Sept, 2003
I have been surrounded by depression (not just Seasonal Affect Disorder, but true depression) my whole life. My paternal grandmother, dead before I was born, was bipolar. With a depressed mother, I worried in high school, in a melodramatic sort of way, that I was doomed to follow in their footsteps, though there was no evidence that would be the case. I was shy, but tried to emulate my father’s sunny outlook on life.
Vicki showed early signs of disturbance. She was eventually diagnosed with “early on-set childhood bipolar” due to huge mood swings and tantrums. The diagnosis got her out the Newton Public Schools, forcing them to pay for her special education, but we do not believe she is truly bipolar, as she has never displayed mania. A doctor recently told me that, since she goes into periods of deep depression where she cannot think reasonably, she does have bipolar II, without the mania.
She went through such a period last summer, brought on by the isolation of the virus, sincere worries about climate change, and of course, the hideous state of politics in this country with the Orange Monster in charge, doing all he can to destroy our democracy, deny climate change is real, claim that COVID will magically disappear, and revoke transgender rights; too much to handle for anyone. Mercifully, she was granted time off from work, some paid, some unpaid leave, so was able to get the care she needed. She also has special lamps to sit under to get the requisite light, as she does have Seasonal Affect Disorder and spends too little time outside. The extra light helps her.
April 5, 2003
In April of 2003, I developed a mysterious intestinal problem. With no provocation, I began having severe diarrhea multiple times a day. I saw my doctor, who referred me to a gastroenterologist. He picked and poked, ran all sorts tests, but couldn’t find anything wrong and diagnosed me with “irritable bowel syndrome”. Ya think? I considered it a junk diagnosis. It described the symptoms without giving me any answers.
David graduated from high school in June, Jeffrey stepped up from middle school to high school. We took a big trip out west for 3 1/2 weeks through various national parks. I looked forward to it (and described some of the trip in Bryce), but my condition continued, unabated. The day before we left, my internist suggested perhaps I had a dairy intolerance and to stop eating dairy.
So now we were on the road, hiking, living in hotels and I had a restricted diet, also never wanting to be too far from a bathroom. It was also miserably hot, not one day cooler than 90 degrees, which is bad for my migraines. Dan and David did the big hikes (through Grand Canyon and Yosemite) while Jeffrey and I did smaller hikes or bus rides; nature walks or hung by the pool. We all found enjoyable ways to engage.
As the sickness accelerated, I cut roughage from my diet. The photo at the start of this section is how I looked in April, before I became ill. I wasn’t big to begin with. But I began losing weight. I had a terrible attack in Las Vegas (we stopped mid-way through the trip to see “O” at Bellagio, do laundry and enjoy a little “civilization”) and I tried to reach my doctor, got someone on-call, who said I should take Imodium before each meal. I didn’t go that far, but did take some daily, which offered a bit of relief.
We got home, went to the Vineyard, had a wonderful visit from my adored cousin Sissi and part of her family, in from London. I grew thinner and thinner. The summer waned. Jeffrey went back to school and I packed David to leave for Stanford…so far away.
I said goodbye to David from my driveway. Dan accompanied him to California and helped him settle into his dorm. I had a sinking feeling. David and I have always been sympatico. I felt like I was losing the only support I had in my house. I was sick and weak from months of IBS and much thinner. I had dropped to 90 pounds. I was skeletal. I hadn’t weighed so little in 20 years.
As soon as Dan returned from California, I flew to Detroit for a cousin’s wedding. That is the Featured photo. Juxtapose that with the photo from April, taken at Dude Stephenson’s 75th birthday party in San Diego, six months earlier. You can see the difference in my face and neck, how drawn and thin I look, my hair no longer sleek and shiny. I couldn’t absorb enough nutrition.
It was good to see my family and a few weeks later, I went to Cleveland, again staying with cousins, to see my darling Emily sing Carmen with the Cleveland Opera. I enjoyed both those trips very much, but anxiety ran high, not knowing if I’d be sick, how much medicine (at this point I had a prescription) I’d need to take, what I could eat. I felt myself slipping down the rabbit hole of depression. I didn’t have the strength to fight it.
The days grew shorter, the sun slipped away and so did I. I cried for no reason. I recognized the symptoms and immediately sought help. I saw the psychiartist on Thanksgiving Eve, 2003. He went through all the medications I was on for migraines, allergies, anything else; all my symptoms, why I sought him out.
He put me on an antidepressant which miraculously dried me out too. I’ve never had IBS since. And within six weeks, the depression lifted, I stopped taking the antidepressant and have never needed any since. Sometimes, just getting the right combination of treatments is all the help one needs.
I was lucky. I had seen so much depression that I knew the symptoms and got proper treatment immediately, BUT I also wanted to get better. I moved toward the light.
Betsy PfauRetired from software sales long ago, two grown children. Theater major in college. Singer still, arts lover, involved in art museums locally (Greater Boston area). Originally from Detroit area.
Betsy, I knew you suffered migraine headaches which I too suffered when younger, thankfully no longer.
And thankfully your stomach ailment was treatable.
May Vicki find relief as well, it’s awful that Covid has kept yours and other families apart. May we all get thru this nightmare!
Thank you, Dana. Yes all was/is treatable and we, hopefully, will survive this dark time. Vicki’s isolation hasn’t helped her situation either and the situation in CA is terrible right now. I’m trying to provide comfort from afar.
What a dark, sad, but eventually resilient story, Betsy. Having been spared depression in my family (though not in my wife’s), I remain still somewhat “in the dark” (bad play on words; sorry) about it. And I really had no idea that it could manifest itself in the sort of terrible physical symptoms you had.
Obviously, I am delighted that you and your psychiatist finally figured it out and quickly got you on the road to recovery. And brava to you for being so committed to getting better. And, finally, equally brava (if that is the term) for being willing to share this story with all of us on Retro. That in itself shows enormous strength.
The migraines and intestinal ailment didn’t cause the depression, John. Rather, they left me vulnerable to it, as did the whole situation. But clearly, seeking immediate treatment was the cure for much of what was getting me down.
Thanks for your kind words about me being willing to share my personal story. Perhaps because it had a quick, good resolution, I was willing to expose myself at my most vulnerable. And I hope all who read this understand that seeking treatment is important, but having the right mindset is equally so.
Yes Betsy, many friends have kids afar, and both of yours are.
An end to this crisis can’t come soon enough.
Amen! Just saw a news alert that the UK is once again in lockdown (which had been lifted on December 2). In talking with my kids there, they had been expecting it, though had hoped to rent a car and take the Chunnel to France before Brexit, while it was still easy to cross. They probably won’t be able to now (and shouldn’t).
Betsy, the comparison of those photos is a remarkable testament to your story…despite your radiant smile, which I imagine might have misled others to think you were okay while you were anything but. Illness and depression are like the chicken and the egg routine…it’s often hard to knows which is causing which, and tricky to separate them. Thankfully you got the care you needed for both.
That is a good comparison, Barb…what is the cause and what is the symptom. I WAS happy to be with my cousins at that wedding in September, no matter how I felt, and I didn’t slip into full-on depression for a few more months. I just wasn’t physically well at that point. But yes, it was good that I took care of both and became well again.
This was a riveting description of the series of challenges you faced, and provided enough detail to (almost) put myself in your shoes. And that was not a comfortable place to be! More power to you as you model for your daughter and others how to move forward in the face of scary emotional and physiological realities.
Thank you, Dale. My daughter has more severe challenges than I ever faced. I was never severely depressed, just sort of “blue”. I try to always be emotionally available for her. She almost always knows that. But that is why I must always be strong, helpful, willing to listen without judgement. I do give her suggestions, which she may or may not listen to, but I don’t harass her if she doesn’t take my advise, as frustrating as that may be for me. I’m sure she doesn’t even remember the time I describe in this story. It was a lifetime ago for her and just a few weeks out of her life. She was going through her own troubles at that point in her life. That is why I knew I had to rally; I always have to be there for her.
This is a brave story in many ways, Betsy, and I am grateful to you for putting it out there. I know someone with bipolar with no mania, so it is indeed possible. I agree that IBS can be a “junk” diagnosis (I’ve had that diagnosis as well), and the mind and body are so connected. Sometimes we feel things in our guts and the metaphor becomes literal. I am so glad you rallied and came through this horrible time!
Thank you, Marian. When I saw this prompt, I debated, but thought it was an important story to share, and this is such a supportive community. I do email my stories to a group of family and friends each week, but they, too, know me well (though may not know this story, as it was not common knowledge in its day).
I, too, am grateful that moment in my life is in the rear view mirror.
Betsy, this is a very powerful story, and I appreciate your sharing it. And what a wonderful outcome, that the antidepressant helped you in so many ways. Amazing that this was 17 years ago, and you have been free of these issues ever since.
Thank you, Suzy. Yes, thank goodness the episode was short-lived and help was immediate. I am, by nature, an optimist. I always try and look on the bright side of things, so was distressed to even be in a depression. It felt so foreign. Glad it never returned.
I admire your strength and honesty, Betsy. Depression is a beast that attacks, sometimes with no obvious reason. My best friend was hospitalized with postpartum, and I was too young to persist when she pushed me away. Medication and therapy restored her, but a couple of years ago, she broke her foot and darkness claimed her again. This time, I persisted and kept our relationship going through her darkest times. She made it to the other side, and I felt honored to be with her on the journey.
Thank you, Laurie…and good for you for sticking by your friend. It isn’t always easy, as you point out. I have a friend who has had serious bouts (much more serious and deep than what I experienced). She becomes a different human being, irrational, beyond her usual compassionate self. A small group of us rally around her, protect her, care for. She sought treatment after treatment until finally underwent electroconvulsive therapy, which appears to have worked. She has no memory of her last episode (or our visit with her, which is probably for the best), but has been functional for years now, even during the sudden death of her husband, which we all worried would trigger an episode, but did not.
You are a good person for persisting. Though they may not realize it, during deep depression, friends need you most at those times.
I’ve often read strength and determination running through your posts. You are a fighter, Betsy! May you remain strong, healthy, and well-armed.
You have read my posts for a long time now, Charles and I know the darkness has touched your life too. Thank you for these good wishes.