Adrenaline, Cortisol and Crashing

When the adrenaline wears off, the crash is exhausting.  When I can feel the cortisol levels surging through my body, wearing my overly-burdened heart out prematurely, that alone irks me, knowing that others have the power to shorten my life span by the stress they dump out upon me, I seek out ways to fight back and regain my own control be it through deep breathing, prayer, or weeding.

I shouldn't allow others to have this power, but I just get so shocked by it all.  I know from adoption circles that it happens to us all.

I worked late yesterday afternoon to regain control after an incredibly hyper-stress day, cooking beans in the kitchen when I heard a thud and a yelp of pain from the garage, my heart again pounding wildly, and I darted out the door which was hanging open anyway, as I'm the only one who comprehends door mechanisms.

Allen was lifting weights, no spotter as he retold it because everyone in our family is too lazy.  He'd not dropped a weight, but felt he'd injured something within his shoulder blade.  Tears were leaking from his eyes.

Being highly emotional at all times to the point of a social anxiety level, it then took me over an hour to convince him we needed to have a doctor rule out a muscle tear.  I threatened to call paramedics if he continued refusing medical treatment.

Yolie finally convinced him to go, noting the swollen area, knowing how much he cares about his body shape to the point of vanity.

She babysat while I dragged his almost 17 year old self up the highway to the doctor who reassured me nothing was broken, like a rib bone, but that he did tear the muscle, no more weight lifting for two weeks, much to his despair.

By nightfall I really was flattened like I'd been steam-rolled, the culmination of some deep, intense stress that I'll detail at a later date when the outrage doesn't still consume me, and I can be certain I won't resort to cussing.

I honestly never factored in, when considering the adoption of older kids, how much outside Hell would be dumped upon me.  But then I think about folks losing their homes in the Colorado wildfires, or about Aimee Copeland's flesh eating bacteria ordeal, or other health challenges facing folks, and then I feel lame and stupid for my own complaining.  Sabrina's coach had gone to either high school or college with Aimee.  All of Georgia now praying for her recovery.

I'd gotten the best phone call this weekend as my very longtime friend, Janet, got the test results back from her second battle with cancer.  She was clear.  I nearly sobbed with pure T relief.  Thank you Lord.

Sabrina's working at a kiddie camp cheer leading clinic this week, plus her regular fast food job, and at times also working in the church nursery, while Allen and Martin are doing a pretty great job with the parks department.  CW mowed for hours yesterday, Tony and Lily finished getting supper on the table under Yolie's supervision when I hadda bolt, and I ended up leaving the laundry drying outside all night long, too tired to drag it in by bedtime.

 I did get all the dadgum dishes done.  I swanny, as my Grandma Bodie used to say, every single dish, pot and pan in my large kitchen was dumped into my huge industrial sink, took me an hour to hand wash it all.  I finally got to waddle off to my lovely bedroom and welcoming TV set, Nando on my heels wanting me to watch a movie with him that he'd taped.  Old Dogs which was slapstickingly funny. Just what I needed.

So beat, so worn out, that I lay down to eat popcorn, the nutritional yeast dumped everywhere as the fan was blowing across the room on a high speed.  "Dang, Mom," Mr Eyewitness News Nando reported, "You're making a mess."

I don't care, I'm the housekeeper.  I can make a mess if I wanna.  Man, I felt like an old dog.

I'd inherited enough money from my sister long ago that built our swimming pool.  Lately finances have been so dang tight that I didn't even have enough money for the pool pump gasket repair and everything else needed to open it for the summer.  It's still not open, but is closer, thanks 100% to Chuck's hard work.

I've lately been slammed with issues, challenges, and trials so to speak, money only being one of them.  Every single day this month I've worked diligently on my spreadsheets and charts, trying to figure out how to get it all done.  Sabrina will start college in just another year, time to be planning for it.  It'll probably be cheaper than cheer leading, certainly more valuable.

Sarah'd recently taught me a super important lesson on spiritual warfare that I've incorporated and pondered,  very pleased with what it's done for me already in my super splintered mind which is way more than half of any battle, and I super liked the comment here from Brenda.  Essentially it is, Who is rich? Whoever is happy with what he has.  


The lengthy, yet important, explanation follows in the comment.


So, once again, I'm rich.  In spite of my speadsheet bottom line.