I come from a long line of women who have emotional issues. I like to think that the bulk of those issues have to do with hormones. I can remember my mother getting “sentimental and blue” around her time of the month. You had to learn to stay away from her. It was so funny. She had a calendar in the kitchen that she used for everything. Every month she would put a big “X” on the day she started her period. When Kim and I got older, she would put the big “X” and she would label them: “Me”, “Kim”, “Cindy”. Yeah, it was fun having people over and they could tell your menstrual schedule right there on the family calendar. But Mom used the rhythm method of birth control so it was very important for her to figure out when she was fertile.
Mom came by hormones honestly. Her mother was a demon. I think she had other emotional issues, and life had not been real good to her, but sometimes all of her demons would come out to play. And woe to the one who was in her path.
I remember being a different person at least one week out of the month. I was usually alright around my friends but a completely different story to the people that lived with me. When PMS became popular I came to realize that I suffered from that. And so it became a joke. Instead of someone saying “it’s her time of the month” they would just say “she has PMS”. And then they would laugh. It was pretty funny, I guess, until I started having babies and my hormones were all over the place. I will never forget getting really mad at my husband at the time while I was cooking dinner. I had a butcher knife. I had to consciously make myself take the knife back to the kitchen because during that discussion I could have easily stabbed him, right in front of my two year old.
That’s when I knew I had a problem. That’s when I went to my doctor and told him that he needed to do something about this PMS. He decided to put me on birth control pills because women on birth control pills didn’t have PMS. Yeah, well, I did. We tried other drugs but it came down to me making a conscious effort to not go over the edge.
There were other things that happened but I’m going to fast-forward through those to the time after I had Katie but before I had John. So, that was 10 or 12 years later. I had a female ob/gyn and I tried to explain to her that my issues were hormone-related. She gave me this wonder-drug (Celexa) that evened me out to a point where I didn’t want to hurt anyone. It wasn’t a cure-all but it did help. But I will tell you that the kicker was when I had a complete hysterectomy. My gynecologist wanted to do a complete hysterectomy but I only wanted to take out my uterus. I’m so glad she won that argument. So glad. It took about 5 years for all of the hormones to get out of my body but I will tell you that the minute the hormones left was the minute that most of my emotions calmed down. I had a normal day. I wasn’t up and down and all around. I wasn’t on the verge anymore. I had a nice even keel and I came to love it.
I made up my mind right then and there that if my girls ever started having emotional issues to make them tell their doctors that they have to be hormone related and that this miracle drug worked for me. And they have, and they do. And you can tell when they don’t take the drug.
So, all is right with the world, right? I wish. There are times that I have intense anxiety. I can usually pinpoint where it came from and I can usually talk myself out of the rafters. But, as most of you know, I had an MRI this week. I had never had one before. I am a little claustrophobic. Alright, I must be a lot claustrophobic because I was totally anxious during the test and have not come out of that anxiety yet. I have taken medicine, I have had bourbon. Someone asked me if I was anxious about the results of the test and I think that I am but not enough to be this anxious. I feel that I am on the verge, again. I am snapping at people. I mean, even soaking and reading in the bathtub is not calming me down.
I think that I am experiencing anxiety overload. Sometimes we have our defenses up so high that when they get overloaded or taken down for any reason they can’t go back to normal. I think that’s me. I don’t like the feeling but I think I’ll put up with it for a few more days and see if I can get it to go back to normal on my own. If not, I think I’ll call my doctor and tell him he’s got a mess on his hands. He doesn’t want to have to deal with me when I go over the edge. It’s not a pretty sight to see.