Andrea Wilson Woods' Blog

10. You watch Lifetime movies.

9. You like Lifetime movies.

8. You watch Lifetime movies even when you don’t like them.

7. You record Lifetime movies.

6. You watch enough Lifetime movies to know that the ones on the Lifetime Movie Network (LMN) are always better than the ones on the regular Lifetime channel.

5. You get genuinely upset when your cable provider has a dispute with LMN, which seems to happen every six months.

4. You know what Pick-a-Flick Fridays are.

3. You IMDB the actors in a Lifetime movie because they look familiar only to discover they have been in other Lifetime movies that you have already seen.

2. You watch two LMN movies in a row and don’t realize you have already seen both of the films until the end of the second one, yet you don’t care that you have wasted four hours of your time on a Friday night.

1. You lie down, watch four Lifetime films back-to-back, and after eight hours you cannot recall the plot of any of the movies. Oh—and you forget to eat. Or you eat an entire bag of chips. Or a pint of ice cream. Or both.

AWW — XoXo

Posted under Entertainment & Health | 1 Comment »

Most Americans spent this weekend celebrating Thanksgiving, which means eating turkey, watching football, and visiting family members whom you rarely see. However, I look at Thanksgiving as the 20-mile marker in a marathon. My muscles throb and my joints ache, but I am in the home stretch toward the end of that terrible time between summer and winter. You see, fall is my least favorite season.

One factor is that my sister Adrienne died on October 9, 2001, but even before I lost her to cancer, I often found myself depressed after my birthday (i.e., August 15) until around December 30.* The leaves may change colors, but the days shorten, the weather chills, and the holidays begin. When I walked into Michaels last week, I saw the Christmas decorations and heard The Nutcracker piping through their speakers. Seriously? We haven’t even passed Turkey Day yet.

Given my hostile reaction and less than festive spirit, I examined what bothers me about the non-stop holidays throughout this season:

• I like dressing up in costumes, but Halloween was Adrienne’s favorite holiday. Enough said.
• I love pumpkin pie and stuffing, but Thanksgiving holds no sentiment for me. I also hate to cook.
• I like decorating a tree and receiving gifts, but Christmas began losing its magic when my mother told me that I needed to wrap my own presents. I was ten years old.

I’ve thought about the many autumns over the past 25 years, and my mood has always dipped significantly with some exceptions. The fall of 1990 was one of the happiest times of my life because I had just moved to Los Angeles to begin my first year at USC. The fall of 2006 I married and started graduate school within a two-week period—a joyful yet stressful time.

I find it interesting that my “happier” autumns relate to school, and I am an excellent student. As a teacher, however, I dreaded returning to the classroom. I didn’t want to become “Miss Wilson” again—the mean lady with two primary rules: work and respect. The stern woman with the loud voice who had to repeat herself a minimum of three times hoping that the students listened at least once, or their parents might blame me for not giving specific instructions. I only taught to be on Adrienne’s schedule; I never expected to be good at it. Even though I like kids, being a constant disciplinarian exhausted me.

I also don’t like fall because as a child I never wanted the summers to end. I loved staying out late playing under the streetlight in our cul-de-sac. I loved swimming at the local pool and at Kerr Lake. I loved my birthday even though friends often missed my parties because they were on vacation. I liked playing baseball with the boys, basking in the sunshine, selling lemonade, and living for another day of adventure. Summer meant freedom. Why would anyone want it to end?

I wondered if I had Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD). I know someone who moved from Connecticut to Los Angeles because he was diagnosed with SAD at a young age. He needs sunshine more than he needs seasons. I may be sad, but I don’t believe that I suffer from SAD because I can tolerate winter under certain conditions.

• I don’t mind dealing with low temperatures in Mammoth because I like to ski—the only purpose for snow.
• I found my dream house during the coldest, wettest, nastiest weather in Gold Beach, Oregon, and it hasn’t deterred me from wanting to live there one day.
• My husband and I went on our honeymoon in Australia during the end of fall. I wore my black wool peacoat everywhere, and the chilly air and cloudy skies didn’t bother me except when the rain ruined our photos.

Besides the above anecdotal criteria, I don’t have many SAD symptoms including oversleeping and overeating. In fact, I can’t sleep right now without medication and I continue to lose weight despite forcing myself to eat. It’s simple: I don’t have SAD, but I feel sad because this time of year sucks. I am counting the days until New Year’s Eve.

AWW — XoXo

*I realize that technically autumn begins with the autumnal equinox and ends with the winter solstice, but I define my “Funky Fall Blues” by my own dates. As my ex used to say about Adrienne and me, “They play by their own rules.”

Posted under General & Health | No Comments »

You know you are desperate about your medical condition when you not only publicly advertise it, but you also hope that a reader, a friend of a reader, or a random stranger who stumbles across your blog is an excellent diagnostician. That’s right. I’m paging a real-life Dr. House. I sure hope he or she exists.

My problems began in mid-February when I first experienced tailbone pain, or in medical terms: a dull ache in my coccyx. Let me make some things clear:

• I did not fall down
• I did not slip on the kitchen floor
• I did not suffer an injury in a car accident
• (And my favorite) I did not sit on a hard surface

I ignored the pain because it was intermittent even though I was experiencing another issue: bladder problems. I alluded to this “infection” (I couldn’t come up with a better word) in my EMAO blog, but I didn’t want to give out the details. Tailbone pain is one thing, but a constant need to urinate falls into the TMI category. I wasted hundreds of dollars on tests, unnecessary medications, and time at the urologist (Dr. U) that I will never get back. After two months, Dr. U threw his hands up in the air and proclaimed, “Your bladder is functioning normally—maybe it’s related to your tailbone pain”—a theory that he had initially dismissed.

My regular chiropractor has always believed that the problems are related since there are nerves from your tailbone that extend to your bladder. However, he doesn’t have any answers either. Unfortunately the two issues gradually became worse as time passed. Instead of counting how many days I didn’t experience tailbone pain or urinary problems, I started counting hours. I was thrilled when I managed to have no symptoms for 36 hours during my 20-year high school reunion weekend (i.e., June 25 – 26). Maybe it was endorphins, alcohol, or lack of sleep, but I felt like a normal person again. I wasn’t running to the bathroom every 20 minutes and wincing when I sat down.

By August, the pain had worked its way up my sacrum; I cried during a yoga workshop that required a lot of sitting. I found a new primary care physician (PCP) who said that I must have injured myself (ARGH!), and it would take 18 months to heal. I insisted that I didn’t fall down. I once hurt my tailbone in high school, and I distinctly remember how it felt. Of course Dr. PCP “proved me wrong” when an x-ray showed no crack in my tailbone. I asked for a referral to an orthopedist (Dr. O).

Just to rule out a “girlie” diagnosis, I had my annual exam with my OB/GYN in September. At that time, I requested an ultrasound to see if the ovarian cysts that had been present the year before were still there. The answer: Nope. Good news, of course, but still no answer. While I was waiting to see Dr. O, more problems arose over a two-month period:

• I lose weight at rapid rate without trying. (See After EMAO for weight and body measurements in July.) By October 8, I had lost 10% of my overall body weight. People thought I wasn’t eating because I was depressed, but I love food. Although my appetite has lessened, I force myself to eat three meals a day. My weight has stabilized at 107 pounds, but the last time I was this small was before puberty. I am still within a normal weight range for my height (5′2.5″), but with my medium, muscular frame, my current weight is not normal for me. The only people who think I look “fabulous” right now work in the entertainment industry. I no longer act, yet I am finally the size that every casting director wanted me to be. Sigh.
• I start acquiring bruises all over my legs and occasionally on my arms. I bruise more easily than most people do, but it’s getting ridiculous. New bruises appear every day, and I have no idea what causes them. As a test, I lightly flicked the side of my ankle three times using my thumb and middle finger. Sure enough, a faint bruise showed up the next day.
• I begin experiencing “night sweats” (gross), which is odd since I am normally cold. To combat the sweats, I keep the central heat lower than normal, remove clothing throughout the night, and throw off the blankets. My husband tells me all the time that I hog the covers, but now I routinely wake up with only one layer covering my body. I should be shivering, but I’m not.



• I have difficulty moving because my joints hurt. Almost every day, my hips, knees, and legs feel as though I have run a marathon (and I know what that is like). For example, I was working on a project on the floor (sitting on my knees of course) for about an hour. When I tried to stand up, I couldn’t move. I held onto a bookshelf for support, and I swear it took a full minute for my legs to cooperate. I feel as though I have the bones of someone twice my age.
• I tire easily, but I have never been someone who feels fully rested due to my insomnia. However, this newfound fatigue is affecting every aspect of my daily life. I have an ongoing list of things I must do, and some days I spend so much time trying to get comfortable that I don’t do anything. My new self-esteem rules are if I get one thing done—good, two things—great, three things—outstanding.

Armed with my medical history and current symptoms, I thought Dr. O would blow me off. However, he surprised me. Dr. O believed me! He even agreed with my chiropractor that the tailbone pain and the urinary issues are related. “Absolutely! No question, ” he said. The other symptoms concerned him so he ordered an MRI and a bone scan. The MRI was normal except that it showed inflammation around my tailbone. (Shocker!) The bone scan was normal as well (e.g., no tumors, no bone deterioration). Given all my symptoms, my past health history and my recent health issues last year, Dr. O referred me to a hematologist/oncologist whom I will call Dr. Hemoc. I see him next week.

• One more thing: I don’t know if this is a symptom, but I crave protein all the time, which is ironic since I don’t eat red meat or pork. However, I now consume some form of protein (e.g., turkey, chicken, eggs, legumes) with every meal. I used to snack on sugar-free Popsicles at night, but my new guilty pleasures are raw cashews, turkey jerky, and organic peanut butter out of the jar. Non-stop protein!

For now, I avoid sitting on my tailbone at all costs and carry my coccyx cushion whenever I must sit. At night, I like to read in bed so I recline on a heating pad that I turn off as I fall asleep. (I did burn myself once though.) I lie down on my side on our couch. I take painkillers when absolutely necessary, but I don’t like to because 1) they don’t help much, 2) they make me sleepy, and 3) they make me constipated (more TMI). Sometimes, a heavy dose of ibuprofen helps with the joint pain. I take vitamins and prescription medication daily, but that TMI is reserved for a licensed physician!

While I appreciate sympathy, I don’t need it. I want answers. Having run a disease-based nonprofit for eight years, I possess some medical knowledge. I have researched my symptoms, but there is no diagnosis that seems to fit all of them. Of course, Dr. House would know which ones to rule out, which ones caused the others, etc. Hopefully, Dr. Hemoc will run dozens of blood tests that will crack my curious case. Otherwise, I might end up on Mystery Diagnosis, which is not how I wanted to make my television debut.

AWW — XoXo

P.S. I beg you to share this post with any doctor whom you trust. Thank you!

Posted under Health | 5 Comments »

I reread my last few blogs, and I decided that I must lighten up. I always have a dozen blog topics swarming in my head at any given time so I chose something light and fluffy:
I ♥ hearts. Love them. Obsessed would be a more accurate word. And like many things in life, my love of hearts began when I was a child.

Don’t get me wrong. I was never one of those girls who dotted her i’s with hearts; that practice seemed too cute, too girlie for the tomboy in me. Not to mention, it’s just bad penmanship. However, I adored Valentine’s Day, which is strictly a popularity contest in elementary school. I didn’t care so much about how many valentines I received (okay, I cared a little), but quality ultimately trumped quantity. Did I receive a valentine that included a lollipop? More importantly, did my best friend, the boy whom I had loved for years, give me his heart? Back then, I read too much into an artificial holiday. I blame the hearts.

Another experience that added to my obsession was touching a real heart. One day in either fifth or sixth grade, our teacher announced that we were going to see a cow’s heart because the cow had recently died. All I could think was Poor Cow and Yuck! I hated science. When we lined up for our turn to touch the heart, I dreaded it. The organ was as big as my head. Our teacher encouraged us to stick our fingers in the aorta. Being a good student, I did as I was told. I was shocked that my finger fit, and when I pulled it out, a glob of clotty blood followed. I gasped, but then I wiped my finger on the heart, which was covered in fatty tissue.

The man who brought in the cow’s heart also showed us a human heart, and that experience was far less exciting. The human heart was not fresh; it had been stored in a scientist’s lab for too long. When the man presented it to the class (we were not allowed to touch this heart) it looked like a bad piece of chicken—a huge letdown after the cow’s heart. I knew we were not permitted to, but I wanted to watch the beating heart pump blood. I wanted to see the muscle that supports life. I wanted to touch the organ that represents love.

Even though they don’t look like much, by high school, I was drawing hearts in my binders whenever I was bored in class. Small hearts, big hearts, shaded hearts, half hearts, broken hearts, hearts with arrows, hearts with eyes. If I could insert a heart into my abstract doodle, I would. The heart sketches continued throughout college; in fact, the thing I enjoy most about looking at my old notes is counting how many hearts I drew and seeing how they differed. It didn’t matter who I was dating at the time, the hearts were never related to a specific man. For me, they have always represented all types of love.

Even though I couldn’t care less about Valentine’s Day anymore, I still ♥ hearts. (I adore Jim Dine’s heart art.) I still draw hearts. Simple ones now. Nothing fancy. I like getting the shape perfect. I also like hearing the heart beat whether it is from a strenuous workout, an echocardiogram, or a simple stethoscope. One muscle—without it—we cannot live. No wonder I ♥ hearts.

AWW — XoXo

P.S. I can’t remember the last time I drew a heart, which tells me how much my ♥ hurts right now.

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Ever since I heard the expression “Depression is anger turned inward” I have wondered what actually causes depression because that statement seems not only simplistic to me, but it also does not apply to my situation. Finally, I asked my very experienced psychiatrist what he thought, and he listed three major causes of depression: Loss, Genes, and Anger.*

Loss
Look around you and think about how much you could lose and how you would feel if you did. You could lose your loved ones (e.g., death, divorce), your money, your house, your job, your self-esteem, your dreams, etc. You could lose your material items. My grandparents’ house burned to the ground when I was a child, and they lost almost everything—except their photo scrapbooks. When I touched the albums’ charred edges, I understood why my grandfather grabbed them at the last minute despite the smoke that must have been choking his lungs. In that moment, I fell in love with photography because even if you lose a loved one, the camera captures their images and preserves your memories. If our home suddenly went up in flames, I would save the three P’s—people, pets, and pictures—in that order.

Genes
Unfortunately, we have no control over our genes, and our genetic makeup can determine our predisposition to mental illnesses such as depression; schizophrenia; and bipolar, personality and anxiety disorders (to name a few). Sometimes, I feel like I could throw a dart at the DSM-IV, hit a diagnosis, and name someone in my mother’s family. However, many people never develop any mental issues despite their DNA. In some cases though, people who appear to have perfect lives (e.g., no losses) may still develop a mental disorder due to a chemical imbalance in their brains. I am not saying people are not responsible for their behavior, but understanding the cause is crucial to treating the problem especially since our society often self-medicates in order to feel better. (Hope you’re listening, Miss Lohan!)

Anger

Ahh … anger … the cause of depression that I don’t fully comprehend. Sure, I feel angry sometimes, but I don’t walk around hating myself. I may not be perfect, but neither is anyone else. I don’t always make the best decisions. I am often too blunt (you wouldn’t believe how much I really restrain myself), but overall, I possess a good heart. If I care about you, I love you with such depth that if I tried to explain it, I fear my emotion would scare you. However, that pendulum of intense passion swings both directions. Don’t piss me off because I don’t get mad at myself. I focus my anger on the person who upsets me so I didn’t get the whole “Depression is anger turned inward” concept until I witnessed it a few weeks ago.

In a support group that I occasionally attend, a man whom I’ll call Richard has to be the most self-loathing individual I have ever met in my entire life. On an intellectual level, Richard understands his depression, that anger causes it, and the source of his anger. However, he still believes the cure to his self-hatred is the right woman’s love. Now I’m sure his numerous therapists and psychiatrists have explained to him that no one will love him until he loves himself. Richard has attended support groups and self-help meetings for years. By all appearances, he participates in his “recovery.” Although he did give one female shrink an ultimatum that if she didn’t love him, he would leave her. Guess what happened?

I have only met Richard twice; yet, I know more about his personal life than I should because Richard dominates the group. He twists every topic back to his desperate search for love. When I offered that people often meet someone when they are not looking, but there is nothing wrong with trying, he made a snarky comment about me being married. After gritting my teeth and chewing my lip at the last meeting, I realized I had to find another group. If I ever see Richard again and hear him whine about how a woman will fix him, I know the devil in me will say, “Go jump off a bridge already, will ya? I hear no one survives the Golden Gate. I’ll even drive you there.” Terrible, I know, but at least I direct my anger toward the person who deserves it.

I cannot empathize with Richard, but I should sympathize with him. However, my inability to do so reminds me of the many people who don’t understand the cause of my depression. I cannot count how many times I’ve heard “Get over it” or I’ve seen those unspoken words reflected in someone’s eyes when I cry over my sister Adrienne. Nine years? Seems like yesterday to me, asshole.

I won’t return to that particular support group. I mean, who needs chipped teeth and chapped lips? But seriously, I don’t want to be one of those people who says something horrible to Richard. I wonder though, if I angered him, if he could stop being mad at himself—if only for a moment.

AWW — XoXo

P.S. The photo of the house on fire is not my grandparents’ home, but it closely resembles it.

*These causes of depression are my psychiatrist’s experience, and he listed them in this order of common occurrence: Loss, Anger, and Genes. After some research, I discovered that physical factors (e.g., hormonal changes) can also cause depression. For more information, visit Web MD Depression and the Mayo Clinic.

Posted under Adrienne & Health | 1 Comment »