house. Had I awakened this morning transplanted to the Land of Oz, I would hardly have been surprised.

I wanted to drive Seth to school, but he insisted on riding his bike, even in the wind. So I've been stressing for the last hour over whether he arrived safely. Surely, his weight combined with the weight of his bike would keep him planted firmly on earth, right? Hmmm. Unable to ease my fear, Gerald offered to go over to the school and make certain Seth's bike was parked safely in the bike rack. Text just in; bike is there; Seth is fine. Okay, good. Now to address other issues.

Yesterday was the first official day of my summer vacation. Grades are submitted. Outcomes assessment is complete. I'm done! Woo! Typically, this scenario would make me feel calm, relaxed, anything but anxious. Not today. Today, I look toward the next four months, still uncertain how everything will play out. Ugh! As I mentioned in an earlier post, I will be in Portland on July 10th for my niece's wedding, but I still don't have airline tickets or a definite plan. Tentatively, we're thinking of driving to Salt Lake City the day before the wedding, "we" meaning Gerald, Seth, and I. Tickets out of SLC are half the price as out of Billings, so we would fly from SLC to PDX early Saturday morning in time for the wedding. Can I afford three airline tickets even at half price? Not really. But I don't know what else to do. Sunday, Gerald and Seth would ride Greyhound up to Everett to visit Gerald's family there, and I would fly back to SLC to be with Shulamith. Tuesday, Gerald and Seth would fly out of Seattle and meet me in SLC, and the three of us would drive back to Billings Wednesday. It's a plan, yes, but only a tentative one. You'll remember that we "J" personality types like definite plans. Uh huh, my anxiety is a little high today.

But mostly, I think it's the wind.

Even as I sit here typing, I am distracted by the constant thrashing outside. It's unsettling and disconcerting. And it won't stop.

In addition to our trip to Portland, Gerald and I have been discussing the logistics of a possible trip to Costa Rica in August. That is still completely up in the air, which does nothing to ease my anxiety. I love to browse the websites showing the beautiful beaches and the amazing animal life in the canopy of the rain forest, but then I get scared. What if this doesn't work out? I'd be better off not looking at this stuff until I know for sure we will go. But how can we decide for sure if we don't look? Blah! Anxiety really sucks.

Ultimately, I think it's just been too long since I've seen Shulamith. As a rule, the two of us get together once a month, but because of various circumstances, when I go to Salt Lake City next week (!!!), it will have been a full six weeks since I last saw her. You would think those extra two weeks wouldn't make much difference, but they do. Yes, we talk every day. Yes, we have lots of contact through all different types of media. But it's not the same as being together in person.

Oh, and then there's the anniversary tomorrow of my dad's death. Never an easy day for me. Never an easy season. I guess you could say there are lots of reasons I'm feeling anxious.

But mostly, I think it's the wind.

Triggers

Here is a picture of Seth and his three best friends on their way to Los Angeles. The key point to keep in mind here is how fully alive they all look. This is very good. They are not dead. At least not yet.

Seth did not get a high school graduation trip. He left for his mission to Paraguay soon after graduating, and then had to come home four months early due to COVID, and face a shelter-in-place lifestyle for the next year. Now is his time. He's waited long enough. Still, a six-day road trip all the way to Southern California has made this mama a bit stressed. 

The night before they left, his three friends came over for a barbecue:

"Hey Kaden, Ian, and Romario, I have a great idea! For the next six days, every time you think about it, you should say, 'Seth, have you texted your mom lately?"'

They all agreed. And they've been true to their word too. I've heard from Seth several times every day since they left, thanks to these good, faithful friends of his. So far, they've spent one day at the ocean; attended the Sad Summer Fest concert, whose headlining band is Seth's favorite All Time Low; and gone to Six Flags. They seem to be having the best time, and I will be so so happy once they are back home safe.

That will put anxiety trigger #1 behind me; however, the night after he comes home, I face anxiety trigger #2 as I fly to Colombia to meet Gerald, who is already there. My past travel in Latin America has been...well let's just say I have mixed reviews. My standard of comfort and cleanliness makes life in the Third World challenging. I struggle most with the poverty, especially when it includes children. I want to bring them all home! So we will see how this trip goes. I have to take a red-eye flight, leaving at midnight Wednesday, in order to return in time to deal with my next anxiety trigger...

...MY BABY LEAVING FOR COLLEGE!

It's true. After taking online classes the past year due to COVID, Seth is finally able to move down to Orem and have a genuine college life at Utah Valley University. I am so happy for him, but I am so sad for me. Oh my goodness, I will miss him. He keeps reminding me that he was in Paraguay for nearly two years, but I don't know; that seemed different? Anyway, anxiety trigger #3 right here.

Alongside all that, I continue to try to help Shulamith manage Swen's T1 diabetes (trigger #4), and work to get the semester wrapped up and final grades submitted at both SLCC and UVU (trigger #5) before I leave the country (see trigger #2 above).

Then just two days ago, on my way to Eli and Amanda's house to watch the Olympics gymnastics finals, which Amanda had so graciously recorded for me, trigger #6 happened:

Can you even believe it? Like seriously, why does this keep happening to me? Remember this, for example? The other driver's insurance has already accepted liability, but I still have the hassle of taking the car to be repaired. 

So yeah, it's no wonder my dumb brain is having a heyday with all this. It was pretty bad one night last week, but the last couple days have been much improved. I got to serve in the temple both Friday and Saturday (my happy place!) and then I got to teach Relief Society today; teaching at church always lowers my anxiety.

I just ate a delicious steak that Mathew grilled for me, and my plan now is to lie in bed all evening and read. A book. Not student essays. Happy Sunday, everyone, and watch out for those anxiety triggers.

This one deserves a pause.

May has somehow disappeared, but I can't let it slip away without a nod to "Mental Health Awareness Month." It seems like there is a "day" or "month" for everything, too many to keep track of, way too many to observe. But this one. This one deserves a pause. We have come a long way as a society since Mental Health Awareness Month was first observed in the United States in 1949, but we still have far to go. The stigma still exists. Many who wouldn't hesitate to disclose publicly that they suffer from diabetes or heart disease are embarrassed to reveal that they deal with anxiety or depression or bipolar disorder or OCD. That is not only sad; it's terrifying. 

Our family is all too familiar with mental illness. I lost my dad to depression four decades ago, and I have struggled with debilitating anxiety for as long as I can remember. I wouldn't wish this illness on my proverbial worst enemy, but there is clearly a genetic link; I have passed anxiety disorders to three of my beautiful children. At times I feel so guilty about this. I know how much it sucks. Other times, I feel grateful for my firsthand experience and understanding of these disorders, so I am able to support my kids. 

I've written extensively about my anxiety disorders in this blog, so I won't say much about those today. Instead, I'll just point out two truths that make mental illness so challenging to deal with. One is that it can be so invisible. Its symptoms don't usually show themselves to others at least not right away. I can't count the number of times people have said things to me like, "I can't believe you have anxiety. I mean, you are the most 'together' person I know, so confident and in control." When I hear such comments, I'm always quick to invite these people over to chill with me at 3:00 a.m. when I'm climbing the walls because I'm convinced I have a fatal disease. Haha, no one has taken me up on this offer.

Second, while it's impossible for those who don't struggle with mental illness to fully understand it, some try harder than others. I've been told that I'm just making it up or that I should just not think those thoughts or feel those feelings. If only it were that easy. If only.

As the month of May and the month of Mental Health Awareness concludes, may we push forward to end the stigma attached to mental illness. To those who suffer from mental health issues, to those who have lost dear ones to mental illness, to those who (like me) fit into both categories, or to those who simply care enough to want to raise awareness, I feel you, and my voice stands strong with yours.  

Comin' Down, Baby, and Laughter is the Best Cure!

I am fortunate never to have had an addiction to drugs or alcohol. Of course, it probably helps that I don't use drugs or alcohol, but yeah. Closest I come is my ongoing love affair with Diet Coke. But I could really stop that any time I wanted. Really.

Seriously, though, since addictions run in my family, I am grateful not to have struggled personally; nevertheless, I do suffer from another debilitating condition that causes plenty of trouble and turmoil without any substance abuse, and I wonder if the "coming down" process feels anything like when people overcome addictions.

Anxiety.

Now THAT'S something with which I am all too familiar. Indeed, I am the queen of anxiety, and it is a position I'd gladly abdicate, given the choice. But since I've written about it before, here and here, I won't repeat. I'll just say that these past two weeks, I've suffered a crazy bad bout of it, worst one in years, certainly since we've been here in Utah. And now that I'm finally "coming down," I thought I'd write a bit about how that process feels.

It is profound relief.

Unbelievable.

It's like my whole body, which has been filled with so much tension for so long that every muscle aches, begins to recover. When I suddenly realize that I actually don't have a fatal disease (yes, my anxiety objectifies itself to paralyzing fear of dying), it's like the thick, dark cloud of pressure I've been navigating for so many long days, and even longer nights, finally begins to fade. Recovery isn't instant. I'm still exhausted. Because functioning at that level of hyper alert for such an extended period of time is, well, exhausting.

And not only for me. Poor Shulamith and Gerald bear the brunt of it because they are with me all the time, Shulamith during the day and Gerald during the night. Gerald is even patient with me. Haha, just kidding, Shulamith. Sorta.

Some might ask why I would choose to talk about it or write about it so publicly. Simple. It is my experience that talking freely about such things takes some of their power away. That is a good thing. Very good. Also, the ability to laugh at the irrational nature of anxiety speeds the recovery. In fact, laughter of any kind helps.

So I thought I'd share a couple things that happened in my classes during these past couple of difficult weeks, things that made me laugh ever so briefly, but long enough to forget my fear for a second or two.

Because I have a lot of students divided into four different sections of the same course, it's a challenge to learn all their names. To expedite this process, I give them all 3X5 index cards and ask them to print their first names on them and then display these cards on their computers where they are easily visible. I even color-code the different classes by using different colored markers for each: red, green, black, and blue.

So in one class recently, I was in the middle of doing too many things at once. I teach that multi-tasking is impossible, yet I try it all the time. Students were supposed to bring me their essay drafts and their name cards and put them into two separate piles on my desk, but since my students listen to me about as well as my children do, in most cases they forgot one item or the other. As one young woman came forward with her essay, I asked, "Do you have your green card?" meaning her name card printed in the color green.

We are blessed with much diversity at LDS Business College. We have students of all different races and nationalities, from all over the world, who speak all different languages. I can't even tell you how much I love this because how boring would it be if everyone just spoke English all the time? But I digress.

So of course the sweet young lady whose "green card" I requested was from Latin America, and she looked at me, frozen, for just a sec before she realized what I was truly asking. By that point the entire class was rolling in laughter, and now the standing joke in that class is, "Sister Webster...I have my green card!"

Then only about a week later, THIS! I sometimes forget which class I'm in and which color name cards the students have. I need to know, so I know which ones to pass out for roll. Again, trying to do too many things at once while shuffling through my four piles of name cards, I said, "Are you guys black?" And of course sitting right there in front of me, yep front row and center, was a handsome African-American student. The kid next to him replied, pointing to him, "Well, he is!" And now the joke: "We're not all black, Sister Webster, but Ben is." Ahhhhhh!

I am grateful for laughter. For students who can laugh. For a family that loves me despite my nutty anxiety disorder. And for the fact that I now see light at the end of the proverbial tunnel.

I am calm. I am not worrying. I am ALIVE! I can sleep again. I am...

Comin' Down, Baby!

How Do You Spell Relief?

In January, I posted about my chronic anxiety disorder and its tendency to present itself in irrational fear of fatal disease. A friend of mine who reads this blog commented in response. She mentioned struggling with anxiety herself and some counsel she received from a kind bishop, who asked her, "can you think of an entity that would want to rob you of the peace you deserve?" When I read those words, I recognized for the first time the source of much of the anguish I experience when my anxiety is high. That is not to say I doubt the biological component that exists; I don't. But I do know who would most love to take full advantage of that situation and exploit it to the fullest. I vowed that next time this wretched condition reared its ugly head, I would try my best to defeat it by recognizing its source.

I'd like to tell you I was successful in this attempt, but alas, that is not the case. I can tell you I tried. I really did. I tried hard. And perhaps I would have been worse off if I hadn't tried? Perhaps. But once again, this crappy stuff got the best of me. It's been a rough week. And it was about the last thing I needed the very last week before Eli enters the MTC. Yep, about the very last thing. Here's what happened.

I awoke Sunday morning with a very sore muscle in my upper left thigh. I didn't pay a lot of attention to it the first day, but by Monday when it was not only sore, but swollen and hard and bruised, I was imagining all sorts of horrible illnesses. This went on all week. I'd have some rational periods for sure, but they were all too quickly overpowered by thoughts of dying, and especially what that would mean for my family. I am first and foremost a mom. How would an 11-year-old little boy get along without his mother? Would Eli have to come home from his mission? Would I even get to meet Shulamith's baby? Yeah, my mind spins right out of control to all these places, and I just can't stop it. Have I mentioned that anxiety really sucks?

Then, tonight, I figured out what most probably caused this injury. Her name is Kitty, and she is a 60-lb Boxer puppy whom I love more than anything. She is seriously the sweetest dog ever, but she's very playful, and she loves to jump right up on your lap as though she were a toy poodle. As I was sitting here tonight with ice on my thigh, it occurred to me that last weekend, Kitty had done just that. I was lying on my bed, and she jumped up and landed with her paw right on my thigh. Then she just stood there with paw digging into my thigh, until I picked it up and removed it. OUCH!

The most interesting part of all this is the incredible relief I felt once I figured it out. My entire body had been in "fight or flight" mode for six days. Every muscle was tense. When I finally made sense out of this injury, it was instantaneous relief. And so joyous! It's like I need some way to celebrate RIGHT NOW! When you have been so scared for so many days in a row, with no reprieve, once it's over and the fear is gone, the sense of well-being is overwhelming.

How do you spell relief?

K-I-T-T-Y!

All Because I Didn't Get a Bundt Cake!

In order to understand this particular post, you will need to know two things. Most of you already know the first, but possibly not the second:

1. I suffer from a chronic anxiety disorder, that (when it's at its worst) specifies itself to intense, irrational fear of terminal illnesses.

2. On 103rd and State Street in Sandy, right across the street from The Shops at South Town, in an inconspicuous strip mall, sits a tiny establishment called Nothing Bundt Cakes.

What do these two facts have in common? More than you'd think.

This past month my stupid anxiety has been ridiculous. As in terrible. Really. Really. Sucky. Blah. My whole body has been locked in high alert, the "fight or flight" response, my mind consumed with thoughts of dying, which in turn produces symptoms of one disease after another, and can you see the downward cycle here? Sleep becomes impossible, leaving me both exhausted and terrified and unable to fix either.

Quick shout out to my awesome family: Even after years of dealing with my anxiety, they're still around. Eli and Amanda brought up incense and lotion, both designed to be calming and to decrease stress. Shulamith googled all my symptoms and repeatedly reassured me that I am 100% healthy. I had promised myself I wouldn't wake Gerald up, because he doesn't get nearly enough sleep as it is, and he can't really help anyway, but I reneged on that promise one of the nights, when it was 3:00 a.m. and I hadn't slept at all, and the following day was Easter, and I had so much to do! Many people would have given up on me years ago, but these guys hang in. They are my team.

The other team member is Emily, my friend and walking partner. She likes to figure stuff out (and she's very good at it), so together, we speculated about what might have triggered this recent episode. Yes, I'm a little extra anxious about Seth this transfer, but no, I don't think that's enough to send my anxiety brain to this degree of crazy. Could it be the stress of trying to juggle two schools? Well it certainly didn't help that last week was the final week of winter semester at Salt Lake Community College AND the first week of spring semester at LDS Business College. No lie. I thought I had a handle on it, until Tuesday when I was was rattling on about my new classes at LDSBC, and Shulamith said, "So you're not going to SLCC tomorrow?"

Wait...what????

"Noooooooo. I have face-to-face classes at 11:30 at two different colleges tomorrow. What am I gonna do?"

Olivia Pope (aka Shulamith Webster) to the rescue. She offered to teach the last day of my SLCC class, so I could go to the first day of LDSBC. All's well that ends well, but oh my goodness!

Still, none of this is sufficient to trigger the heightened response of the past month. The only other thing I can think of is the lack of a bundt cake. You see, often (okay, too often), when Shulamith and I happen to be out at the mall in Sandy, we'll make a quick hop across the street to Nothing Bundt Cakes and each pick up our own little individual bundt cake. For a few weeks, we did this weekly. And then we didn't. I don't think I've had a bundt cake in like FOUR WEEKS!

I know chronology doesn't always equal causality, but I'm not taking any chances. It's not worth the risk, now that I'm just beginning to feel better. Shulamith, if you're reading this (and I know you are), we are getting bundt cakes tomorrow. Plan on it.

COVID anxiety, and how do you get the hood of my car up?

So at the start of the COVID-19 pandemic, I thought I was handling it all very well. Others even commented on how calm I was. With my anxiety disorder that specifies to fear of fatal illness, everyone expected me to crumble right to the floor over coronavirus. I didn't. I attempted to use logic, and I was mostly successful. I have none of the risks for a serious reaction to the virus. I am female, young, healthy, and normal weight. I exercise regularly and have no underlying heath conditions. I even have Type O blood, for heaven's sake, which I guess is the best type to have for this virus. It's all good.

That was 3.5 months ago. As time passes and the uncertainty grows, I find my anxiety grows right along with the uncertainty. The fear is getting worse, not better. The past two nights I've lain in bed, terrified, sure I had a fever, because I was cold. Both nights it took every once of courage I could muster to get up and take my temperature, which registered 96.7 and 96.2 Degrees Fahrenheit, respectively. As Shulamith likes to tell me, I'd probably be better off just staying home 24/7, not leaving the house at all. That's what my mom does (and I'm very glad she does!), because she is 80. So far, I haven't gone to that extreme, but I wear a mask and gloves everywhere in public, and I'm definitely not comfortable with people outside of my family coming near me.

Which brings me to what happened here:

Yesterday, Shulamith and I were at Smith's picking up a food order. If you haven't tried this, Smith's online grocery orders and parking lot pickup are fabulous, especially if you don't feel comfortable going inside stores. The Smith's worker brought out the bags of groceries, and we were good to go until Shulamith tried to start her car. Dead. As a doornail. Wouldn't even make an effort to turn over. This didn't make sense. She drove there with no problem, and the car had only been shut off maybe 10 minutes. We decided we needed to try to jump the battery, but how does one do that, we wondered? And where would we find jumper cables?

We called Seth to ask him to check in Isaiah's car, and sure enough, jumper cables! Kindly, Seth came right away to save us. But then that first question. How does one jump a car battery? Shulamith and I are educated, resourceful women, so she pulled out her phone and googled the question. The result was a diagram showing how and where to place the positive (+) and the negative (-) gripper deals. We were terrified! Why worry about COVID-19 when you can just blow yourselves up with jumper cables?!

Okay, we can do this.

So I drove my car around to face hers, but then. Then we needed to get both hoods open. We pulled the release in both cars, and her car hood opened just fine, but neither of us, to save our very lives, could figure out how to get mine up. We tried for several minutes before the nice Smith's truck driver pictured above came over to help. He managed to get my hood up right away and attached the cables for us. And yes, he was so kind to help us, but please everyone, PRAY he didn't have the virus, because there he suddenly was, right in our space, no one wearing masks, talking to us. I nearly freaked and ran away. I should have. I was just so stunned to have a stranger that near me. Oh my goodness. And now I'll be on high alert for two weeks, waiting for symptoms to appear. Blah.

And then the stupid cables didn't even work. Her car still wouldn't start, even with the jump. By now we'd been out in the hot sun for an hour, and her cold food needed to be refrigerated. Matt was on his way driving from work, so I left and took her cold groceries to put in my fridge. Once Matt arrived, they were able to buy a new battery and all's well that ends well.

Except my COVID anxiety is now ten times higher. And I still have no idea how to get the hood of my car up.

"And who is my neighbor?": Good Samaritans among us - Part 1

Wait! You waited for the scans to be read, so you could call me and tell me all is well?

Wait! You lifted a huge, metal safe and risked injury to your back by turning it upside down, so you could reach deep inside it and grab my purse? 

Who are these people? Honestly, I don't know. The first is a radiologic technologist, and the second is a UTA Trax employee. Strangers to me, really.

Yet both showed me what grace looks like. A friend posted a meme recently that pointed out how when the lawyer asked Jesus "And who is my neighbor?" Jesus told the well-known story of "The Good Samaritan." In it, Jesus does not mention the Samaritan praying for the injured man. He does not mention him preaching to the man or quoting scripture, or taking him to church. (Not to imply that these aren't good options; I'm sure Jesus would approve of all of them.) But in this story, the Samaritan stops and helps the man, tends to his wounds, finds him a safe place to stay with food to eat, and pays for it, even! The Samaritan walks the path of eternal life, rather than just talking about it.

And so it was with these two strangers.

Anyone who knows me well, is familiar with my crazy anxiety about terminal illness. So imagine how terrifying it is each year, when I have to do my annual exam, with its various scans and blood draws! One year, I worked myself into such a fit that my blood pressure, usually lower than average, rose to 180/70! Another time, I made myself so sick with worry while waiting for test results that I lost 6 lbs. Ain't anxiety grand?

The time for my yearly check-up crept up quickly. "Didn't I JUST do all this?" I asked my tribe (aka Shulamith, Eli, and Amanda). "Yes!" they all agreed. "It cannot be time to go through this again." But it was. So I braved up, as I do every year, and scheduled the appointments. When I arrived for my mammogram, I was noticeably anxious, and the tech asked me if I was okay. I briefly explained my stupid anxiety disorder; she responded with kindness, care, and zero judgment. 

"Okay, let's gets this done, so you can get out of here." She was careful and precise in her work, making sure she didn't need to repeat any of the scans, and it was over in about 10 minutes.

"We're done! Now you can relax."

"Oh I won't relax until that letter comes in the mail, telling me everything is fine."

She thought for a moment and then explained, "The scans will be read today, and they will call you within two days if anything concerning shows up. So if you haven't received a call by the end of the day Thursday, you can stop worrying."

"Oh, that helps so much, thank you! I only have to feel like this for two days, rather than a whole week! You are amazing."

And with that, I quickly dressed and got the hell out of there because I hate those places so much! 

....but the story doesn't end there.

Late that afternoon, I received a call from an unknown number. I don't usually answer those, but for some reason I did. 

"Hi, this is Corrine from Lone Peak. I waited until your scans were read, so I could call you. I didn't want you to be sick or not sleep, even for two days. The scans are back, and everything is perfectly normal. Come back in a year."

Flooded with emotion, I could barely speak. I babbled something unintelligible and hung up. I mean who does this? Who offers this kind of care, so far beyond her job responsibilities, for a stranger!? Someone who walks the path of discipleship. Someone who loves like Jesus. A Good Samaritan among us. 

Because I know readers prefer shorter posts, I'll stop, but again, the story doesn't end there. There's still the UTA Trax guy. Stay tuned for Part 2....

Buying stuff. Walking more. Playing Dominion. Staying sane!

I think it's safe to say that for every one of us, COVID-19, aka the coronavirus, has affected us in ways we never thought possible, its impact permeating nearly every corner of our lives.To those who have lost friends or family members to this wretched virus, my heart breaks for you. I can't even imagine. To those of you who fight daily on the frontlines, healing and caring for the sick, searching for the key to an effective vaccine, delivering our mail, bringing us our groceries: Respect!

As you risk your own health to go to work each day, the rest of us stay at home, quarantined, sheltering in place. We isolate ourselves from every opportunity to contract this virus. And we complain a lot. It's hard. We are inconvenienced. But we are the lucky ones. And we are grateful to you who must go to work, humbly and profoundly grateful.

As I was grading papers and answering emails today, a student inquired about my well-being. This happens fairly often now that all my classes have shifted online. Students ask me how I'm doing; they hope I'm safe and well. It's touching really, because I think they mean it. I think they are genuinely concerned. We spent two-thirds of the semester together, and then suddenly no more. Now we communicate only remotely. This student's question caused me to reflect more deeply on my own unique set of circumstances:

"What are you doing to stay sane?" she wanted to know.

Hmmm? Well, some would argue that, even under normal circumstances, my sanity is questionable. Anxiety as bad as mine most definitely qualifies as mental illness. That said, I remain functional most of the time. I've even had people tell me they can't believe I suffer from debilitating anxiety because I always seem so "together." Which is hilarious. They should have stopped by at, say, 3:00 a.m. this past Sunday morning when I was up pacing the floor, deep breathing (just to make sure I could), taking my temperature (97.4), stressing over a potential collapse of the housing market, along with being overwhelmed with fear that a person very important in my life doesn't like me anymore.

Yep, it was just that awesome. You can be grateful for social distancing. You can stay away from this madness. 

My student's question led me to a few interesting insights, though, so I'm glad she asked. What am I doing to stay sane?

Buying stuff. Not a lot of stuff, but a little stuff. Like I bought a new Kortni Jeane bathing suit to give myself hope that we will get to go swimming this summer. And I bought some new makeup. I also bought two new dresses from a wicked sale at Old Navy, both for just $24. They provide hope that one day, I'll have reason to wear a dress again. Here's one:

Walking more. Yes, I always walk. I love to walk. Everyone who knows me, knows that. It's the best way to reduce anxiety since I choose not to use medication. It's good for both brain and body. I honestly can't think of a single negative consequence from walking. These days, though, with so much time spent indoors, it's way harder to get my daily 10,000 steps. Back in the day (say, 2.5 months ago), if I did one dedicated walk of 4,000 steps and then just went through my regular routine, by the end of that day, I'd have my 10,000. Now I'm lucky to reach 6,000 with just that one dedicated walk, which means that in an entire day at home, I'm only walking around 2,000 steps. Yikes!

I guess sitting in my bed reading or blogging or doing online school, and sitting in my recliner binging Netflix make for a horribly sedentary lifestyle. Not good! I decided early on in this quarantine that there is no reason for me not to meet my goal of 10,000 daily steps. Seriously, what else do I have to do? My appointment calendar is blank. My part time job is completely online. To accomplish this, I need two substantive dedicated walks daily, one in the morning and one in the afternoon or evening. I try to do a bit of school work right when I wake up and then get out for my first walk. Sometimes Emily is able to go with me, she and her two babies in the double stroller six feet to the side of me. Other times I go alone. Then later in the day, Seth and I do my second walk.

Playing Dominion. Once upon a time, Isaiah got all into this board game called Dominion. It involves hundreds of cards, in Isaiah's case, 10 boxes full! You can play the game with just a basic set, but over the years, he has bought all these expansion packs, until now it looks like this:

Isaiah taught Eli to play, and later Mathew, and eventually even Seth. This was years ago. I never learned to play; it looked way too complicated with all those cards. My favorite Dominion story is when Seth was barely 11 years old and went all by himself to compete in a Dominion tournament at a game store in Sugar House and placed 3rd! Would you like to read about it and see his adorable winning picture? Isaiah didn't play Dominion the whole time Seth was gone on his mission, but once he came home, this happened:

Every day. Over and over, this happened. Until finally, Seth said, "Mom, you wanna play? You wanna learn the game?" Pretty sure he expected me to decline, but you know, here I am quarantined, stuck in my house almost all the time, so I figured why not learn this game? Turned out to be a great decision. Not only do I get to spend quality time with three of my favorite guys in the whole world, but it's actually a super fun game. I like it better each time I play. Of course, I never win (well, I actually won once, but it was all luck). Isaiah and Seth are expert strategists and seem to know every single one of the dozens of cards, what each does, and how they work together for the most powerful effect. Me? I just buy cards and then see what happens.

My kind student asked me, "What are you doing to stay sane?"

My best. I'm doing my best.

And the things that seem to help are buying stuff, walking more, and playing Dominion.

"At least limit it down to just snakes."

I don't write a lot about Shulamith's husband, Mathew. The reason is he honestly doesn't like to be the center of attention. I'm sure the last thing he would want is to be the focus of one of my blog posts (I don't think he reads it, so we're probably safe).

He's a lot like Gerald in this respect; neither of them craves the spotlight.

But today we celebrated his birthday, along with their son, Swen's. Matt's and Swen's birthdays fall just a week apart, on the 19th and 26th of May, respectively. It was a quiet celebration, much like the two of them, and just about right.

Perhaps the thing I like most about Matt (other than his unwavering devotion to Shulamith), is that he can make me laugh, even through a puddle of ridiculous tears. Most recently, my anxiety disorder had taken firm hold, and I was bordering on a full-on panic attack when I texted him.

Keep in mind that I don't text Matt. Ever. He's busy, I figure. He has a lot of things to do. The last thing he needs is me bothering him with text messages. So I don't. Except this one time last week, so you know how bad off I was.

The thing is I'm not quite recovered emotionally from the whole ordeal with Shulamith. I'm still in fight or flight mode most of the time, fearing every second that something terrible is just about to happen. And ooooh can my imagination run wild! You don't even want to know the gruesome places it goes. Trust me.

So a few days ago, Shulamith wasn't texting me back. This is highly unusual; we text back and forth all the time. And this was the exact time I knew she'd be putting Swen to sleep, and she always has her phone in the bedroom with her.

Anyway, she wasn't writing back, and my anxiety was spinning out of control. Convinced she was lying dead in her bedroom, I finally broke down, broke my own rule, and texted Matt. This was our conversation:

Me: Sorry, but I'm a wreck these days, and she's not texting me back. Is she okay?

Mathew: Ha yeah she's just putting Swen to bed, so they are probably watching something on the phone?? Or she's dead in there, and neither of us know it...

Me: NOT FUNNY. And I peeked in earlier when you were gone, and I heard the noise machine, so I knew she was putting him to bed. But then my anxiety spun right out of control.

Mathew: Ha yeah you gotta do something about that whole spinning out of control thing. At least limit it down to snakes.

And right there I sat, laughing out loud through a puddle of blubbering tears.

Thank you, Matt. And Happy Birthday!

He gained two pounds!

Okay, that probably doesn't mean anything you, but let me explain. Anyone who knows me, knows about my dumb anxiety. I've written about it lots:  here, here, and here, if you'd like some examples.

Blah!

Anyway, this past week, I began to believe that Seth was not eating enough in the Mexico CCM and losing weight. He is as skinny as a rail and has no excess weight to lose, so this whole fear took on a life of its own (as anxiety tends to do) to the point that I was physically ill this morning, knowing he'd email today, and fearing he'd tell me he has lost a bunch of weight, making him too sick to travel to Paraguay on Monday.

Yep, I believed all this. Or at least my body did. It all started when I played "Where's Waldo" with the 100s of pictures the lovely people at the CCM post to their Facebook page. After searching helplessly for a glimpse of Seth, I finally found three pictures of his district. Yahoo! Except then, in one of the pictures, it seemed to me that Seth looked unusually thin. Touchdown, anxiety! And we're off to the races once again.

Just so you can see what triggered this, here's the picture from the CCM:

So there is Seth's district. Seth is in the tan pants on the left side of the photo. See how skinny he looks? I immediately texted Shulamith:

Me: Look at this picture. I think Seth is losing weight from not eating. Just look at him!
Shulamith: He looks exactly the same. He's always been thin.
Me: No!!!! How can you say that? He looks much thinner than when he left.

Next, I emailed poor Elder Frost's mom. Elder Frost is Seth's companion, and they're both pretty skinny, so I wanted to gauge my worries against a normal, non-anxious mom. She was so sweet to reply without judgment. She said she was a little concerned about them eating enough, but not terribly so. She reminded me that when we see pictures of the missionaries in Paraguay, they all look healthy and happy. Thank you, Jen.

Today was P-day, and I tried to remain sane as I waited for that email, but I mostly failed. It arrived about 10 minutes later than usual, so poor Shulamith was the recipient of my frantic text messages: "It's always here by now! Where is he? What's going on?" Then, just like that, the email arrived. And just like that, relief flooded my body, so fully and so perfectly that I nearly cried. Here is a copy/paste of the section of the email that addressed this issue:

"I still think it's funny how you're STILL worrying about me eating even though I'm in the CCM lol. I'll have you know that I have gained 2 pounds since I've been here and eat plenty every day. The food is all mediocre but it's all edible."

HE GAINED TWO POUNDS! Did you read that? He's not wasting away. He's not sick. He's great, so so great. He's super excited to fly to Paraguay on Monday. Everything is wonderful.

Just look at these P-day pictures:

I should sleep well tonight, but to quote Amanda, "It's gonna be a long two years."

It's not even safe for me to read Ensign Magazine?

Really?

Sheesh!

Here's the story. As many of you know, I suffer from a severe anxiety disorder that specifies itself to irrational fear of fatal diseases. I've written about it more than once, recently here and here. I won't bother repeating all that garbage; suffice it to say I waste a ridiculous amount of time worrying about diseases I have never had and (hopefully) never will.

So imagine what happens when I actually do get sick. Yeah, it's not good. Fortunately, it happens very rarely. In Seth's words, "Mom, you and Dad are the two healthiest people I know." It's true. We are. In my case, with five kids, I've been puked on so many times that my immune system has been strengthened sufficiently to ward off just about anything. The key phrase there is  "just about." Occasionally, a germ manages to slip by, and that's what happened a bit over a week ago. My body was somehow infected with a nasty stomach virus. You definitely don't want the details, but believe me; it was awful!

Even more awful, though, was what this triggered in my serotonin-starved brain. I was sure I had stomach cancer or intestinal cancer or gall bladder cancer or something terrible. Since I don't allow myself to look at medical sites, except those devoted solely to anxiety, I made Gerald and Shulamith look, and then begged them to convince me I wasn't dying. Yep, you can laugh. Because it's funny. But when I'm in the middle of it, I am dead (pun intended) serious.

It was one rough week. I would think I was getting better, only to relapse majorly the following day. And I needed to get all the way better physically in order to get better mentally, so these crappy (pun intended this time too!) relapses only exacerbated an already bad situation. Blah!

I am pleased to report that I have been on the upswing, at least physically, for the past three days. And during that time, this month's edition of Ensign Magazine arrived in the mail. Hooray! That evening, I settled into my recliner, prepared to spend the next hour or so perusing my new magazine. I don't read the Ensign cover to cover, front to back; I thumb through it and choose stories as they catch my eye. As I leafed through the first several pages, a title stood out: "A Time for Faith Not Fear." Perfect, I thought. I'd spent the past week consumed with fear. This would surely help. Then I read the first line from the story: "I have a good friend who was recently found to have a cancerous tumor."

What????? Are you freakin' kidding me? Now don't get me wrong. I'm sure it's a wonderful article about the power of faith; I'm sure it is. But I can't read stuff about cancer under normal circumstances. I certainly can't read it this week. I promptly closed the magazine and put it away. I will pick it up again sometime in the future when my very healthy body is completely back to normal and my not-so-healthy mind is more under control.

Have I mentioned that anxiety really sucks?

When I wake up and can't taste my Diet Coke. Uh oh!

Just nine days ago, I wrote my Christmas post, in which I expressed gratitude that my immediate family had avoided the COVID19 virus that has wreaked havoc on so many this past year. 

I spoke too soon.

I awoke Friday morning to a text message from Seth, who was in his room down the hall. He said he had a sore throat and slight cough and had already called Chick-fil-A to say he wouldn't be at work. He also asked me if I wanted him to isolate in his room. Uh, yep! "Stay put, and I'll deliver food and drink outside your bedroom door. I'll also put a thermometer there, so you can check your temperature." 

He did not have a fever and felt totally fine other than the sore throat and mild cough. "Must be just a regular cold," I thought, but I started looking into COVID testing just the same. Because it was New Year's Day, I couldn't find a site that offered rapid test results until Saturday morning, so we kept Seth in his room all Friday just to be safe. Saturday morning, he drove downtown and waited in a long line of cars to get his rapid nasal swab COVID test, which we totally expected to be negative because he was barely sick at all! But before he even had time to drive home from downtown, the result came back positive. Eeeeek!

Here we are, three days later:

Seth - Still has mild cough. No fever or fatigue. Sore throat is gone. Lost sense of taste and smell. Chillin' in his room playing video games and watching Hulu. FaceTiming with friends, sometimes even with me when he's really bored. 

Isaiah - No symptoms at all. No test results yet. Hibernating in his room hoping to avoid this. 

Gerald - Tested positive yesterday. Low-grade fever, aches, cough, general feeling of malaise. 

Me - Well, here's the thing. I feel fine, 100% healthy in every way. But Sunday morning, when I cracked open a Diet Coke, it tasted, well....that's the thing; it didn't taste at all. It's like I was drinking carbonated water. Then I noticed that I couldn't smell anything either. Uh oh! I didn't escape this thing after all. Every day I wonder if this will be the day I wake with symptoms, but so far, no. I did a saliva test yesterday and don't have the results yet, but I'd be shocked if they weren't positive. Even my crazy anxiety brain can't dream up another illness that causes the total loss of taste and smell.

So this all sucks. For sure. It's triggered my anxiety in every way possible; worries for my family's health and my own are all-consuming. That said, as in all things, it helps to look for the grace, to find the reasons to be thankful, so here goes:

1. This happened now and not 10 days ago. We got to celebrate a lovely Christmas.

2. So far, everyone has manageable, non-life threatening symptoms.

3. We have been extremely careful all along about masks and social distancing, so the chance we have spread this to others is small. Most likely, Seth brought it home from Chick-fil-A.

4. I have a kind, online friend (we've met just once in person), who is a registered nurse in Pennsylvania and who recently had the COVID virus, herself. She has been chatting with me in the evenings, when my anxiety tends to spike, giving me solid, reliable information and advice. Thank you, Lorelei!

5. Modern technology provides a little gadget called a Pulse Oxygen monitor, allowing us to test our oxygen saturation levels regularly. This is wonderfully reassuring when we see our numbers up in the high 90s where they belong.

6. If my test results come back positive today, I can quit isolating from Seth and Gerald. That will make life a bit easier.

Stay safe and well, everyone. 

Another Thing I'm Not Good At

We have already established a plethora of things I'm not good at. Let's review. I don't cook well. I can't sew, knit, crochet, or do crafts of any sort. I can't draw or paint. I can't sing. My handwriting is abysmal. I'm not an athlete or a musician. I have no idea about gardening, auto mechanics, or interior design. I am both directionally and technologically challenged, which means I can't find my way to most locations whether physical or virtual.

Indeed, my skill set is woefully limited.

And guess what? In the past two days I've discovered yet another thing I totally suck at. I know what you're thinking: Could there really be anything else? But yes, oh yes, there is.

I am really, really, really not good at being sick. Really. The problem is, I have so little experience with it. I am almost never sick. I attribute that good fortune to having five children who, over the years, have coughed, sneezed, and puked on me enough times that my immunity to illness is nearly 100%.

You'll notice I said "nearly." It's obviously not quite 100%. On Sunday I came down with the nastiest little virus. I can't remember ever feeling this ill. I went to church because we were teaching the poetry of Isaiah in our Sunday School class, and ooooh how I love the poetry of Isaiah, but I came home immediately afterward and went straight to bed. Without going into the disgusting details, let's just say that between stomach issues, a raging headache, a fever, and an aching body, I was quite out of sorts. I seriously don't know how people who get sick regularly do it. I whined and whined, but my temperature just climbed higher and my body just ached more. It was a sad night.

Then came Monday. In most jobs, when you're sick, you can call in, and someone else will somehow do your work. That is not the case with my job. I can call in, yes, but it means my students, who paid tuition, will not have the class they paid for. I might have stayed home yesterday regardless, except I'm already canceling class this coming Monday when I'll be in Indiana. So I dragged myself out of bed, and without touching my hair or make-up (now you know how sick I was), I pulled on some sweats and went to school. I instructed my students to keep their distance, and they happily obliged. Between classes, I slept in my car. No kidding. I set my phone alarm for my next class and passed out in the back seat of my little car.

Yep, I positively suck at being sick. And it transcends the physical. Keep in mind my chronic anxiety disorder that tends to specify itself to fear of fatal disease. I'm not sure I've ever blogged about this specifically, but anyone who knows me well knows all about this. Those of you who don't, well let's just say that I've wasted a goodly amount of time in my short life worrying uncontrollably over various fatal diseases that, in the moment, I'm certain I have. In reality, I'm the healthiest person I know; however, I've been emphatically convinced on countless occasions that I have any number of terminal diseases.

So you can only imagine what happens to my delicate psyche when I really do get sick. Uh huh. Exactly. Since I happened to have a backache along with all the other above-mentioned symptoms (really, every muscle in my body ached, including my back), I decided I must have kidney cancer. Because that makes perfect sense, right? You see, anxiety is never rational. If it were rational, it wouldn't be anxiety. So not only was my body sick, but my mind was raging out of control with thoughts of leaving my children without a mother! Help!

I can write this today because I am both physically and mentally recovered. Well, mostly recovered. I still feel weak, not quite my energetic self, but better than yesterday and oh so much a better than the day before. This morning as I was getting ready for school, Gerald remarked, "You're putting on make-up. That's a good sign." Yes, good.

And so, dear friends, we have discovered yet another thing I totally suck at. I totally suck at being sick. I'm sure we'll discover more. Stay tuned.

Insomniac

I can always sleep. Always. It's actually one of the few things I'm really, really good at. I was the child who had to do morning kindergarten because even at age 5, I was still taking a 2-hour afternoon nap. I was the child whose parents tried to keep her awake past 6:30 p.m. by saying things like, "Instead of going to bed now, how about you just lie down on the couch and watch T.V. with us." They tell me I never made it past the national news, which ended at 7:00. If they failed to get me dinner by 6:30, I didn't eat. As an adult, I'm happiest and healthiest when I get about 9-1/2 hours of sleep at night, and I almost always do. Yep, I can always sleep.

Except when I can't. Like tonight. It's now 1:30 a.m., and I've been trying to fall asleep since 10:00. Blah! This is such a rare occurrence that it makes me really mad. Occasionally, when I am super, super stressed, my anxiety sky rockets, and nothing I do seems to help. I am wide awake. It sucks. To those of you who experience this often, you have my utmost sympathy. Of course, rare as these occasions are, they always fall on nights when I have a full list of obligations the following day. So I lie in bed and stress over not only what was keeping me awake in the first place, but also about how I'm going to be too exhausted to function tomorrow. Double blah!

So instead of continuing with that utterly unproductive cycle, I decide to get up and blog. Will I be able to put together a clear thought at this hour when I'm this tired? With no proofreader awake this late, should I wait until morning to post this? I don't know. Oh wait...there is someone awake. It's Isaiah. He's been asleep here on the couch until just now. "You're still up?" he asks, baffled. I am never up this late; remember, I need nine hours of sleep. I explain my very occasional plight with anxiety-induced insomnia and send him off to bed. Now I am perfectly alone.

This house is quiet and dark. The only light, other than from my laptop, comes from the Halloween decoration we have in the window, which I forgot to unplug before going to bed 4 hours ago. Yep, it's 2:00 a.m. now. The quiet is disconcerting. This house, with seven of us living here, is never quiet. I wish I could say it's peaceful, but it isn't. My body is so charged with excess energy that nothing is peaceful. I wonder if Shulamith is awake downstairs. I hope not. I hope Baby Swen (and his mommy) are sound asleep. I wish I could be asleep. I really wish that.

My eyes burn. They know they're supposed to be shut at this hour. I struggle to exercise the relaxation techniques I've learned through many years of dealing with anxiety. It's not working. My mind races regardless, from one topic to another, in circles, over and over. I try to sing a peaceful hymn. I'm distracted. I try to count my blessings. I'm distracted. I try to pray. I'm distracted. I tell myself that sleep will come eventually. It always does. I reassure myself that I will get thorough the day tomorrow, even if I never sleep tonight. My mind needs that reassurance.

Time passes slowly, but then it's already 2:00, so how will I ever get the sleep I so desperately need? The night will be over in just a few more hours. Then what? How will I finish grading my papers, the ones I was too tired to finish earlier? How will I teach my classes? No, this is not a good train of thought. Back up to how I will indeed get through the day tomorrow no matter what. Yes, that is better. My eyes burn more severely, but my shoulders are still tense. Try to relax. Try to relax. It's so hard. Why is it so hard?

I can always sleep. Except when I can't.

Insomniac.