"Forty-two!" yelled Loonquawl. "Is that all you've got to show for seven and a half million years' work?"
"I checked it very thoroughly," said the computer, "and that quite definitely is the answer. I think the problem, to be quite honest with you, is that you've never actually known what the question is."
"But it was the Great Question! The Ultimate Question of Life, the Universe and Everything," howled Loonquawl.
"Yes," said Deep Thought with the air of one who suffers fools gladly, "but what actually is it?"
A slow stupefied silence crept over the men as they stared at the computer and then at each other.
That is the crux of the whole problem. They have an answer, but they don't know what the actual question is. For example, I could type "blueberries" right now, with no context. You, my dear disciples, have no idea what the significance of "blueberries" is, although you can probably guess they are going to be important considering the photo at the beginning of this blog post. So, knowing a question is important to understand the answer.
If I typed "Emergency Room" right now, you would not know that it is the answer to the question "Why didn't Saint Marty write a post last night?" Yes, my wife and I were at our local ER for almost seven hours last night. We arrived at around 3 p.m., and we didn't leave until about 9:30 p.m. It was a long, exhausting night.
As I said in earlier posts, my wife has been teetering on hypomania/mania for a good portion of this summer, if not longer. After some events this part week, it was suggested to me by the nurse of my wife's psychiatrist that I try to convince my wife to go to the Emergency Room for an evaluation.
I broached the suggestion with my wife yesterday afternoon, and, to my surprise, she agreed. Her one worry was that they were going to try to keep her in the psychiatric ward at the hospital. She has been there before, and she isn't particularly fond of the idea of returning. I had to keep reassuring her several times, "Honey, they can't keep you if you don't consent."
At the end of that long, long afternoon and evening, a really nice ER doc, who seemed to know his stuff about psychiatric medications, suggested some changes in dosages and added Vistaril, a drug that will help her sleep at night. Frankly, walking through the doors of the ER yesterday afternoon, I help little hope that anything constructive was going to come of the visit. I was wrong, I think.
Ten o'clock last night, we were home, and my wife was taking her first dose of the new medication.
Now, as much I would love to say that Vistaril was the answer to all the problems that have plagued us this summer, it wasn't. There isn't a drug that exists that will have that kind of effect. No, the medication changes are part of a very complex solution to a very complex problem. There is simply no magic pill for bipolar disorder and its attendant problems.
However, my wife did get a really good night's sleep last night. That's makes me happy. We are not out of the woods by far yet. Sleep is just one of the first steps for my wife's recovery and stability. I will not go into the other issues that revolve around this particular episode. They are personal and difficult and not for me to share. That is up to my spouse.
This afternoon, my family and I went blueberry picking at a friends' property. There were six of us, including my wife. As I sat, squatting on my haunches, I began to find a little peace of mind. (My mind has been on overdrive for about two or three weeks.) It was just me, the blueberries in front of me, and my bucket. After about an hour or so, I mentioned to my wife how peaceful it was collecting blueberries.
"It's meditation," she said.
And she was write. I was breathing more easily. The worries that have been plaguing me weren't present in my thoughts. I just moved from one spot to another, hunting for patches of blue on the ground. As I picked berries, I prayed a little, had a conversation with the Almighty. Asked Him to take away all the doubts and fears that have stressing me.
When I left my friends' house, I was more relaxed that I have been in a long time. It was a perfect kind of evening. I love being with my family, sans television and cell phones. Just a man and his bucket and his kids and his wife. It's a memory I will hold onto for harder times.
This evening is going to help me with the stresses coming my way tomorrow and the rest of this week. Because I have this one perfect moment to hold on to. A couple hours of happiness.
Saint Marty will take that.
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