to pull through again, to my uneasy relief. But by the time my surgery date arrived a few weeks later, my fight or flight response was “on” twenty-four hours a day. Completely frazzled, I agonized over the possibility that he might require another hospitalization or even die while I was in surgery or recovery six hours away in Denver. My anxiety skyrocketed as I simultaneously plunged into the deepest depression of my life.
Dad and I both made it through my surgery without incident. Managing his doctor’s visits, staying on top of my physical therapy, and trying to navigate a major transition at work made my recovery particularly challenging. When I burst into tears during one of Dad’s appointments, our shared physician convinced me to resume my antidepressant use; this time I chose Wellbutrin. I also began seeing my current therapist.
Around Thanksgiving, Dad endured his final hospitalization and passed away in his sleep at home just a few days after his release. Only people who have watched a loved one slowly slip away into the great unknown can understand the awful combination of devastating grief and guilt-ridden relief that follows.
As 2013 began, I made a promise to honor my father as well as myself: I would allow my grief process to unfold naturally, ignoring any societal pressure to stuff my emotions or avoid discussing my pain. At the same time, I strove to continue my recovery from surgery and to resume a normal work schedule. Six months later, my employers fired me. Undoubtedly, my job performance had declined, but the news initially came as a significant blow to my ego and my finances.
Yet, I soon began to view my firing as a blessing in disguise. I found suicide prevention gratifying, but my role had forced me to extend myself far beyond my natural boundaries as an introvert, requiring great amounts of energy without allowing enough time for rejuvenation. Now I could take time to rest, grieve my father, and resume my quiet career as a freelancer. Dr. Ashear, whom I met through the Sheridan County Suicide Prevention Coalition, asked me to help him prepare this outstanding workbook for public use; getting to know this gentle and compassionate man has been a privilege, and our collaboration sometimes feels serendipitous. I also started making a number of lifestyle changes, from incorporating vitamins and supplements into my diet to reducing my alcohol consumption to scheduling regular massages and chiropractic adjustments.
Meanwhile, just when I thought my life was beginning to settle down, I realized my hip surgery seemed less than successful overall. My physical therapist explained that my injury had left me with stretched ligaments and that no amount of strengthening would rehabilitate them completely. The implication that ongoing pelvic instability would haunt me for the rest of my life, perpetuating my chronic pain and making running impossible, crushed me.
Not long after that, I noticed the onset of new internal pain. My gynecologist suspected that my endometriosis had returned, and she advised that only the removal of my ovaries would solve the problem. So, with the first anniversary of my father’s death looming among the holidays, and in the face of turning forty without his goofy rendition of “Happy Birthday to You,” I chose to undergo yet another surgery. I felt uncertain about my decision for I feared I would find surgical menopause even more debilitating than living with endometriosis. Chronic pain and associated exhaustion had already overshadowed the most recent decade of my life, dulling the shine of milestones, stealing peak years of athleticism, forcing me to give up endorphin-inducing running, and ultimately worsening my depression.
After so much hardship, and with so much uncertainty ahead of me, I finally crumbled. I cried out to my father, begging him to rescue me, to pull me mercifully from the void of anesthesia into his new world, where I could rest easy with him, free of physical and emotional misery. I told my husband, my closest friends, and my therapist that I yearned for the convenience of death on the operating table, not for dramatic effect, but so that if my father did come to guide me home, they would take some measure of comfort in knowing I was ready.
As the former suicide prevention coordinator for my community, I possessed the training to recognize that I was passively suicidal, but I just didn’t care. I was tired of physical pain, tired of my anxiety and depression, tired of being tired.
When I came to after my surgery, I felt both disappointed and grateful that I survived: I still longed for my father, and I dreaded continuing to live in pain, but I felt a small spark of hope that I might enjoy life again. Since then, I have continued to grieve my father on my own terms. Under the care of a naturopathic doctor in Billings, I have undergone unpleasant but successful prolotherapy treatments on my ligaments, and I have resumed running. That same doctor has helped me manage my hormone replacement therapy, and she diagnosed me with a thyroid disorder, which very likely has played a role in my depression. Treatment for that condition is proving effective, and after a long weaning process, I discontinued Wellbutrin. I take care to monitor how much responsibility I take on in all aspects of my life, and although I am not religious in the traditional sense, I have made a practice of daily prayer, which has made a positive difference.
Last but not least, going through the process of working this workbook has provided me with the opportunity to take my recovery to a new level. For one thing, sharing my story and my responses to the enclosed exercises to help you and others boosts my self-esteem. For another, the exercises have reinforced the positive strategies I previously used to cope with my struggles. I have also gained new insights, particularly understanding and acceptance of my limitations, and I am developing new coping mechanisms, most notably the ability to treat myself with the same gentleness I would extend to anyone else suffering from physical, emotional, or mental pain.
To my fellow phoenixes, this workbook will challenge you, but if you see it through, the thundering of your wing beats will soon fill your ears as you soar higher than you ever imagined. Warm wishes to you as you embark on this leg of your journey.
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