I'm no Robin Williams, but ...

Los Angeles Times

Some people think I'm pretty funny. Much of the time, I am one of those people.

Maybe that's why Robin Williams' suicide has hit me so hard.

Many of my friends and even members of my own family probably don't know this, but I have suffered from depression, at times severe, since I was about 12 years old. It wasn't diagnosed until I was 32. Before and since then, it has caused upheaval in my life, skewing my thinking and hampering my ability to make good decisions. If My Lovely Wife were not a superhero, it would have killed our marriage long ago.

It has come close to killing me more than once. I've never attempted suicide, but during the blackest, foggiest passages of the abyss I have contemplated and even planned it. The irony is that the depression robbed me of the initiative to go through with it.

It pisses me off because at various times I have thought I was free of this depression, but it always comes back.

About three years ago I tumbled into one of the deepest, darkest emotional pits I've ever known. I could barely function; somehow, by the grace of God, I managed not to get fired from my job during this period. I had daily panic attacks, and I couldn't hold my bladder. I thought about death, obsessively, every day for months -- usually in a positive light.

Thank God I was able to ask for help. An attentive and compassionate doctor put me on a particular medication, but it had no effect. We switched to a different drug, and almost immediately I started showing symptoms of mania.

I was freaking out, believing that I was slipping down a well-greased slope to full-on psychosis. I didn't want to be that nice, smart, funny guy who went crazy and spent the rest of his life as a friendless, homeless lunatic bothering people on the train. As my irrational mind reasoned it out, it seemed better to me to go to my eternal rest than to spend my remaining years as an object of pity and horror.

That's when the miracle happened. Miracle, thy name is Prozac.

I know Prozac (fluoxetine) has gotten a fair amount of bad press over the years, but I can tell you in no uncertain terms: Prozac saved my life. Now I take a fairly hefty dose of it every morning, paired with timed doses of Buspar (buspirone) that help keep me on an even keel throughout the day.

I also have been seeing a therapist on a regular basis. For a while, just last year, I was placed in intensive (outpatient) therapy, where I met a number of other people who were struggling as I was, each in his or her own way. These were private battles, but we were all in it together, and somehow that was comforting.

And now, with these therapies and after making some desperately needed changes in my life, I am happier and healthier than I've been in a very long time. What had seemed impossible has become my daily reality. I'm me again.

When one drug or therapy or therapist doesn't work for you, it doesn't mean you're beyond help; it simply means that particular drug or therapy or therapist doesn't work for you at this time. There are plenty out there, and it's worth trying out as many as necessary to find one that helps you start feeling normal again.

And that's a key understanding: These are not "happy pills" that artificially raise your mood and turn you into a grinning idiot; they are chemotherapy that kills the cancer of depression that makes you feel abnormally bad. They pull you back to normal.

I had forgotten what normal was. Although I was still quick with a comeback or a one-liner or a wry Facebook comment, I had forgotten what joy and peace felt like. I thought -- I really believed -- they were lost to me forever.

That's the lie that depression tells you, over and over again like the relentless beat of house music: It's never going to get better; things will always be the way they are right now, or worse; there is no hope.

But that's a lie straight out of the pits of hell. ("He [the devil] was a murderer from the beginning and does not stand in truth, because there is no truth in him. When he tells a lie, he speaks in character, because he is a liar and the father of lies." John 8:44b)

There is hope, even if you can't see it right now. Fight for your life. As the poet Charles Bukowski wrote, "Your life is your life. Don't let it be clubbed into dank submission. Be on the watch: There are ways out. There is light somewhere."

If you feel profoundly sad, or hopeless, or angry, or listless, or confused, or forgotten, or lonely, or worthless, or anxious, please, please, talk to someone. Talk to someone who will listen, someone who is willing to walk alongside you on the winding path to getting better. These feelings seem completely real, but they are not normal, they are not right, and there are ways out.

I'm testimony -- living testimony -- to that.

I am heartbroken for Robin Williams and for those who loved him. But I am grateful for the many gifts he gave us, not least of which was an opening for this conversation.

Beloved, seek peace and pursue it. "You are marvelous; the gods wait to delight in you."

Kingdom Coaches

I saw a tour bus today with the name Kingdom Coach emblazoned on the sides and back. I like that name -- not necessarily for a bus company, but as a title for a person, a spiritual guide.

Two of my kingdom coaches are hurting right now. C.David, an inexhaustible font of encouragement and optimism, is mending rapidly from extensive surgery to remove a tumor in his belly; now he's learned he's going to need two chemotherapy treatments a week for six months. Sister Dorothy, who seems to have committed the entire Bible to memory and always calls up the perfect verse to address any concern, is in severe pain from a vascular problem in her feet.

God, please bless both of these my coaches, as well as all the others. They've helped you make me into the player I am today.

Things are looking up

Another visit to the hematologist, another dose of good news.

After four months of good eating and right living, my white-cell count is about the same, but my platelets have crawled into the normal range. I guess I can thank my daily vitamin D supplement and weekly serving of red meat for that.

And here's a shocker: My weight was 154.3, a personal record. That's 22 pounds higher than the low I hit in 2007 that sent me to the doctor in the first place.

All is well!

Cheers

It appears I'm past due on my health updates. 

In short, all is well.

Had a visit with the hematologist a few weeks back; all the numbers were still low, but almost exactly the same as last time. Dr. Jay loves that stability. Her practitioner said, "You are the picture of perfect health."

I even got permission to start drinking alcohol again -- though I'm supposed to limit it to one drink per week. Yeah, right.

Dr. Jay somehow came under the impression that I'm a problem drinker, which has never been true. I did tell her at our initial meeting that I went through a period after my second hernia surgery when my pain medication was not working, so I was drinking more than I should in an effort to dull the pain. But I also told her I had subsequently realized that was not a good strategy and had returned to my normal moderate habits.

I know health professionals are trained to take whatever alcohol consumption a patient self-reports and double it. But even that equation wouldn't add up to much in my case. Nevertheless, in her eyes I'm a drunk and always will be. 

I'll just have to accept that and hoist a pint in her honor.

In a related note, I have regained all the weight I lost, and then some. Had to go out and buy bigger pants today. 

Must be all that beer.

An issue of blood

The best example of someone going to Jesus and literally grabbing hold of his healing power is the woman with the “issue of blood.” Her story is told in the fifth chapter of Mark and the eighth chapter of Luke.

This poor woman had a condition that was not only physically painful but also socially stigmatizing, and it had been going on for years. She had nonstop menstrual bleeding, which under Old Testament law kept her perpetually “ceremonially unclean” (Leviticus 15:25-27).

Think for a moment about the isolation and loneliness this would mean. No one could touch her without becoming unclean, and anything she touched became unclean. Think what it would be like for you if you could never give or receive a hug, or even a handshake or a pat on the back. Or use a shopping cart. Or pick up produce at the market and put it back down. Or walk on a crowded sidewalk. Or get your hair cut. Or go to a concert or a game. Or a restaurant. Or school. Or work. Or church. And forget about meeting someone special, falling in love and starting a family.

You are condemned to life in solitary confinement with invisible walls.

Imagine the shame and degradation that would come with that kind of shunning, along with the fear of embarrassingly bleeding through her clothes. Not to mention the terrible cramps that must have been a source of constant misery.

The medical treatments of the day were probably quite crude and excruciatingly painful; the NIV says she "had suffered a great deal under the care of many doctors and had spent all she had, yet instead of getting better she grew worse."

And the Word says this went on for twelve years. A lot of people would kill themselves under that kind of stress, and who could blame them?

But this woman chose life, and she knew where to find it.

Can you imagine the courage it took for her to leave her house and venture to that crowded marketplace where Jesus was visiting? To press through the throng, this mob of strangers who would revile her and recoil from her if they knew her terrible secret?

But nothing else had worked, and she was desperate. This might be her only chance. She waded into the crowd and pressed through. She didn’t seek to speak to the man or ask anything of him, but just hoped to grasp the hem of his garment.

And she did it. The Bible says she was behind Jesus and touched the edge of this cloak, and immediately she felt healing flow from him into her body.

She thought that would be the end of it, that she could disappear back into the crowd and slip away, but with Jesus you always get more than you bargain for.

He took notice of her.

“Who touched my clothes?” he said (as if he didn’t know). His disciples practically laughed at him: “You have all these thousands of people pressing in on you, and you ask, ‘Who touched me?’”

Yes, thousands were pressing in on him, but only one had truly touched him.

Have you reached out to Jesus with a passion and a fervor that will make you stand out from the crowd?

I’ll have more about this in a future post.

All is well

In case you missed it ...

My doctors have given me a clean bill of health. Praise God! Thank you, Lord!

I already gave the news in the "James at 5:16" post below, but I realize now that the headline is a little vague and I buried the lede. Mea culpa. There's never a copy editor around when you need one.

The paint can results are in now as well, and everything came out fine there, too, so to speak.

(By the way, I'd love to see some comments on these posts. You don't have to sign in or join up to leave a comment. Just use the "Name/URL" option under Comments and write in any name you like. I'd like it best if I knew who you were, though. And while you're at it, feel free to click on any of the links you see on the site. They're risk-free, I promise.)

James at 5:16

"Therefore confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed. The prayer of the righteous person is powerful and effective." -- James 5:16

My hematologist told me today that my bone marrow biopsy and related blood work showed no sign of cancer, no sign of myelodysplasia, no sign of developing leukemia or lymphoma. They also did a chromosomal study to see if there are any genetic precursors of cancer or other diseases, and there are none.

I got nothin'.

Give God praise for his exceeding grace and mercy, and while you're at it give yourself a pat on the back for sending up some powerful and effective prayer. I thank you from the bottom of my heart and the depths of my spirit.

For a person my age, the makeup of the bone marrow should be roughly 50 percent marrow cells of various types and 50 percent fat. Mine is more like 30-70, but Dr. Jay says that's nothing to be concerned about. The low lymphocyte numbers we've been seeing could have been caused by exposure to some unknown toxin sometime in my past, or I might simply be made that way, she said. Either way, it doesn't seem to be a problem.

The vitamin D deficiency noted in my previous post could indeed be the culprit in my weight loss, but it is not related to the white cells; it's just a coincidence that it happened at the same time, she said. Dr. Jay at first suggested I add a vitamin D supplement to my diet, but backed off that idea when she learned I have a history of kidney stones. She said she would get back to me with a plan for addressing that problem.

Just eat a healthy diet and exercise, she said. See you in three months.

Again, I thank each of you for your love and prayers and support during this worrisome time. I can now exhale and get on with my life, more determined than ever to redeem the time.

What's D problem?

My primary care doctor's office left me a message yesterday to inform me that my most recent blood test showed a vitamin D deficiency.

This could explain my weight loss; one of my sisters lost a frightening amount of weight several years ago, and it turned out to be a vitamin D issue. She's fine now, thank God.

Whether this could account for my missing white cells remains to be seen Monday, when I return to the hematologist for the results of my bone-marrow excavation.