Reccurring Nightmare

"Babe, babe" Steve calls out shaking me gently awake. I slowly rouse from a deep, dark place. "You were having your dream again, babe" he says.

I don't know why it started, but I know when it began. I've tried reasoning with my inner self to find the reason this dream keeps popping up out of nowhere. Prior to 2009, the only time I had ever been in a hospital was for two reasons; the day I was born and the day I gave birth to my daughter. I've never had so much as a broken bone. Then when I hit my late thirties, things began to change. My menstrual cycle went haywire. Constant bleeding, pain in my back, cramps, wearing two pads at the same time, etc. I was in and out of the doctor's office for some kind of relief. Finally, my insurance approved a hysterectomy.

To say I was scared of having surgery would be putting it mildly. I was so anemic, I had to go into the hospital the day before surgery and receive three pints of blood. My iron was almost non-existent. I was so pale, I looked like a zombie. My energy level was zapped. Friends and coworkers urged me to go home from work and rest.

Then the morning of surgery came and I remember the nurse asking me to count backwards and then I drifted off to sleep. When I woke, I never felt so good. My energy level soared. There was no pain for the doctor performed the hysterectomy vaginally. So the healing process was much quicker. I even remember asking him if he was sure he even did the surgery. After I healed, I went home. Then the nightmare started.

I remember feeling paralyzed. I couldn't make a sound. I tried to call out for help but had no voice. I was trying to get my right arm to move. I struggled to get someone's attention that something was happening to me. But no one came. I finally mustered enough strength to move my arm and claw at the side of the wall. I still felt paralyzed. When I finally woke from the dream, I was wondering if in fact it was a dream. I thought something was actually happening to me.  Was I trying to have a stroke, cause that's for sure what it felt like! I felt woozy, drugged. But I hadn't taken anything. Slowly, I awoke fully. Sure, it was only a bad dream I told myself.

Several months went by before I had the dream again. This time I felt hands on me. But I couldn't see the hands. I could only feel them. Like a ghost. I knew they were there but I just couldn't see them. And I was paralyzed once again without a voice to scream with. I finally got the strength to tug at the hands that were on me. Was I dreaming about my surgery? Did something happen to me on the operating table? No one mentioned anything or any complications to surgery. It had to be something that has caused me to have this awful nightmare. I want it to go away. So I decide to talk to my doctor about it. No obvious answers there.

So I began to notice more and more about my dream. The feeling of being paralyzed finally subsided. But the feeling of hands increased, still unable to see them though.  And I began to yell out in my sleep causing me to disturb my family. They began to wake me up from the nightmares. I had finally found my voice! I could wake myself up!

"Mom, mom" I hear as I'm waking up. I look up to see my daughter standing over me.  "You were having your dream again" Liz states. This time I felt the hands. But this time something was different. I was calling out my boyfriend's name in my dream, but in all actuality, I was moaning. The moaning was so loud it got my daughter's attention. She could hear me over the headphones while she listened to music.

A month has gone by and no nightmare. I don't dwell on when it comes. I just continue to try and figure out what caused this nightmare and how to live some semblance of a normal life. I make mental note of what happens and try and find some answer for it. No one knows what caused it or why. Will it ever go away? Who knows. I write this in hopes that the reader who experiences the same thing will find comfort knowing he or she isn't alone.

Healthy Living

You know sometimes you meet that special someone who just makes life worth living. You go through hell and back for this person. Time seems to stand still at moments and then wham! You're off and going full speed ahead. Steve and I have had our fair share of moments like this. But a few months ago, Steve made a big decision in his life. He decided to go through the New Leaf program and conquer alcohol addiction. The 28 days he was gone made me realize just how much I truly loved him. I soon realized that I had to change my way of thinking. This relationship was not just about me. But us.

Of course I was lonely, depressed, cried, and sometimes just plain didn't do nothing. I had thoughts of Steve meeting someone in the program, falling in love, leaving me, starting a new life with someone else. Silly thoughts, I know. But I've heard the stories. Probably watched too many movies. I let laundry pile up, dishes were left in the sink till mold began to grow on them, floors and beds left dirty, and dust bunnies no longer had a place to hide! I had to get out of this funk I was in!

So I put my criminal justice degree to good use and researched online and realized that Steve was battling a demon he really needed to conquer. I read all I could about alcohol addiction and others' stories about the program and how it changed their lives. I soon realized this relationship wasn't about me. His decision to enter treatment was not about me. This was all about him and getting healthier. He was changing and I realized if he was going to succeed, I had to change to. Much like when you decide to lose weight. You change eating habits, exercise, etc. You learn to cope with cravings. And that's what I realized I had to change. I had to change right along with Steve. I have my own issues. For a long time, I've been a co-dependent in this relationship.

So I got myself up the day before he was scheduled to be released and began scrambling to get the house work done. I finished the ten loads of laundry, two sink fulls of dishes, dusting, making beds, sweeping floors, etc., just in the nick of time. I got rid of phone contacts who would obviously be a deterrent to Steve's full recovery. You know those people who are the "bad influence". I got rid of any evidence of "triggers". Those memories that would spawn the desire for him to have a beer. I did everything possible to make his homecoming great. But I was also nervous.

I thought to myself, what if I say the wrong thing? What if I do the wrong thing? He was coming out of this "bubble world". He was safe. The world could not touch him. He was learning new skills, and lifestyle changes. He had counselors, group therapy, peers, doctors, nurses, etc. All those people who were there to help him. They were managing to keep the world away from him. What happened when he stepped out from the "bubble" and entered the world. His old former self was in the world. A new man was about to emerge. How would he handle life? His former self was used to getting up every morning and soon after breakfast and a cup of coffee, the beer drinking would begin. And last all day till bedtime. Would this new man really be able to cope?

It's been almost a month now. Steve is really doing well. He's been placed on medication and is responding. He's had two appointments with counselors who are keeping close contact with him. He has activities scheduled to attend. One is an art show. Which surprises me but we are excited about it. He's not the artsy type. He is searching for an AA meeting place and sponsorship. Hopefully, we can find a location for him soon. At his last appointment, the counselor spoke highly of Steve and his confidence in him to go on and further his education. Which Steve is considering. He can become a certified peer specialist and work with others who are going through the same things Steve has experienced.

But what surprises me the most is our communication is so much better now. There is actual conversation instead of yelling. We have not had one argument since he came home. We've decided to go to the park on mornings when I get off work and walk. Steve has communicated to me he has no desire to drink now and I believe him, but it's always in the back of my mind that he will relapse. I dare not say or do anything that might cause him to have a reason to drink. And I remain positive and encourage him every chance I get. I let him know how proud I am of him and encourage him to consider what the counselors have said about getting his education. We have decided to change our eating habits and continue to monitor our health. We both need to lose weight. And we both still have work in progress to do. It's not easy. Lifestyle changes can be hard. But with the right mindset, I know we can do it.

My BoBo

I don't know of a single girl who doesn't love her daddy. I can remember a time when I never called my dad "daddy". He was Bobo to me. Of course, his nickname was Sambo, hence my "baby talk" name for him came out as Bobo. My dad was firm and strict. He came from a tough yet humble background. But all the more, he was gentle and fun to be around. He made Christmas, Thanksgiving, the 4th of July, etc., fun! There was not a time I can remember that we ever went without anything. Mostly because of his hard work and dedication. This photo recently emerged of my sister Tina and I. Both my parents worked hard so we could have things. My family increased as the years went by with Rhonda, Samuel, and Monica. Sometimes were really hard for my parents I know. I remember one Christmas when some of my cousins actually had a pretty stocking. Ours consisted of some of mom's old pantyhose. My dad would make sure we had some nuts, a banana, an apple and orange. Not to mention candy bars! My mom and dad took us to church. We said prayer every Sunday morning at the breakfast table. We were disciplined and knew how to behave. This post could go on for days! There are special memories that deserve recognition. Thanks dad for being my "Bobo"! 

A Friend in Need...

Today I visited a friend who has been undergoing physical therapy in a local facility. Mary and I have been friends for years now. Her daughter is one of my best friends since childhood. Mary has undergone many surgeries in the last several months. She is now attached to a feeding tube but is gaining her strength back slowly everyday. Our visit was wonderful, I must say! 

As a child, I would visit Mary's elderly parents. We talked about this. Her parents lived next door to my great-grandmother. Everyday in the summer months during school vacations, my cousins and I would venture off to see what Mr. and Mrs. Taylor was doing. Now when I say next door, its not quite next door. It was several miles down the road! I remember this one particular pretty sunny day around lunch time, Mrs. Taylor had prepared a tremendous meal! There sat on the table a floral ceramic bowl of hot green beans, a saucer with sliced green cucumbers, a bowl of sliced red tomatoes, corn-on the cob in a pot, and a piping hot pone of cornbread! I was telling Mary of my memory and it brought a smile to her face. 

Her dad was a short, stumpy man. He was quick to say what was on his mind. Mr. Taylor always wore his coveralls and a short sleeved button down shirt underneath. I can still see his work boots he wore. Mrs. Taylor was always in a dress with an apron wrapped around her waist. They were always busy doing something. At the end of our visits, we would always go back to grandma's house. Mr. and Mrs. Taylor would always have a message for her. 

These by-gone days are a faded memory now. My visit with Mary brought back a lot of memories for me and for her. So the next time you have a day off or a few minutes to spare, go visit someone who is sick and shut-in. They will appreciate the visit and you will have gained so much more!

Psalm 30:2

O LORD my God, I cried to You for help, and You healed me.