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     Sometimes recovery from surgery doesn’t go smoothly. There can be complications that make the healing process difficult. At times it seems like roadblocks are placed in our way preventing us from reaching a healthy recovery. These roadblocks not only affect a person physically, but also mentally. We all want to get better without problems, and when problems are thrown in the way, we can become depressed, discouraged, and frustrated. How do we stay positive when things go wrong? How does someone who has mental illness keep from falling down the dark hole?

     Two weeks after my surgery I had a follow up appointment in Mayfield, Cleveland. My husband had been checking my incision daily, looking for leakage, redness, and swelling. I was told I didn’t need a bandage unless it was leaking. Lou took pictures of my incision with his phone so I could also see what it looked like. We didn’t see any signs of infection and the incision looked good. I was sure we would get good news from the doctor.

     Instead of seeing the doctor who did the surgery, I saw the physician’s assistant. He seemed nice. He said part of the incision wasn’t healing all the way, so he needed to put steri-strips on. He then prescribed me antibiotics in case I get an infection. He said I could bend occasionally, I could only reach for light things, and I no longer needed a walker outside of the home. However, he said I couldn’t twist, and I couldn’t lift over ten pounds. He also prescribed out of the home physical therapy. I felt confident everything was going well. I was excited I would be able to do more things and be a little more independent.

     After being on hold for a long time and being sent from one operator to the next, a lady told me the doctor on call would call me back.

     Several minutes later the physician’s assistant I saw the day before returned the call. He said, “I told you you had an infection; that’s why I put on antibiotics.”

     He continued to tell me what to look for: a fever, yellow or green leakage, swelling, and the incision turning a bright red. If I  had any of these symptoms, I would need to head to my local ER. He instructed me to put a bandage over the incision  and to change the bandage daily. The antibiotic would take care of the infection.

     I felt my heart drop. I thought I was doing well. He said the antibiotic was in case of an infection not because I had one. Did I hear him correctly or did he just leave that part out? Will I ever fully heal? Why did he lie to me? Lou was so angry, and I was near my breaking point. I wanted to scream and cry.

     We went to a medical supply store near our home for the bandages. They were three dollars per bandage. I got five, and that cost was fifteen dollars. That’s a lot of money when only one of us is working. On top of that, the antibiotics were making me sick to my stomach. I couldn’t eat much, and I threw up a couple times. I felt so nauseous that all I could do was lie around and watch Netflix.

     On a Monday I went to my first physical therapy appointment. They told me that since I did therapy before they found out I had a broken bone in my back, I  had used up all but three of my allowed visits. The secretary said she would contact my insurance company and request more. We scheduled another appointment for within a week to see if the insurance company would allow more, but they denied the request. My therapist gave me exercises to do at home and we would meet on my last appointment I had left to see how I was doing.

That night my mind went wild and darkness filled my soul. I texted and messaged my friends and they tried to help me, but the sadness was too deep. I started crying uncontrollably. My husband had gone to bed early because he had to be up at five in the morning to go to work. I hated the idea of bothering him, but the tears wouldn’t stop. I decided to wake him up.

     He held me as I sobbed. He whispered words of comfort and asked me what was wrong.

     I choked out, “Everything is going wrong. I’ll never get better. I’ll never be able to work again. I might as well give up. I can’t fight any more. I can’t do surgeries anymore. I don’t want to go on.”

     He wiped my tears away and told me to get ready for bed. He told me that being alone at this point was not good for me. So, I got ready for bed. I couldn’t roll over enough to lie on his chest, so I lay on his arm and pulled his hand up to my lips.

     He whispered to me, “You’re not a quitter and I won’t let you quit. You can get through this. These are just some setbacks and you will get better. You can do this, and I will be right beside you through it all.”

     He kissed my head and I lay on his arm until I felt groggy. The next day I got up and journaled my feelings. I also listed five positive things: I had a wonderful husband, I had supportive friends and family, my dog kept me company while Lou was at work, I could wood burn Christmas gifts for my family, and I could do a few more things for myself. The infection and physical therapy were just roadblocks. I made it through so much in my life and deep in my heart I knew I would get through this, too.

     When roadblocks get in your way it’s okay to get down, discouraged, and have a good cry. It’s how you cope and deal with those rough times that count. Let yourself have a bad day, then pull yourself up. Practice coping techniques that work for you, turn to your support system, and find the positive. Life’s roadblocks will always threaten to push you down that hole of depression, but you are strong, and you can pull yourself up and take on the challenges head on.

     I’m facing my roadblocks and in time I will recover from my surgery. Because I can pull myself out of depression episodes with the help of my support system and coping techniques, I stand determined in the light of recovery from mental illness.

“When it’s seems like the world around you is blanketed in hopelessness, know there is hope. Your heart may be clouded, but look around you there is good and hopeful things in your life. Write them down each day. Recovery is possible.”

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There will not be a blog post for a bit while I recover from back surgery. Soon as I feel up to writing there will be a post. Please be patient.

     Life seems to kick us in the butt sometimes. It likes to throw a lot of bad stuff at us all at once. It’s easy to get discouraged, stressed out, and depressed. When you’re in recovery, the bad times seem like God is throwing roadblocks in your way to test your strength and your ability to stay in the light. That old saying, “God never gives you more than you can handle,” is true. He also provides for you.

     Since I have been off work, life has been stressful. If anything could go wrong, it has. Life seems like it’s pushing me towards the hole of depression. I’ve asked God over and over, “How much more do you think I can take?” First, I was denied for unemployment, and we had to figure out bills on one paycheck. Then we could only get sixteen dollars in food stamps, so we had to see what we could buy with such a little amount. Next, we were told we needed rear brakes in our SUV, and finding the money for brakes was hopeless. Finally, my doctors weren’t sending my records so I could get disability from work.

     I thought I was dealt every bad thing in the book when one day I went to the bathroom in our basement and noticed the carpet was sopping wet. I called my dad, and he came over after my parents went to Bible study and looked around our basement. Whoever owned our home before us carpeted the whole basement except for the bathroom. They also boxed in the furnace and hot water tank into a tight room with a door on one side and another door next to the toilet. In that room are also water pipes and gas lines. My dad looked around the pipes and found nothing dripping from them.

     He looked beneath the water tank and looked at me. “I think your hot water tank is leaking. You may need a new tank.”

     I felt my heart drop and my stomach twist. “How can we afford a water tank on one check? What are we going to do?”

     My dad told us to mop up the water around the tank and keep an eye on it. So, we did. The leak got worse. The water reached further up into the carpeting and when we walked it squished. That was it.

I dropped to my knees and said to God, “I can’t do it anymore. I can’t take anymore.”

I felt like everything was hopeless. There was no way we could afford a water tank. Maybe if I got unemployment, we could manage it, but not on just my husband’s check. Where would we get the money from? Water tanks are not cheap. I couldn’t even get my doctors to send my records so I could get disability. Disability through work doesn’t even amount to much after taxes are taken out, but at least it would be something.

My muscles tightened and my throat felt like someone was jamming a fist down it. One night I woke up at three in the morning and rushed to the bathroom to get sick. My anxiety was on high. I felt like all was hopeless and my surgery was getting closer. I journaled out my feelings and I vented to Denise when we walked. I texted with my friend Cheryl and cried in my husband’s arms. This helped me cope but didn’t solve all our problems.

My friend Amy said, “I’ll pray about it. God will provide.”

I wished I had faith as strong as hers. All I could see was hopelessness. My mind went crazy with worries. I tried to keep myself busy during the day to help fight the worries, yet all looked impossible.

God did just what Amy said he would. He provided. I applied for an employee fund at work. One day a lady called saying the employee fund would pay two months of our mortgage making it so we could use my husband’s check to pay our bills. Next, a friend Anna, started a GoFundMe page and raised a hundred dollars for us. Then a woman from the cancer support group I attend offered to bring us meals after my surgery which took care of some of our food worries. Then one Sunday my mom called to tell me their church was giving us a thousand dollars. Part of that thousand dollars paid for the water tank, and my dad and his friend installed the water tank. The rest of the money will pay for my husband’s hotel room while I’m in the hospital.

God breathed hope into my soul when I was at my wits’ end. He brought good out of the bad. My dad even offered to buy our brakes and put them on for us. God gave us the help we needed. He provided my husband and me with the things we needed to get through this rough time.

He has always been providing for me. When I was bullied, he gave me the family garage and family to keep me from falling to the bottom of my mental illness. He provided a friend, Patsy, in high school when I felt all alone, and he provided me with my friend Cheryl to be able to handle my illness when I was at my worst. He provided my friend Denise to help me lose weight and he provided Amy to be my mentor in writing my memoir and as a part of my support system. He has also provided me many other friends who have taken a big role in my life and other help to get me through many of the rough times I have faced in my life.

God will provide for you, too. He is already providing for you. You may be too caught up in your illness to notice the things he’s doing for you. Open your eyes. Look at the people in your life and look for good things that happen when you least expect it. Do the people in your life help you with things like take you to your appointments? Is there one person who listens to you and encourages you? Did you find money when you had no money for a gallon of milk? When you were short in the grocery line, did the person behind you pay for the things you couldn’t afford? These things and people come into your life because God is providing for you. When things get tough, remember God provides.

Because God provided for me, I stand in his light, forever humble and grateful.

This is a post I’m sharing from Cherie White’s blog https://cheriewhite.blog Her post is so true. We must love ourselves first. Cherie writes a blog about bullying.

If you don’t love yourself, who will? And how can you love anyone else if you don’t first love yourself? These are valid questions. When someone doesn’t love themselves, we can tell. We can see it in their demeanor, their face, and their posture. We can hear it in their tone of voice and the […]

Why You Absolutely Must Love Yourself

I have been working hard for over three years to write a memoir of how I was bullied in school and found love and acceptance at the family garage. Many of you have heard about my memoir journey and some of you may not have. I wanted to share with you a scene from my memoir. I took a scene from Chapter 9 when I was in second grade. I’m not going to give you to much details about the Chapter, because I don’t want to spoil it for you when my book comes out. I will tell you I have a learning disability and had a hard time learning to read. My mom read books with me to help me learn and in time I could read simple things. I was excited to show my second grade teacher I could read. Well, the rest is in the scene below. My goal to finish editing my memoir is June 2021.

ESCAPE TO THE FAMILY GARAGE.

CHAPTER 9 SCENE

A few weeks after school started, my teacher, a round lady with short hair, handed out a worksheet. My soul lifted. Now was my chance to show everyone my new ability. I followed the directions and circled the answers. Holding my head high I walked up to the teacher’s desk. She graded my work while I stood there.

     “You cheated.” Her voice screeched. “There is no way someone like you could have gotten an “A”.” She drew a big “F” across my paper. “I don’t tolerate cheaters.”

     But I worked really hard all summer to read. I didn’t cheat, honestly. I worked hard. Tears threatened to spill. My head hung low.

     Words formed at my lips, but I couldn’t force them out. I could feel my classmate’s eyes on me. It was like they were tearing through my skin. Snickers filled the room. I slowly made my way back to my desk.

     Donna leaned towards me. “You shouldn’t use my answers. Don’t worry, I’ll tell her you need my help.”

     But I didn’t. I did it myself. My mom helped me read. I got the “A” myself. What’s the use? No one will ever believe me.

To keep track of how my memoir is coming a long checkout my author page at http://www.facebook.com/Aimeeeddygross/

     Many who suffer with depression and anxiety become recluse. Their depression makes getting out of bed to leave the house seem like an impossible task. They hate the idea of going out in public. They feel safe at home and alone where they can keep their emotions under control. Home is their safe place. Not everyone who has depression is a recluse. There are sufferers who need to get out of the house and be near people or a person to feel better. For some, loneliness causes the brain to work on over time with racing thoughts, obsessive worrying, deepening of depression, and so on.

     No one person’s depression and anxiety are the same. We are all individuals with different personalities and feelings. Not everyone has the exact same symptoms. That is the same with any illness. Some symptoms are the same and some aren’t. We are each unique individuals and our illnesses also match our differences.

     I’m not one of those people who can sit at home and feel comfortable. I have had those days where I have had to fight just to get out of bed, but  staying home alone is bad for me. I’m not a recluse. I do like my alone time, but I also love being among people and friends. That’s why being a cashier is a good job for me. I love working with people and talking with my customers, especially my regular customers.

I spent too much time as a child alone, wishing and dreaming of the perfect friend and feeling no one would understand me. Through my struggles with my mental illness I felt these same feelings. These feelings only made my inner pain worse. I felt the release of those feelings when I finally confided in my mom about my illness. It’s a heavy burden to carry your illness alone. After college when I struggled with my relapse into depression, I found myself needing people around me. Not everyone was able to handle my illness, but I often leaned on those who were able to.

Now I find myself stuck between the light and the dark hole of depression. I wanted to work up until my surgery date, but I can’t. I want to be around my regular customers chatting with them when they come through my line and with my co-workers joking around with them just to make it through a day of work. Now I’m spending a lot of time home alone trying to keep busy, so my mind doesn’t push me all the way down the hole of depression.

     My husband works all day until four P.M. We only have one car. With COVID some of my friends are weary of getting together, and there are friends who are busy working and managing their families. Depending on my friend Denise’s schedule, we go walking a couple of times a week. This is a big help, but she’s not always available. On days when I am stuck at home, I start to think too much and worry. I begin to feel lonely and unloved.

     I start to think that no one at work even misses me or cares. I start to worry about how we are going to pay our bills and if we will be so far in debt that we will lose everything. I sleep in until one-thirty because there is no reason to get up. I blame myself for unemployment denying me. I filled the application out wrong. A fund at work will pay two months of our mortgage, but what about our other bills? We’ll lose everything or we’ll be so far in debt that we’ll never get out. Yes, I magnify our situation.

     When my husband gets home from work, he suggests we take a ride. He knows how important it is for me to get out of the house. Sometimes our rides lead us to my parents’ house. One time we stopped in to see my older sister. We never know where our rides will take us. Sometimes we go to stores and look around. Just leaving the house helps distract my mind.

     Last Monday I took my husband to work so I could go to my parents. I spent the day with my mom looking through pictures and talking. I stayed there until it was time to go pick up my husband at work. Spending the day with my mom lifted my spirits. It felt good to be around her. On days I’m unable to go anywhere I try hard to keep busy. I try to do housework that won’t hurt my back, I woodburn and I take my dog for a long walk. If I can’t be around people or get out of the house, then I have to keep active. I must do something to keep my mind from running wild.

     Last Friday I felt lazy, so I watched television until my husband came home. It was the worst thing I did. The depression took over, my thoughts raced, the negativity swirled around in my head, and I magnified everything. I felt the ache of loneliness throughout my body. The one thing that made me feel better was my husband and I meeting my parents for dinner. I like people, I like being around people, and I feel better when I’m not stuck at home all the time.

     Do you feel better by yourself, away from people? Or do you feel better getting out of the house and being around people? Recluse or not, you have to find ways to keep the symptoms of your illness under control. If you are a recluse, make sure you are practicing coping techniques, make sure you are nurturing yourself, and you don’t spend your time dwelling in depression. If you’re the type of person who feels better getting out of the house and being around people, then find ways to do that. If you can’t get out of the house, find things to do to keep yourself above the hole of depression.

     I really miss working and talking with my co-workers and customers, but I won’t let being out of work throw me down into the hole again. Finding ways to keep busy or to get out of the house and spending time with others will help me stay in the light of recovery.