A Lesson: Mechanical Mode in Bipolar Disorder—Living Vulnerably... with an Open Heart

I am stricken by the pain and anguish this daughter describes. The love for her mother, combined with loathing and deep resentment. The technicolor vividity of her dreams. Living on the edge, vulnerable, open like a flower....

Enjoy, and open up your hearts,
Love,
Jhilmil

PS: Original photographs taken by me in June 2005, Almora, in the Himalayas.



Edited from
http://bipolar.about.com/od/whatme/a/070812_mechmode.htm?nl=1


I'm Bipolar Journal - August 12, 2007

by Marcia Purse


Because of all that has been going on this year with Mom, and the depression I fell into as a result, everything was piling up from bills to work to cleaning and clutter. After Mom went into the hospital on June 22nd, and after the company I worked for had completed its move, I had something of a mental and physical collapse for a good three-plus weeks. This made perfect sense. When one has been under relentless stress for a long period, and it suddenly lets up, the body's defenses can all let go at once, and the mind wants to be mindless for awhile.

I lived, as I've said, on coffee, Frappucino and Cheez-Its for at least two weeks, then suddenly wanted cream of tomato soup. I'd eat an entire can in one sitting, crumbling Saltines into the bowl again and again. I bought an apple danish strip coffee cake for breakfast -- wonderful, heated in the microwave and slathered with butter. (No, not real butter.) Began eating Mom's hot dogs, discovered they were very good wrapped in buttered high-fiber bread. Still having coffee and 2-3 bottles of Mocha Frappucino a day, but fewer Cheez-Its. Then I started to have the occasional microwaved frozen dinner (tried several "healthy" dinners and they were almost all terrible). One day I remembered how much I love graham crackers broken up in a bowl of milk, and I've been having that once a day ever since. Comfort foods. That's what my diet has turned into. High carb, high chocolate, high salt. It's soothing.

Mechanical mode
Gradually I started to tackle the necessary chores - and more. Over a period of two weeks, I completely caught up with all the work for my day job. I copied all of Mom's medical bills, Medicare statements and prescription information and mailed it to the company that handles this for her. I bought a fax machine for business use, and worked a lot on setting up a proper office since I'm now working the day job entirely from home. Caught up on paying the bills and stayed that way: NO MORE late charges, I swear!

With help, I streamlined Mom's computer system to allow more space on the desk (that PC still gets used) and cleared out everything under my worktable and both our desks. Yesterday my friend JoAnn and I tackled more cleaning and organizing of the office. She opened a box that has been sitting on the floor for I don't know how long - I thought it was some PC games I'd purchased, but it turned out to be graphics software! And we cleaned my oscillating fan, which was black with dust. I cannot begin to tell you what a difference that simple task made. Not just that the fan puts out more air. That fan is something I see a hundred times a day and suddenly it is bright white and one can see through it again. I'm not looking at dirt a hundred times a day. Talk about a breath of fresh air!

And part of the reason I've been able to do all this is that I'm just not facing any of the emotional issues. I've gone into a state of denial where everything is on the surface. Practical. Mechanical.

What about Mom?
What I don't do - much - is visit my mother in the hospital.

The first time I went to see her, she looked so horrible that I couldn't stay in the room longer than five minutes. I bolted out, went down to the lounge area at the end of the ward and cried and cried. I didn't go back to the hospital again until my brother told me she looked better.

She was released for rehab on July 13th. The nursing home sent her back to the hospital two days later because of abdominal distention. Back to rehab on the 18th, and back to the hospital on the 27th because her kidney function dropped alarmingly. She has treatment-resistant pneumonia, a rectal tube, congestive heart failure and aortic stenosis. She also had a treatment-resistant urinary tract infection. Mega-antibiotics cleared that up but have only been able to keep the pneumonia stable, getting no worse - but no better, either.

Because they found she was not swallowing thin liquids correctly, allowing fluid to get into her lungs (thus the pneumonia), she'll have to have thickened liquids for the rest of her life. They have a powder that thickens any liquid to the consistency of pear nectar. This means thick water. Thick milk. Thick coffee. She hates it. Wouldn't you?!

The bottom line
A few days ago the hospital staff arranged a meeting to explain to us that there really isn't anything they can do to make her better. The aortic valve has narrowed significantly in the past year, and the only way to treat aortic stenosis is by surgery, which would kill her. The only way to remove the rectal tube would be for her to become quite active, and that's just not going to happen. And all the illnesses and conditions she has can often accelerate dementia. Bottom line: She probably has no more than a year to live, possibly much less -- one can never tell with this type of heart problem. The thing to do now is to make her feel as good as possible for the time she has left.

So we are putting her into hospice.

Dreams
It still requires a lot of mental effort to get myself to go visit her. It's not because of how she looks. It's because of all I went through with her the first six months of the year. None of it was her fault - but now that it's over, I need to be away from her. This is not an easy confession to make: I haven't forgiven her for six months of hell. This is something I'll really need to do - when I make a decision to get out of mechanical mode.

My subconscious is dealing with things my conscious mind can't handle. I have terrible dreams, and wonderful dreams. After the family conference, I had a particularly horrid dream where I was about to be tortured like Prometheus, huge claws coming out of the sky to tear at me. When I woke up, I had "Stricken" by Disturbed going through my head over and over. Although the lyrics are about something entirely different, they really could apply to me and Mom.

... I know
That I am stricken and can't let you go
When the heart is cold, there's no hope, and we know
That I am crippled by all that you've done
Into the abyss will I run.
Updated: August 20, 2007