Read me like a book

I was up front for John Grant, one of my favourite artists.
Photo: Warren Smart

By Virginia Winder

It was a weird Womad for me. 

Normally I'm up front dancing and submerging myself in the rhythms and voices of other cultures, grinning at my friends in joy. 

Alas, pain and being a book in the Living Library changed everything. 

Since the library began a few years back it's been one of my favourite parts of Womad. 

I've rushed to the Kunming Gardens to choose two "books" because I adore hearing people's stories. 

This year, I was a book, which meant people could take me out and I would tell them one or both of two life stories. These were living with bipolar and surviving a suicide attempt. Lovely jolly subjects to share. 

I was terrified. 

But the people who came to "read" me were all open, kind and respectful. They didn't even mind me lying down on the job cos of my back. 

At one stage I said: "I'm so grateful to be alive."

A young woman asked me: "What are you grateful for?"

It was a good question and one I turned to my phone to answer, because I'd been writing just that in an unfinished blog. 

This is what I read:

"A bird alighting on a bare maple tree. The sun illuminating the tips of our nikau palm. Being drenched by warming winter sun while sitting on our orange couch. These were the little things I was thankful for after surviving my suicide attempt. 

Then there were the big things - being held by my husband while going to sleep; watching my daughter graduate with a degree in industrial design; seeing my son go off to film and TV school. There are a hundred more things I'm grateful for - learning about self-compassion, re-connecting with the practice of mindfulness, my ever-faithful friends, my steadfast family, our adoring animals, the wild Tasman sea, the list goes on and on...

You see you cannot go through a near-death experience without changing, hopefully for the better. 

Another huge thing for me has been writing the story of a man who survived cancer four times and who has been well for 23 years. 

Alan Berryman taught me that to survive you can't replicate the circumstances that made you unwell in the first place. 

He has a whole plan for survival and his words resonated with me."

Alan was also a book at Womad. 

By the end, he was tired but elated. 

I was completely wiped. 

Writing is infinitely easier for me than telling my story in person, especially while battling beastly pain. Sciatica is a bastard. 

In the end I was over me. 

But it was a worthwhile experience - and there were many people who left me with thankful hugs, with wet eyes and, hopefully, more understanding and acceptance about bipolar. 

Today I was rapt to read that Kiwi movie Dark Horse won best movie and Cliff Curtis best actor at the Seattle International Film Festival.

Dark Horse is about a chess genius, who lives with bipolar. Curtis deserves an Oscar for his performance. 

Performance. That's what I missed at Womad. It was all there, but I wasn't. Although I did get to see one of my favourite artists, John Grant.

Next year, I'll be up front dancing again...

A painful request for help

By Virginia Winder

I live in a painscape now.

It's colourful and filled with jagged shapes. 

Getting out of a car yesterday in hideous agony my sister asked me "what colour is your pain?"

Eyes scrunched up I saw white stars. 

Today, lying on my bed, I see red shards in my calves, hot orange in my gluteus maximus and red in my pelvis. 

Sitting on a chair I see silver needles down my legs. The pain in my foot and ankle is yellow with pink points. 

All of this from sciatica, which is getting worse not better. Some days I've hit 10 on the pain scale. 

There is a treatment plan though. I will be going to Wellington for CT-guided injections into my lumbar spine to ease the pain. 

Now, this is important, I don't want your sympathy. This just is. 

However, I do want advice on living with pain. Or even better, how to get rid of it. 

So far I've tried acupuncture, physio, prescribed pain relief, stretches, mindfulness meditations and distraction. A generous man has also given me a special nana's massage oil (jury is still out on this) to try. 

So far, nothing has helped much, not even the prescription pain relief. So what are your suggestions? 

This is an interactive blog - fire everything at me. Pain has made me 100% open-minded and I want to know your ideas. 

There's always hope

By Virginia Winder

I lost hope on a hot Tuesday morning in March two years ago today. 

Talking about that time is tough, but I will tell you that everything had conspired to create the perfect storm of mental distress and I broke.

Losing hope wasn’t a conscious effort, or a moment of giving up completely. Instead it was a cutting loose, a floating feeling, as if I was no longer here. In psychology terms, I disassociated.

That night before I went to sleep feeling calm. Nobody could tell I’d disappeared; not even me.

The next day is a blur of events by the sea. I drove there with a purple embroidered cosmetic bag filled with pills and a bottle of L&P, which I can no longer bear to taste. 

On the way, I took a picture of a blooming pohutukawa to do my last “flower of the day” post on Facebook. I parked the car overlooking Back Beach, sent loving texts, wrote a farewell letter on my iPad and methodically began throwing back pills, still in that zoned-out state.

The air was baking and still, the cicadas noisy, the sea a distant shush below the cliffs and Charlie, a photographer from our local newspaper, ran past me twice, throwing out a “hey VW” each time. I raised an arm. 

Then there were desperate phone calls from my husband, a reluctant admission about where I was and a slow crunch of metal as the police car pulled up. Then the ambulance came.

I made it to hospital, talking all the way, held the hand of my sobbing husband and then let go. I nearly didn’t make it, had to be intubated and woke up in ICU, where the staff treated me with the same distance as I felt about the world.

There were hallucinations then. I felt like every word people spoke was a déjà vu moment, as if I knew what they were going to say. The walls were covered in bright yellow flowers, which slowly faded over days to yellow dots and then they were gone. 

My family came. They loved me. Nobody judged me. I remember a delicious great nephew being laid on my chest and feeling him squirm. I kissed his soft sweet head.

Eventually, I was moved to the psychiatric ward, where the staff no longer treated me with hard-to-hide disdain. At Te Puna Waiora I was among my own tribe, the mentally unwell, the lost and the desperate. And also the brave.

That’s where I met a young Irishman, who was a musician, teacher and swimmer. We tried to take our lives on the same day and both of us spoke of disassociating, of entering a surreal place of watching ourselves.

This young man gave me hope through music. One night three of us sat in the ward’s courtyard and sang to his guitar. We were melodic to Ben Howard’s Black Flies, belted out Bob Marley’s Redemption Song and howled the chorus of Radiohead’s classic, Creep: “We don’t belong here…” We got shut down by the nurses after a noise complaint from the elderly section of the ward. But we were exhilarated.

Then there was the song Esperanza, which means “hope” in Spanish. My Irish friend wrote it and it tickled me back to life. It has a phrase that says: “This will not last, it’s just a moment…”

I got to go home before him. But we kept in touch through texts and I went back with my iPad and recorded him singing Esperanza. I filmed him in the whanau room, a beige boring place, which he brought to life. We put it up on YouTube straight away.

At home, on the days when I felt the world dissolving, I played his song and clung to those words like they were a red lifesaving tube.

Slowly I got better through the right medication, learning about self-compassion, using mindfulness and love from my family and close friends. My wise daughter said: “Mum, it wasn’t you who tried to kill yourself, it was the bipolar.”

My friend got out of hospital and went back to Ireland. We messaged each other and I learnt he was struggling with depression. Still, there were happy-face pictures with his girlfriend on Facebook, so I assumed he was doing OK.

But In July last year my beautiful friend lost hope. When I found out, I sat here, on the other side of the planet weeping. Because damn it, I knew, I’d learnt, he’d helped teach me, that even in those god-awful hide-from-the-world times when the pain is never-ending, there is always hope. “This will not last, it’s just a moment…”

HELPLINES

Lifeline: 0800 543 354 - Provides 24 hour telephone counselling

Youthline: 0800 376 633 or free text 234 - Provides 24 hour telephone and text counselling services for young people

Samaritans: 0800 726 666 - Provides 24 hour telephone counselling.

Tautoko: 0508 828 865 - provides support, information and resources to people at risk of suicide, and their family, whānau and friends.

Whatsup: 0800 942 8787 (noon to 11pm)

Kidsline: 0800 543 754 (4pm - 6pm weekdays)

The Lowdown: thelowdown.co.nz  - website for young people ages 12 to 19.

National Depression Initiative - depression.org.nz (for adults), 0800 111 757 - 24 hour service

If it is an emergency or you feel you or someone you know is at risk, please call 111

For information about suicide prevention, see http://www.spinz.org.nz.

Living with pain

By Virginia Winder

 

Swimming in the sea is a great distraction.

Pain and priorities have burst my blogging balloon for nearly five weeks.

But not my desire to write or be creative.

You see I have sciatica, a deep pain that stems from my lower back. I feel it from my right hip flowing down my thigh and into my calf. It's nerve pain and it's excruciating.

People always say at funerals or at memorials that he/she never complained. Good on them for being so saintly. I obviously have no halo.

Now before you start feeling sorry for me and rushing round with lasagne (I don't do the cooking anyway), stop.

This ongoing misery has got me thinking of others in long-term agony, who end up at the pain clinic.

I have a dear friend with rheumatoid arthritis, which badly affects her hands, and another friend who is riddled with this debilitating disease. I know people with fibromyalgia, a condition that causes ongoing pain, and others with chronic regional pain syndrome following accidents.

A lovely man I know hurts constantly after being knocked off his bicycle.

All around us are people in physical pain. Like mental illness, it's hidden.

For me sitting and standing are tough, but I got a great tip out of the blue yesterday - use ice.

So I wrote a story with ice packs on my hip/bum and calf and the nerve pain was literally numbed. That treatment will be duplicated in the oncoming weeks when I have many other stories to write.

Another friend turned up with heat treatment and that’s great too.

It must be said though, I do crave lying down because that’s when the pain dissipates.

But I have to keep going, seeing people, having coffee (caffeine is a pain killer) and of course enjoying this magnificent summer.

Movement is essential too, as Harvard University says.

"Conservative treatment — a catchall term for everything but surgery — of sciatica used to emphasize inactivity, even bed rest," Harvard experts say. "But that’s changed, so clinicians now typically advise patients to keep up their daily activities as much as possible."

The best treatment for constant pain is distraction.

Going for a swim in the sea is the wonder drug for me.

I discovered this in 1999 when my parents died together in a car crash. Two days later I went for a swim at Back Beach with my husband, brother and a friend.

And in that wild sea, which rushed and tumbled us about, I could feel no pain.

These past five weeks the rumble hush of waves has saved me again.

Not only am I buoyant in the sea, I am also completely in the moment. Nothing matters except the never-ending waves to dive under or to sprint-swim catch and fly with.

Then there are guided mindfulness meditations, especially one called loving kindness meditation, which is centuries old. Another helpful one is called compassionate hand. I do these lying down because sitting hurts too much. These help me to focus on something else other than my body and ensure my mind stays well.

Listening to audio books helps to distract me as does writing and work, most of which are carried out on my mobile devices while lying down. This blog is written on my phone. I've also been writing on my iPad and of course have had a couple of stints on the computer.

Yes, pain is a pain, but mine will soon disappear (touch wood).

So be gentle with people, especially those you don't know. If they're a little cranky or a touch sharp in a shop, pause for a minute and wonder what's happening in their lives.

Kindness is powerful medicine.

In hot water over bluebottles

By Virginia Winder

You’re diving under a frothy wave at the beach when you feel a sharp burning along your leg.

In the lull between waves, you notice a blue tentacle stuck to your knee and calf, so you use the seawater to frantically rub it off.

The tentacle has gone but the burning becomes more intense, so you head for shore realising you’ve been stung by a bluebottle.

So what do you do?

My guesses are you’ll think cold water, ice, vinegar or even aloe vera will help. Well you’d be wrong. Absolutely off the mark. Completely amiss.

I’m writing this because there has been a swarm of these weird-looking blue-bladder sea creatures at Oakura and signs of it at other beaches in Taranaki.

I’m also writing because I’m sick of the wrong advice being given to people about what to do.

The answer is, according to both the National Poisons Centre and the Ministry of Health (MoH) website, that the best way to treat bluebottle stings is with hot water.

In fact, the MoH recommends immersing the part of your body that’s been stung into water 45 degrees Celsius for up to 20 minutes. Showers also work.

I’ve had a sting. The long tentacle of a bluebottle, which can reach up to 10 metres in length, wrapped around my hand like blue thread. After I washed it off, my hand felt like it was on fire.

I went home and immersed myself in a shower as hot as I could bear it. My nephew was stung on his torso and we gave him the hot water treatment too and the pain disappeared miraculously.  

What happens, says Leo Schep from the National Poisons Centre, is the hot water “denatures” the sting. In layperson’s terms that means the heat changes the structure of the venom, which is a protein. Hot water does that in much the same way as cooking an egg white, causing the pain to immediately stop.

“Don’t use vinegar, because that will just make it release more of the venom,” he says.

The MoH backs this up in its treatment for jellyfish stings.

“If you can get vinegar, pour this over the stung area (but do not use vinegar for bluebottle stings),” its website says.

So there you have it – hot water is the answer to a close encounter with a blue stinger.

This comes from the experts and personal experience.

Cook that venom! 

A watery tale of pain and pesto

By Virginia Winder

It was a night of mild celebration in the kitchen tonight as I made pesto for the first time.

I picked basil straight from the herb garden, used a combination of olive and flax-seed oils, toasted pinenuts, fresh garlic and grated parmesan and whirred the ingredients together in the food processor.

Heaps of you will have done this, but I’ve lost my confidence in the kitchen, despite being a long-time food writer.

So tonight’s effort was made with “support” from my home cook husband Warren, who watched me as fixedly as a cat stalking a rat. (We have had resident rodents lately, but that’s another story.)  

“In my humble opinion, I would do this…” he said, or “I don’t want to interfere, but…”

I kept my cool, just, and did my thing. The result is a good-looking pesto, which will go with tonight’s salmon and on pita bread tomorrow with feta.

As I’m writing this I can hear my husband Warren pulling the husks off sweetcorn, one of my great foodie loves. You see when fresh fruit and vegetables are in season, I devour them until I’m sick of them until next season.

Breakfast is muesli, soaked in water for a few hours or overnight, with organic blueberries from the Farmers Market Taranaki, and/or chopped up nectarine and a plain yoghurt. I’m trying a kefir coconut yoghurt at the moment and it’s delicious.

Lunch can be anything from eggs on toasted slices of a friend’s home-made organic sourdough bread to three cobs of corn. I don’t have anything on the corn, not even my old friend, or should I say enemy, butter.

You may think that butter’s OK, but you see I have a bit of a butter thing. Other people love chocolate or cheese (alright, so do I), but butter has always been my downfall. That’s one of the main reasons I’m eating little bread these days.

Another big thing for me is drinking water.

I failed miserably on Monday. We went to the beach five times that day, braved the heat slathered with sunblock, but I simply forgot to drink. It felt like it was enough to be in the sea.

It wasn’t.

Bodysurfing at Fitzroy Beach on Monday night

In the evening I spent an hour co-hosting a weekly radio show with my mate Al in a studio that was as hot as a day in the tropics.

Warren and I had another swim in the sea, which cooled me down but I didn't have enough fluids inside me.

In the night I started feeling hot and cold, nauseous and weak, my head a percussion instrument of pain. Most of Tuesday was spent in a dark room, fan on, painkillers on board and drinking, drinking, drinking.

Still felt washed out yesterday, but kept up the water-drinking regime.

Today, I’m back to normal, focused on fresh food, throwing back water, making strides in the kitchen and generally feeling great about life.

And best of all – hey presto, I made pesto and it tastes good.

Answering the call for help

By Virginia Winder

Friday was draining, but I would have done it all again.

I had a phone call, strangely, from a finance company that a friend was in a bad way, mentally.

My friend was having suicidal thoughts and was speaking to the company when everything became too much for him. The call person at the company, impressively, stayed on the line until I got to my friend. 

It was a hot Friday afternoon and my lovely friend was in distress.

My job was to be with him, give him support without judgement, without trying to fix him and to seek professional help.

I may have been through a lot in my life, but I do not have the professional expertise that others have. I am simply a supportive stop gap to stand alongside someone I care about.

As support, I listened, hugged and allowed my friend to let it out. I did not preach to him in any shape or form, which is not a helpful thing to do in this situation.

Listening is everything.

So is a practical plan.

Together, we made phone calls for support from the mental health team at the Taranaki District Health Board – when in need call the local crisis team. In this case it was the home-based acute mental health team who organised a doctor’s appointment for admittance into the acute adult mental health ward.

Now for anybody thinking that is extreme, if you have someone with suicidal thoughts – and a plan – you need to ensure they are safe. That is number one and the ward is a safe place.

If you can’t get hold of the crisis team or anybody else at mental health (they are busy people), you can call 111 for assistance. The police will help, especially in a matter of life and death.

Staying with my friend was paramount. If a person ever contacts you – even via a finance company – to say they have suicidal thoughts, you need to help. A swim at the beach or a Festival of the Lights gig (which I missed through exhaustion), are insignificant compared to being with a friend in need.

My friend, like myself, has ongoing episodes of mental unwellness. I’ve been there for him before and will always be available to stand at his side until he gets the help he needs. I had to keep him safe, so a few hours or even several on a hot Friday afternoon are nothing in the big scheme of things.

Most of you will have friends who may need you from time to time. Please be there for them. Just your presence is enough because sometimes it’s unsafe for us to be alone.

Thankfully my friend reached out for help, so this is also a message to any of you to do the same. You’ll know your rock solid supporters. Go to them. 

And when, and if, you are called for support, please help if you can. You could save a life.