We Made It

 

We made it.

Four years ago, I wasn’t confident I would be able to make that statement.

Rachel left the Partial Hospitalization program in April 2019. The re-entry to 8^th grade wasn’t smooth but her teachers did their best to help her finish out the school year and we welcomed summer break with hope that her mental health would improve.  She only learned recently that I had discussions back then with the middle school counseling staff about alternative options if she was not able to function in a traditional school setting. 

In short, we didn’t know what the future held for her.

To be completely honest, we still don’t know what the future holds for her. But we’re more optimistic now than we were four years ago.

We met with her high school counselor in the summer before high school started so he could get an understanding of the situation.  Shortly after school started, he got fully immersed in it as he handled the emergency situations that arose. He repeatedly went above and beyond to help keep her safe. 

The transition to high school was rough to say the least.  We were frequently dealing with physical symptoms related to her MDD resulting in a lot of absences from school which increased her anxiety due to constantly trying to get caught up.  Revisions were made to her medications.  It was brutal for her.

And then came 2020.

I think we were the only ones excited at the prospect of being able to do school from home. But it was a blessing for us.

We were able to address her physical symptoms more easily at home, and due to remote learning, students were allowed the option of taking some classes Pass/Fail.  This gave her some breathing room from not being able to get caught up in missing assignments. 

We opted for her to remain fully remote for her sophomore year.  Being home meant that we could do all the things that would help her mental health.  She was able to go for walks to get exercise & sunshine, she ate better, and she got more sleep.  (And her school counselor and the attendance secretary got a break from us for a year.)

Junior year meant a return to the school building.  Having made it halfway through high school we now had her medications stabilized and her school counselor was able to help us set up her schedule in a way to give her a better shot at success.  She continued to take advanced classes, she received ‘straight A’s’ and we did campus tours of a few universities.  We still had the rollercoaster that is mental illness, but we had become better at managing the ride.

Her Theatre Appreciation teacher suggested she join the costume tech crew for the spring play.  I was apprehensive.  While I wanted her to have some extracurricular activities, we were finally at a place that was manageable.  I didn’t want to ‘rock the boat’ by adding something new that might throw us back to square one.  It was exhausting for her, but she did enjoy it. 

With her ADHD she actually preferred the format of summer classes, so she enrolled in summer school every summer.  While this didn’t give her much of a break from school, it meant that she had fewer classes to take during the regular year, which helped.  For her senior year it meant that her final semester she only had 4 classes and was done by lunchtime each day. 

Senior year she continued to do extremely well academically, again earning ‘straight A’s’ which resulted in her qualifying for an Honor Cord for graduation despite a rough freshman year.  But despite the ‘perfect’ grades, our struggle with her academically the last two years has been that her mental illness tells her that anything less than 100% is a failing grade.  I can only imagine the reaction of her teachers when she went in to discuss a grade of 98% to understand what she did wrong, when teachers are still struggling to get students to turn in assignments at all. 

Four years ago, I was trying to figure out how we could get her through high school.  She didn’t just get through high school.  She excelled.  It wasn’t easy and it wasn’t without issues, but most importantly, she survived.

She went to her Senior Prom but did not attend Honors Night and will not be attending Commencement.  Her anxiety means that events like this are not a fun celebration but are stressful and exhausting.   As we tried to plan a graduation party she was clearly struggling.  I asked her what she wanted, and she responded “I don’t know.  I never thought I’d still be here.’

That’s the reality that we live in.  From where we were four years ago, she wasn’t certain that her mental illness wouldn’t be terminal.  She knows there is no cure and because of that, there are no guarantees.

When people ask how she’s doing it’s a difficult question to answer because it depends where we are on the rollercoaster.  Is she fine? No. But she has good days.  Having a graduation party would not result in a good day for her so we’ve opted not to have one. 

Looking ahead, people have questioned our decision to let her attend Wichita State University which is 5 hours away.  I’d be lying if I said we weren’t nervous (and that includes Rachel).  But I’ve been working with WSU since last fall to make sure that we are making it as safe for her as possible.  What it ultimately comes down to is that I want to approach it with optimism instead of fear. The last four years have shown us that you have to have faith. 

And I have faith that in four years we will again be able to say we made it.

The F Word

Ever used the ‘F’ word?  It’s okay.  This is a judgment-free zone.

Wait.  Not THAT ‘F’ word.

I’m talking about another ‘F’ word.

Fifty.  As in, my age.

As a gerontologist who specializes in environmental gerontology (aka where older adults live) I’m well aware that I have five more years before I’m ‘eligible’ for senior housing.  Doing some quick math tells me that my eligibility will coincide with my youngest daughter graduating from college. 

Shouldn’t there be something in between there?  Does life really go from raising children to being a ‘senior’?? 

In preparation for this ‘milestone birthday’ I stopped coloring my hair to cover up the grays shortly after I turned 49.  My hair had been colored for more than twenty years (for the purpose of covering gray hair) and my daughters wondered what my natural color of brunette was.  I kept telling them I would stop coloring it at some point when I was older; at an age that it would be ‘acceptable’ to have gray hair.  They asked what age that was and I didn’t have a good answer. 

I decided that I wanted to enter my fifties without trying to look younger. I’m not alone.  Women embracing their gray hair are prevalent on social media---at all ages.  Now I’m wishing I had joined the bandwagon earlier.

With an acceptance of my age being reflected in my appearance, I was ready to enter the next decade of life. 

But was I ready to be ‘over the hill?’

Life is a rollercoaster.  Full of ups and downs.  But using the phrase ‘over the hill’ suggests our life is limited to one up and one down. 

I’ve never been a fan of rollercoasters, but here’s why I like the analogy of life and a one up/one down rollercoaster. 

The going up phase of the rollercoaster is, if we’re honest, the boring part.  Looking straight up there often isn’t much of a view.  You’re just biding your time. 

But then you make it to the top of the hill.

This is when things get exciting.

The ride down is where it gets ‘fun’ (at least for those that enjoy rollercoasters).  You throw your hands up with abandon, scream at the top of your lungs and just have a blast.  The part ‘over the hill’ is the BEST part.  It’s the entire reason for riding the rollercoaster in the first place.

 

 

The real problem with the downhill part is that it goes so much faster than the uphill part. 

And we don’t want the ride to end.

 There’s a reason the ‘over the hill’ party decorations don’t have a specific age on them.  Is this my ‘over the hill’ year?  Probably not, but I don’t know. I just hope my hill isn’t like Jack and Jill’s----I don’t want to come tumbling down.  I’d prefer the downhill screaming be from jubilation, not excruciating pain.

Looking on the bright side (is it on the other side of the hill?), I did get my AARP membership. 

Many of my friends have been offended by receiving membership offers from AARP at a time they perceived to be on their way up the hill, not going over it.  Here’s the thing….the work that AARP does for older adults benefits EVERYONE….that is, assuming you actually want to be an older adult someday (which I very much do).  And honestly, once you get past age 21, do you really want the next birthday that gives you something “to look forward to” to be signing up for Medicare??  I’d rather ease into it with AARP, complete with a welcome gift.

AARP was founded by Dr. Ethel Percy Andrus, the first female principal of a major urban high school in California (GIRL BOSS!) and Leonard Davis.  It began when she realized that retired teachers were living on exceedingly small pensions without health insurance.  She created a nursing home facility for teachers but struggled to obtain health insurance for them.  Davis helped with the insurance part and eventually it expanded to all retirees….in 1958.  If you qualify for Medicare you’re older than AARP.  Medicare wouldn’t be available until 1965.

But therein lies the catch.  AARP membership eventually leads us down the path to Medicare enrollment.  It’s the gateway drug to embracing aging.  I, for one, am not anti-aging and hope to live a very long life which is now the benefit of going ‘over the hill’ (a phrase which originally came from sending the elderly ‘over the hill’ to live in a poorhouse but is no longer applicable).

So please stop viewing ‘over the hill’ as a negative.  Embrace the ride and enjoy what’s over the hill. Throw your hands up and scream if you must.  But don’t be afraid to use the ‘F’ word.

Here’s to the first fifty years of life….and the next.