Merry Christmas

Opps. There I said it.  Merry Christmas.  That sentiment brings back a flood of memories too numerous to list here in my blog.  It is my favorite time of year.  Why?  Because my heart is happier and filled with more love than any other time.  I cannot explain it.  It just magically happens.

This trend to take Christ out of Christmas is not a new one.  I don't know why everyone is getting their reindeer fur up.  My candy cane antlers have been aware of this for some time.

For as long as I can remember (and we won't go there), it was commonly accepted to abbreviate Christmas with XMAS.  I hated that.  No one could adequately explain that one to me.  It was not a "CROSS"MAS it was an "X".  To me X meant delete.  I always made sure to write it out "long hand" and continue to embrace the true meaning.  I ran across many type of X men and women in my life before it became a Marvel phenomena.  Life is full of people who embrace different viewpoints.  How boring it would be otherwise.  Does it effect me.  Not a bit.  I just am more determined to grow my heart a size larger.

And that brings us to the best example of those who want to bring the political correctness to the Holiday table.  Of course I am referring to the Grinch who attempted to steal Christmas.  Now folks, that classic has been around since I was a teenager!  (Again, not going there).

Did we forget the whole premise of that wonderful now digitally enhanced classic?  The Grinch went a little further than all of those individuals out there currently trying to squelch the Christmas spirit.  And yet, the Whoville residents lifted their hymns and their hearts up to heaven.  No one and I repeat NO ONE can take that away.

Rather than get into debates or get angered over others' actions, I just smile and say a prayer that they, too, will find the Peace that I have found in my faith.

And it does not matter what faith you are.  I will be privileged in sharing my Christmas dinner with my son-in-law who is Jewish and my daughter-in-law who is Muslim.  We will also be Blessed to have their extended family join us.  The day is about family and love and Peace and understanding and acceptance.  I am truly Blessed.

It is Christmas eve and my app says one more day until Santa arrives.  That means one more "Sleep and get up".  I still believe in the magic of this season.  I hope that you do, too.

God Bless you all.  Merry Christmas and Peace to all during this wonderful season.

The Real DC Tragedy

This post is not at all addressing the political "tragedy" that is occurring in our nation's capital.  I am not intending to point the finger of blame at the Republicans or the Democrats or to our President.  The headlines of every paper across America and the cable news networks are doing a fine job of confusing and scaring the bajeebers out of us all.

No, I am writing about a true tragedy in Washington DC that occurred just days ago.  Miriam Carey, with her 1 year old child in the car, was shot and killed by police as her actions were determined by authorities to be of a hostile enough nature to justify their actions.

We all saw the car chase, the officers cornering her with guns, her ability to avoid this ambush, and then lead the police cars in a circle then off again to her final destination.  Her final destination.

I cannot speak for Miriam.  I do not know what her intent  was on that fatal day.  The reports state that she was unarmed.  She had no visible weapon.  Oh, I'm sorry.  The individuals responsible for determining her fate did describe the vehicle as the weapon as it rammed blockades and did injure a security guard in the process.

Yes - the vehicle was the weapon.  I am not disputing that.  But Miriam?  What was Miriam armed with?  How could she protect herself?  She could not.  Her fate was sealed.  She was seen as a threat.  And to be honest, when I watched the video played over and over again on every network and I was told that there was an infant was in the car, my first thoughts were not of a terrorist, not of an angered American that either party could use as an example of what Government shut down creates.  I strongly believed that someone suffering from a mental illness was driving that car.  

I am grieving over her death as if she were someone I knew.  It seems so personal to me.  And so many questions run through my mind.  When you had her cornered and you saw the car (and unfortunately, Miriam) as a threat, why didn't you blow out her tires?  Why didn't you want to block her forward progress with a road block and let the air bag deploy?  If she were viewed as a terrorist, would you really shoot first?  Would you want to question her?  I mean every view of DC has these iron gates surrounding our monuments and all of our precious politicians can be sequestered to safety.  Why shoot to kill?

Now we know that Miriam had delusions of Barack Obama.  The messages she received from either the radio or TV are called Ideas of Reference.  That is a fact we all know.  Why she headed to DC is unknown but the first security officer she met with will have vital information to eventually unravel the mystery.

People are calling her Schizophrenic.  Do you have access to her medical records?  Do not use ignorance in judging this woman.

We do know that she suffered from Post Partum Depression after delivering her child last August.  What can depression create if it becomes severe enough?  Psychotic symptoms.  People can develop paranoia and begin to hear voices.  Is it treatable?  Yes - with medication and counseling.  Can it reoccur?  Yes.  Depression can reoccur when not monitored or when the individual stops treatment.

I am not able to pass judgement on anyone because I do not know the facts of the case.  But if one lesson can learned, it is this.

If you or a loved one are feeling sad, have lost interest in things, express unusual guilt, are experiencing a decrease in energy, have changes in appetite or sleep patterns, have poor concentration, or have suicidal thoughts, please contact a mental health professional.

In addition, if you observe a change in someone, for example, their conversation or actions are a bit bizarre or grandiose, or they appear to be talking to themselves, you observe their eyes darting, or they are just preoccupied, this may be signs that psychotic symptoms are also present.

If this post today makes just one person aware of how depression and psychotic symptoms can change behavior and that medical treatment can possibly avert a fatal outcome, then Miriam's death will not be in vain.

Who Am I? "92449"

No - this is not an attempt to solicit birthday greetings later this month.  Facebook has seen to that.  And by the way.  Who are all of those people listed for the week?  I would send out a greeting their way but half of the names are a bit unknown to me.

Actually, the title for this blog was obviously inspired by Les Miserables.  Jean Valjean in perfect pitch and vibrato announces his true essence - "Who am I?  246o1".  (That's not a typo.  He actually refers to the zero as "oh").  And as I was watching the movie, inspired by the play, inspired by the book, written by my hero, Victor Hugo, I was reminded of my own life.  With all of my faux pas and with all of my tres biens, I have finally come to terms with who am moi.

Funny.  In my studies of Freud and Erikson, I was expected to master certain phases of my life at a certain age and in a reasonable length of time.  Who knew that my particular genetics combined with my personality and my life experiences would lead me to a revelation short of my 64th birthday.

Now don't get me wrong.  I have some significant stressors that I deal with on a day to day basis.  And, come to think of it, my circumstances can really suck if I think about it too much.  And that is what I find so surreal about my situation.  I have not been emotionally affected at all.  My mood has been quite happy and content.  Under past "normal"  behaviors (meaning previous operational standards for me) I would be full of self-pity or looking for an anger management class.  No - I am not in denial.  And I do not use drugs or alcohol to self-medicate.  This is finally my "AHA" moment.

One of my most prized possessions is the innate ability to be other-oriented.  In my life, I have always cared more about what other individuals might think, might feel, or might be affected by an outcome.  And believe me, that can be a curse.  Getting the short end of the lollipop is not always healthy.  This can be a symptom of poor self-confidence (maybe in my younger days) or a neurosis in which the anxiety of standing up for myself or being assertive was not an outcome I was willing to accept.  It could be a sign of a martyr syndrome in which my altruistic endeavors would earn me points of some kind.

Thinking of other's needs before my own, for whatever reason, may have started out as an unhealthy influence on my behavior for the majority of my life, but folks, when you finally can control its reins, its lessons, and can understand the whole dynamics, it can finally become a blessing.

I can remember a time when I was 3 years old, standing in my crowded Camel or Pall Mall scented living room which happened to be on the second floor of my Pup-Pup's home.  We were one of the few families on 2nd avenue that owned this massive console that housed the tiniest TV screen.  My many relatives (and believe me when I say many - Mom was one of 7 siblings and Dad was one of 10) would gather on Sunday nights to watch Ed Sullivan.

So what does other-oriented have to do with the Campbell Clan?  Well, let me explain.  I would go up to everyone present and put my cheek against theirs.  No, I was not inventing a new form of Eskimo kissing.  I was actually needing to assure myself that they had an unobstructed view of the TV.  I guess this became annoying because I was often told to "Stop it, Elaine!"

Why would a 3 year old care?  It was not role modeled by my annoyed parents.  No one in that room was worried about anyone's ability to view the show but me.  And thus a seed that existed within me was given birth and continued to grow throughout my adult years.

I will not bore the reader with the million of examples that underlie its influence.  They could be as trivial as loving to eat the heal of a fresh baked loaf of bread but passing the basket as someone at the table loved it, too.  And though there were 2 heals, I would wonder if she wanted a second slice?  The first reason could be considered thoughtful, but the fact that I did not grab the second heal was down right neurotic.

The above was a simple lesson.  I now take the heal for heaven's sake.  No one will lose any sleep over this.  The most difficult lesson of all has everything to do with my writing this blog.  It is my confession.

The curse of being other-oriented and lacking the ability to express oneself in a healthy manner can lead to very harmful outcomes.

Somewhere along the line, you begin to feel the so-called deprivation that you may have experienced in thinking of others.  The prime example?  "What would my family do if I were to finally leave their father".  Yes, I am talking about the D word.

Well, I have become the boy who cried wolf because my first mention of the D word was 10 years ago.  No one took me seriously as I would end up dropping the attempt.  Why?  It was not the look on my grown children's faces or the resistance I faced with my spouse.  I can honestly say that something inside me made it impossible to see this action to its conclusion.  And there were times I would hate myself for giving in.  And I would look at other women, envying them for the ability to "get on with their lives".

I filed for a dissolutionment last Fall and moved out this past April.  Though I was able to see my family less often, I was blessed with the most beautiful sunsets.  Everything was in place.  Just waiting for the spouse to sign on the dotted line.  Waiting.....

Sometimes my heart, though filled with good intentions, tends to live in a fantasy world.  I still believe in Santa.  And I definitely believe in the magic of Disney.  I eat my pie from the opposite end so that I can make a wish on the corner.  I sleep with a "Ba-Ba" and fuze ball under my pillow.  (See previous blog.)

And my being alone with sunsets took a surprising turn of events.  My 2 year old grandson, Andrew, was confused why Ya-Ya was not "home".  And since my spouse picks him up from preschool everyday,  he began to look for me outside.  He found a large stone in the driveway to sit upon and would cry when not allowed to await my return.  I was told he often sat their for over 30 minutes.

So I began to stop by before heading to the sunset and was greeted by a little boy, sitting on a rock, waving his arms and kicking his legs when he heard my beep-beep.

Then came those Sundays when my children and their spouses used to head over to visit and eat dinner at the old homestead.  I missed that family time.  Yes - it can still be arranged.  As a matter-of-fact, they visited me in my new home.  They were as supportive as they could be.  Even my spouse came and helped to install a portable air conditioner that just didn't seem to work.  But it just wasn't the same.  Of course not.  It's not supposed to be.  And when the paper would be signed, there would be no fanfare.  I would just stop becoming the boy who cried wolf.  And my other-oriented self would finally be able to shout, "I did it".  And people would say, "I'm proud that you stood up for what you believed in".

Well you know what?  I am not an entity that stands alone.  I have a history with this family.  We survived losing a child.  We became stronger and dependent on one another.  Not in unhealthy ways but in nurturing ones.  I just never realized that.

When I am separated from this family, with all of our ups and downs,  my heart begins to develop a hole that it never had before - even with all of the heart aches.  Separation or altering the course of history is the only thing that has caused my heart to rip.  How could that be?

I would have been so embarrassed to hear others remark, "Elaine, I thought you knew what you were doing!"  I thought so, too.  But some of our greatest lessons are learned when we take that chance and we dance in the rain.

I have no words of wisdom for my AHA moment.  I only know that, given my heart and given my life's experiences, and even testing the waters of Lake Erie, I have learned the true meaning of happiness.  It is having a heart that knows that life is not perfect.  There will be joys and there will be sorrows.  But I do not want to endure them alone.  I now know that my heart will develop a rip or a tear if I ignore the feelings of the loved ones that God has so generously placed in my path.

You see, that 3 year old little girl knew it all along.  The needs of the whole far outweigh the needs of the few.  And this simple truth was planted in my heart by one who intended to challenge me throughout my life and to teach me the true meaning of Faith, of Love, of Devotion.

So, in short, I prefer to come home to a smiling boy sitting on a stone, or to a man who makes sure that the frig is stocked with Diet Pepsi.  I prefer to sleep on a couch for now and, do you know what?  I have never been more content.  I am at Peace.  My heart is whole and my mornings are filled with hope despite my evenings deprived of sunsets.

None of us know what the future may bring,  but whatever comes my way, I now know that I possess the Faith, the Love, and the Devotion to carry on.

Who am I?  Who am I?  I'm Elaine Arnold Campbell!

A Baby Boomer's New Travel Bag

Did I mention that I am going on vacation this weekend?  We are taking the whole family to Disney World.  This year we decided to have a "magical" week.  And since we have made the trek so often, we were told that we have earned pixie dust.  I have no idea what that means.  But I sure wish I had the Fairy Godmother's wand to help me pack.

What I have noticed in the progression to my Golden Years is a significant change in my travel bag checklist.  Even though I have a long way to go before Depends are included, there are some significant substitutes.  Only one, my sunscreen, is a result of the latest medical research. (Please see end of blog).  All of the other items are a result of my aging body, the latest technical advances, and airline restrictions.

My carry-on is notably different.  I have an I Pad with the latest Apps to entertain my Grandson.  He is only 2 and he can operate that devise better than I can.  I no longer carry a book or purchase a magazine prior to boarding.  I have my Kindle.  And despite the ability to enlarge the print, I still need my reading glasses.  Sorry, Andrew.  Ya-Ya could not bring your Monster's Inc. apple juice from home.  That's a No-No.  And Yes-Yes, bag inspectors - every container in my bag is 3 ounces or less.

Another difference is my check-in luggage which obviously requires some form of payment to fly and must meet a certain weight requirement.  So my attention to details in packing for this 63 year old passenger takes high priority.  Most garments are light weight and roomy on me, not in the suitcase.  Even though I love to accessorize, I have now limited myself to basic pieces.  And one good pair of walking shoes will do it.  However, my mall now has the Walking Store.  The simple act of putting one foot in front of the other now requires a trained sales person to assist you.  To walk from the Monorail to the Magic Kingdom involves a scientific formula and, based on distance, stride, weight, and other factors, I can be fitted with the perfect Cinderella shoe.  Where are my freakin' Keds?

Bathing suits?  Yes, my grandson insists I come into the pool.  He lists all of the family members that are required.  And even though his Uncle Pete is a top notch swimmer and instructor, we all must be wet.  So, my suits contain more spandex and tend to have those cute little skirts that are actually intended to hide the hips.

The itinerary?  With our grown children still believing in the Magic of Disney, you can guess that the schedule has not slowed down.  But I wouldn't change it for the world.  It's just that this Baby Boomer needs a week's vacation upon return to recover for the vacation aforementioned.

But the biggest difference is the increase in SPF suntan lotion that I tuck away in the pool bag.  And that was the motivator to resurrect a blog I did years ago.  You see, I now have these so called sun spots that tend to bloom even more when exposed to the same rays I craved so many years ago.

So here it is.  I hope it not only brings back fun memories but also instills in us some safety precautions.

BABY OIL AND IODINE - A RECIPE FOR SPF MINUS 15

Oh, I can smell it now. That combined concoction led to a sublime sunburn, which eventually, maybe after three days and bottles of Bactine numbing spray, turned into a golden bronze tan. And let's not forget, we may have been sipping on the Funny Face fruit drink determined to rival Kool-Aid without the calories. Problem? Funny Face had cyclamate as it's sweetener, soon removed from the market for increasing the risk of kidney cancer. So there I was, enjoying the peaceful summer and listening to the Beach Boys or Sgt. Pepper, and contributing to the possible decline in my mortality.

My kidneys are fine, thank you very much, but it is the, what do you call them - sun spots, liver spots, age spots - that have chosen to remind me of my younger, reckless days. Hey, was SPF part of our vocabulary back then? Oh, if we knew then what we know now. I tell you what, I wouldn't need an extra blotch of cover up on the side of my nose and forehead to conceal my "sun freckles".

Do you like to get a little sun in the summer? I'm guilty. I admit that I love to feel the warm rays on my face and body with a cool drink in my hand. I don't have to be on vacation or have a cabana boy around to feel totally relaxed. But now, with all of the research devoted to skin cancer and it's prevention and the SPF products on the shelves with SPF numbers beginning to outnumber my age, I am now encouraging all of my Baby Boomers to follow these prevention guidelines:

- Use a sunscreen with an SPF of 30 or higher every day.
- Apply 1 ounce of sunscreen to your entire body 30 minutes before going outside. Reapply every 2 hours.
- Seek the shade, especially between 10 A.M. and 4 P.M.
- Do not burn.
- Avoid tanning and UV tanning booths.
- Cover up with clothing, including a broad-brimmed hat and UV-blocking sunglasses.
- Keep newborns out of the sun. Sunscreens should be used on babies over the age of 6 months.
- Examine your skin head-to-toe every month.
- See your physician every year for a professional skin exam.

For a beautiful looking and a safe tan, I just book a Buff and Bronze at the clinic. Please consult the skin care department for the specials they are offering this week. Your skin will thank you!

For more information, please visit the Skin Cancer Foundation at http://www.skincancer.org

There it is.  To all of my Baby Boomer Friends and to anyone who reads this blog, have a magical summer!

Explain this to me

I am writing this blog at the risk of creating outrage and losing the handful of people that actually read it.  But living in America, I do have my First Amendment rights.  So here goes.

Like most Americans, I was very much aware of the Zimmerman trial.  And when possible, I would listen, on Sirius, to the testimony as I travelled home from work.  I regretted not following it on TV as I missed the whole mannequin scene where both sides tried to convince the jury of Zimmerman's state of mind that fateful night.  It was more of a "he said - she said" trial it seemed.

My heart broke for the Martins.  I, too, lost a teenage son.  No one can possibly know their anguish, their anger.  But I can.  And I also tried to bring the drug dealer, responsible for my son's death, to trial. The County Prosecutor refused as he thought he would lose.  What?  Put me on the stand.  Let me testify.  I was denied that opportunity.

It seems so wrong that my state does not have a law that holds those miserable people accountable.  Other states do.  In the act of a felony, i.e., selling illegal drugs, that results in a death, i.e., my son's overdose, the individual is charged with murder.  Other states protect our children and ourselves with such a law.  I tried to appeal to our Governor and our state's legislature but did not succeed.  Explain this to me.

Now, despite the outcome of the trial, I was most fascinated with the process leading up to the announcement.  The racial component was front and center.  We had Al Sharpton and Jesse Jackson speaking on behalf of the black community.  And, I am sorry, but I do not think that these gentlemen have the best interest of that community in mind.  Why?  Because I know that the majority of African-American deaths are caused by African-Americans.  The percentage?  93%.  So where is their outrage concerning this?  Bill Cosby addresses it.  To me, race relations will continue to be right beneath the surface on a day to day basis and when a Zimmerman comes along it begins to fester and a negative verdict causes an eruption.  Explain this to me.

The other fascinating thing I learned in listening to the trial was the description of George Zimmerman.  He was called a "white Puerto-Rican".  I had to look it up.  I never heard of that term.  Well, as you guessed, he has mixed blood - part white and part Puerto-Rican.  Well, since I have mixed heritage, am I a plaid-American?  Or, has anyone dared to call our President a white-African-American?  Why are we not consistent in how we label people, in how we think, in how we look at a situation.  Why do we need the "spin"? Well, because we are human-beings with emotions that have been manipulated ever since we were young. We are such easy targets for the press, for lawyers, and for our political parties to think that it is OK to mess with our psyche?  Why not.  Our parents did.  Our teachers did.  When do we begin to think for ourselves without everyone else thinking they have a right to stop this process?  Explain this to me.

Well. here is my challenge.  Whenever you find yourself developing anger or hatred as you listen to or watch a news broadcast, turn the tables.  Do your own spin.  Instead of believing the Republican, pretend he is a Democrat.  Oh, thank God someone in Congress sees clearly.  Pretend your President is not a far leftist but more moderate or more conservative.  Does his policy make more sense?  Do you want to defend him more?   I'm not saying it works all of the time, but it does slow down the process of continually being spoon-fed.  Kool-aid has too much sugar for my taste.  Hey, press, do you honestly think you can manipulate my viewpoint?  Explain this to me.

My Powder Puff List - Don't Wait Until You Kick the Bucket!

Powder Puff list?  Why not?  My Bucket List is overflowing and, though filled with good intentions, always has the pretense of future possibilities.  And with the emphasis on Future, my focus for today becomes less intent.  Just like my typical phrase, "I will start my diet on Monday".  Forgot to add the year to that - Monday in the year 2020 'cause you have a bigger bucket of excuses, don't you, Elaine.

Thus was born my Powder Puff list.  For those of the non-baby boomer generation, there used to be a wonderful gadget called a Compact.  You kept it in your purse and, though you may have applied the pressed powder to your face that morning, good grooming dictated a quick glance latter in the day to make sure that the nose was not drawing too much attention.  It was a clever way to due a quick survey of the face.  If a touch-up was needed, you took that little puff and daintily patted "whatever".  To the observer, there may not have been any noticeable transformation, but once the compact was tucked back into the purse, the very act of attending to oneself, even for a brief moment, tended to rejuvenate not the face, but the mind in some way.  We smiled, we sat taller, we felt "repaired".

Now, for those who know me, they will attest to the fact that I tend to speak in metaphors.  For those who don't, I imagine that there is a lot of head scratching to determine where I am going with this.  Well, I don't want any head scratching.  Allow me to lay this out for you like a fine tooth comb.  Oh forgive me.  I can't help myself.

The first example I used was my endless diet.  There are many reasons that I will begin a diet.  The most frequent one?  Well, let's just say that it was "other oriented".  Not for me but for - a wedding; a high school reunion; a vacation; the beginning of summer; oops - the middle of summer; darn - for my September birthday; OK - I meant for Halloween; for Thanksgiving; for Christmas.  Oh the hell with it - It's my new years resolution, of course!  And the list goes on and on and on ad finitum.

Notice that in all of the motivators to begin this elusive diet, not once, not once did I mention health, or to feel better, or to break the bonds of carb addiction.  And also notice, just like the bucket list, my goal was always oriented on the future.  So what if I screw up today, there is always tomorrow.

Well, that last sentence actually bears some truth and has been misused by me in so many ways.  By "giving in to temptation" today - if I screw up - I can restart tomorrow.  Was it really temptation?  Did I screw up?  Why label it in such a negative way?

So - here are two things that I need to work on for my Powder Puff list.  One - don't ever do anything unless it is in your best interest.  Do I honestly think that being thinner will make a difference in what other people think?  Well, poor example.  Obesity, a national epidemic, has shown that others who do not know us do judge us from outward appearances.  First impressions can be a bitch.  But they don't define who we are.  What others perceive, how they feel, and how those feelings effect their behaviors toward us are a reflection of them, not of us.  And the opposite can be said of us.  If we allow our weight to change the perception of who we are, our feelings can be effected (believe me, I have seen depression and poor self-esteem emanate from their beautiful souls).  As a result, our behaviors may result in canceling the reunion, sitting in the back pew of the church, choosing not to sit at the pool, or deciding - what the heck - gorging on birthday cake, Halloween candy, Pumpkin Pie and Christmas cookies.

Phew!  We need to steer this out of control mindset, this future and other oriented mindset, back on course.  Otherwise, when we come to that fork in the road, we ignore Frost's advice and avoid the one less travelled and choose the road of comfort as it is familiar, and the pot holes are known to us.  Yet we always expect those pot holes to be filled in with little to no effort on our part. Who was it that said, "The definition of insanity is to do the same thing over and over again, expecting a different result."  Albert Einstein.

And that brings me to number Two - don't curse if you hit a pot hole.  You know, someone mentioned to me that living in Cleveland means lots of pot holes and a losing season for the Browns, I mean the Cavs, I mean the Indians.  Oh what the heck, we are cursed.  See, there it is - the cursed notion.  Our mindset is busy at work again.

When we set a goal for ourselves, even a realistic one, we may find that the path to achieving the goal is not always a smooth one.  Note to self, "refer to potholes aforementioned".  And as a result, we often tend to be critical of our efforts, of ourselves, even of others.  This, my friends, is a self-inflicted poison.  Why?  With criticism comes a defeatist attitude and that attitude gives rise to a number of different, unwanted and unhealthy behaviors.  "I'm a loser." "I will never make my goal."  "Oh, what the hell - I'll just give up." "There is always tomorrow".

Now I mentioned earlier that the last statement referring to tomorrow has been misused.  In actuality, it creates a dichotomy.  It permits us to do carte blanche today - to a point of possibly being reckless, and yet it also gives us the hope that things will be better.

What if we were to say, "there is always the next second?".  Whoa.  Pressure is on.  I still, however, have retained the hope that I can redirect my thoughts and actions, but by holding myself accountable today - well actually this minute,  I am less likely to be so reckless.  My frontal lobe remains intact and I begin to recognize that I am human and that I am not perfect.  And if I am more cognizant of that, I am less likely to through slings and arrows of this outrageous misfortune.  Who was it that, after thousands of efforts to create the light bulb said, "I have not failed.  It just took 10,000 efforts to succeed"?  Thomas Edison.

So my Powder Puff list is quite the opposite of a Bucket List.  It does not include climbing Mt. Everest or playing Tchaikovsky's Concerto in B Flat minor with the Cleveland or Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra.  Oh, no.  It contains a list of things that I can do for ME this very DAY.  And what I accomplish or do not accomplish will always be defined as a success, as it was done with good intentions.

My Powder Puff list today, or for that matter, always, will include making good choices, simple choices, that will make up the majority of my day.  I will follow my heart and know that I am not selfish, but am on a path of being the best that I can be.  And, at the end of the day, I will be at peace and know that I did my best with all of the good and bad circumstances the day had brought me.  And when I rest my head on my pillow, I can honestly say that I had no regrets.

And each day will be different.  It will offer challenges to my way of thinking.  But here is how I plan to get through it.

I will remove the compact and look into the mirror, which reminds me that, first, I AM me.  Don't forget to do something for yourself, Elaine.  And secondly, should a flaw be noted, the powder puff is there to offer forgiveness and to remind me that nothing is unrepairable.  

So,  Who said, "If I should fall (not fail - that was not a misspelling), I will pick myself up, powder myself off, smile into the mirror, and start all over again"?  Elaine Campbell

Fireworks - A Baby "Boomer's" Memoir

I have seen my fair share of 4th of July celebrations.  And that is not a complaint, mind you.  Rather, it has allowed me to reflect back on my life and use that very holiday as a pinnacle for discussion.  You see, fireworks were not necessarily projected on the moonlit sky. Take this journey with me and see what I mean.

My first recollections of the 4th of July will never be matched.  My parents, myself, and my 3 younger sisters lived above Pup-Pup and Aunt Betty's home in the small town of Tarentum, Pa.  It ran along the Allegheny River and thus was the perfect location for a steel mill.  I grew up in a true working class community but thought that I was rich beyond compare.  Since Dad had 9 brothers and sisters and Mom had 6, our neighborhood was fairly populated with relatives.  There had to be a birthday celebration somewhere which always meant a home-made cake at someone's home or backyard.  

But the best birthday celebration was Uncle Sam's.  We lived on 2nd Avenue and the park, with old cannons and a bandstand, was located across 1st Avenue by the river.  We would load up the Coleman with Dad's homemade Root Beer (except for the ones that exploded in the cellar) and Mom's iced spiced bars and walk over early to get a prime spot on the lawn.  Since Mom had washed and hung the blankets "on the line", the freshness was intoxicating and something I, to this day, have not been able to duplicate.  Fireworks were set off across the river on a little hill.  We enjoyed time with family and with friends.  Although we tend to romanticize the past, these memories are very real and very precious.  It was a simpler time.  I wish I understood then just how lucky I was.  Fireworks became a special memory.

Move forward to adulthood.  Never, ever, for one moment, think that a one year old may enjoy bright lights in the sky.  Oh, no.  Even though my sister invited us to a club with a smaller crowd and with unlimited ice cream, there seemed to be more duds than fireworks that night.  You know what I mean - the light projects into the sky and just leaves a loud noise.  Peter, our poor 1 year old guinea pig, begins to scream unconsolably and my father runs to his rescue with shaking hands.  Dad was a WW II vet and suffered from post-traumatic stress disorder.  He could not tolerate the duds either.  They walked into the parking lot and Peter was comforted in Dad's arms.  Thank you, Dad.  Your bravery in disarming mines in Germany helped individuals realize freedom.  Fireworks became a symbol of bravery.

Now we move forward to the city of Shaker Heights, known "for the schools it keeps".  Since we chose to send our children to a public school, it was a great decision.  And who knew?  The fireworks on the 4th were spectacular and drew crowds from neighboring communities.  We would pack up blankets (minus that magical scent) and canned pop and water and would drive to the Middle School and set up our site.  Often times my sisters and their families would join us.  If there was some new techno surprise, be assured it was included in the display.  Fireworks became obligatory because you didn't want to miss the latest advancement in chemical reactions.

Fast forward to 2 weeks ago.  It was announced that there would be no fireworks in Shaker Heights.  I understand that the concern for "community safety" was the contributing factor.  Safety concerns?  Unfortunately, one can speculate just what that refers to.  Did someone get injured and, therefore, sue the city?  Well, that certainly is possible.  We have become a nation whose decisions are influenced by lawsuits and by being Politically Correct.  It was never a mindset in my younger days.  Or, it could be the influence of unruly crowds that made it difficult for others to enjoy this public celebration.   Either way,  it makes me angry that a few can effect such an outcome.  Fireworks became political.

Then there was yesterday.  My 4th began with no expectations.  I stopped looking for the magic long ago.  But then, when you least expect it, the telephone rings.

My son's in-laws invited us to enjoy the fireworks from their driveway.  A club across the street was putting on a display despite many other communities following Shaker's ban.

We arrived to fresh fruit, homemade Mandelines, and pop and water.  A table and folding chairs were set up in the driveway.  My guinea pig son, Peter, who now loves fireworks, sprayed so much bug spray on himself that I almost peed my pants.  But it was a beautiful Citronella scent.  Just as delightful as Mom's blankets.  And we sat there with my new extended family enjoying the fireworks.  It was truly a 360.  Fireworks again became a beautiful memory.  Thank you.

Faith and Gratitude - "Andy Sitings"

I sleep with a tattered blanket and a small ball with Homer Simpson imprinted on one side. They are tucked away under my pillow and, if I choose, I can touch them with my fingertips at any time during the night.  Now, you can stop reading this article now and conclude that an admission such as this warrants no time to read further.  Or, as I hope, your curiosity has gotten the best of you and you have asked yourself, "Why?"

I believe that we all struggle with Faith.  At least I certainly have.  And we are all familiar with the phrase that God does not present us with any situation that we cannot handle.  It was actually Mother Theresa that wisely added, "I wish that He did not have so much faith in me."  She said it first.  I said it second.  It was during the eulogy of my son, Andy, on January 21, 2004.

We can never anticipate how we might react to our worst fears.  Mine was, as most parents are, losing a  child.  I could not imagine life without them.  And because that fear was so great, I prayed to God that He would protect them when I was unable to.

This blog addresses the miraculous ways I have managed to navigate life minus one precious passenger.

My first clue that there was something guarding my emotional destruction occurred in my living room the day following Andy's death.  I was, by no accident, sitting in the wing chair Andy often used to practice his guitar and play "Blackbird" by the Beatles just for me.  I gazed out of my contacts, now foggy from smudged makeup and tears, and beheld a room full of my family, friends, and neighbors.  We were grief-stricken and paralyzed.  Though my contacts did not clear, my thoughts amazingly did.  I felt an unexpected and unexplainable strength wash over me.  I reached for a pen and paper and began to prepare my son's eulogy.  I also became determined to see my loved ones through their sadness, their hopelessness.  Life would continue for all of us.

When I think back to that moment I am still amazed at that powerful feeling.  I call in my "Footsteps in the Sand".  That was my first real introduction to God.

Now, I would be lying if I told you that I have not collapsed at times when I hear "Blackbird", when I see a skateboarder, when I see one of his friends, so mature and grown up, when I see a commercial about saving animals, when I see a smile that can light up a room, when I see a whale breach the ocean, when I see my son Peter play his guitar, when I hold our daughter's son, Andrew, when I see a Peace sign, when I get a hug or am told, "Guess what, I love you!"

But the moments of loss have been so outnumbered by what I refer to as "Andy Sitings".  Well, I should really give credit to my sisters for coining the phrase.  They have them all of the time.  When they occur to me, they are nothing less than miraculous.  I will mention just a few.

It was at least a year before I could really enter his bedroom.  The essence of Andy lived there for so long.  But that did not mean that I was immune to reminders of his presence on earth.  I could open my dresser and find Birthday cards, notes, and pictures.  So I was a bit desensitized, but not much.  I found some precious things.  One was a book written to his friend, Carey, in grade school.  He described how much he cared for him.  I sent it to Carey that August.  In October, Carey lost his twin brother, Andrew.  I am glad I found that book.  I don't think that it was an accident that I  chose to go through Andy's belongings that month.

I was so sad that I was unable to locate "Ba-ba".  It was a tattered blanket that Andy named and clung to for several years.  He would cuddle up with me and suck his thumb.  He was my only thumb-sucker - just like me.  We had identical calluses on our right thumb from the wear and tear.

Years had since gone by and I found myself once again in his closet.  I don't know why.  Maybe I was wanting to change a light bulb. Really? There was nothing visible on his shelves but somehow I went on tiptoes and reached to the farthest corner of that top shelf.  There it was!  I have no explanation of why I would find myself in an empty closet, wanting to replace a light bulb that was not needed, and deciding to reach for one particular corner.  I hugged it.  I smelled it.  And I have not slept a night without it.

We have moved several times since leaving Andy's childhood home.  Sometimes it is a blessing to be away from those memories and sometimes it is gut wrenching for those very reasons.  I emphasized several times because the following story is absolutely unexplainable.

We had been settled into our new home for several months.  One day, our 1 year old grandson, Andrew, was walking around the gravel driveway on his newly found legs.  He bent down with precise balance and picked up a small ball with Homer Simpson on it.  Where did this ball come from? Could the dogs have found it in there romp in the woods, thinking their aging joints could out run the deer?  Couldn't be.  They hated the gravel and remained in the backyard.  Against my concern about germs and the origins of this ball, it was the perfect size for Andrew's fist and he tightened his grip, determined to not give it up. So we brought it inside and it was placed in Andrew's collection of balls.

One day during a visit, my son Peter spotted the ball.  "Oh," he remarked, "you brought Andy's fuze ball over".  My memory of Andy bouncing that silly ball from ankle to ankle came rushing back.  I stared at that ball with all of its wonder. How did that ball find itself in our driveway? You may find explanations.  I certainly have mine.  And that is why it is nestled with Ba-ba.

Why am I writing about this now?  Well, I have no answer for that.  I just felt compelled to sit down and share some of my precious miracles that sustain me.

During this time of year, I am privileged to be connected to some faiths and traditions that are celebrating life - my daughter-in-law, Shirin, and her parents including us in the Persian New Year celebration, my son-in-law, Jeremy taking Molly and Andrew to a Seder to celebrate his Passover tonight, and my preparing to listen to Peter play the organ in church Sunday for the Contemporary Easter Service.   I have come to appreciate that Love and Faith and Miracles are not confined to one religion.  They are part of our everyday life.  We just have to open our hearts to listen and to be led.

I hope that you all find the Love and the Beauty of this life with all of it's hidden mysteries and treasures.  Andy would like that, as I often said in his Eulogy.  And I am certain that you will find Peace.  Andy has taught me this lesson.  And I am forever grateful.

"I'm Depressed. Is there hope?" ABSOLTUTELY!

One of the most difficult questions a Psychiatrist has to answer happens to be the title of this post.  It comes in several forms:

     "Will I ever get better?" 

     "These stupid meds aren't working!"

     "I've lost all hope."

Have you ever felt this way?  I am writing this blog today to address these very important concerns. With education, understanding, patience, and support, depression is very treatable.

Before I delve right in and discuss treatment options, there are three important concerns that need to investigated.   Without knowledge of these influencing factors, adequate treatment for depression is less likely to be achieved.   

Have you ever heard of the term BIOPSYCHOSOCIAL? It is a combination of the words biological, psychological and sociological.  Let me explain.

Biological concerns address not only family history of mental illness and medical illnesses that could contribute to depression, but also substance abuse problems. One question I will always ask the patient is if their use of alcohol or drugs has increased to help them cope.  I don't ask them if they drink or use drugs because the answer is often "No".  I don't ask them how much, either, because I would probably need to double the amount.  Self-medicating is less threatening and they are more likely to answer with an affirmative or just deny ever using.  I will use this information as a teaching point - they cannot expect to respond to medication as effectively if under the influence of alcohol or drugs.

Psychological considerations are paramount in considering treatment options. Answer me this question: How do you cope with sadness, with stressors, with unexpected changes?  For example, some may "cry over spilled milk" while others may make "lemonade from lemons"? Our defense mechanisms come to play when things "go wrong".  No two individuals experience similar episodes in exactly the same way. Some may gather family for support and identify the stressor and take action to minimized their symptoms.  Some may turn to substances to self-medicate or stop taking medication the minute they experience a side effect that might be transitory.  Or they may feel the medication is ineffective if relief of symptoms does not come within a short period of time. These, again, are important teaching points.  Some individuals want immediate relief.  If they are not informed that, unlike tylenol that relieves a headache in 20 minutes, anti-depressants require more time and work differently, they may be less compliant with treatment.  Education is key. 

Social concerns have always influenced our emotional state.  Job losses and financial concerns, foreclosures, broken marriages that occur after years of celebrating anniversaries are just a few of the stressors challenging my patients. In addition, a strong support system is an essential element of the care plan. Do you have access to family members or friends when life throws you punches or do you isolate?

All of the above components are necessary when considering treatment options. Are the symptoms beginning to affect function? If so, an anti-depressant might be prescribed at this time. Are other medical problems or substance abuse issues under control or contributing to the situation? If not, then involving the primary care provider and/or referral to a substance abuse program is also necessary.  How strong are the coping or defense mechanisms?  What was your answer to the above question? Are you making lemonade or crying over the spilled milk?  A referral to a counselor such as a social worker or psychologist may be necessary at this time? Is a case manager needed to address the financial situation, living arrangements or unexplored entitlements?  Support comes in all forms and may be a very critical element in the overall treatment plan.

Now about medication. For client's presenting with mild symptoms, medication may not be necessary. Did you know that research has determined that exercise including yoga can be effective for these individuals?  If the symptoms are more moderate or severe, and I am referring to the number of symptoms present, then medication is advised. Remember the pneumonic SIGECAPSS in my last blog?  The more symptoms present will influence treatment.  And certainly if the patient has a dramatic change in functioning, or is expressing suicidal thoughts, plan or intent, then hospitalization is usually recommended at that time.

The selection of medication depends on the symptoms that are described by the client. And certain neurotransmitters in our brain are utilized to help target and relieve symptoms. I am referring to serotonin, norepinephrine, and dopamine.

If anxiety, obsessive compulsive traits, or ruminations are present (those thoughts that show up at bedtime or tend to act like a broken record), then my first choice is a serotonin agent. They are classified as SSRI's or Selected Serotonin Reuptake Inhibitors (lexapro, zoloft, celexa, paxil, prozac, luvox) and can be very efficacious in targeting symptoms that include anxiety, ruminations, guilty conscious, and obsessive compulsive traits that predominate one's depression. Concerns that often leads to non-compliance are side effects - transient stomach or abdominal discomfort, headache, or more importantly, sexual dysfunction, specifically the inability to experience an orgasm. This needs to be discussed with patients prior to treatment.

Medications that include both serotonin and norepinephine also supply benefit for concentration and anxiety. If focus is a problem, often times a combined drug can offer benefits. SNRI's (Serotonin Norepinephrine Reuptake Inhibitors) include effexor, pristiq, cymbalta, and remeron. Remeron is benefical if the client is unable to sleep as it has sedative properties and causes no sexual side effects. Cymbalta is used in clients that have some of the physiological symptoms of depression. Effexor and pristiq provide not only serotonin and norepinephrine, but some affinity for dopamine which is addressed below.

Dopamine, to me, is the "feel better" neurotransmitter, providing energy, motivation and concentration. If the symptoms are more consistent with a "couch potato", or a withdrawn nature, than a dopamine agent like wellbutrin may be indicated. Although it also has no sexual side effects, it is limited in client's who have no history of seizure disorder or eating disorders.

Education is an important aspect of the initial assessment. Medication needs to be taken consistently and the client needs to be aware that responses to medication may require at least 2 to 3 weeks. Any concerns regarding side effects or thoughts of discontinuation of the medication need to be discussed with the doctor. Follow-up appointments are critical in determining the response to the medication, whether dosage needs to be adjusted or whether other agents need to be considered for adjunctive benefits.

And I cannot sign off without commenting on the media's influence on the public's attitude towards medication.  (Don't even get me started on the movie industry's depiction of the medicated patient - a "walking zombie"!)  Perhaps the increased suicidal thoughts of adolescents when first placed on anti-depressants was an important discovery.  What do you do with that information?  You work more closely with the patient and educate the patient and family.  You don't scare the public into thinking that anti-depressants are responsible for suicide.  On the contrary, because the scare prevented teens and parents, and even adult patients, from seeking treatment, teen suicides increased.  What a shame!  Depression is treatable.  Don't be afraid to seek treatment.

There it is - my philosophy of treating Depression in a nutshell (actually "blogshell").

In summary, discuss your full spectrum of symptoms with your doctor so that the right treatment plan can be recommended.   If medication was prescribed, do not leave the office without a full understanding of the side effects and benefits of that medication. Do not change your dosage or stop treatment unless discussing this with your physician first.  Should suicidal thoughts develop either during the initial part of the treatment (often seen in children, adolescents, and young adults), or at any time during the course of therapy, notify your doctor immediately or present to the Emergency Room for a risk assessment.

Do I have the Blahs or am I Depressed?

Recuperating from my concussion (see last blog) has certainly had an effect on my mood.  And for lack of a better description, I feel really blah!

Now, as a Psychiatrist whose primary role is to conduct mental assessments on my patients, you better be darn sure that I am paying close attention to my perceptions, my feelings and my behavior.  I have come up with a diagnosis of the BLAHS secondary to my injury.  It has left me with feeling B-lue - a sadness that has me lying on the couch a bit more than usual; L-ittle changes are noted in my energy, concentration, appetite, and sleep pattern; A-ware of the change, linking it to a recent event and in my case, dealing with symptoms of my concussion, not working and feeling unproductive; H-ourly changes, i.e., it does not persist for days or worsen, but rather fluctuates with visits from family, emails, and listening to my favorite music; S-hort lived -as in, this, too, shall pass.

Even though I have the knowledge to explain the recent change in my feelings and behavior, I am also wise enough to talk about this with my primary care physician. Most individuals do not.  Some episodes of feeling BLAH actually evolve into a depression.  I may be sitting at home today, but I am motivated to get the word out!

So - my goal today is to provide some information on depression.  I have decided to resurrect a previous blog on the topic.  Here goes!

What is depression? If you were to ask your friends or family, or be brave enough to conduct a survey of passing strangers on a street corner, I guarantee you would get a variety of different responses. That is because depression has become an umbrella term used by many individuals to describe a number of different moods ranging from "the blues" or feeling "blah" to a severe, debilitating state where nothing but suicide could end their pain. There is quite a gap between these two ends of the spectrum. So, let's begin by defining depression more clearly.

First of all, I am very grateful to have a person who is feeling "depressed" actually sitting in my office. Most of my patients who are depressed may be referred by their primary care provider (and may not follow through). Some are brought by a family member or friend, not necessarily willing to provide details to a complete stranger. Very few individuals come on their on volition. So, when I am given this opportunity, I better be able to diagnose my client correctly. 

As a psychiatrist, I rely on specific criteria to diagnosis an individual with a major depressive episode. The interview is critical in gathering the objective data. I rely on an acronym to obtain the necessary information - SIGECAPSS. This represents the following symptoms: (S) Sadness or depression; (I) lack of interest or anhedonia; (G) guilt, poor self-esteem, worthlessness; (E) loss of energy; (C) poor concentration; (A) changes in appetite, either increased or decreased; (P) psychomotor retardation or agitation - most likely observed by others ("All you do is sit around" or "You seem more edgy than usual"); (S) changes in sleep pattern, either increased or decreased; and, most importantly, (S) suicidal thoughts, plans, or intent. The DSM-IV manual (the psychiatrist's bible for establishing diagnoses) requires that at least five (or more) of the above symptoms have been present during the same 2-week period and represent a change from previous functioning; at least one of the symptoms is either (1) (S) depressed mood or (2) (I) loss of interest or pleasure. If the symptoms cause significant distress or impairment in social, occupational, or other important areas of functioning such as family relationships then it becomes a major depressive disorder. I have also been required to rule out any medical condition that could contribute to depression (e.g. hypothyroidism), any concurrent use of alcohol or drugs that can influence or mimic some of the above symptoms, or bereavement symptoms that have not become more debilitating after a two month interval. I am not at all dismissing the depression that can be attributed to other general medical conditions, substance abuse, or pathological bereavement. These individuals are just diagnosed under a different terminologies. In addition, individuals with other mental illness, including bipolar disorder, schizoaffective disorder, or adjustment disorder with depressed mood can also experience the same symptoms. It is beyond the intention of this posting to address these other conditions but will be discussed at another time.

When I wrote above that I am "grateful" to be able to assess a person face to face, I truly meant this. Depression is treatable. Statistics claim that women are twice as likely to develop depression than are men. Based on the gender of my clients, I suspect that this statistic is true. However, men are also less likely to admit that they might be suffering from depression. Considering the other statistic that woman are more likely to attempt suicide but that men are more successful, I am concerned that this younger segment of my generation (the 46 to 54 year olds) are experiencing more stressors.

PLEASE!!!!! Even if you are feeling "a little blah", or if a friend, a colleague, a family member gives you some feedback about a change in your behavior, promise me that you will at least talk to your primary care physician. If you do not have one, turn your insurance card over and call the number for behavior health services for a referral. If you do not have insurance, there are community mental health services in your county that can offer you services. MOST IMPORTANT - if you have thoughts of suicide, please go to the nearest Emergency Room for an evaluation. Please promise me that. I may not know you or the extent of your grief or your stressors. But I do know that everyone on this earth is precious. Life is precious. Please have faith and know that you are loved.

It's a Concussion - again!

For those who have noticed that I have been acting a bit "didsy" this week, the verdict is in.  No I am not turning into that perceived blonde persona.  Nor am I showing my advancing age - well the CT scan would suggest otherwise with that dreaded "generalized atrophy" nonsense.  No people.  Elaine has a concussion - again!  

How well timed.  The NFL is undergoing its Concussion Crisis.   And I have always believed that things happen in threes.  Two famous woman with precious brains had recently succumbed to a fall, hit their heads and suffered the consequences.  I refer to Hilary Clinton and Barbara Walters, of course.  I do not claim to be famous, but the mere fact that I, too, like Hilary, suffered dehydration, fainted and hit my head has created an opportunity to blog about it.

Who knew?  It was a regular weekend with the usual takeout.  Then the twist.  Well, more like a gut wrenching pain.  I never had food poisoning before but I saw more of the bathroom than my grandson that weekend.  I dragged myself to work that Monday morning.  Note: I never have to drag myself to work.  I met with my dear nurse, Dawn, who noted I was listless and tired.  "Go home and go to bed".  My boss agreed and I left within the hour.

I can't recall many details after that.  I know that I arrived home safely and flipped on my favorite reruns of NCIS.  I was trying to beat Ducky to the forensic findings when wooziness set in.  I knew to drink more water but never made it.  The details can only be reconstructed from the findings - an overturned dining room chair, my hands covered in blood.  I lifted my head - ouch!  I looked at the floor.  Blood.  I must have reached back in my grogginess to assess the situation.  There was a 3 inch gash in the back of my head - you know that area where the hair is shorter and to go the ER would require shaving the area to investigate further.  Vanity thy name is Elaine!  Not proud.  Not proud at all.

The only sensible people in this scenario were my family and coworkers.  I staved off any efforts to be driven to the hospital.  The bleeding was controlled, sensorium "intact".  I promised to follow-up with my doctor in the morning, took 2 tylenol and went to bed.  Didn't sleep much, though.  (See signs of concussion below).

Now I reported to work the next morning and begin to fax some documents.  At least I thought I was faxing - phone numbers were a bit jumbled.  But the big AHA moment came when my daughter texted me, wondering why I dare join some dating site on Facebook.  WHAT?  I called my doctor immediately, got a head CT, and the diagnosis was confirmed.  No bleed or subdural or fracture.  Thank God.  It was a concussion.

I hope you are all dumbfounded by the actions of a medically trained individual who not only knew the signs and symptoms of a concussion, but also survived a previous one in 1989.

My current symptoms are no where as serious - unable to remember how to use my coffee maker, vertigo, headache, putting orange juice on my children's cereal, getting lost in my hometown, word searching, and memory loss.  It developed into a post concussive syndrome.  To this day I have to walk out of stadiums if the noise reaches a certain decibel. 

But I have some classic symptoms which are resolving.  My headache is better.  I  am not in a fog but do record when I last took Tylenol for fear I might double dose.  My sleep is, at best, 4 hours per night.  I hope that improves soon.  I feel fatigued and I want to cry at the drop of a hat.

Here are a list of symptoms that are common:

• Headache or a feeling of pressure in the head
• Temporary loss of consciousness
• Confusion or feeling as if in a fog
• Amnesia surrounding the traumatic event
• Dizziness or "seeing stars"
• Ringing in the ears
• Nausea or vomiting
• Slurred speech
• Fatigue

Some symptoms of concussions may be immediate or delayed in onset by hours or days after injury:

• Concentration and memory complaints
• Irritability and other personality changes
• Sensitivity to light and noise
• Sleep disturbances
• Psychological adjustment problems and depression
• Disorders of taste and smell

Gosh.  I didn't realized how many symptoms I had.  But you know the most disturbing thing?  This could have been prevented.  I wish I could have done things differently.  Famous last words, right?  Not really.   Let's revisit the crime scene.

When your going through twice as much Charmin as normal, for God's sake replace fluids - not just with water but with electrolytes.  Have Gatorade in your pantry.  And don't be so cavalier about your bathroom habits.  Any changes from your normal pattern that continue and lead to symptoms like increased thirst, dizziness upon standing, poor skin turgor (you know, that "when I pinch my skin it stays puckered" look) may indicate dehydration.  

If you do fall and hit your noggin, please be aware of signs and symptoms of a concussion.  And you know what?  If you are confused, you may not even know what is happening.  Have a friend or family member on speed dial and don't pull an Elaine move - LISTEN TO THEM!

Now I will enlist the help of spell and grammar check.  I may feel fine but need to recognize when a little help is needed. 

Stay healthy.  Avoid dehydration.  Avoid falls.  Live everyday to it's fullest.  Life is fragile.  And so is your noggin! Protect it as best you can.   Peace.

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Missing Andy - You left the best part!

I saw you today, Andy.  As I took the dogs out at 6 AM I heard a plane overhead.  It was flying above the clouds before dawn and the light that flashed created this beautiful halo effect on the sky as it passed by.  So beautiful - like an angel not knowing whether to help me with stubborn Pumpkin and Cole or just to continue on the journey..  You then put the thought in my head.  Remember when you told the teacher how funny your Mom was when she scolded Pumpkin for doing "poo-poo" in the kitchen?  I guess I said, "You don't have permission to do that!".  Well, I told the dogs that it was a bit too cold, Mommy forgot her robe, and that they do not have permission to scour the freaking yard all morning to find the perfect spot.  It worked, Andy.  Thank you for that sweet memory.

I saw you yesterday.  A stranger passed by and took the time to gaze into my eyes and give me a nod and a smile.  How heart-warming.  You always could light up a room with your smile.  Thank you for that moment.

I saw you last weekend.  I picked up the Sunday newspaper and the flyers tumbled to the floor.  You loved the Sunday after Thanksgiving when all of the toy stores would advertise their products.  You studied them for weeks as you made your list.  Of course you would check with me to make sure you were not being too greedy for Santa.  You were never greedy, Andy.  You taught me the true meaning of humility.  I hope to always strive to be more like you.  Thank you so much for that lesson.

I hugged you last Friday.  We were celebrating Jeremy's birthday and their rescue cat cuddled up on my lap then stood on it's hind legs and stretched its paws over my shoulder.  How many dogs and cats did you save?  I treasured that hug, just like the one you gave me the night before you died.  I will never take for granted that tomorrow is a guarantee.  I will embrace today.  That's why they call it the Present. Thank you for teaching me that a hug is priceless and should never be taken for granted.

I found the remnants of Ba-Ba.  That tattered cloth that you treasured was in a bin with your hockey equipment, your favorite books, your hacky sack, your Tasmanian devil figure, your notes to me, your ski trail maps, your guitar picks - just the most precious assortment of objects that I could ever imagine.  Well, I took Ba-Ba and placed it under my pillow.  Don't think your Mom cukoo monkey.  My thoughts of seeing you in my dreams have been bolstered by that very act.  Thank you for being so precious.  Thank you for the possiblility of  sweet dreams.

I heard you last week.  As impossible as that sounds, your brother, Peter, made a recording for me.  He used his new Microphone that Santa brought him and, playing your black acoustic guitar, recorded Blackbird by the Beatles.  You played that for me the Saturday before you died.  It is now my ring tone.and your nephew, Andrew's favorite lulaby.  Thank you for teaching me that broken wings do not hinder the ability to fly.

Tonight I will mourn the last time that I physcially hugged you.  We were passing each other in the driveway and you actually stopped the car, ran to me and said goodbye.  I guess you might say that that simple act of hugging and saying goodbye was more than coincidence.  You see, your  Mom has become a firm believer in divine intervention..  I will never take anything for granted.  With my heightened awareness and my admitting that there exists something greater than ourselves, I now know that you are with me.  I only need to look, to feel, to open my heart. 

Andy, even though I no longer feel the warmth of your hug, see your angelic smile, hear your voice saying, "Guess what Mom, I love you",  you left the best parts behind.  God has put you in so many aspects of my life now.  I thank God for that gift and I thank him for allowing me to be your Mom for 19 wonderful years.  Peace, my son.  I love you dearly and miss you so very much.   Mom