Just when I think I'm out...

It has now been two years since I first stumbled on to the Zarahemla City Limits website (linked over on the side there) and started my journey out of Mormonism. My time line was roughly like so:

1 weekend reading essays on website
2 weeks reading books by Grant Palmer and Fawn Brodie
2 months struggling to be NOM to maintain family peace
1 meeting with 1st counselor to quit callings
2 months trying to think of excuses not to go to church at all to avoid brain implosion
2 months not even making excuses but just not going to church
1 meeting with bishop to formally request no further contact
5 quiet months
1 letter to 5 year old son inviting him to Primary
1 letter to bishop with cc: to Greg Dodge resigning
1 year of happy post-Mormon life

And so I still get very disconcerted when I have Mormon dreams. They have become less frequent, but damn - I had another one over the weekend. In most of these dreams, I am at the MTC. Probably because that was the worst two months of my life ever, and the first time I started to feel like I belonged to a cult.

The details of the dream are fuzzy now. But the theme is always the same, every time, in every dream. The feeling of being trapped. Feeling trapped but surrounded by people who are completely fine and can't understand my panic. Feeling the overwhelming desire to run, to escape, to break free and yet terrified of...?

This is what those fools who harp on "leave the church but can't leave it alone" will never understand. I can't leave it alone because it won't leave me alone. For the first six months after my disaffection, I felt so anxious that I had to rely on drugs just to sleep through the night. And even now, after two years out, I'm still having nightmares.

Vet Part II

So I did finally catch damn cat I the other day and took him to the vet. He got his temp taken, a stool sample checked for worms (that's two invasion of his hind end there) then a blood test for feline leukemia in one leg, one vaccination in the other, and the final vaccination in the scruff of his neck. I almost felt sorry for him, except for what he put me through trying to catch him.

Well that little shit warned the others. And when it came time to take damn cat II to the vet today, he was ready... with all 10 back claws. I seriously look like one of those teenage girls who likes to cut. My arms are shredded. I actually had blood running down my arm. I am still in pain.

But I caught damn cat II anyways and took his 19 pound (yes, he weighs that much) fluffy ass to the vet. He spent the whole car ride howling at the top his kitty lungs. Now, after all that trouble getting him into the carrier, he refused to come out. I had to hold it upside down and shake him free. And then after the vet was done poking and prodding and vaccinating damn cat II, that little turd of a feline jumped off the table and WALKED RIGHT IN TO THE CARRIER and sat down. Marc told me that the cat was acting like a "damn fool" and though I should have yelled at him for using that word, it was the absolute truth so I just agreed with him.

Marc had brought his newest plush microbe with him - Heartworm. And the vet had a great time talking with him about heartworms, and she even brought out the dog heart complete with heartworm infestation preserved in formaldehyde so he could see real heartworms. He also learned about hookworms, tapeworms, roundworms, fleas, ticks and some other assorted animal parasites. Quite educational and also quite gross.

Off to cleanse my wounds. La la la la la la cat scraaaaatch.

La Dolce Vita

It appears that I have discovered the culprit behind the evil migraines. Pain, thy name is aspartame. How did I come to this conclusion? Well, I've been keeping a headache diary, as suggested by my doctor. And I've been thinking about anything that might have changed since September, which was when the migraines went from once every few months to once every few weeks.

And in the end, I narrowed it down to the Crystal Light Raspberry Tea I started drinking last September and usually had 2 or 3 glasses of every night. And the nights I had more of the tea were the nights before I had evil migraines. So I did a little google (very scientific, I know) and came up with link after link after link that aspartame is a very common migraine trigger, and of course, several links stating that it isn't.

So I am now on day 12 of no more Crystal Light and guess what? No more migraines. I am constantly going nuts finding more things I love that have aspartame in them. I was happy to discover that the Crystal Light bottled drinks (I was using the powdered mix before) are sweetened with Splenda, which doesn't bother me. I bought a case.

I guess the truly scientific thing to do would be to drink 4 glasses of the tea and see if it gives me a migraine, but for now, I am cautiously optimistic I've found a possible culprit. But damn, I miss my Coke Zero. I guess water is probably better for me anyhow.

How does he know?

Damn cat!! I made his vet appointment for this afternoon. I even went so far and made the appointment while at work so the cat wouldn't hear the word "vet" or "shot" and go missing. He was inside last night when I went to bed. Well, after I went to bed that damn cat sat at the door and meowed until my husband let him outside (he sensed hubby's weakness), and of course, he didn't come home this morning.

He ALWAYS is home in the morning, pawing at the door to come inside for breakfast. I don't know how he knows. But he does every single freakin' time. THE CAT KNOWS. I have had to cancel at least 3 appointments because he would hide or go outside and not return.

But the jokes on you, sucka. I made THREE appointments this week - one for each cat. So hide if you want... but guess what? There's another appointment for Thursday afternoon and I will just take your sister today. You will think it's safe and then BLAMMO - I will get you next. You're going down, Charlie.

Happy Birthday, Baby Boy

Six years ago today, you made me a mother. You didn't make it easy on me. You always did things your own way, including deciding to be born face forward, giving me incredibly painful back labor and over 90 minutes of pushing on my hands and knees to get you out.

Once you were born, you knew just what to do. You latched on and nursed like a champ. You were such a good little eater that the midwives brought other moms in to look at you.

That first day was amazing - watching you sleep, nursing you and holding you in my arms. Until that night, when you started having trouble breathing and eating. They discovered you had a blockage in one nostril and suddenly you were being taken away from me. They brought you back, in an incubator with wires and tubes and beeping things. I didn't even get to kiss you good-bye. They were transferring you to another hospital 30 minutes away and I was staying.

The moment they wheeled you out of my room, your daddy walking behind you looking as stunned and scared and confused as I did... well, that was the worst moment of my life. Out of all the things in this world that have happened to me... THAT was the worst moment of my life. I still find myself in tears thinking about how I felt at that moment. Like my arms and heart had been completely full then suddenly were just empty.

I still don't know how I made it through that first night, hearing all the other babies cry in the rooms around me, wondering what was going on with you and praying the phone would ring with good news from your daddy. My mother and sister stayed with me, and I think the only reason I slept was total and complete exhaustion from being up the entire night before in labor.

And then around 4:00 a.m. your daddy called and you were okay!! The blockage had dislodged and your were pinking up and you were fine. Except they couldn't discharge you from that hospital until the doctor came on duty in the morning, so then all I could do was sit and wait. My sister will confirm that in my sleep-deprived state I spent most of the early morning hours singing that song from the Chili's commercial over and over and over... "I want my babybackbabybackbabyback, I want my babybackbabybackbabybackbabyback."

So in the end, you actually ended up coming back to visit me (yes, you were now officially a VISITOR) later that day and I don't think I stopped kissing your head and your feet and your head again and then your feet again until I left the hospital later that night. And when we got home I went against all advice and slept with you in the bed - you slept that first night resting on top of my chest with my hand on your back so that I could feel every breath you took.

And so here you are today, six years old and smart as a whip. You have grown into a funny and charming and polite kid. You amaze me everyday with the things you say and do. And sometimes when you are asleep I still climb in the bed next to you and lay with my hand on your back and feel you breathe and weep with joy that you are my son.

Happy Birthday Marc.

Congraduations!!

Anyone else remember that episode of Three's Company where Chrissy runs out of room on the banner for Jack?

Anyhoo, hubby's commencement was Sunday morning and I have to admit - I actually got all teary-eyed watching him walk the stage. I mean, even though he's had the diploma in hand for four months, still... I'm so proud of him. He worked so hard and graduated with a 4.0 which, if you knew him in high school, is pretty damn impressive. He is now MASTER of his domain.

Oh, and he even let me borrow his pda so I could play bejeweled while the rest of the 1.2 gazillion graduates walked the stage. How great is he?!?

And now that he walked the stage, I will give him his graduation present (that was my condition - I got to see him in the cap and gown before he got his Mac).

The truth is, I'm terrified

I have blogged before about how much I love my Zoloft. It really was a miracle drug for me. The past year has been one of the happiest times of my life, and if it was chemically enhanced, well... that's okay by me. Because I was happy.

So, it's been a year now and at my appointment with my doctor last week, we discussed whether it was time to try life without it. Now, first let me say that I was at the doctor last week for a follow up on my evil migraines. Over the past month, I had three more, and discovered a magical combination of two drugs, one fast-acting, the other longer lasting that together allow me to actually function as human being instead of having to go to my room and close the doors and turn off the lights for two days and pray for death.

After getting my prescriptions in hand for these migraine meds, I told my doctor I just am not crazy about being on many different drugs at the same time. So we talked about the Zoloft. I am torn. Seriously - the Zoloft saved my life, my marriage, my work, my relationship with my kids. It's hard to describe being depressed, majorly depressed, to someone who hasn't felt it. It isn't just being sad. It's feeling like you are trapped in a life that has no joy, no color, no future.

I would literally lay on the bathroom floor at nights crying. Sobbing. My hubby would ask what was wrong. I could rationally say, nothing - my life is great, but I still felt hopeless. Worthless. Incapable of accomplishing anything. The taks of doing the laundry was completely overwhelming. The thought of having to take my children to the doctor by myself would seem impossible. And the more I didn't do, the worse I felt. Look at the laundry piling up. I can't even take care of my own children. I am a failure at everything.

When it got to the point that my husband started to think I was beyond bitchy into really being scary, he sent me to see a therapist, who sent me to my physician. Who gave me Zoloft. Within two weeks, I was feeling better. After a month, I was me again. The therapist met with me a few times, then sent me on my way. My life really is pretty great, and once the haze had lifted, I was able to deal with most of my post-Mormon issues and start to move on. She told me during our last meeting I was one of those people that Zoloft just really works for - the depression is biologically based, so the biological cure is what works.

Which brings me back to why I'm terrified. My doctor told me that for many of her patients, a year on the Zoloft is enough to prevent another relapse of the depression. The only way to know is to try life without it. But she also told me, it's my decision. And if I start to wean off the Zoloft and the depression comes back, I can re-up the dosage and continue on the meds.

Which brings me to terrifying thing #2 - the process of weaning. It is a process. And there can be withdrawal. Unpleasant withdrawal. We discussed a schedule, how to gradually decrease the dosage to try to keep symptoms to a minimum. Still - I'm scared.

Mostly scared because I know the chances are, this isn't the end. That even if I successfully come off the Zoloft and am fine, next year, or 5 years, or 10 years, the depression can hit again. And again, I can rationally say, well if that happens, I know the Zoloft works and I can start taking it. But there's the fear - how will I know? I couldn't see it before. My husband didn't even see it, until it was so bad that I was almost completely non-fuctional. I am terrified of feeling that way again.

So. I am thinking about it. I am thinking I will probably give it a go and make this last refill the last one. And so, over the next few months, I will be coming down and hoping for the best.

Yay!! My husband finally is on the blog-boat!

Check it out!!

http://exvestigator.blogspot.com/

Way to get that Tax Deduction, my sister!!

Well, my older sister (whose surprise pregnancy, if you will recall, prompted my husband's recent vasectomy) wasn't really due until mid-January. But that baby was determined to arrive amidst a party. And so world - welcome my new nephew, Gabriel!!!