My2Moms Blog: The Stroke

Saturday, November 11, 2006

The Stroke

After hearing no response to my request, I poked my head into the guestroom. "Mom" I said, "It's time to go." No response. "MOM! YOU OK!" She gurgled slightly unable to move.

I ran over and saw that she was conscious but very unresponsive. Her blood sugar must be through the floor. I ran down stairs, called 911, and got a bottle of orange juice that we keep for moments like this.

When I got back to her room, I checked her blood sugar level with a test kit she keeps by her bed. 27. Half conscious, she was unable to lift herself to drink. I pulled her up with all my strength and sat behind her and lifted her head back to open hear mouth. She was able to swallow but unable to hold the bottle. We spilled a bit but about half of the 14 oz bottom made its intended destination.

By that time, the paramedics arrived. My2Moms was still in shock but speaking now. They asked the requisite questions..."what's your name?"..."how old are you?"..."where are you?"..."do you take any medications?" She's the poster child for that last one.

She was able to respond but her speech was slurred and she wasn't able to move on her right side. Her blood sugar now up into the 50s they decided it was time to go to the hospital.

My wife and kids arrived home just as they were carrying her down the stairs on the gurney.

She'd had a stroke.

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Why My2Moms?

My2Moms.blogspot.com lets fellow netizens peak into the simultaneous insanity and humor of untreatable bipolar disorder. Just as bipolar sufferers cycle through successive swings of mania and depression, their supporters swing through emotions as well. For the sufferer, the cycles maybe yearly, monthly or weekly. For the supporter, the swings may last days, hours, minutes, even seconds in my case. A nice dose of high/low for the sufferer and a healthy sampling of frustration/ amusement for the supporter…that’s what this disease serves at every episodic meal, at least at my restaurant.

I don’t mean to make light of this horrible disease, but frankly, seeing the funny is the only way for me to cope with it on a daily basis. Sometimes shaking my head and laughing about it is the only thing that keeps my head from exploding under the pressure of distress.

I hope that by chronicling my journey, others will know they are not alone. I don’t plan to deliver hope, but you might find it here. I really hope you do. I don’t have answers, but you might find them here as well, and along the way I might too.

As a member of the male gender, I can confirm the indelible truth that we don’t often speak about pain, heartache, weakness and suffering…communicating about mental disorders affecting our families is even less common. It takes a certain humility and vulnerability, that most men find lacking in their given chromosomal arrangement, to open up about such things.

But, I’ve found, with near unanimity, that almost every person encounters mental illness in some way. Whenever I muster the courage to reveal my own situation to a friend, whether male or female, I find a common ground with them through their personal experiences with mental illness. Sometimes the experience afflicts them directly, but most often a relative or close friend. It’s nearly universal.

So this blog is meant to broaden my communication with the hope of helping others, and myself, navigate the waves of bipolar disorder.

About Me

I’m very happily married to a devoted, intelligent, and beautiful wife. I have two healthy, awe-inspiring young children…one boy and one girl…and of course a dog to round out the Rockwell family portrait. I live in a beautiful house, in a nice quiet neighborhood, in the burbs of one of the most livable cities on the planet. I’ve been successful in my career, I’ve traveled the world more than I ever imagined, and want for nothing much beyond that which I’ve been blessed. I live the American dream in almost every way.

On the downside, I can be a bit crass (at least in the circles that I run in), arrogant, condescending, and sarcastic, but, hey, at least I’m not as judgmental as I used to be. I consider myself a respectable work in progress.

My childhood was utopian in all respects except for the toll that My2Mom’s bipolar exacted upon the stability of my family. I had an adequate supply of friends, played all the sports my body could endure, and excelled in school enough to attend and graduate from an Ivy League university. I survived the divorce of my parents, the temporary homelessness of living in a shelter, and the emotional and financial insecurities wrought by the quaking disruptiveness that emanates from My2Moms.

I often wonder if I’ve achieved my bliss in spite of my childhood battles or because of them. As I grow older, I suspect it’s the latter. I was able to escape my childhood through the blessings of providence and the kind acts of loved ones…my father’s unwavering committed to his two sons…my brother’s camaraderie and friendship…my grandparents’ unfaltering support for our better good.

In many ways, when I went away to college, I literally walked out the door of My2Mom’s chaos. It’s not that we were estranged in any way. Quite to the contrary, we’ve always been fairly close. But, when you live a good distance away from a bipolar loved one, you are worlds away. The disease can be someone else’s problem, in this case my grandparents’.

They, even more than my brother and I, have borne the brunt of My2Mom’s disease. They supported us financially, emotionally, and physically (providing shelter) because my mom couldn’t. They literally stepped up to the plate for 30 years delivering a steady hit of balance ever step of the way. But, they are aging now, in their mid 80s, with failing health and a sense that their journeys are nearing their end.

Which brings us to my current situation. It’s time for me to step up.

In February, we moved my mom closer to my family and I in order to give my grandparents the peace of knowing My2Moms will be cared for even when they are gone. In many ways, it’s my thank you to them. Peace in their final years is the best I have to offer and I will deliver it.

So now I reenter the chaos almost half a lifetime after I left. I must deal with it.

About My2Moms

Of course, my two moms are one. Manic Mom and Sad Mom embody the single individual who gave me life, did her best to raise me, and above all loves me whole heartedly. She is a good person with a caring heart, but a tortured soul. You see, 30 some-odd years ago something went horribly wrong…at least that’s when it became obvious.

That’s when Sad Mom started staying in bed a lot, sometimes for weeks, sometimes sleeping for 16-20 hours a day. That’s when suicidal tendencies started to lurk. And it’s when she began to temporarily withdraw from friendships and become a little mute girl in social situations despite being an adult. That’s when she became despondent, downhearted and dejected. But, perhaps most of all, that’s when she became dependent…on her 5 year old son to cook his grilled cheese sandwiches, on her mom to help raise her children, and on her husband to balance the teeter totter world of a bipolar.

That’s also when Manic Mom started having “blackout spending” episodes. And that’s when she started displaying racing, disconnected thoughts, the energy of a bottle rocket, and the focus of a gnat. That’s when she was fun, sociable and a mouthpiece spewing words without a filter. She could conquer anything, except keeping the house clean, the checkbook balanced, the credit card in her wallet, or her head on a pillow for more than 3 hours at night.

My2Mom’s cycles started slowly at first…typically rolling from mania to depression in now ironically graceful cycles of maybe six months to a year. Over the decades, My2Mom’s cycles became more and more rapid, today she typically endures 3-4 weeks high and 3-4 weeks low with a week or two of “normalcy” sandwiched in between. But, the bread overwhelms the nourishment in most cases and makes for a pretty dissatisfying meal. The highs and lows come in a variety of extremes, sometimes mild like wonder bread, other times exceedingly intense and frightening, like moldy garlic toast burnt to a crisp.

For a long time, My2Moms was misdiagnosed with pure depression, insomnia, and other disorders. Little was known about the disease back then. She tried drugs, hypnotherapy, biofeedback and relaxation techniques, more drugs…sometimes cocktail-style. About 5 years ago the concoction was so potent that her hands shook so hard she couldn’t write legibly, brush her teeth, or walk with a plate of food more than a few feet without dancing it off the plate. Nothing seemed to work, and after 30 years of fight, nothing really works even now. She’s maxed out on Seroquil and Lamictal, with no end in sight to the crests and waves of her disorder.

So, we deal with it. This is our story, thanks for the conversation.

My2Moms Blog

Saturday, November 11, 2006

The Stroke

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