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.
