I have a dream

My dream is that one day there will be music again in this house.

Before I got NF, there was always music playing... you could find any genre, any style playing on my stereo at any given time. More often than not I was either singing with it and dancing in my kitchen, or conducting with the classical choices, bringing out the horn solos when they happen. Dancing with the kids was a prominent feature in those early days of mothering, also.

Then.....quiet.
I needed so much quiet, even my small children's voices were amplified in my head, from the effects of the PTSD. It was "shhhhhhh, it's too loud" constantly. I didn't put on the CD's anymore. I just needed quiet and more quiet. Noise actually hurt.

So I have a dream to bring the music back into the house.
But I'm certainly not yet ready.

I was released from the ward after an entire month there, on January 9th. On that same day I saw Shifra preform a skit she is working on in her acting classes, then took the (3) kids out to dinner afterward. It was a celebration of me being out of the hospital, and of Shifra's first skit with this group, and because I was going to take off early the next morning to go up north to the Galilee to spend Thursday, Friday and Shabbat with a very special group of women, led by a very special Rabbi.

That was the perfect place for me to "land" after the month I had. I needed the reconnecting with spirituality, and this rabbi is the perfect one for me to do that with. We delved deeply into our connection with G-d, and how to strengthen those bonds. This rav is into Jewish meditation, and learning his techniques really helped me feel so much stronger in my emunah (loosely translated as faith, but there is a lot more to that word than "faith"). For me, it was the exact right thing at the exact right time. It was a tremendously wonderful Shabbat, but I missed my family. Well, I missed Robert the most. Remember, I went on this retreat after not being home hardly at all for an entire month. But it was perfect for me.

If you are interested, the rabbi's name is Doniel Katz. He has a you tube channel, I suggest you just randomly click on videos, and you'll get a taste of what he does. He's the real thing.

Sunday it sort of continued, but in Jerusalem. A bunch of us ladies from the retreat went to "Emunah Day" at the world famous Aish HaTorah yeshiva in the old city of Jerusalem. We heard other famous speakers on Emunah, as well as Doniel Katz again.

By the time I got home on Sunday evening, I had lost my voice.
By Monday it was full-fledged flu. And it stayed that way all week. It was a nasty one. But somehow, I knew I needed that down-time. After a month in the hospital and three days traveling and being involved in very intense activities, I needed that down-time. So, I stayed in my pajamas and in bed pretty much all week. Lots of coughing, fever up and down, other lovely symptoms as well. What is left now, a week later, is still pretty bad coughing. No fever anymore, but the coughing is keeping me up at nights, just after I had gotten my nights straightened out at the hospital. It's all messed up again. The medicines that worked in the hospital do not work against this bronchitis at night. Not even together with Tylenol with Codeine. Last night Robert gave me some concoction that worked nicely on the cough, but gave me a bad case of the runs today, unfortunately. It was almond milk/Turmeric/cinnamon/ginger, and I'm not sure what else... all heated up and quite tasty actually. But not good on Sarah's tummy. I'm going to have to get some strong sedatives if this goes on much longer. It's just insane coughing every night.

Today, after a week's delay because of the flu, I started the day program at the hospital. It will go for three months, five days a week, from 8-1 every day. I met the staff today, they are still not sure who will be my therapist, so I don't know yet, but I met all the options. There will be group counseling, of course individual counseling, art therapy & music therapy on alternate days. I love the art therapy- it really works to calm the nervous system. They also keep track of vital signs like blood pressure/temp/heart rate every day. Cuz, why not?

I am kind of nervous about how this is going to be.... meeting all new people, starting with a new therapist. I have a hard time trusting people, especially therapists. I really don't want to go through it all again, but truthfully I never really went through it all with any therapist... the time has come to "unpack" that carton I have been carrying around with me for so many years. If it's done right, it will stop interfering in my life in such drastic ways. At least that's the theory.

In the meantime, I still have physical body stuff to deal with also. I had a mammogram yesterday; my first one ever. Today they call me to come in tomorrow to do an ultrasound. I understand that it is almost standard procedure to do this, so I'm not going to waste energy on being worried.

Thursday this week I am re-doing the MRI that wasn't done to specifications in Jerusalem. This time I'm going private, and the insurance will pay for it.

And I have to look into this constant mid-spine/rib pain that never goes away.

Anyway, these next three months are going to be intense. I pray that Hashem sends me the right people to do this work with. And that I have the courage to do it. I have to... this is the time. If I can really be free from this "carton" I've been carrying around with me? Imagine.... many things might be able to change and grow.

I'm already seeing a new direction for my book, which has been stuck for a long time. Unwittingly, the Dr of Chinese medicine who I used to see said something to me that effected me greatly. I looked into it with this Rav Katz who I worked with last Shabbat, and then looked into it more with the sources that the statement came from. It is leading me back to my writing. Finally. I have been stuck for a year, with the pain crisis last year and the depression, I couldn't write, and I couldn't feel the direction of the book anymore. Now, I think it is going to be jump-started again. With a new angle, exactly what I was hoping for.

So, new horizons, new beginnings. Moving forward, B'ezrat Hashem (with G-d's help).

Day 26 of healing the soul, nearing the end.

Of course, the title only refers to the time I've been in the psychiatric hospital. Healing the soul will continue when I'm out of here. I've been here to relearn how to sleep, and have a break from my regular life...because things were kind of falling apart. That's what happens when you don't sleep for a few months. I'm much better now, thank G-d. I am sleeping consistently, with pharmaceuticals, yes, but non-addictive ones. I am also taking something that basically keeps my nervous system at a low hum throughout the day so that I can sleep at night. That, I hope to drop out slowly as time goes on, but for now it is working. My blood pressure seems to remain sort of high, and I'm not happy with that, but the docs here don't see it as high. I do, because I know what normal for me should be. It's going to take a while to get into my own groove.

I hope to get a release either today or tomorrow. I've spent two Shabbats out of the hospital (this passed one was wonderful and simple, and very restful, with my dear friends), and one whole afternoon at home, yesterday. My doctor here says she feels there is not more that they can do for me here, my medicines are balanced out, and I am sleeping. The big work will be after I get out.

It is looking like that organization I was hoping to work with upon release from here doesn't have a therapist available for me until a few months from now. I obviously don't want to leave without support, so my doctor has recommended me for a day program here at the hospital. It is also for women who need to recover from sexual abuse, and it is all encompassing as far as group sessions, individual therapy, art therapy, and medical doctors overseeing each patient along the way. It is actually much more encompassing than I would get from the other organization (called "Inbal"), which is only one therapeutic hour (50 mins) of therapy a week, and the rest you're on your own.
The day program here is from 8-1, so I'll be home afternoons and evenings, which is wonderful (especially after having been gone for so long now). I'm not sure how many days a week it is, but I'd be willing to do 5 days a week if that's what it is. The "hard work" has to be done. Pandora's box had it's lid blown off, and it can no longer go back on. It's not going to be easy. But it's time.

Yesterday I was happy to report to my therapist (and also my husband) that I hadn't had a nightmare in 10 days. That is a record since this relapse began. But I shouldn't have said anything... had a big bad one last night, nearly woke up the whole ward. :(

But soon I will get back to my home and my family. I have greatly missed them, especially Robert.
I will get back to my Tai Chi, back to the gym, and try to regain some semblance of normalcy.

Oh, and I still need another MRI. ...Ya.
And my right rib and center of spinal cord consistently hurt, no matter day or night or anything. Gotta get that looked into.
And the million other things that need to get done that I haven't been able to take care of because I'm here.
I'm not sure what state of mind doing this day program will leave me in. I hope I can be productive. But I am ready to accept whatever will be. No choice.

One thing I am looking forward to is drinking my tea in my own cup, not a purple plastic cup anymore.

And having my own bathroom again.
And my deliciously comfy bed.
And my children. There is going to be some hardship there, I've been gone for a long time. I pray we all have patience and understanding for each other.

And my husband, who is so tired, but still so emotionally strong for me.

Please Hashem, keep Robert healthy and strong of body and spirit, and please give my children the depth of understanding and resilience they need to grow up in their own specific circumstances.

Week three of healing the soul

Day 20, still in the Mental Health Center which Heals the Soul.
I'd rather not be here anymore, but...it's complicated.

Oh, and yeah, happy new calendar year. In my wildest dreams I could never have thought that I'd spend a New Year's eve in a psych hospital. Or ever, for that matter.

My sleeping is still not under control. Sometimes they give me enough medicine to put an elephant to sleep, and it doesn't work. My brain is just wired in a certain way, I guess. I think one of the medicines they are giving me is in the same family of medicines (Benzodiazapine) of what I weaned off of when I first came here, and my body has built a resistance to it, so it's not worth giving to me. The other one they give me, sometimes works and sometimes doesn't (and is not addictive), but if I take more than a certain dose, I get horrible restless leg syndrome. So I need that in a low dose, and it's not completely effective.

I was home last Shabbat, and that was wonderful...until it wasn't. Shabbat (Saturday) afternoon I started to feel that shakiness that happened about four weeks ago (written about here). It was subtle, so I didn't think much of it. But as the afternoon progressed, the shaking got worse and worse. It felt like Seratonin Syndrome again. The week beforehand they had doubled one of my medicines (an SSRI) without having an in-between dose... just doubled it. It was too much for my system, I now know that it's like my body can't take a certain amount of toxicity. That's why I have developed so many allergies to so many antibiotics. I had them pumped into my body too often.

So, Instead of staying at home overnight Saturday night like I was supposed to, I had to come right back to the hospital when Shabbat was over. I came in shaking like a leaf, extremely high blood pressure, and confusion. It took **hours** before the on-call doctor came to see me. All those hours they didn't give my any antidote to help with the symptoms. Then when the doctor did come on, he said to me that I am having a panic attack, not Seratonin Syndrome. I told him I never get panic attacks. Of all the things I do deal with, panic attacks are not in the repertoire. This is an issue of toxicity of too much SSRI dumped into my system too quickly. But the doctor didn't agree. He knew better. In fact, he knew SO much better than anyone, he made a point to tell us that he is the most knowledgeable doctor of psychiatric medicines in the entire South of Israel. (I wanted to say, after I rolled my eyes, how can you fit into your doorway with that ego?)

Whatever, call it purple unicorn syndrome, just give me something to stop the shaking-- whether it's a panic attack or Seratonin syndrome, it's the same treatment- Clonex. This had been going on for five hours, I was truly suffering. Finally I got the Clonex.

I had a very hard time falling asleep that night, even with the medicines, my system was just too high strung.

So now we are heading into another Wednesday... I came in on a Wednesday, so tomorrow marks three weeks. And, for various reasons in which I was included in the decision, I'll be here probably until early next week.

It is very, very hard. Yesterday I got terribly lonely, it just happened to be that nobody visited that day. I had been getting steady visitors, but yesterday I had a difficult therapy session, and no visitors. Today was better...slept pretty OK (7 hours straight), my daughter came to visit right from school, and another friend visited also.

The main bulk of real therapy can only begin when I'm out of here, though. They have hooked me up with an organization that exists with licensed, trained therapists, here in Be'er Sheva, for free, who deal specifically with women who need to recover from sexual abuse, no matter when it was (or is) in their life. It's been there all this time, and I never knew. I could really have used that place before my PTSD got to this proportion. But, as we know, things come to us at the right time, and they come from G-d. There is of course a waiting list to have a therapist assigned to you, but I can't even be considered for the program until I am out of here. They sent a social worker here specifically for me, and we talked a lot. That social worker submitted my paperwork to get my name in the system and get it going. I don't know when they will call me for the initial interview, though.

I've had a lot of time to think, read, and just chill out. I haven't had to cook or clean, or drive anyone anywhere, or worry about other people's scheduling. I feel unprepared to go back to resuming all that stuff, but it'll have to happen, slowly. (and I need to get back to the gym!)
As much as I wish I didn't have to be here, I'm glad a place like this exists. It's a safe place to recover and to have a time-out for mental health reasons. It comes with it's problems like everywhere else, but I do feel safe here, and I feel cared for. I don't know what toll it's taken on my family, though. That is in my near future to deal with.

Eleven years of this Sarah... the one who really can't work at the jobs she loves and strived so hard to attain. That Sarah from before NF isn't coming back. But maybe I can do other things.
I pray my family maintains their mental and emotional health while I've lost mine, already a few times. I constantly worry about the kids and their own special needs.

It's not what I planned.

It's what Hashem planned.

I don't understand it. And I am sad, often, because of it.

But in the end, I love my husband with all my heart, and my kids are the most amazing souls to walk this earth, may Hashem always protect them.
And for that I am eternally grateful.

Update from the hospital to heal the soul

Today is my 13th day here in the psych hospital.

I am envious of all the people who can just lie down at a normal time of the evening, and maybe read a page or two of something, and drift off to sleep. Sleep is an integral part of life... without it, we get unraveled.

I got unraveled.

During the waking hours, I felt I could deal with the PTSD relapse. But the less sleep I got, the less hold I had on day-to-day life. From up-close, though, I didn't really notice. I only noticed that here's yet another night I can't sleep. Or if I did sleep, I would wake up in a screaming nightmare. Then after that, I'd be up for the rest of the night.

I got here after taking too many medicines, in desperation to sleep. "Accidental overdose". If I look back on texts I had with our counselor, I can see the pattern happening. But in the day-to-day, I didn't take too much notice of how things were getting out of control.

This PTSD is very complicated... it's been diagnosed as complex PTSD (CPTSD). It comes from more than one factor in my life's history. I won't get into details. but this "trigger" that happened about two months ago reaches far back into my childhood, it's not about the adult stuff, not the hospital/NF stuff.

My sleeping now, 13 days after intake, is still not balanced. I'm in a withdrawal process, and because of that I'm dealing more with my restless leg syndrome, also. It always appears strongly during a drug withdrawal. It's very hard to withdraw from the family of Benzodiazepines- the sleeping medicine I was taking for 11 years, as well as the Clonex which I'd been very liberally taking in the recent months. It's in the Valium family, and has hooks in a part of the brain that does not let go very easily. I've been under the impression that it's nearly impossible to withdraw from those medicines. But, here I am, doing it. No choice. There are still bumps along the road. On Shabbat I had a **super delicious** afternoon nap, not induced by any medication. That was phenomenal, in my opinion. But it came unfortunately at the expense of night time sleeping Saturday night. I took what the nurses let me have, but I felt I really needed a Clonex to get to sleep. No Clonex, I'm weaning from that. So, I was up all night. I listened to some Torah lessons, and then most of the night was my audio book. Thank G-d for audio books when it comes to insomnia.

My father (Z"L) used to say the best part about insomnia is the next night... you are so exhausted from being awake two days straight that you sleep well the next night. Well, until now that has been true for me. But not now. Last night, Sunday night, was supposed to be the one where I sleep well. Nope. Again, up most of the night. It's the PTSD, it's the weaning, it's the whole picture. At about 2am, the nurse felt so bad for me (I was crying) that she gave me something (that was OK'd by the doctor on call) that wasn't part of my usual regimen. That got me to sleep. But it can't be regular. So, we are still figuring this out. I am again tired tonight, but that has no bearing on whether or not I'll sleep.

What I hope for when I get out of here is a predictable, reliable sleeping schedule, and therapists to help me slog through the CPTSD. And the courage to do it. I closed that carton a long time ago, never really dealt with it. This relapse blew the top off the carton, and now I have to deal with it. I am praying this place will set me up with the right practitioners for me to work through it, so I will no longer be carrying that carton around with me anymore.

Today I also started dealing with some other medical issues I have to deal with. I can make one or two phone calls a day for other things.

My two youngest kids came to visit me today, it was so, so welcome and good for my heart. Also three friends came to visit today, indeed a blessed day.

Signing off from the hospital which heals the soul.

Sarah Rachel Bat Tova

Ten Years later... here I am again.

After reading my last post, you now know that I still didn't have medicine to take care of helping me sleep, in light of the PTSD relapse. That one I tried wasn't good for me at all. obviously.
So I was left again without sleeping properly. Or at all. Many nights in a row.

This is a problem. I tried everything... meditation courses in my  headphones, music, stories (audio-books), podcasts, even boring history podcasts to try to get myself distracted and to sleep.

Those didn't usually work. I gotta say I also turned to my box of medicines, taking some of the stronger stuff to try to put myself to sleep. That became my modus operendus. I took more than regular doses, and mixed all kinds of stuff that was probably not supposed to be mixed.

One night, Dec 12th, was a night not unlike recent others. But I lost track of what I had taken to fall asleep. Whatever I had taken, it didn't work, so I took something else. You probably can see where this is going...
At around 3am, I went to use the bathroom, and I didn't feel well at all. I stopped between our bed and the bathroom because I felt I was going to faint. I said out Robert's name (who sleeps very deeply, bless him), and then I went down.

He couldn't wake me, so he called the ambulance. They also couldn't wake me for around 25 minutes. But I did wake up myself. Confused with all the paramedics around me. It was so scary.

I chose not to go with them into the hospital. I felt OK, and hate the hospital. I had taken an accidental overdose, and I just wanted to be in my own bed.

The next day, though, I spoke to my family doctor, and she strongly encouraged me to go to the hospital. I reminded her I have a psychiatry appointment with the head of the PTSD department on Sunday, and she basically said she is worried I may not make it to Sunday at this rate. That convinced me.

I voluntarily checked myself in to the psychiatric hospital, same ward I was in in 2008 for three weeks. It's a place where they can help get my medicine issues straightened out, and help me with my PTSD. They have patience here, I can stay, and I can leave when I feel I'm ready. I can't say I'm happy about it, but I can say I need it. I don't want to need it though.

They've [obviously] changed my sleeping medicines (they weren't working for a long time already), and although the first night here I didn't sleep, the second night I did. And pretty much each night since, I've gotten a pretty good night's sleep. I'm also able to nap afternoons now, which I could never do before. I know it's the medicines, but that's what they are there for. My nervous system is being calmed down, and things are quieter. Shabbat here was very quiet; for the good, but also it made it lonely sometimes.

I think one of the main things that is at the root of all the depression is that I still feel so lost in the world without my music playing, and without my doula work. Don't just say "so start up again, do something about it"... it's not as simple as all that. I'm not in that space anymore, my body (and soul) cannot hold up to that world anymore.

My world is to take care of my children & my husband and household, but I am not doing any of that very well. I feel so empty and unable. One of my children needs direction, needs so much, it's so much pressure on me because I'm not able to give much. So I'm at the hospital, taking time for myself and healing, but the situation at home won't change. My children need me, and in all this time since I had NF, I don't think I've ever given them what they needed from me.And one of them holds it against me. I want so much to help[  him, but he's so angry at me. At the world.

Why can't I pick up and move on? Why do I sink into quicksand the minute I wake up?
I can do so much, be so strong, have so much potential.
But somehow that I don't understand, it got taken away from me. I let it get taken away from me.
I don't understand.
I'm sinking. I'm sick of asking for someone to throw me a rope.

Post Traumatic Stress Disease... the gift that keeps on giving

Recently I've joined a few on-line support groups for people who survived NF. Sometimes I forget that there are going to be things specific to the fact of having been through this particular nasty disease and it's ramifications. One such ramification that nearly everyone relates to and talks about is the aspect of PTSD afterward.

This is what is going on with me...
I'm having a recurrence of the PTSD. It took me a long time to identify it, and there are other things in the mixture that are affecting what is happening with me these days, but that is a big factor. I believe it is stemming from being with my friend Sabrina while she was dying. There are many gory details that I don't need to, or want to get into here, but what I thought I could handle went into hiding in my subconscious for a few months and has been eating away at my emotional state, my sleeping, and at this point just about every aspect of my living. My PTSD was so bad after I had NF, a year later (2008) I was hospitalized for three weeks in the psychiatric hospital here in Be'er Sheva.

PTSD is insidious. You don't know that it can be responsible for depression and sleep problems, among other things. My depression has been getting so bad lately, I cannot enjoy anything. I mean, I can enjoy things on a surface level, really enjoy being with friends and in social situations, but darkness lurks for me when I try to go to sleep. I thought it was my sleeping pills not working anymore, but now I realize it is the PTSD. I haven't had it this bad for a long time. And, it took a few months, since Sabrina passed away, to manifest so strongly so that I could clearly see it. Same thing happened after I had NF; at first I even went back to work with birthing couples, and even playing horn in the orchestra for a few months. Then, at about the six month point of after NF (physical wounds still not even healed completely) I had a break down of sorts, and checked myself into the psychiatric hospital at my psychiatrist's advice. That was my introduction to psychotropic medicines and sleeping pills.

I had no idea that my PTSD could ever get that strong again.

Well, it can.

Also, problematic here is the fact that my medicines have changed drastically over the past few years, and I haven't had any psychiatrist at all in my life going over it, giving input. I've kind of used my neurologist for that because of needing to deal with the migraine problem, but one hand did not speak to the other. I went off the Fentanyl, went off Lamictal (which was specifically for PTSD), and am now on a large dose of Depilept for the migraines, and my GP raised my Cymbalta. All of this with no input from a psychiatrist. So, it's time for that.

I plan to go back to the one who I last saw at least three or four years ago, because she is the last one who knew my case. Robert tried to call her this morning, but she wasn't in today. It is urgent. We will try to get in to her tomorrow. If not, maybe they can give me someone else. She specializes in PTSD, though. We are even thinking about the possibility of another hospitalization, but are very much hoping on getting a hold of this as out-patient. The depression and sorrow are sucking away my life, I can no longer cover it up. I'll get help.

I know that Hashem (God) is always there for me, stretching His hand out to catch me when I am falling. The challenge is to stretch mine out to grab on and feel my will and life-force again. It's in me, but quite buried. Buried under hospital nightmares of the past... which are still quite present for me.

Sweet potato salad, with a side of relapse

It took a long time before my dear friend Miriam and I could find a time to have a "date" together. Life is so busy, it's a rare opportunity when it comes around.

We went to a cafe in a mall. It was *packed*... something we didn't expect. It was the day before the fast of Esther (two days before Purim), and all the high school kids were dressed up in costumes, as is the custom for Purim, and that mall was apparently the place to be seen. And what a scene it was... cupids, zombies (complete with fake blood), pirates, prisoners, an eerie fellow wearing a mask of "The Scream" (by Edvard Munch), Goldilocks, and yes, even street walkers (how do their mothers let them out of the house like that??!!). I'm telling you, it was strange, mostly because, even though Miriam and I both are raising teenagers, we didn't know that this is the thing to do. Our kids didn't do the "hang out in costume at the mall" thing. It caught us off-guard. And it was so *loud*! But since our time together is so limited, we decided to take a table at the cafe anyway (instead of relocating), and order our lunch. At one point I got a call from Robert, and I actually had to go into the elevator corridor so I could hear him, it was that loud.

Near the end of our meal, we suddenly see and hear costumed teens at the top of the nearby escalator running and screaming. We had no idea what was going on. I thought it was some sort of Purim prank (weird things happen all over this country around Purim, expect the unexpected). But, like an ink spill, people all over the mall were also beginning to panic and head for the exits. Rumors using the word "terrorist" could be heard, yet nobody around us knew what was going on. We obviously got up and headed for an exit as well. I instinctively reached out for Miriam's hand, I was getting a bit freaked out. Holding hands, we decided to wait for the elevator (where minutes before I was calmly talking to Robert on the phone), because everyone was crowding the escalator.

As we waited for the elevator, people were scattering all over; some panicked, some bewildered, most were worried. The absolute strangest thing? That these were also all sizes and forms of people in costumes... there were teens running around with fake blood on them, a guy dressed all in black holding a long knife/sword thing, and girl/hookers. The only word to describe it is SURREAL.
Was there a knifing? Is the terrorist running free? Is anyone hurt? Nobody knew anything.
While waiting for the elevator, we heard what, to me, sounded like a gun shot. I lived in Manhattan on the edge of Harlem in 1991, I knew what gun shots sounded like.

We were all alarmed. Well, Miriam was pretty calm. I wouldn't let go of her hand, though.

Eventually, within 10 minutes, the entire contents of the crowded mall spilled out into the parking lot. On the way out I asked the security guard if he had any information, and he also didn't.
People (teens mostly) were crying, shocked, and traumatized out there waiting around in the parking lot. And all the costumes and elaborately made-up faces.... it was like out of a Fellini movie. I, personally wondered if a terrorist with a knife was going to run out in our direction at any moment.

Miriam asked me if I'm OK. I said yeah.
A few minutes later I said "...actually, Mir? I'm not so OK".

We made our way to the car amidst the sounds sirens, police on their way. We didn't see an ambulance, so we hoped that was a good sign.

We got into my car, and I kept pressing the code pad on the dashboard with the code I was sure was right. I have driven that car for four years, I *know* the code. But in my shock, I didn't remember it. I called Robert to ask him the code. He was surprised, but I didn't want to startle him and tell him what was going on (and we still didn't really know what was going on). He told me the code, and we weaved our way past police cars to get out of the overloaded parking lot, to the exit.

As we exited, we heard two huge booms.
Me to Miriam: "did you hear that"?
Miriam: "yes. Let's not jump to conclusions..."

At home, I told Robert about it all via texting with him (he was at work), but we still didn't know what, if anything happened. There were no news reports yet. I talked about it a lot in those next hours. I told my kids what had happened, I was definitely in a state of high alert, possibly a little shock in there, too.

A while later, Robert texted me to ask if I am OK, if I felt that I am over it. I wrote "yup", with no hesitation. By that time we pretty much knew that the gun shot sound was a firecracker that someone set off in the mall (very common on Purim), and that also two teens were having some sort of an altercation, maybe a knife was pulled, maybe not. The news reports were contradictory. What was clear was that nobody was hurt, and there was no terrorist, thank Gd.

I was over it.

The next day, I started feeling that cotton-heady feeling, dizzy, and like my limbs were all heavy. Incredible fatigue. It was a fast day, but after about one in the afternoon, it was clear to me that I had to break my fast. I did so, and I had hoped it would make me feel better, but it really didn't help much.

We went to the synagogue for the night of Purim. I felt awful, physically, but I got there. It was the first time I didn't go in costume... I had no energy for that.

The next day, the big, busy day of Purim, my limbs felt like anvils. I was so weak, I felt faint just walking to and from the bathroom. I didn't leave my bedroom all day, even though there was Purim going on. That was the day I wrote my last post- the one called "I'm getting lost". I didn't get to any Purim festivities, including our traditional community feast, which I have *never* missed. It was truly sad for me, and for my family to have to separate. I just could not move. Oh, and I had a migraine come for five hours, then go, in the middle of the day, as well. It 'went' because I used some heavy medicines to take myself out of my misery.

Friday was the same. A tremendously busy day, but I couldn't do anything. I did get out of my bedroom, but again, my limbs felt heavy, and I was so weak that my joints actually hurt coming down the stairs. That *never* happens. It was so uncharacteristic. I was convinced that something big and bad was wrong.
Thankfully for us that our guests for Shabbat actually canceled, and we (Robert) had less cooking to do.

Shabbat came, and by afternoon I was feeling much better. I went out on a walk with the kids, actually, which felt awesome, like I was breathing for the first time in three days. And just like that, I was feeling normal again.

So, what is the explanation of all this?

We'll never be sure, but, on Friday I had a conversation with my wise and intuitive sister-in-law, Rivka. She already knew the story of what had happened in the mall (as did anyone else who read my Facebook update that day). She suggested that it was a relapse of the PTSD, triggered by the mall incident. Even though, intellectually, I knew that there was no terrorist attack, for a long while there it felt like it, and that is all your parasympathetic nervous system needs to "know". PTSD is like an instinct, once a person has had it, it comes back when the primitive part of the brain stem gets activated by trauma.

What strengthens this hypothesis more is that the day after my conversation with Rivka was when I started to feel the fog lift. What I know from physical responses to emotional triggers (a whole book in and of itself) is that once the person names the emotional problem that triggered the physical response, the physical response no longer has the need to be there. In my history, I have had a certain chronic back pain, and I know that it happens when a certain type of stress and trauma enters my world. When I feel it, I "tell" myself the message like this: "I know what you are, back pain, I don't need to pay attention to you. I get what is going on here, this [subject] is an issue these days". And, it always goes away within a few days. If you want to learn more about this issue of physical pain being a manifestation of emotional triggers, I highly recommend the book "Mind Over Back Pain" by Dr. John Sarno. I read it in 1990, and it changed my life.

In 2007, about six months after I had NF, is when I got hit hard with PTSD. I spent three weeks in the Be'er Sheva psychiatric hospital because of it... it was *that* bad.

So it is quite possible that what happened last week after the mall incident was a relapse of the PTSD. All the symptoms lined up, hit me over the head, and then went away.

I am constantly taken aback when I learn more about the delicate and intricate network which is me, in the aftermath of being plunged into that crazy disease, Necrotizing Fasciitis. We know a lot about the revealed complications and ramifications, which this eight-year blog discusses regularly. The psychological, more hidden repercussions, however, are much more subtle because they disguise themselves as a physical malady to be grappled with. I feel as if I have been enlightened tremendously by this episode. I hope that, if it happens again, I will be able to recognize it and talk to my body, telling it that we don't need to act out emotional triggers. We can just recognize them, and let them go. And move on into health.

Memories and flashbacks

May, 2007
Huge rainstorm over Shabbat
I worried, he was planning on taking the "back roads" home.
I wanted to know he was safe, I needed my doctor.
He called Saturday night, just as he did this evening with my friend.
I was relieved he made it back safely.
I only knew I needed him.

He apologized, asked for forgiveness.
I, confused, still in the thick of it.
My children were so young... 1+1/2, 4, 6, 7+1/2.
I couldn't take care of them.

I didn't yet understand the magnitude of how my life was to change.
Yes, I forgive you.
I didn't yet understand for what, exactly.

It was confusing.

PTSD came on strong, I was lost.
Psychiatric hospitalization, 2008, three entire weeks.
medicines, coping.
I called him from that place. It was again Yom Kippur, a year gone by.
I said I didn't forgive him, I now know more about my story.

I was angry, weak, still sick.
Hospitalizations, infections, operations.
Many, many more doctors. All shocked, I was so young.
It kept coming at me, like speeding cars at night.

One operation broke me, it was just too painful. The mesh inserted under gapey.
One whole year I felt the sharp pain of that surgery, the clips attaching it, latching on to what muscle was left.
Morphine, Methadone, Fentanyl, nerve pain medicine, more and more Fentanyl.
Pain relief.
I still feel those clips in my belly. Every day, all the time. Even at this exact minute.

I still couldn't take care of my kids.
Nanny's in and out like a revolving door to my house.
One actually stole from us at the same time she was caring deeply for my children,
lying down with my baby to help him sleep.
I wanted to do that.
She stole things from us.
Caring for my baby was stolen from me.

Did I forgive him?
He called that night in the rain.
He worried about me,
I worried about him.

I developed an odd dependency.
It was unexplainable.
I didn't see him much,
didn't want to.
Not a day when by that I didn't think of him, though,
think of how messed up things got.
hated him for his arrogance.

The years went by that way,
Countless trips to the emergency room.
My husband and I had a routine by that time. We'd look at each other,
waiting in the temporary bed, saying "here we are again".
Another week lost to the hospital, stolen from my kids.
Hospitalizations, surgeries, anguish, lost careers.
Morphine, pain.

Then I learned more.
More about what really happened in those harrowing days before and during NF.
A medical detective, sorting through my file.
Slowly facts filtered down to us.
It was written up, this medical detective was angry.

Now I see him, hear about him from my friend all the time.

I am strong, off pain medicines, but usually in pain.
I am strong.
In the near future, another surgery looms.
The "virgin" right leg, never had an operation.
The left leg went through so much,
limping, crutches, scarring, favoring,
The right leg has problems now, as a result.

How long can I live without pain medicine?
Only time will tell.

Pain is in my life to stay.
Doctors are in my life to stay.
The Doctor, as fate would have it, is in my life,
to stay?
To stay.
I will grow from this.
It's called "Post Traumatic Growth".

I can do this. I am strong.
So many memories, where can I put them?
They are coming back to me fast and furious
as I go through my friend's story with her, every day, in that wing, of that hospital.

She says I "ground" her.
I massage her feet and legs,
we listen to interesting and funny podcasts,
My tension rises along with her fever, my muscles (and soul) relax when the medicine works to bring it back down,
I feel relieved when I see her rest.

Now it is she who cannot take care of her child.
I understand on such a deep level, it hurts.

There is nothing simple, or clear about these stories.
Please let me tell them,
Don't be afraid, or feel bad for me,
just be with me.

It's not about anger,
I've shed that entirely. A gift of time.
It's not even about illness.

It's about three souls intertwining.
Four souls... her five-year-old girl.
Light, wise, expressive, happy, dark.
I'm taken by her.

These souls are forever joined.
We may never understand why.

Now I have unburdened my soul,
and I can continue on being who I have chosen to be.

Thank you all, for being my people.
You ground me.