Bowling and PTSD

Have I mentioned that my family has taken up bowling? It's a lot more fun than I remember from childhood. I'm terrible, but I celebrate the little victories, for example, breaking 50, then 60 and so on. If I knock down a pin, that becomes a reason to celebrate. If I don't hurt myself, I celebrate. I have determined to enjoy my time bowling. Besides the bowling alley is a great place to people watch. Where else in the world can you watch someone try to guide the ball telepathically? It's just too funny.

The noise gets to me sometimes, but that seems a small price to pay considering the time I get to spend with the boys. They are growing up so fast, and I don't want to miss out on an opportunity to be with them. The goal is for them to bowl a 220 so they can start dating. I think that's my husband's deal with them--I'm sure he's got all the details worked out.

While I was bowling yesterday evening, I began to connect PTSD with bowling. PTSD is kind of like those ten pins at the end of the lane. They are waiting to be knocked over and reset several times each day. If the pins were alive and had an actual voice, they might reflect how tired they are of being knocked over time and time again. Some veterans who suffer with PTSD are only waiting to be knocked over by the floods of memories and what not. Other veterans feel like they are finally reset--only to be knocked down again with memories, anniverary dates, or the next trigger.

I don't know if this makes sense to you, but I wanted to share my connection anyhow. It seems funny how a seemingly normal activity such as bowling can remind me of PTSD and my reality. PTSD is never really that far from my thoughts.

In the meantime, I resolve to enjoy myself as I work to improve my bowling average. Who knows, maybe bowling will prove to be a stress reliever.

Blessings to you,
the PTSD Widow

Summer Joys...

My family and I went on a little overnight/day trip yesterday, and we just returned. We went searching for sunshine! We found sunshine, were educated on the production of hydroelecticity, and we enjoyed an evening of driving and swimming. This morning, I enjoyed another swim while my family enjoyed breakfast. It was great.

On the way home, the husband and I spent a little time at a fishing spot just off the freeway. The boys claimed to be too tired to fish in such windy conditions. I'll give them that for sure--it was rather windy, and I would have been miserable without my coat. I enjoyed the sunshine. The wind made the water look like crumpled aluminum foil, and it was beautiful!

I realized, once again, that sunshine produces heat--no matter what the other conditions contribute. In a way, this is like the joy of the Lord. Though I'm not always the best at reflecting joy in my life, the joy of the Lord can radiate no matter what the rest of life's circumstances look like. (PTSD episodes, other health issues, PMS, etc.)

My prayer is that the joy of the Lord will radiate from my life no matter what difficulties my husband and I face because of PTSD and because of life. I want to be careful to give God all glory and honor because He is the One who has sustained me and provided me with His strength.

Blessings and Joy to you all,
the PTSD Widow

San Francisco

This city is beautiful! The architecture of the homes is fabulous and even though they are practically stacked on top of each other, each home has its own unique style. I'm amazed at the number of people crammed in so little space, and frankly, I'll stick with my home in suburbia nestled on an acre.

My sister and I are content to spend the evening at our hotel. I believe the plan is to take advantage of the swimming pool and hot tub this evening. We've just eaten chips and salsa, carrots and ranch dressing and soda for the fourth night in a row. I think I'll talk her into dining elsewhere for tomorrow. The breakfasts have been marvelous. There is such a variety offered in the mornings--I could eat there every day of the week and be just fine.

A little boy at the next table made a comment about the man sitting across from us who had only one leg. Mom and sisters hushed him quickly. I don't know this for a fact, but I think the gentleman would've gladly responded to the little boys inquisitiveness. I think I would have used that as a teaching opportunity. The man is probably used to inquisitive children. I wonder if the man is a veteran.

Speaking of veterans, the Golden Gate National Cemetery is beautiful this weekend! Numerous flags decorate the gravestones and the roads. I'm glad there is a place of beauty to recognize the men and women who gave everything in order for us to enjoy the freedoms we enjoy. My sister and I could not find the way into the cemetery, but it was beautiful. I think I would have cried had we been able to go in and visit. Perhaps that is something we will do tomorrow.

As far as I know, things at home are going pretty well. Aside from the fact that my youngest twin has a scratch from above his eye to below his cheekbone, I believe they are doing well. My husband seems to be hanging on alright. He misses me, but he seems to be doing okay.

I'll blog more about our adventure in San Francisco and our day with the legendary Arthur Duncan when I return home.

Blessings to you all,
the PTSD Widow

Just a comment...

Words are powerful, and they can be powerful triggers for my husband's PTSD symptoms. I learned this once again the other day when he was looking at a package of frozen hashbrowns. There was a recipe for cheesey potato casserole (or something like that) on the back of the package. He was telling me all the ingredients and how this recipe sounded so delicious.

Little did I know that my words in the next few seconds would ignite an hour-long lecture, elevate his blood pressure, cause steam to emit from his ears and set the harsh and edgy tone for the rest of the day.

All I said was, "Oh! That sounds like the recipe for funeral potatoes..." I couldn't even finish my innocent thought before he went off! I just made a simple comment. Instantaneous trigger! He yelled, "Why do you always have to bring up dead people? You're always talking about funerals!" Then he continued for at least an hour about how I ruin all foods by bringing up death or something most people find disgusting.

In my defense, I don't always and I don't ruin everything. Funeral potatoes is a dish often brought to grieving families because they are easy to heat and eat and they are meant to serve a lot of people. I hadn't even heard of any other name for this dish before the other day. In fact, one can google "funeral potatoes" and several recipe sites are listed. I totally missed it--I had no clue that my referring to the recipe as funeral potatoes would yield that kind of overreaction! DUH! How could I have missed that one?

The more my husband thought yelled about it, the angrier he became. I had to walk away and remove myself from the situation. I was getting angry too, and he gave me no opportunity to defend myself or try and talk him down. I left.

What can you do when your beloved is making an innocent comment a matter of life and death national security? ( Don't want to mention the "death" word!)I can laugh at the situation now because it's over, but I'll be careful not to laugh about this in my husband's presence. Oh, and I'll be more cautious and selective about which of my powerful words I speak when he's around.

Tie a Knot...(and other thoughts)

It just dawned on me that I didn't blog about how my nightmare ended the other night. My husband came home around 11 a.m. that morning. He claimed he had been driving around, but I think there is more to the story. He probably fell asleep somewhere on the way home, and didn't want to worry me.

A good friend once told me, "Sissy, when you're at the end of your rope, tie a knot. It's easier to hang onto a knot." I have hung onto those words of wisdom so many different times. But, then there are the times that I think my rope is too short and already has too many knots. I get discouraged, but I really don't have much time to spend acting like a poster-child for discouragement and despair.

Okay, so what's the deal with Secondary PTSD? Is it PTSD or isn't it? I was "diagnosed" with Secondary PTSD today, but other people I have talked to say it doesn't exist. I don't know, but I'm going to find out. When I learn as much as I can about Secondary PTSD, I'll write a very thorough blog. Until then,

Blessings to you all,
The PTSD Widow

I saw the old playhouse this weekend. It was old and torn up, but the memories were as fresh as the paint on the trailer my father had up on the lifts.

That little playhouse was our drive-through fast-food joint. It was the place in which we spent summer nights and played with friends. It was the house we cleaned and rearranged to accommodate our "club" meetings. That little house was the most beautiful place I remember.

Our friends had the latest and greatest dollhouses; Sister and I had a real life-sized dollhouse. We even brought electricity into the house via an extension cord so we could play our cassette tapes. We had picnics on the porch and brought the first wireless phone out there so we'd never miss a thing. We had a place where we had to use our imaginations and have fun.

I'm one of the blessed ones. I can remember things from my childhood. I can remember a lot of things. My husband is unable to recall many things because of PTSD. Of course he and I grew up in opposite areas of the country; but, since the diagnoses of PTSD and TBI he has little recall of childhood memories.

My guess is that my husband's memory is a lot like that old playhouse. At one time, he had all kinds of pleasant memories. Now it's all torn up and dilapidated. Sometimes I wish I could give my husband back some memories--but I know that is impossible. What I can do is help him make pleasant memories with our children. That way the boys will one day look back and fondly remember--even if their daddy can't.

Blessings for you all today,
the PTSD Widow

PTSD Widow

In all fairness, I must confess my husband is still breathing. He still moves, breathes, and communicates with his family on occasion. However, it feels as if he died. The man I married died a long time ago while serving in the U.S. Army. My husband suffers from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (among other things), and at times I feel like I'm a widow already.

Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) has redefined normalcy for my family. The fact is, we don't even remember what "normal" is supposed to feel or look like. On any given day, our twin boys are working hard to try to do their best to please their daddy. They rarely earn a smile or a word of praise. Often they will hear how they could have worked more efficiently or done something differently--only to them the words are not constructive. The words are cutting and often yelled in harsh tones. Needless to say, my thirteen-year-olds are learning that this is the way to talk to people. (I'm beginning to believe they have developed Secondary PTSD.) It's very hard to teach my children "normal" social behaviors when they do not have true examples at home.

The purpose of this blog is not so I can vent and explain how terrible my life is--because it's not all terrible. The purpose of this blog is to offer a place to support and encourage spouses of veterans who suffer with PTSD. You are not alone. We are all going through various situations and some of us have been there before.

Some things to know about me: I am a Christian. My relationship with Christ has sustained me and allowed me to stand when I have been at my lowest point in dealing with my husband's illnesses. I homeschool my children. Oh, I have a tendency to be very "bossy" and direct, but whatever I say or tell someone is always, "Take it or leave it." My free advice is only a suggestion because I do not have all the answers, nor do I see everything as clearly as some.

Please feel free to comment and leave your e-mail address if you would like me to respond to you. I will try to update this blog frequently. Some days will be joyful, somedays tearful--This is the way life goes at times.