It's 4 pm on Thanksgiving-eve. As I gird my loins to hit Kroger at a little after 5 pm today, I can feel the holiday stress overload creeping in. Is it me, or does every year get a little bit more insane? With Christmas shopping on Thanksgiving day, stores that open at 4 am, and people literally trampled in Black Friday sales stampedes, it's hard to escape the madness. For a brief moment this afternoon I'm feeling pretty chill, rising above the stress, and taking it one step at a time. Then I remember that yesterday, while driving in the car, my husband and I got into a fight, and not just a little one either, about rolls.
It's interesting how the holiday season experience ramps up as your children get older, too. Last year, William had just turned two, and while his infatuation with all things Chuggington was in full bloom, the thing that mattered most to him on Christmas morning was ripping paper, and what was underneath was markedly less important. This year, he's already specified that he wants a "Cars color-changer Ramone's color changer playset" and numerous other, very particular toys. I tremble in fear of letting him down and the possibility of his feeling, for the first time, the phenomenon we've all experienced, which can only be described as Christmas morning letdown.
Perhaps it's the relatively bleak Christmas mornings I had growing up in a poor family, perhaps its just every parent's nightmare to see that look of disappointment cross their child's face, but Phil and have pretty much resolved that our top priority is seeing that William has a wondrous time this year. If that means we have bare bones Christmas morning's ourselves, so that we can pour our resources into making sure that Santa delivers the goods for our favorite little boy, then so be it.
As you can imagine, William is already in full-on Christmas mode, which is not surprising, since he is, after all, three. So, every night at bedtime his usual request of "let's talk about my day" (an adorable recap of everything he did that day) has morphed into "let's talk about Christmas" the first question of which is always "what do YOU want for Christmas Momma?" At first when he'd ask, I would list a few small items that I thought might be fun to have, but as the necessity of austerity mode became clear, I switched my tack to saying things like "well, I'd just like a lot of hugs and kisses from you." or "I just want to have a nice relaxing Christmas morning with you and Daddy."
So, there we are, last night, getting ready for bed, and we reach the point (after stories, songs, the color game and snuggles) where he asks "what do YOU want for Christmas Momma?" My day had been particularly stressful and tiring, and bedtime when Phil is at rehearsal can be a challenge, so I copped out a bit and just said, through ever so slightly clenched teeth "I don't know, what do YOU want for Christmas?" As I braced myself for the usual list of color-changers, Thomas the train toys, and accompanying overpriced accessories, my brilliant little boy looked at me and said "I don't know, probably just some hugs and kisses from you and Daddy."
If I needed a reminder of what the holidays are all about, I guess I got it last night. Not only did William's response provide a welcome antidote to the crushing parental anxiety I'd been experiencing and a reminder of how we shape our kids by example, it was also a simple and potent call to keep my priorities straight around the holidays and to give, in huge, unlimited, heaping amounts, thanks for the greatest gift I could ever ask for, bar none.
I will not be shopping on Black Friday this year, but I will be shopping. And don't worry, I'll be doing my part to keep capitalism safe from the communists. But perhaps I'll spend just a little less time wearing down the aisles of Toys R Us, in favor of ample time for tickling, hugs and kisses, movie nights, and long snuggles at bedtime. After all, those are the presents that mommies and Daddies can give, much better than Santa ever could.
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
Synthroid Diaries: Day three
Day three: Today, I think I started to notice some actual, non-imaginary, side effects. I didn't sleep well at all last night, I kept waking up every hour and a half, like clockwork. It's not unusual for me to wake up a couple of times in a night, but this was out of control. My mind was racing, and I was mentally replaying some details of a meeting I had yesterday. It was odd because it reminded me of some of the sleep problems I had before I had William. It used to be that I would wake up in the middle of the night and obsess about the latest crisis going on at the theatre, or think of something I just absolutely had to write down, or run my lines in my head, but I haven't experienced that in a very long time. When I go to sleep, I sleep, or even when I wake up my mind is in a totally different place from work, a dreamy place, a place that I quite frankly have enjoyed. Not having that full on 24/7 cognition has been a real relief. Even though I am tired all day, I can always count on sleeping like a log. I really hope that this isn't a permanent thing. I will be really bummed if it is. I guess we'll see how it goes tonight.
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
Synthroid Diaries: Day two
Day two: Okay. I am so in the swing of this now. I took my pill for a whole second day in a row. I am all over this. I am an expert pill-taker.
So far, I am experiencing no side-effects, and also no noticeable difference in my mood, energy, etc. Hair still in my head, etc.
What I have found is that a). I know a pretty amazing group women, and b). they are generous enough to share with me some of their similar experiences, which I have to tell you made me feel so much less alone, and thereby, infinitely more capable of handling this. It truly is amazing how much of a difference it can make to know that there are others out there who share my experience.
I think of all those LGBT kids last year who took their own lives, because of bullying. I imagine their fear, and isolation, and I'm so sad that they didn't have anyone to support them, or share a similar story, to let them know they weren't alone.
I am pretty amazed by the number of people that I've heard from. It seems that a LOT of women are taking Synthroid. who knew? It makes me wonder what women did before this drug existed. 100 years ago, were women just much more tired and depressed? I guess so...
More later.
So far, I am experiencing no side-effects, and also no noticeable difference in my mood, energy, etc. Hair still in my head, etc.
What I have found is that a). I know a pretty amazing group women, and b). they are generous enough to share with me some of their similar experiences, which I have to tell you made me feel so much less alone, and thereby, infinitely more capable of handling this. It truly is amazing how much of a difference it can make to know that there are others out there who share my experience.
I think of all those LGBT kids last year who took their own lives, because of bullying. I imagine their fear, and isolation, and I'm so sad that they didn't have anyone to support them, or share a similar story, to let them know they weren't alone.
I am pretty amazed by the number of people that I've heard from. It seems that a LOT of women are taking Synthroid. who knew? It makes me wonder what women did before this drug existed. 100 years ago, were women just much more tired and depressed? I guess so...
More later.
Monday, September 12, 2011
The Synthroid Diaries
Day One: Sigh. This September I turned 42. I also started taking Synthroid. Happy Birthday to me.
And so it begins. In the last month my son has turned three, the non-profit theatre I run closed its most successful season, and I finally got to the Doctor for a physical. Yes, it took three years to get to the Dr. after my son was born. Hey, if you've got kids (or run a non-profit) you understand.
It was a routine physical: blood work, pap smear, breast exam, you know the drill. Only this time I get a call from the Doc who tells me that my "thyroid levels are way low." She tells me this would (at least partially) explain my inability to lose weight. I ask her what's next, she tells me "we give you synthetic thyroid hormone, and then you feel better." Hey - sounds good to me. Strike that. Sounds OKAY to me. (The last thing I ask her is whether I'll have to take this for the rest of my life. She says “yes.”)
It takes me three days to work up the courage to take the pill, which is not surprising when you consider that the first side-effect listed in the instructions is "hair loss" (my husband reassures me that it's temporary - which is all well and good, until it's you who's losing the hair.) The second side-effect listed is irritability, which is not surprising when you consider that the first one is hair loss.
You have to take the pill in the morning, on an empty stomach, one full hour before you eat. It didn't take me long to figure out that that meant I would be up, out of bed, getting my son ready, for one full hour before even a drop of coffee touched my lips - another reason I struggled to come to grips with my new "lifestyle." The instructions are very specific: take one pill with a full glass of water, don't crush it up, don't take it with iron, don't take it with a number of other meds - hey this is the real deal. This isn't a course of antibiotics, or some Vicodin that you get after your root canal, and throw away the leftovers once they expire. This is the kind of pill that you take for the rest of your life, gradually adding to your regimen until you've got a plastic zip-lock baggie full of bottles when you go on vacation, and a little daily pill organizer. The full reality of this hits when I look on the bottle and see that it says "Refill 13 times."
The finality of all of this sends me into a bit of a state of shock. For a brief (one full day) period, I consider going the holistic route, and I read numerous articles online about how people's thyroid's were reinvigorated after using affirmations, or acupuncture, or hypnosis therapy - unlocking their repressed memories of abuse, setting them free, and getting their hormones pumping once again. I can’t help but wonder, “what is MY repressed memory? What might I discover after hours of costly hypnosis, which will no doubt NOT be covered by my insurance?" I consider just not taking the pills, continuing to be overweight and slightly tired – after all, it’s not like I’ve been feeling really depressed or anything. When the Doc asked me to “describe, in general, your overall mood” my answer was “pretty good” and I wasn’t lying. I consider attempting to force myself to reboot, through sheer willpower combined with vigorous exercise and volumes of caffeine.
Eventually I capitulate, resigning myself to so many things in this one action: I am old, my child bearing years are over, I have been hard on my body and now I will pay for it, the stress of my life and of my work have taken their toll. But hey, at least I might finally lose some weight. I cling tightly to my Doc’s words “we give you synthetic thyroid hormone, and then you feel better." I fantasize briefly, that maybe, after a little while, my thyroid will just kick back in again, and I can stop. The similarity of these thoughts to those of a schizophrenic going off their meds does not escape me.
Supposedly it takes a couple of weeks for the drug to take effect, and it’s most surely a placebo effect, but I swear I feel sweaty, high-strung, nervous, and maybe even a little bit… well, better, more positive, excited about what I might accomplish with a normal metabolism. After all, I’ve been keeping up a pretty normal pace over the last three years, raising a toddler, running a theatre, joining Rotary, writing a theatre column, acting as the Board chair of the Michigan Equity Theatre Alliance – sure I’m tired all the time, but I always thought that was just because I was 4o pounds overweight and working 14 hour days. Maybe with this extra boost, I will become a real dynamo: do more networking, get up earlier, travel more, join more clubs, establish an exercise routine, keep my house clean, and maybe, just maybe, shave my legs on a regular basis!
I decide to write this diary, to track my progress and the ups and downs that come with this new adventure. I’ll turn this whole experience into a positive, I think, and maybe I can even help another tired, overweight 42 year old come to grips with what must surely be the first step toward menopause.
We’ll see. For now, I’m watching my hairbrush.
And so it begins. In the last month my son has turned three, the non-profit theatre I run closed its most successful season, and I finally got to the Doctor for a physical. Yes, it took three years to get to the Dr. after my son was born. Hey, if you've got kids (or run a non-profit) you understand.
It was a routine physical: blood work, pap smear, breast exam, you know the drill. Only this time I get a call from the Doc who tells me that my "thyroid levels are way low." She tells me this would (at least partially) explain my inability to lose weight. I ask her what's next, she tells me "we give you synthetic thyroid hormone, and then you feel better." Hey - sounds good to me. Strike that. Sounds OKAY to me. (The last thing I ask her is whether I'll have to take this for the rest of my life. She says “yes.”)
It takes me three days to work up the courage to take the pill, which is not surprising when you consider that the first side-effect listed in the instructions is "hair loss" (my husband reassures me that it's temporary - which is all well and good, until it's you who's losing the hair.) The second side-effect listed is irritability, which is not surprising when you consider that the first one is hair loss.
You have to take the pill in the morning, on an empty stomach, one full hour before you eat. It didn't take me long to figure out that that meant I would be up, out of bed, getting my son ready, for one full hour before even a drop of coffee touched my lips - another reason I struggled to come to grips with my new "lifestyle." The instructions are very specific: take one pill with a full glass of water, don't crush it up, don't take it with iron, don't take it with a number of other meds - hey this is the real deal. This isn't a course of antibiotics, or some Vicodin that you get after your root canal, and throw away the leftovers once they expire. This is the kind of pill that you take for the rest of your life, gradually adding to your regimen until you've got a plastic zip-lock baggie full of bottles when you go on vacation, and a little daily pill organizer. The full reality of this hits when I look on the bottle and see that it says "Refill 13 times."
The finality of all of this sends me into a bit of a state of shock. For a brief (one full day) period, I consider going the holistic route, and I read numerous articles online about how people's thyroid's were reinvigorated after using affirmations, or acupuncture, or hypnosis therapy - unlocking their repressed memories of abuse, setting them free, and getting their hormones pumping once again. I can’t help but wonder, “what is MY repressed memory? What might I discover after hours of costly hypnosis, which will no doubt NOT be covered by my insurance?" I consider just not taking the pills, continuing to be overweight and slightly tired – after all, it’s not like I’ve been feeling really depressed or anything. When the Doc asked me to “describe, in general, your overall mood” my answer was “pretty good” and I wasn’t lying. I consider attempting to force myself to reboot, through sheer willpower combined with vigorous exercise and volumes of caffeine.
Eventually I capitulate, resigning myself to so many things in this one action: I am old, my child bearing years are over, I have been hard on my body and now I will pay for it, the stress of my life and of my work have taken their toll. But hey, at least I might finally lose some weight. I cling tightly to my Doc’s words “we give you synthetic thyroid hormone, and then you feel better." I fantasize briefly, that maybe, after a little while, my thyroid will just kick back in again, and I can stop. The similarity of these thoughts to those of a schizophrenic going off their meds does not escape me.
Supposedly it takes a couple of weeks for the drug to take effect, and it’s most surely a placebo effect, but I swear I feel sweaty, high-strung, nervous, and maybe even a little bit… well, better, more positive, excited about what I might accomplish with a normal metabolism. After all, I’ve been keeping up a pretty normal pace over the last three years, raising a toddler, running a theatre, joining Rotary, writing a theatre column, acting as the Board chair of the Michigan Equity Theatre Alliance – sure I’m tired all the time, but I always thought that was just because I was 4o pounds overweight and working 14 hour days. Maybe with this extra boost, I will become a real dynamo: do more networking, get up earlier, travel more, join more clubs, establish an exercise routine, keep my house clean, and maybe, just maybe, shave my legs on a regular basis!
I decide to write this diary, to track my progress and the ups and downs that come with this new adventure. I’ll turn this whole experience into a positive, I think, and maybe I can even help another tired, overweight 42 year old come to grips with what must surely be the first step toward menopause.
We’ll see. For now, I’m watching my hairbrush.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Where have you gone, Carla DiMaggio?
Almost a year since my last post. Sigh. I'm a busy woman, what can I say? My typical day starts at 7:30 am or so, getting up with William. We play, have breakfast, get dressed, until Daddy takes over around 8:30 or so. Then, I'm in the shower and into work by 10. Work all day at Performance Network, Ann Arbor's non-profit professional theatre, which has its own challenges, then it's home by 5 or 6 to get Phil (my husband) off to rehearsal. After that, I'm playing with William, feeding William, bathing William and putting William to bed at 8 (if all goes well.) Then, dinner (mere necessity) and back to the computer for any leftover work projects, of which there are always plenty, until about 11. At least two days a week I've got an event at the theatre and on those days it's home, get the baby-sitter situated, and rush back to said event, which last until between 9pm and 12:30am (like the recent opening night of K2).
On a regular night at 11, I'm SUPPOSED to start getting ready for bed, which I hardly ever do, because I'm an habitual night-owl, there's always more work to do, there's John Stewart whom I love and there are countless websites on baby development and nutrition that I frequent, being an obsessive-compulsive mother and all. Oh and Facebook.
So, you can see that it's difficult to find the time for many things, one of which is blogging. The others are keeping in touch with my siblings, exercise, baking, sending thank you cards, taking and organizing photos of my family, planning family trips, going to the Dentist, getting new glasses and cleaning my house, which are all things I desperately want and need to do, not necessarily in that order. Oh, and taking the time to patent the myriad things I want to invent, including glow-in-the-dark binkies, snap-socks, an IPhone app I have in mind, pillow-hats and a website that features arts advocacy items like a bumper sticker that says "I'm an arts supporter, and I vote."
Today, quite honestly, I'm stealing a little time. I'm at home with my husband who is sick and needs a hand with the baby, so I'm working from home. I'm sitting on the bed in my bedroom with my laptop, while William naps, blogging. Feeling like I'm accomplishing a year old to-do feels great, until my employees read this and are on to me. There are so many things I want to write about, like theatre criticism and how the theatre critics in this area seem to be just as disjointed and insulated from one another and the outside world as the theatre people do. And there is arts advocacy, the lack of which by all of us is leading us, careening, into the death spiral of Michigan arts funding. There is my vision of the future of Performance Network and figuring out how to get there. There are all of the little insights from my pregnancy and first year of motherhood, which include, among other things, the realization that even when my son is 18 years old, I will still want to pull him into my lap and cover him with kisses. The realization that I will not be able to do this is makes me wish I could keep having babies, although I know my body and my pocketbook are worn pretty thin from just this one. There is my feeling of isolation from the artistic community I was once so closely knit-to, and the challenges of being "the boss." There is so much more.
But for now, I've updated my blog template. My son is waking up. I've got to go.
On a regular night at 11, I'm SUPPOSED to start getting ready for bed, which I hardly ever do, because I'm an habitual night-owl, there's always more work to do, there's John Stewart whom I love and there are countless websites on baby development and nutrition that I frequent, being an obsessive-compulsive mother and all. Oh and Facebook.
So, you can see that it's difficult to find the time for many things, one of which is blogging. The others are keeping in touch with my siblings, exercise, baking, sending thank you cards, taking and organizing photos of my family, planning family trips, going to the Dentist, getting new glasses and cleaning my house, which are all things I desperately want and need to do, not necessarily in that order. Oh, and taking the time to patent the myriad things I want to invent, including glow-in-the-dark binkies, snap-socks, an IPhone app I have in mind, pillow-hats and a website that features arts advocacy items like a bumper sticker that says "I'm an arts supporter, and I vote."
Today, quite honestly, I'm stealing a little time. I'm at home with my husband who is sick and needs a hand with the baby, so I'm working from home. I'm sitting on the bed in my bedroom with my laptop, while William naps, blogging. Feeling like I'm accomplishing a year old to-do feels great, until my employees read this and are on to me. There are so many things I want to write about, like theatre criticism and how the theatre critics in this area seem to be just as disjointed and insulated from one another and the outside world as the theatre people do. And there is arts advocacy, the lack of which by all of us is leading us, careening, into the death spiral of Michigan arts funding. There is my vision of the future of Performance Network and figuring out how to get there. There are all of the little insights from my pregnancy and first year of motherhood, which include, among other things, the realization that even when my son is 18 years old, I will still want to pull him into my lap and cover him with kisses. The realization that I will not be able to do this is makes me wish I could keep having babies, although I know my body and my pocketbook are worn pretty thin from just this one. There is my feeling of isolation from the artistic community I was once so closely knit-to, and the challenges of being "the boss." There is so much more.
But for now, I've updated my blog template. My son is waking up. I've got to go.
Friday, February 13, 2009
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