dePrEssIoN

Don't get me wrong.  I like trying to be funny, writing or saying or acting in a way that makes others laugh or even smile.  But, not every day for me is fun or funny or even happy.  Some days, I just feel low, grumpy, down, sad, poopy, crummy, crappy.....you get the picture.  I've had a few of those kinds of days lately.

When I was about thirteen or fourteen years old, adolescent hormones hit with a vengence.  I was ultra moody, ultra sad, ultra grumpy on top of being an already ultra sensitive child.  I remember clearly my mom taking me to my first ob/gyn exam and to discuss my "persistent premenstrual syndrome" (better known as teen angst.)  Apparently, it was more than she could handle.  She was doing what she thought would help and in the end, I suffered through this weird treatment including magnesium suppliments and progesterone suppositories for hormone replacement!  If you know anything about magnesium suppliments, they cause a little intestinal distress; add in an oily suppository and the result is not pretty.  (Pan to memory of me running up the block from the bus stop to get home before I shart myself!)  Ah, modern medicine.  So, the treatment was less than successful and I continued to be an even unhappier teen.  Imagine that!?!

But, this teen unhappiness persisted and it became a deeper sadness, sometimes even hopelessness.  No one seemed to understand or appreciate how I felt and I was regularly deemed overly sensitive.  Of course, there was the usual dysfunctional issues in all aspects of my life; my parents were divorced, I desperately wanted a relationship with my dad but was jealous of his new family, body image issues, boyfriends... I could go on and on.   I just couldn't shake the sadness and the down in the dumps kind of mood.  My mom would say, "Just be happy, you have nothing to be depressed about."  Ummm, okay....not.

And this sadness persisted.  It wasn't every day, it wasn't every week, but it was there, more often then not, hanging out, pestering me.  Of course, when I made stupid decisions, the sadness would rear its ugly head.  Then, after graduating high school, my dad died suddenly and unexpectedly, first semester of college, weeks before Thanksgiving.  Tell you what doesn't help a propencity for depression - your father's untimely death.   Add in a troubled relationship with your mom, not really having a home any longer, guilt of "living in sin" with your boyfriend, familial expectations and you have a pretty rough end of the teen years, beginning of the twenties.  THEN I started nursing school.  (I hear a collective groan from nursing school alum.)  Let's just say that I had a few rough years.

I remember my depression and sadness culminating into a single moment a month or so before graduating from college and nursing school.  I very distinctly remember driving north on 169 highway in North Kansas City approaching my exit onto 9 highway.   You know how some exits off elevated highways have a pretty steep embankment between the highway and the exit ramp?  At that moment, I clearly remember making an honest decision to NOT drive my car off the embankment.  My sadness and hopelessness was such that I was now at the point in my life that I was having to make the decision to not die.  That was a profound moment for me.

So here I am today, having probably spent at least a year's salary on therapy over the last 15 years;  I'm not depression free, by any means, but certainly a lot wiser and a lot more happy with my life and the decisions that I am making.  It has helped that I have eliminated the drama and roller coasters from my life, living responsibly and choosing better relationships.  Most importantly, it is because of ME, my decisions and the WORK that I've done that contributes to the improvement of depression from my life.

Do I think my depression is gone forever?  Have I beat it completely?  Is it a burden I will have for my lifetime?  Questions I can't answer right now.  I don't think that I will ever "beat" depression as long as I have the free will to make poor decisions,  feel as deeply as I do and have the "ultra" sensitivity that I have.  I can only hope that as I learn to embrace the person I am, loving me for me, I will have a leg up against this crappy disease of depression.

Dumpster Diver's Anonymous

Hi, my name is Jennifer and I am a dumpster diver.  (Audience in unison: "Hello Jennifer."  Meeting leader says, "Welcome to Dumpster Diver's Anonymous! Please, go ahead.")  I begin... It all started many years ago, I think I was about 12 or 13 years old... (Audience collectively gasps.)  I was pretty young when I did IT the first time.  **I dab a tear from the corner of my eye.**  I know that I shouldn't blame anyone for my own decisions.... but MY MOM took me for my first dive.  It was innocent, really. **I fade into a fog of memory.** We were looking for boxes, I think we were moving or maybe we were going to have a garage sale.  I don't clearly remember because the dive.... well, I was hooked, the rush of adrenaline coursing through my veins, the fear factor, the smell of garbage and moldy boxes...

I felt uncomfortable the first time, doin' the dive.  But my mom kept encouraging me, taunting me.  "Come on, Jen, you can do it.  Here,  (she grunts as she heaves me up) lean over the side...(grunts) see any?  Come on, you can do it! (grunts and pants)  Big ones work best!  Nobody can see us back here.  Look over there... (banging heard on the side of the dumpster) under that bag.  Come on...YOU'RE GETTING HEAVY!  Eeeeww, that's so BIG!"  My heart was pumping as the adrenaline rushes me.  There were three big boxes and one with a lid, (Audience groans with pleasure.) JACKPOT!  The rush was amazing.

Our codependent dumpster diving began.  She would boost me up and I would rifle through the bags and boxes for ones that fit our needs.  We would scurry off with our prize in tow, throw them into the trunk of the car, jump into the seats to tear away from the wretched scene, both giddy with delight!

One time, **I choke back a sob** I remember a certain dive I'll never forget.  The gig was dangerous, the night humid and steamy, our desire for boxes at it's peak.  We pulled up behind BEEEEEP station off of BEEEEEP Road.  The night was dark, we were confident in our plan.  We would just look.  I made her promise.  But she kept pushing me to go look while she stayed in the car!  Then I saw them, tucked behind the big dumpster, all red and sturdy!  I couldn't believe my eyes!  Plastic boxes with flip top lids!  It was the motherload, a dream come true, a diver's paradise.  **Tears of joy and sorrow now streaming down my cheeks!**  I knew, KNEW in my heart that this hit had to be the last!  We would get caught and who knows what would happen.  They might make us put them back!

But, I had to have them!  They had flip tops for God's sake!  (Audience glances as one another nodding in agreement.)  So, (Mission Impossible theme playing in background) I snag three, scanning the parking lot for the fuzz or the station attendant or... okay, nobody.  I swing the boxes up into the back of the truck, jump into the passenger seat and mom races away, tires squealing or cutting up the gravel or crunching the gravel slowly, I don't accurately recall.  We were high as kites from our dive, the endorphin's running wild.  An amazing, powerful feeling! (Audiences watches wide eyed.)

And then, it happened.  My world came crashing down when we got our cache home.  The reason I'm here with you today, telling my story.  Our giddy inspection of the boxes turned cold as we realize our prize boxes, with big bold letters on the side read,  BEEEEEEEEEEEP  Convenience Store.  With horror, we realize our diving had reached rock bottom, we'd stole shipping crates!  (Collective gasp from audience, loan scream pierces the crowd!)

The moral of my story, my fellow Dumpster Divers, is to take care in collecting your box booty!  While the euphoria is amazing and the stench of dumpsters intoxicating, you never want to become so corrupted by your passion that you take packing materials from convenience stores.   I wish I could tell you all **sniff, sniff** that I returned all the shipping crates.  But it would be a damn lie.  Somewhere, deep in my basement storage, there is a red flip top crate with BEEEEEEEEEEEP  Convenience Store written on the side.

I am a recovering Dumpster Diver, it's been 6 months and 3 days since my last dive  (Audience cheers).  I find myself pulling around buildings to the dumpster on occasion.  Sometimes, I even crack the window to get a whiff of the moldy box smell and steal a glance for a nice sized box.  The urge to dive bubbles up but I'm able to push it down and drive away.... for now.

Late Night Chocolate Run

So, I had trouble going to sleep tonight.  I laid in bed, tossing and turning, listening to my husband happily snore and decided to just get out of bed and come up stairs, see what kind of trouble I can get into.  It's not that unusual for me to be awake at 3am in the morning; a little gift from the Night Nurse Fairy.  It's not like I'm not in need of sleep.  Mathematically speaking, I'm way behind on my 12 hours a day of sleep (my personal requirement, don't judge!)  I've just got a lot on my plate right now.  You all can identify, I'm sure.

In my search for something to do, I realized that chocolate would be quite nice about then.  And because I have been banned from grocery shopping, there, of course, is NO chocolate in the house.  Damn!  Ah, but Quick Trip is only blocks away and I knew, from experience, that they have a lovely little treat, chocolate and cakey, just waiting for me to come buy one (or two.)  In my jammies, I slip on shoes and grabbed my husband's keys for the get away.  Now, I can't take my own vehicle because it's in the garage and that would certainly wake my husband up, hearing the garage door open.   Oh, I've thought this through, thoroughly.  The front door is my next big hurdle.  The door is not an easy open.  Frankly, it's comical to watch my 10 year old open it.  She pulls and pulls, leans back and pulls and it finally starts to slip open.  She likely thinks that adults are supposed to open the front door for their little ones as a courtesy as they leave their home but in truth, my husband and I have to open the door because she has trouble getting it open.  Certainly a positive door characteristic to have when she becomes a teen trying to come in after curfew...

I digress... I get through the front door with a mild amount of noise and bound out to the Jeep.  Of course, being 3 am, there was very little going on in the outside world.  My favorite time of day, for sure.  It's so quiet and peaceful.  The birds are sleeping, the neighbor's dog is in the house, traffic sounds and sirens are at a minimum.  There's not much to interrupt a girl on a mission.  The down side, of course, to leaving your home at 3 am without telling your spouse that you're gone is the risk and potential dangers, depending on the area of town you live.  I fee I'm moderately safe, I decide, and the chocolate craving is way stronger than any fear I might have.

I'll spoil the ending right away.  I get the chocolate cake, make it home safely and sit down at my computer with fork and milk in hand to savor my prize.

I am reminded of my other life, the one where three other days a week I am purposefully awake and active at this time of night, taking care of little kiddies as a night nurse.  In total, I have worked nights for 7 1/2 years.  I love working nights for the same reason that leaving the house at 3 am for a chocolate run is enjoyable; it's quiet and peaceful in a hospital at night.  Okay, usually.  I can hear my coworkers booing me now.  "You said the q word!  Now, you're in for it!!"  There isn't the hustle and bustle of a multitude of doctors, med students, student nurses, cleaning staff, visitors, administrators and therapists at night.  There isn't the constant interruptions from the phone ringing every 2-3 minutes, call lights going off.  The demands tend to be less when your patients and their parents are sleeping.

Now, don't get me wrong!  I work for a living and there are more nights than not that I am running my chocolate loving butt off, earning every cent I make.  But even on the busiest nights, the distractions are less and the auditory overload is manageable.  The world is resting and getting refreshed while me and my fellow nurse super hero's watch over and protect your young.  It's not glamorous, the dark circles under our eyes, the coffee breath and energy drinks, frazzled hair dos, puke on our pants and pockets full of alcohol wipes and leaky pens.  

But, to be a night nurse, that person who defies nature's circadian rhythm, takes someone special.  It takes someone with guts to enter a dark room, in the middle of the night and approach a complete stranger with a syringe full of "yummy" tasting medicine, dodge kicking and swinging appendages, convince the assailant to consume the medication and go back to sleep without losing so much as a drop.  It takes someone with unique skills to adapt owl like vision to accurately transcribe vital signs in the dark or neatly perform a complete poopy diaper change without disturbing the sleeping parent in the cot bed near by.  It takes super human will power to keep your eyes open and your mind sharp at 2 am, especially after a cheese burger and fries for "lunch" at 1 am.   It's not easy, but we are a small group of professionals who choose this life, to provide care to the needy during the late night.  Such a great group we are, where I work.  And I savor this piece of chocolate cake, from my late night run, as a tribute to all those night nurses who do what they do!  Show your gratitude to all of your favorite night nurses with chocolate, a hug or even just a thank you!  They will surely appreciate it!