One thing that I'm really bad about with my kids is setting boundaries. And I don't mean that in a theoretical, therapy kind of way; I mean it in a literal, physical way. Mainly, setting boundaries with my stuff.
It's such a conundrum. We teach our kids to share, that it's wrong to be selfish, to hoard their crayons or their trucks, to not let others play. But aren't there things that a kid shouldn't have to share? I know there are things I don't want to share. Like my markers. Or my various odds and ends of yarn (yes, I will use them for something, someday). Or my iPod. Especially my iPod, since my two-year-old used my old one as a chew toy and killed it. But how can I hoard my own stuff (or, let's face it, be "selfish" with it), and then make my kids share their stuff? It seems contradictory.
I'd like to think that in life, there are some things that are just mine, and mine alone. There aren't many of these things, and most of them are pretty mundane, but they're vital to my well-being, especially as a parent. When you're a parent, you give so much of yourself -- I've given my body, my time, my job, my house, my car, and the list goes on. To preserve my sanity, I should be able to hoard a few things and keep them, just for myself.
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Friday, August 26, 2011
A different form of craft therapy
Anyway, I see knitting as part of therapy, hence the whole name and concept of this blog. But knitting isn't the only form of creative therapy I engage in. In fact, I'm kind of weird, in that when it's hot outside (as it has been this summer), I don't really want to knit. I guess if I moved to Florida I'd never knit. But that won't happen, so whatever.
My point is, there are lots of other ways to be creative and focus on mindfulness and healing at the same time. I found a great book this spring called Art Journals and Creative Healing, which is wonderful for anyone who likes to draw or journal or scrapbook. And, less intense, there is the Zentangle series of books, which the authors call "Yoga for your brain." The Zentangle stuff is kind of like glorified doodling, but, if you're like me, doodling is a great outlet, because you can lose yourself in a drawing, without the added stress of having your drawing look like "something."
I'd love to compile a longer list of books or workbooks that are good for craftherapy (there! I used it in a sentence! It's really a word now!), so look for more suggestions later.
By the way: if you do a Google image search for "crafts," some seriously weird stuff comes up.
Thursday, August 25, 2011
To DBT or not DBT? -- that is the question
After Lyddie was born in April, I spent some time in an inpatient program at a facility called the Lindner Center in Mason. It helped me immensely, but the doctor there also suggested that I find a Dialectical Behavior Therapy (DBT) workshop to enroll in.
Per DBTselfhelp.com, DBT is an offshoot of CBT (cognitive behavior therapy) that combines CBT and Eastern philosophy. It is beneficial for people with Borderline Personality Disorder, self-injurers, and the like. I think the philosophy is summed up with the phrase, "You're okay -- now change."
I found a DBT program here in the area, at Good Samaritan Hospital. They had an unexpected opening for the program that starts next week, so I am going to go check it out tomorrow. It's every Tuesday for 25 weeks.
Come on, people, I have bipolar disorder -- I can't commit to anything that long.
We'll see how it goes. I like the idea of the therapy, but right now, I'm kind of soured on therapy all together. I don't think therapy has ever really helped me, long-term. Why should this be any different?
Per DBTselfhelp.com, DBT is an offshoot of CBT (cognitive behavior therapy) that combines CBT and Eastern philosophy. It is beneficial for people with Borderline Personality Disorder, self-injurers, and the like. I think the philosophy is summed up with the phrase, "You're okay -- now change."
I found a DBT program here in the area, at Good Samaritan Hospital. They had an unexpected opening for the program that starts next week, so I am going to go check it out tomorrow. It's every Tuesday for 25 weeks.
Come on, people, I have bipolar disorder -- I can't commit to anything that long.
We'll see how it goes. I like the idea of the therapy, but right now, I'm kind of soured on therapy all together. I don't think therapy has ever really helped me, long-term. Why should this be any different?
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
Bipolar Knitter...back at it
Well, I kind of fell off the blogging wagon around March. I started having early labor symptoms and was in and out of the hospital pretty much until I gave birth in April. But, I had a healthy baby girl, Lydia, who is beautiful, sweet, and easy (thank God).
So, technically, I'm not Pregnant Bipolar Knitter anymore. I think I am going to keep this blog, though, and just rename it to Bipolar Knitter. Look for a new title/logo/etc. I still believe in the spirit of the blog -- bringing information and awareness about mental illness, specifically in women, to the public. This being said, I'm going to regroup and refocus my energies back to this blog and other outlets.
Also, my brain is rotting, so this is a way to try to prevent that from happening. With three kids 4 and under, it's probably a losing battle, but I gotta try!
So, technically, I'm not Pregnant Bipolar Knitter anymore. I think I am going to keep this blog, though, and just rename it to Bipolar Knitter. Look for a new title/logo/etc. I still believe in the spirit of the blog -- bringing information and awareness about mental illness, specifically in women, to the public. This being said, I'm going to regroup and refocus my energies back to this blog and other outlets.
Also, my brain is rotting, so this is a way to try to prevent that from happening. With three kids 4 and under, it's probably a losing battle, but I gotta try!
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
The "Pregnant" in" Pregnant Bipolar Knitter"
I haven't talked too much about the "pregnant" in my blog title, mainly because other than the rampant depression/psychological problems I've had, the pregnancy has been healthy and uneventful.
Today, though, it's hard to ignore. I've been in the "PicU" (which I think stands for perinatal intensive care unit) since yesterday. My due date isn't until April 17, but I started getting pretty regular contractions last week. I've been having Braxton-Hicks contractions for about two months, but these were different. I came down to Labor & Delivery on Friday night, and they ran a few tests and checked me for dilation; despite the fact that I was 1 cm dilated (admittedly, not much) and 50% effaced, the doc on call opted not to do the fetal fibronectin test which can give an idea if you are going to go into labor soon or at least not for the next two weeks.
(Note that the doc on call was the doc that delivered my first daughter...which is a whole other story, but I told the nurse that I would drive home and have my baby there rather than have him ever touch me again. But I digress.)
Anyway, yesterday the contractions started getting stronger and more painful. My ob told me to come down to get checked, and lo and behold I was now 2 cm dilated AND the fetal fibronectin test was positive. So my doctor admitted me and started me on a course of muscle relaxers to halt the contractions and steroids to help the baby's development. They'd like to delay at least a few weeks. Seems like things are going according to plan, as the contractions are getting better. Hopefully I get to go home tomorrow.
That's my current story. I will say that the maternity ward is far preferrable to the psych ward; they don't care if I have ballpoint pens or drawstrings, AND I have internet access. Life is good (well, other than the fact I'm in the hospital).
Today, though, it's hard to ignore. I've been in the "PicU" (which I think stands for perinatal intensive care unit) since yesterday. My due date isn't until April 17, but I started getting pretty regular contractions last week. I've been having Braxton-Hicks contractions for about two months, but these were different. I came down to Labor & Delivery on Friday night, and they ran a few tests and checked me for dilation; despite the fact that I was 1 cm dilated (admittedly, not much) and 50% effaced, the doc on call opted not to do the fetal fibronectin test which can give an idea if you are going to go into labor soon or at least not for the next two weeks.
(Note that the doc on call was the doc that delivered my first daughter...which is a whole other story, but I told the nurse that I would drive home and have my baby there rather than have him ever touch me again. But I digress.)
Anyway, yesterday the contractions started getting stronger and more painful. My ob told me to come down to get checked, and lo and behold I was now 2 cm dilated AND the fetal fibronectin test was positive. So my doctor admitted me and started me on a course of muscle relaxers to halt the contractions and steroids to help the baby's development. They'd like to delay at least a few weeks. Seems like things are going according to plan, as the contractions are getting better. Hopefully I get to go home tomorrow.
That's my current story. I will say that the maternity ward is far preferrable to the psych ward; they don't care if I have ballpoint pens or drawstrings, AND I have internet access. Life is good (well, other than the fact I'm in the hospital).
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Thursday, February 24, 2011
Back to the point, part 2
In my last post I started detailing the issues I've had during pregnancy with getting mental health care, which is the whole reason I started this blog in the first place. I will continue the story with this post.
In late October/early November, I went to my general practitioner because my mood had started getting really bad since going off my meds (Seroquel and Lamictal) in August. After talking to me, -- which involved a lot of crying on my part-- looking at my medical history, and looking at the cuts I had made on my arms, he put me back on a low dose of Seroquel. For about a week, I felt not great, but functional, but then things continued back on their downhill spiral. I was crying all the time, just wanting to sleep, having anxiety attacks, and doing a lot of cutting. I called my GP back and talked to a nurse, who in turn talked to the doctor, who increased my Seroquel dosage.
The increase in Seroquel didn't seem to make much difference, other than to make me more tired (something not particularly desirable when you're trying to chase a four-year-old and a two-year-old). I called my ob/gyn's office to see if she could help out at all. She put me on Vistaril as needed, which is pretty much just an antihistamine but can kind of mellow you out at the same time. Both my ob/gyn and my GP suggested strongly that I see a psychiatrist, but not wanting to go back to my prior psychiatrist, and with nobody recommending a new one, I was sort of at a loss for who to see. If you've ever tried to get psychiatric help in Dayton, Ohio, you understand what I'm talking about. There aren't too many psychiatrists, and those that there are often have a 3-6 month waiting list just to schedule an initial appointment.
In early December, after a few more weeks of generally decreasing mood and functionality, I called my family doctor again and the nurse recommended I go to Kettering Behavioral Health Center, a facility located in Centerville (I think) that has both inpatient and outpatient care. They also offer walk-in assessments. I drove myself over there and talked to the admitting nurse for about a half hour. I explained I was about 21 weeks pregnant (in case she couldn't tell), was cutting myself daily, crying all the time, and generally feeling like utter crap. I was worried that my mood was hurting the baby, and I needed psychiatric help to look over and manage my medications. She asked the $64,000 question: "Are you suicidal? Do you have specific plans?" I told her that I frequently thought about suicide, but didn't have a specific plan to follow. I thought about taking pills or slitting my wrists, but hadn't written a suicide note or anything.
At this point she assured me that the facility had an ethical responsibility to help me out, since I was a danger to myself and my baby, based on my suicidal thoughts and cutting behavior. They wouldn't just send me home and tell me good luck. She asked me to step out while she called the psychiatrist on duty and talked to him about what to do next. My sense of relief was tangible -- finally, someone was going to help me.
She came out to the waiting room a few minutes later and told me that the psychiatrist wanted to admit me to try to regulate my medications. I didn't particularly want to be admitted -- it was close to Christmas, and I wanted to be home. But, I knew I needed help, so I agreed. She went back to her office to talk to the admissions people to get the process started.
About 15 minutes later, she called me back in to her office. As it turns out, they couldn't admit me to their facility, because I was more than 20 weeks pregnant, and they didn't have the medical facilities to help me in out in case of a problem (they are not on the same grounds as the actual hospital). What they could do is prescribe Klonopin for me, a powerful anti-anxiety drug, increase my Seroquel again, and suggest if I was still having problems to either call my old psychiatrist or go to Miami Valley Hospital's ER.
And with that, despite their "ethical obligations," they sent me on my way.
Next post: a new psychiatrist and the ER.
In late October/early November, I went to my general practitioner because my mood had started getting really bad since going off my meds (Seroquel and Lamictal) in August. After talking to me, -- which involved a lot of crying on my part-- looking at my medical history, and looking at the cuts I had made on my arms, he put me back on a low dose of Seroquel. For about a week, I felt not great, but functional, but then things continued back on their downhill spiral. I was crying all the time, just wanting to sleep, having anxiety attacks, and doing a lot of cutting. I called my GP back and talked to a nurse, who in turn talked to the doctor, who increased my Seroquel dosage.
The increase in Seroquel didn't seem to make much difference, other than to make me more tired (something not particularly desirable when you're trying to chase a four-year-old and a two-year-old). I called my ob/gyn's office to see if she could help out at all. She put me on Vistaril as needed, which is pretty much just an antihistamine but can kind of mellow you out at the same time. Both my ob/gyn and my GP suggested strongly that I see a psychiatrist, but not wanting to go back to my prior psychiatrist, and with nobody recommending a new one, I was sort of at a loss for who to see. If you've ever tried to get psychiatric help in Dayton, Ohio, you understand what I'm talking about. There aren't too many psychiatrists, and those that there are often have a 3-6 month waiting list just to schedule an initial appointment.
In early December, after a few more weeks of generally decreasing mood and functionality, I called my family doctor again and the nurse recommended I go to Kettering Behavioral Health Center, a facility located in Centerville (I think) that has both inpatient and outpatient care. They also offer walk-in assessments. I drove myself over there and talked to the admitting nurse for about a half hour. I explained I was about 21 weeks pregnant (in case she couldn't tell), was cutting myself daily, crying all the time, and generally feeling like utter crap. I was worried that my mood was hurting the baby, and I needed psychiatric help to look over and manage my medications. She asked the $64,000 question: "Are you suicidal? Do you have specific plans?" I told her that I frequently thought about suicide, but didn't have a specific plan to follow. I thought about taking pills or slitting my wrists, but hadn't written a suicide note or anything.
At this point she assured me that the facility had an ethical responsibility to help me out, since I was a danger to myself and my baby, based on my suicidal thoughts and cutting behavior. They wouldn't just send me home and tell me good luck. She asked me to step out while she called the psychiatrist on duty and talked to him about what to do next. My sense of relief was tangible -- finally, someone was going to help me.
She came out to the waiting room a few minutes later and told me that the psychiatrist wanted to admit me to try to regulate my medications. I didn't particularly want to be admitted -- it was close to Christmas, and I wanted to be home. But, I knew I needed help, so I agreed. She went back to her office to talk to the admissions people to get the process started.
About 15 minutes later, she called me back in to her office. As it turns out, they couldn't admit me to their facility, because I was more than 20 weeks pregnant, and they didn't have the medical facilities to help me in out in case of a problem (they are not on the same grounds as the actual hospital). What they could do is prescribe Klonopin for me, a powerful anti-anxiety drug, increase my Seroquel again, and suggest if I was still having problems to either call my old psychiatrist or go to Miami Valley Hospital's ER.
And with that, despite their "ethical obligations," they sent me on my way.
Next post: a new psychiatrist and the ER.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Oh happy day -- school's in and the drywall is almost done
This has been a long week...we had workmen start Monday on removing paneling and putting up drywall in our fourth bedroom; we're going to move our little one over there and put the new baby in her room, since she already has the crib and changing table there. We went ahead and had the "drywall guys," as they've affectionately become known, paint the room while they were at it. Strangely, I got their name out of one of those coupon magazine things that everybody gets, and their "special" was a free bathroom painted with any estimate. So they also painted our master bathroom -- why not??
Long story short, even without the lovely snow and ice we haven't really been able to go anywhere because they've been here solidly since Monday. I have to say, these guys are amazingly hard workers, and they do <i>beautiful</i> work -- but beautiful work, as usual, takes time. I thought they'd be done Tuesday afternoon or Wednesday morning, but it's Thursday afternoon, and they're still here. I think they'll be done this afternoon (fingers crossed).
The girls and I have been going a little bit stir crazy, being stuck in the house. School was cancelled Tuesday because of the weather, and I can't tell you how hard I was praying for school to be back in today. God bless the Jewish Center, it was (that's where they go to preschool). I think they were as excited to get out of the house as I was for them to go -- they barely glanced back at me when Daddy took them out the door, and he told me that neither one of them even put up their token resistance when he dropped them off.
The good news is, it's a lot easier to appreciate them and think they're wonderful and adorable and brilliant when I get away from them for a few hours. When we got home from school, we all three snuggled on the couch for a little while and watched TV to settle down before nap time, and I didn't even mind them crawling all over me and wanting to sit on my lap (small as it's getting). Is this horrible parenting? Maybe, but that's the way it is.
Long story short, even without the lovely snow and ice we haven't really been able to go anywhere because they've been here solidly since Monday. I have to say, these guys are amazingly hard workers, and they do <i>beautiful</i> work -- but beautiful work, as usual, takes time. I thought they'd be done Tuesday afternoon or Wednesday morning, but it's Thursday afternoon, and they're still here. I think they'll be done this afternoon (fingers crossed).
The girls and I have been going a little bit stir crazy, being stuck in the house. School was cancelled Tuesday because of the weather, and I can't tell you how hard I was praying for school to be back in today. God bless the Jewish Center, it was (that's where they go to preschool). I think they were as excited to get out of the house as I was for them to go -- they barely glanced back at me when Daddy took them out the door, and he told me that neither one of them even put up their token resistance when he dropped them off.
The good news is, it's a lot easier to appreciate them and think they're wonderful and adorable and brilliant when I get away from them for a few hours. When we got home from school, we all three snuggled on the couch for a little while and watched TV to settle down before nap time, and I didn't even mind them crawling all over me and wanting to sit on my lap (small as it's getting). Is this horrible parenting? Maybe, but that's the way it is.
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