My Experience at an Adoption Home

My husband and I just came from volunteering at a local shelter for abandoned and abused children. Appropriately called CRIBS (Creating Responsive Infants By Sharing), it opens its gates to people who wish to give an hour or two of their time, in the morning and in the afternoon, caring for and interacting with babies and toddlers.

Since it was our first time to volunteer, we didn’t quite know what to expect. After changing into our clean and white “work clothes”, we entered the babies’ and toddlers’ sections and were immediately and eagerly greeted by the tots. I hardly had time to see where my husband went because the child that greeted me at the door of the nursery held up his hands to be carried.

I was overwhelmed. So there I was, wondering how I could help when I didn’t have children of my own and nervous as to what was expected of me. It didn’t take me too long to figure it out. I just needed to give them love.

There were many volunteers but there were also more babies than everyone can handle. I was in the room that housed eight babies ranging in age from four months to perhaps one year. Each one wanted to be carried, comforted and put to sleep. After playing with two of them, I carried a crying little boy with almond eyes and a cute round head. He was crying  and rolling from side to side in one corner of the play mat that I had to attend to him immediately. All volunteer hands and arms were full so I rushed to him after putting down the little boy that first greeted me.

It took me just two seconds to lift him up and he immediately stopped crying. The distress was lifted from his tiny face and he seemed content to just be held. My heart just melted. I needed no special mothering skills or years of child-rearing experience to calm a crying baby. I was humbled and I offered prayers to God for those babies whose parents didn’t want them anymore.

I put no blame on their parents. I don’t know their stories and I’m not their judge. I can only pray for more people whose hearts will be touched to volunteer their time and love to these children. This is not the only shelter in our country. There are many more that need not only volunteers but donors so that these homes and shelters will continue to be in existence and will be able to take care of more children. You can look them up on the internet, check out their wish lists, and give them a call.

There is also a need for more caring people to adopt these children and give them a more permanent home. Each child needs special and constant attention, which adoption shelters cannot provide 24/7. There are costs to be counted, the most crucial of which, I believe, is commitment.

My husband and I are seriously considering adoption and we are doing our research, on our knees. If we could give a home to just one child, then that’s one child less at a shelter. That’s one more child assured of love and a better future. We don’t have all the resources just yet, but by God’s grace, we can work those out.

We pray for that baby He has already matched and prepared for us. And as we wait, I am always reminded of our own precious adoption by God the Father, through Jesus Christ.   “5He (A)predestined us to (B)adoption as sons through Jesus Christ to Himself, (C)according to the kind intention of His will” – Ephesians 1:5 (NASB).

When Depression Comes Back

depressed imageIt has been a little over three years since I was first diagnosed with major depression (or clinical depression) and GAD (Generalized Anxiety Disorder). Since that time, I had been taking medications (Imipramine for the depression and Diazepam for the GAD) to help get back some balance in my head and my life. I thank God for the treatment and the freedom it has given me – the freedom from pain, loneliness and sense of hopelessness. I was finally able to function again and perform even the simplest tasks which I had taken for granted before. I was able to enjoy life again and feel compassion for others. In other words, I felt alive again!

After tapering down my dosage from five tablets of Imipramine a day for a year and a half to one tablet within the remaining one and a half years, I finally stopped medicating two weeks ago. I honestly felt that my body, mind and emotions were sound and stable and I had been able to drink regular coffee and other caffeinated beverages without any untoward effects for several months now.  Prior to this, even just a few sips of diluted regular coffee would put my mind in a spin and cause me to have heart palpitations. I was once stuck in a McDonald’s near our place because I could not stand up after a cup of “leaded” coffee. Unfortunately for people like me who drink decaf, fast food establishments do not offer them. “Unleaded” coffee also costs around P10 o P15 more.

I realize now that I am still not ready to chuck my meds. My depression hit me so bad that I lost all motivation to do anything except vegetate in front of the TV or sleep. Even now that I have resumed taking a tablet of Imipramine, the symptoms of depression are back in full force. I am discouraged. I could only hope that I am not back to square one. I don’t want to have to take five tablets a day again.

It was a mistake for me stop medicating, especially since many of the stressful situations that triggered my bouts of anxiety and depression before are still very much present. I only realized this after reading up on depression relapse. This is what I’m having – a relapse. At least I hope it’s “just that”.

So, I am struggling again and striving to gain some measure of control over my life. There is not much I can do when the chemicals in my brain are all screwed up. This needs to be addressed first, and I will need to see my doctor again. Meanwhile, I wake up everyday and try to be hopeful. Even this is not easy – hope is difficult to grasp when I wake up wanting desperately to cry but don’t. The sun may be up, the breeze may be cooling my head, the birds may be singing, but I don’t notice all that. I feel several stabs of pain in my chest and just want to be well again. I will be. It will just take time.

Dealing With Depression

Last month marked my first year since I was diagnosed with Major Depression and GAD (Generalized Anxiety Disorder). On one hand, I feel relieved to have finally gone past the 1-year mark; on the other hand, I am sobered to realize how vulnerable I am and yet how blessed to have survived a very difficult and somewhat traumatic year. Prior to my diagnosis, I had suffered two long years of intense loneliness, very low productivity, and depression.

This is not another medical paper discussing the illness or disorder, its symptoms and its cures. I am far from expert and I would rather evaluate my own experiences with the illness to help me understand it, and myself, more.

My depression is turning out to be a longer journey than I had hoped for or anticipated. I began tapering down my dosage of Tofranil at the start of this month, from five tablets to four every night. I had high hopes of recovering and moving on to some kind of normalcy but I guess I hoped too soon.

Within the first four days of April on a lower dosage, I experienced a relapse: immediate depression with bouts of crying and feelings of extreme hopelessness. On the fourth day, I began to experience once again the symptoms of GAD. I worried over everything — from the house chores to our financial future — and could not stop my mind from over processing so many worries. I also began to hyperventilate again and almost panicked at my extreme difficulty in breathing. Our tiny bathroom suddenly felt like a very hot and airless prison and I could not wait to end my quick shower.

I am very grateful that my husband has a master’s background in Christian Counseling so he understands what I have been going through and knows I have absolutely no control over my thoughts, feelings and actions when these illnesses recur. I also agreed to revert to five tablets of Tofranil every night. Perhaps, if I’m brave enough, I will try to reduce my dosage again next month.

My depression began when my mother passed away almost ten years ago. This was then followed by my only sister having to go back to her home in another country, the loss of my job within two months of my mom’s death, the various e-mails from relatives who accused my husband and me of so many things I don’t want to recall, e-mails and visits from people hounding me for payment of my mother’s past obligations, and so much more.

Just when I thought I couldn’t take any more blows, I began to suffer from IBS (Irritable Bowel Syndrome). For some odd reason, the first few doctors we saw didn’t have a clue as to what was wrong with me so they gave me all these medications for bloat, muscle pain and others. I burped constantly and feared leaving the house because of diarrhea (diarrhea-predominant IBS or IBS-D). I am very picky with toilets and have learned to always stock up on tissues and baby wipes whenever I had to leave the house. A match box also came in handy in public toilets.

This condition lasted six more years (with the “correct” IBS diagnosis) until I experienced a quick and daily progression of my depressive state. It got so bad that I wanted to end my life many times. I just wanted rest and peace from the darkness I was enveloped in and the guilt and self-accusations that constantly and mercilessly bombarded my head. I lost most productivity – I couldn’t write, draw, read or perform the simplest chores. I did not want to meet anyone or be around people. I felt that my heart couldn’t take any more beatings. Yes, Christians suffer from depression too.

I also began to experience physical malaise – extreme fatigue, breathlessness, general weakness and lack of well-being. These symptoms added to my worry because my family has a history of heart disease (my mother died of MI – Myocardial Infarction). My husband wasted no time in having me undergo several medical tests. We later on discovered that I was fine — perfectly normal and “healthy”. Even my cholesterol level was within normal range. However, the doctor said that, perhaps, I was under a lot of stress. He recommended that I take a stress test. I never went back for that.

While I was very thankful that I was physically fine, the depression and other physical symptoms did not go away. I began to introduce the idea to my husband that I was probably suffering from depression. I certainly remember using the “right” terms in describing how I felt: depressed, hopeless, lonely, extremely anxious, etc. I looked up the illness, and one web page led to another. I took the depression and anxiety tests and had a perfect score on both. I remember feeling very relieved at getting closer to a correct diagnosis and knowing that I was not morphing into a very bad and ungrateful person. My Christianity came into question many times and I accused myself of so many things.

Finally, we were told by my psychiatrist/psychologist (he is both, thankfully) that I was definitely suffering from both Major Depression and GAD. Plus, my IBS was merely symptomatic of these disorders. We were also told that with both disorders, what needed to be treated was the balance of a certain chemical in my brain called serotonin. I cried in relief! I was not a bad person! My brain chemicals and neurotransmitters just needed help!

And so, it has been one year now since my diagnosis and treatment. I’m still on it, but I know I will get better. I guess it doesn’t really matter now how long it takes, as long as I receive the help my body needs to cope. I also have a wonderful support system in my husband, family and close friends.

And for those of you who know me, I am able to write again and have found a new passion for baking at the start of this year. To have finally found a passion is already blessing beyond measure! I am very grateful and I pray that I will be on my way to full recovery someday.