Mental Health Awareness Week

Did you know that it was Mental Health Awareness Week?  I am embarrassed to say that I was more observant of Reverend Martin Luther King and focusing on his dream - Judging one for the content of their character and not the color of their skin.

However, people who suffer from depression, anxiety, mood swings, substance abuse and other mental health issues are indeed judged quite harshly.  The stigma remains and those people standing in judgement are unaware that this is not a character flaw.

I received a very touching Facebook feed from a friend.  Here is what she wrote:
"Depression, anxiety and panic attacks are not a sign of weakness.  They are signs of trying to stay strong for too long.  Did you know that 1 in 3 of us go through this in our lifetime?  It's Mental Health Awareness Week.  Share the support.  Let those who struggle know that they are not alone….."

As a tribute to my dear friend I am resurrecting some information on some mental health issues.  This long, cold winter and lonely holidays can increase the likelihood of depression.  Here is part 1 of a 4 part series I published in 2010 regarding depression.  You can pull-up all 4 parts as well as read other important topics related to mental health issues on the blogsite.

Please be kind to those that suffer.  Carry an extra blanket in your car for the Homeless.

HEALTH AND WELLNESS -Depression - Part 1

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" 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 blue", 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.

With Blessing and Peace to all, Dr. Elaine

Remembering Andy

This January 16th will mark the 10th Anniversary of my son, Andy's, death.  When people are made aware that a decade has past without his amazing smile, they either respond, "Has it been that long?" or "It seems as if it were yesterday."

I could respond both ways, I guess.  It seems like a lifetime ago when he last hugged me and said,
"Guess what, Mom, I love you!" and yet the pain is as fresh as if it happened a moment ago.  The problem was initially holding on to that last hug, those last words and let them comfort me as the grief consumed me.

They say time heals all wounds.  Perhaps for some it does.  But some wounds require more care than any amount of time or any top-notch doctors could provide.  I did find that healing in the most unexplainable moment of my life.  I will explain, but first, the events leading up to that moment.

Andy had died on a Friday.  My husband, Jim, and I were working.  I received a call from him stating that SouthWest Hospital ER called to report that Andy was brought in by ambulance.  Nothing else.  Jim arrived first and became concerned when the staff would give him no information until I arrived.  Jim, in his very assertive manner, demanded to be told immediately what happened to Andy.  Was Jim thinking of Andy first?  He took one look at the "Private Family Room" with its cold vinyl couch and veneered table with a lone telephone.  (You, know, the phone that would be used to notify his sister and brother.)  He knew Andy had died before the staff confirmed it.  His first action was to protect me. He would not have me sit in that room.  He would not have anyone else tell me that Andy was gone.

He stood out in the middle of the ER parking lot that cold January day and looked for my arrival.  He motioned that I park immediately in a handicap space outside of the entrance.  I shook my head no but his emotions began to whittle away at all of the safe senarios I had envisioned on my drive there. He was with friends the night before.  Did he get into an accident?  Could drugs be involved?  Even as I pulled into the space I was accepting the fact that he could be in surgery and that Jim was just wanting to prevent my wasting any more time.

He didn't need to say anything.  I looked into his eyes.  I had never seen that pain.  And then I knew.  Jim just had to be there to catch me should I fall.  I asked, "Is he dead?"  He could only shake his head yes.

Three important lessons learned from that ER experience is :
1) The love and respect my husband demonstrated to me that I not to be told by anyone else about Andy was a sacrificial and deep love.
2) When the police finally allow you to view your son but to warn you to keep your hands off "the body" as it is a crime scene, (investigating the unknown death of a young, beautiful person) kick them both in the balls, ask them to respect that I am this beautiful boys Mother and to haul me off to jail in handcuffs afterwards.
3) Despite ER's feeling that they are prepared for handling the announcement and grief by assigning a social worker to the family and give the details when all are assembled in the private room and to not deviate from that protocol allows cold, callous, robotic type gestures that are transparent and deplorable.

The rest of that Friday unfolded just like the ER with shock and horror.  When we entered our home my husband finally broke down and cried , "Where is my Andy?".  The home had reminders of him everywhere you looked.  Should I try to protect Peter and Molly when they walk through the door later?  Peter was flying home from New York where he was a musician, a friend accompanying him.  Molly would head home from Oxford, Ohio.  She had collapsed when we told her.  A friend was driving her home.

All of my family arrived that day.  The last was my niece, Gretchen, who flew in from Duke that night.  I will never forget the sobbing and wails.  It was just as loud that Tuesday night at the funeral home when the cousins gathered around Andy for the last time, knowing they would never see his face again.

Jim, Peter, Molly and I slept together in the family room that Friday. It was so painful to drift into sleep, that non-reality and see Andy and not know.  I would wake on average 3 times per hour and look at my surroundings and be kicked in my heart, my stomach, my very being.  How would I survive the greatest nightmare of every parent - burying their child.

The next day I was up before the others and found the strength to gather some of Andy's prized possessions and place them on a counter as people would enter our home.  I got dressed and began to hear the cries from Jim as he say my little tribute.  I thought initially that I would take it down but he said to leave it up.  "It's beautiful".

The Shaker Hts. community showed up along with relatives and friends.  Jim and I were respected as parents and the horror in the parents' eyes spoke volumes.  If this could happen to Andy Psarras, it could happen to their child.  I so appreciate all of the different ways people showed support, from cousins making 3 larges photo collages of Andy to my sister-in-law, Georgette, deciding to put everyone to work to clean my kitchen - I mean scrub it to a sparkle.

It was that afternoon that some strength came over me.  I looked around at my family and their unconsolable grief.  It was then I was scooped up. I looked back and no longer saw my footprints in the sand.  I put in new contact,s as I could no longer see from the film of tears and makeup on the ones I was wearing, picked up a legal pad, and wrote my son's eulogy.  I decided that I would get this family through the grief.  I would never let them see me buckle. I would help to hold them up should they fall.  I would not give up celebrating holidays at our home because one special person was missing.  I knew he would always be there.

I think God has Faith enough in me now and over the years my toes began to feel the sand.  Now my heels are firmly embedded. I am walking on the beach again.  Andy would like that.  That very experience has strengthened my spirituality.  I cannot explain it any further.

My husband also eulogized our son.  He always pulls it together.  It was powerful.  He, as well as the county, pursued Andy's death as a murder.  Any death resulting in the act of a felony - selling illegal heroin - should be viewed as murder.  That is a cause I am dedicated to to this very day.  One day, I pray, Ohio will enact Andy's Law.

My eulogy was just a tribute to Andy.  He was buried in the Phish T-shirt that was only 2 weeks old. He never wanted me to wash it for fear it would fade.  Over it is a shirt he borrowed from his Dad.  His favorite color was orange.  He wore his favorite corduroys that were held together with a safety pin.  He is only wearing one shoe.  He loved his Birkenstocks and lost one when we were visiting his favorite state, Hawaii.  Our thoughts are that he has one foot in heaven and one in Hawaii.  Andy would have liked that.

I reminded everyone that his smile would light up a room.  I asked everyone present at the Funeral to smile at a stranger that day.  Andy would like that.

Andy was an animal lover and worked as a vet tech.  He brought home so many strays.  He always tried to save animals, even friends.  I asked everyone to be kind to animal.  Andy would like that.

Andy would never end a phone call without saying "Peace".  Now that's a hard request, but look for the beauty and joy in the day and when arguing, attempt to see the other's perspective.  Andy would like that.

The family including Andy had recently viewed the tribute to George Harrison, released 1 year after George's death and 2 months before Andy's death.  Andy loved the Beatles and would play Blackbird for me on his acoustic guitar.  Peter now has that guitar and plays it so gently and with such respect. Blackbird remains my ringtone.

There was also a song by Jo Brown.  He performed it on a ukelele as George, just like Andy, loved Hawaii.  I sang it to Andy at the funeral with my son, Peter, playing the ukelele and Jim and Molly by my side.  It goes like this.

Lonely days are long, Twilight sings a song
Of the happiness that used to be.
Soon my eyes will close, soon I'll find repose
And in dreams you're always near to me.

I'll see you in my dreams
Hold you in my dream
Someone took you out of my arms
Still I feel the thrill of your Charms.

Smile that once was mine
Tender eyes that shine
They will light my way tonight
I'll see you in my dreams.

Smile that once was mine
Tender eyes that shine
They will light my LONELY way tonight
I'll see you in my dreams.

Goodnight my sweet Andy.  I love you dearly and miss you so much.  You will always remain in our hearts.

Love and Peace, Mom

Ask yourself, "Am I an alcoholic?"

New Year's Resolutions come and go.  I gave up on diets and my decision to not be critical has sadly been broken to many freakin' times this year.  The nice thing about today is that it brings a new beginning and I am hopeful to be a better person.

The resolution that should be addressed by every person who lifts a glass of some 

intoxicating liquid is this.   "If I want to be the best I can be, I will include in my self inventory

the question of whether I am drinking too much."  And January 1 does not hold an exclusivity

on self-awareness.  

As a Psychiatrist, I have to rule out alcohol abuse and addiction in my first encounter

with a patient, and often times the consumption they admit to is not accurate.  In reality I 
multiply the amount 2-3 times.

As Primary Care Physicans find their workload increase, the question of alcohol is not often 

addressed and I guarantee 1 in 20 in that waiting room are alcoholics and several more 

abusers.  If not asked, they won't tell.  

So, the burden of addressing alcoholism falls onto the individual.  Denial runs high

during this self-assessment and the thought of the typical alcoholic is not the drunk

under the bridge with a paper-bagged bottle.  It involves young and old and  plays no 

favorites as to gender, race, religion, economics, etc.

A friend had posted this amazing article yesterday that I wanted to share.  Please read it 
and feel free to connect to the links.

Do not let alcohol destroy you or your family.  And for family members who identify

a loved one in this description, be their savior.  Alcohol is deadly.  

If printing Ms. Shute's article makes just one person aware that they have a problem, then

my purpose is served.

Drinking Too Much? Don't Count On Your Doctor To Ask

by NANCY SHUTE

January 07, 2014 2:11 PM

Looks good. But maybe this time I'll stop at one.

Kjersti Magnussen /Flickr

Most of the people who have problems with drinking aren't

 alcoholics, and having a brief chat with a doctor is often all 

it takes to prompt excessive drinkers to cut back.

But, it turns out, doctors aren't bringing the topic up. 

More than 80 percent of adults say they've never discussed

alcohol use with a health professional, a survey finds.

Young people and binge drinkers were most likely to be asked 

about alcohol use, according to a survey by the 

Centers for Disease Control and Prevention.

But even then, just 13 percent of binge drinkers said they had been asked about their drinking in the past year. Among people who binge drink 10 times or 

more a month, just one-third said they've ever been asked. The results were published Tuesday in 
Morbidity and Mortality Weekly Report.

"The goal here is not to tell people to never have another drink," Dr. Tom Frieden, the head of the CDC, said in a press briefing. But, he added, "The health system is not doing an effective job finding out about these health problems."

No kidding. These numbers haven't budged in years, despite a 2004 recommendation by the U.S. Preventive Services 

Task Force that all adults be asked about alcohol use, and that people who look like they're having difficulties be 

offered a brief intervention.(www.cdc.gov/features/alcoholscreening/

That is a fancy term for talking for 10 or 15 minutes about how one might cut back, and coming up with a 

practical  plan to do that.

i

Centers for Disease Control and Prevention

"It may be going from six drinks on a Friday
night to three or four," Frieden said. "It might
mean spacing them out, or having something
to drink besides alcohol."

Studies have found that having that
conversation and making a plan can cut a
person's alcohol consumption by up to
25 percent. 

That could make a substantial dent in the 88,000 deaths each year caused by alcohol, as well as
$224 billion in economic costs. Most of those problems are caused by drinkers who aren't alcoholics, Frieden said.

People are considered at risk (http:rethink drinking.niaaa.nih.gov) if they're drinking more than 15 drinks a week on average for men, and 8 drinks a week for women. That also includes any alcohol use by pregnant women or by people under age 21.

Binge drinking is defined as five or more drinks in a session for men, and four or more drinks for a woman.

The simple screening tests that doctors use, like the four-question CAGE test, are widely available online and take 

about a minute.  C - have you tried to Cut down? A - Has anyone been Annoyed with your drinking? G- Do you ever 

feel Guilty about your drinking?  E - Do you need an Eye-opener?

Here's one test from the National Institute on Alcohol Abuse and Alcoholism that lets you compare your drinking

 habits to the rest of the country. And here's another screening test from the Partnership at Drugfree.Org.

For the DIY approach to healthier drinking, the NIAAA offers a list of strategies including

 "drinking tracker wallet cards" and the classic "pace and space," alternating booze with non-alcoholic beverages.

So, what did you think?  My posting this information is not to accuse or even suggest that the

reader has a drinking problem.  But in all fairness, did anyone in your life, be it parent, spouse, child, or physician ask these questions?  If you or a family or friend asked these questions, then take heed.  
If your  PCP never did, please suggest that he/she read this blog.

Have a Happy and Safe New Year.  Now back to learning not to be critical of others.

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.