How Would I Know? by Debra Jo Myers

As I write this, Easter is near. It makes me remember my mom getting me up on that Sunday morning, and putting on my new dress, shoes, and hat for church.  After we had a big dinner at Aunt Sue’s with my cousins. My favorite part was the Easter egg hunt! Uncle Ron would hide dozens of eggs outside with candy and change inside. One gold egg had a $1 bill, so we all tried to find it first. I didn’t understand what Easter really signified. Some years it was the only time we went to church. It wasn’t because Mom didn’t want to or didn’t believe. I think it was because by Sunday, all she wanted was rest. When we went to church, it was First Baptist. I remember my mom sometimes said a prayer before dinner, and she did tell us to say our prayers before bedtime. I would ask God to take care of us, give us food and shelter, and take care of sick people.

When we’re young, we don’t have control over our religious actions or beliefs. They come from parents, grandparents, siblings, teachers…and the church itself. I had a children’s Bible with stories I liked to read, but honestly, I thought they were just stories. They talked about heaven too. I thought they were make-believe stories like my other books were. 

One Easter when I was in third grade, we got baskets of candy at school from our teacher. She told us we couldn’t eat any until we got home. As we were leaving, I was sneaking to open up my ring pop. A boy leaned up and whispered to me “If you eat that now, you will go to H-E double hockey sticks!” I knew that was a bad word, and I told him so. He said it wasn’t a bad word, it was where the devil lived. He said he was going to heaven to be with God, because he was going to do what the teacher said. Walking the nine blocks home to my house sucking on my ring pop, I started wondering if I was really going to H-E double hockey sticks. I don’t think I understood God at all, but that night I prayed.  I said I was sorry for eating my ring pop before I got home. I asked God to let me go to heaven.

As I got older, I heard and read more about God and heaven. When I was twelve, I went to a weekend camp sponsored by the church. It was there that I learned that you either believed or you didn’t believe. I was a smart kid, so I was intrigued to figure out which category I fit in. There was a girl at camp I knew in middle school, Denise. When it came to religion, she seemed to know more than any of my friends. I didn’t know her well, but she wanted to help me. She said she loved spreading the "word of God."

Denise told me I would get messages from heaven from loved ones who had died and gone there. She told me stories about messages she’d received from her great grandma, June. My Pawpaw had never sent me a message. He was the only person close to me who had died then. Denise said I needed to believe the Bible was true. She told me if I went to church every Sunday, I would be a believer. As I mentioned, I was inquisitive. I needed to do research, to get facts about God, Jesus, heaven and hell, miracles, and these messages.

I learned religion is based on faith. Parts of the bible can’t be proven. To have proof that God exists, you have to BE God. Denise had been right and wrong. The bible may not all be factual since it a combination of 66 books written about hundreds of people. There are parts that are actual historical events. Others contain what can be described as symbolic, yet they teach love and faith. After asking questions without definitive answers, I spent the next decade confused, not willing to commit, and unsure what I believed.  

It was after my dad, Ernie, died suddenly of a heart attack when I was 26, that I felt compelled to learn more about heaven and hell. He was only 48. We didn’t have much of a relationship after he and mom divorced when I was young. I was struggling with why he had to die just when I had reconnected with him. Two weeks earlier, he’d met my two daughters for the first time. But I didn’t remember him ever going to church. I don’t think I ever heard him talk about God or faith.

Friends at his funeral said they were praying for me, and that Dad was in a better place. The preacher giving the sermon didn’t know my dad. I listened closely as he talked about life after death in heaven with God. I was afraid. As horrible as it is to say, I wasn’t sure if my dad was in heaven. But what was the alternative? Surely, he wasn’t in hell. It seems that death is as mysterious as life can be.

I wanted to be a believer. I wanted the facts and the lessons. I got a Living Bible and started reading. I became hooked on finding answers to my questions through its words. I was working full-time and raising three children, but each night I read and prayed.

At 36, I got my first "Message from Heaven." I was in the kitchen cleaning up supper. My seven-year-old son, Derek, randomly asked me about my dad. I rarely talked to my children about him, especially Derek, since he died before he was born. I began telling him about his grandpa Ernie. I left out that my dad was an alcoholic, that he’d spent time in prison, and that I hardly knew him. What I did tell him were the great things about Grandpa.

Derek loved basketball. My dad was a star in high school. He held the free throw record for twenty years. My dad played with us whenever he was home. He got down on his hands and knees and gave us horseback rides. We went to his softball games. He got hot dogs and popcorn for us while we watched. He liked to tease mom and scare her, so she’d scream, and we’d laugh. Derek loved hearing the stories, and afterwards he went outside to tell his friends about his grandpa Ernie.   

Back at the kitchen sink, I looked out the window. There it was. My first message from heaven. I had never seen a caterpillar climbing up this window. How did I know it was a message from heaven? Whenever my dad would find caterpillars in our backyard, he brought them inside for us to see and feel. There it was. My message. My dad must be in heaven. It was the first of many more to follow. I am no longer confused or uncommitted. I have to admit there are still times when doubt creeps in, but I have faith. I am a believer, not because of facts. Because of "Messages from Heaven."   

 

 

 

TAKE YOUR MOMENTS

by Debby Myers

Elvin Myers

My husband just got a phone call that his father has passed away. My father-in-law was 86 and he suffered from Alzheimer’s disease. Although I didn’t meet him until seven years ago, I’ve heard from many that he had a long, wonderful life. When an older person dies, that is often the comment you hear most.

What I see in him is a man who had many experiences―some breathtaking, some tragic, some hysterical―and he was strong, proud and loved. As he began to deteriorate from the man I knew, I didn’t want to remember him in that way. I couldn’t bring myself to go see him the past few months, knowing he was dying. I think it was because every time I lose someone I love, my memories of them come flooding back. I want my memories of him to be when he was talking and smiling…living. It may sound selfish to some.

My own father died almost 30 years ago at the age of 48. No one said he had a long,

Ernie Range

wonderful life. On the contrary, he’d had a rough one. It was a heart attack, sudden but not really unexpected. My parents were divorced and I hadn’t see him much―not since I was a teenager. Yet he was still my dad. That connection was there.

I’ve been told you can see him in me. My memories of him are so vague. I wish I’d known him better and I wish I’d spent more time with him. I wish we had talked about his childhood, his memories. Hindsight is definitely 20/20.

The death of a parent is different than any other. They gave you life and it feels like a part of who you are dies with them. In my case, the loss was overwhelming. I needed to fill that void with memories―the good ones—of my dad. I was angry because there were so few, so long ago.

None of my children ever knew my dad, so I am their only link to him. Whenever I got the chance, I would tell them something about him. That he loved basketball, that he made up little nicknames for me and all my friends, that he liked to drive, and loved Elvis Presley.

I’m so glad my husband will have so many memories of his father to share with our grandchildren about their great-grandfather. That’s the circle of life we speak about. It’s so important to keep one’s spirit alive after they pass. In truth, it’s the one thing I think they want―not to be forgotten. It’s so important to tell our children and grandchildren stories of those who have gone. I wonder what my children will remember about me. I like to think I’ve given them many good memories.

In all aspects of my life, I’ve stuck by a phrase. In 4th grade I was cast in a play at school called “Cowboy on the Moon.” From a young age, I remember wanting to be in the spotlight and I had no fear of performing, sometimes to a fault. At one of our final rehearsals, my teacher, Mrs. Demuth, said to me, “Take your moments up there and help others have their moments too. Your moments are how you will be remembered.”

So, readers―do it! Take your moments! Over the next several weeks, our family will be sharing their moments of my father-in-law. May he now rest in peace and know he will be remembered.

Climbing into the day...

We didn't mean to, but my friend Debby Myers and I seem to be doing a little series on grief and depression. Mine is at Peru Indiana Today and Deb's is here. The fact that we both wrote on it at virtually the same time without the other knowing made me think about how many people are in anguish, be it physical, emotional, or mental. How many people are suffering in silence? In aloneness? Thinking there is no light at the end of their personal tunnel? It's important to share it and to take care of it. Sometimes finding someone to talk to is your first step to "getting out of bed."

Thanks, Debby, for sharing this part of your journey. I feel privileged that you write for the Window. - Liz

Why do you get out of bed in the morning? Have you ever really asked yourself? Oh, sure, you have the usual reasons―go to work, go to school, go visit friends. But what if you didn’t have anywhere to go? What if you couldn’t go even if you wanted to? Would you get out of bed? After all, sleeping is how we spend 35 percent of our lives. Being in bed is where we are most comfortable, where we are relaxed. Why get up? Do you have to have a reason? If you didn’t have to, would you?

Getting out of bed each morning is really a matter of self-worth. In my opinion and from my experience, it’s something you have to do for yourself and no one else. It’s how we are meant to spend the other 65 percent of our lives―out of bed. Getting up, making the bed, eating breakfast, taking a shower, and getting dressed are all activities we do for ourselves. In my situation, I don’t have to get out of bed. I don’t have to hurry off anywhere, don’t have to go to work, can’t drive anymore to go visit friends or family.

For a while, I didn’t. I stayed in bed all day sometimes and never left my bedroom except to potty. I didn’t want to eat and I didn’t care about myself. Getting up for me meant more pain, more struggles, more facing my new reality.

But it’s when you don’t get out of bed in the morning that you know you may have sunk into depression. Often nothing or no one can pull you up except you. It’s not easy. I kept thinking, who cares if I get up or how I look? No one is coming over. I have nowhere to go. Why not stay where I am most comfortable and relaxed?

In my case, as I lay in bed in my jammies with the TV on at two in the afternoon, I wasn’t really paying attention to what was on. Yet somewhere in my subconscious, I heard a woman say, “You can never really love someone else until you love yourself.” Of course, I’d heard that phrase before, but this time it must have really stuck. I dozed off to sleep again and began dreaming about all of those I love―my husband, my parents, my children and grandchildren. But not myself.

When I woke up, I got up out of bed. I made the bed, ate, took a shower, and got dressed. I stood and looked in the mirror for a long time thinking about what that woman had said. I decided to put on makeup and style my hair. Afterward I looked in the mirror again and said out loud, “I love myself, I love myself, I love myself.” But the truth was – I knew right then, at that moment, I didn’t.

I had to do something. I didn’t really want to spend my life hiding in my bedroom. I needed help. I went on the portal for my neurologist. I wrote to her explaining and admitting for the first time that I was suffering from depression. Me―depression. Two words I never thought would be linked in the same sentence. She told me to make a list of reasons to stay in bed and reasons to get up each morning. Surprisingly the reasons to get up heavily outweighed the reasons to stay in bed. She also pointed out the obvious―that I had recently learned I had multiple sclerosis.

Finding out that you have a chronic illness and learning to live with it is like when you suffer the loss of a loved one, only that loved one is you. In an instant, your whole life changes and you lose who you used to be. My neurologist took me through all the five stages of loss.

1.   Grief – I’d had plenty of that and survived that one.

2.   Denial – already conquered that one too.

3.   Isolation – just got through that one.

4.   Depression – that’s where I am now.

5.   Acceptance ― This was the one I needed to survive and conquer now.

I am so close to that last stage, so close to accepting and loving this new version of me. I've accepted that I don't have to lose who I used to be. I have to accept and love who I'm becoming. Number Four still holds me back sometimes. That is the reason my neurologist had me complete the list. So when that depression creeps in, I can look at the reasons I DO have to get out of bed in the morning. Most days it works, but just like with loss, I can slip back into any of the stages any time. My goal for now is to stop lying in bed wondering, "Why do you get out of bed in the morning?" It's then I'll feel that I've moved on to Number Five. 

She floats through the air... @Debby Myers

When I was six years old, my mom sat down with me and explained that we lived in a circus town. She told me some of the history of the circus in Peru and that my cousin, Dottie, had been in it for a couple of years. But it was what she said next that changed my life. She asked me if I wanted to be IN the circus. Of course, I said YES!

And so it began…10 years of devoting five months of my time each year, including every summer, to the Peru Amateur Circus. My first couple of years I was in Double Swinging Ladders. I was so fortunate to be trained by Tom and Betty Hodgini. By no means an easy act, the Swinging Ladders swung six feet in the air while the performers did tricks, including hanging upside down by one foot. I was terrified of that trick. Just a week before final cuts, Betty came to me and said, “If you can’t do that trick, you won’t make the act. You have natural talent and you must overcome your fear.” The next day at practice I asked to be the first to go up--I wanted to conquer that trick. And guess what – I made the act! 

I loved being in the circus. It was like a big family. Right away I was in awe of the trapeze acts. I

asked my mom to get me a trapeze to practice on at home, like the ones they had at the circus building. On my birthday that year, Dottie’s dad brought me a REAL trapeze that he had made. He made a lot of the trapezes for the circus and was I lucky to have him as my uncle. Once that trapeze was hung on the tree in our front yard, that was where I spent all my time. Mom even put an old mattress underneath it in case I fell. 

When I was almost 11, I decided I wanted to try out for different acts. I tried out for five acts, but we were only allowed to make three. I made Side-by-Side Trapeze with my partner, Beverly. We did tricks on the low bar and up on the ropes on a still double trapeze. I was fortunate to be trained by Willie Wilno, who used to be a human cannonball. I was also in Balancing Bike. The driver would ride around in a circle as the performers mounted the bike and did tricks. Because I’d become fearless, mine was to stand on his shoulders. The last act I made was Adagio, where I climbed all over my partner doing flips off him, wrap arounds and lifts. I even got to go on road shows and perform on “Bozo’s Circus.” What kid doesn’t dream about that? As much as I loved all these acts, I had my eye on something bigger…and higher.

I wanted to try out for Low Casting. It’s a lower version of High Flying. Performers swing out on a trapeze, go into a trick and are caught by a catcher. I’d been practicing a lot at home – swinging out and letting go, landing on my mattress. I was ready to take that step.

At 12, I experienced death close-up for the first time when my Grandpa died. I went through my

father’s fight with alcoholism and the court hearing that would send him to prison on his 14th DUI. We were moving out of the house where my trapeze was since my parents were getting a divorce. The circus had now become something more for me--it was an escape. When I made Low Casting, I thought it was the best thing that could happen to me -  I was a flyer!

That year and the next I was in Low Casting, Balancing Bike and Single Swinging Ladders. One of the most exciting things to me was that all three acts were performed in the center ring. During those two years I overcame so much. Being a part of the circus gave me confidence and a sense of self-worth.

In 1977 I became a member of the “Flying Freebirds” Trapeze act – the act that closed every show and was the dream of every young child in the circus. My first year in the act, my idol – a girl named Bo - attempted a double somersault with a full twist. Every show for 10 shows she’d get three chances. It was so nerve wracking for all of us each time she’d miss. On her third attempt at the final show, she and the catcher grabbed hands and everyone in the arena exploded into cheers and applause. It is one of the most exciting moments in my entire life to this day. 

I flew for three years. It was hard work and we practiced every night for three hours. My last year in flying, we were practicing a trick called “Passing Leap.” The catcher caught me by my legs and as he turned me to go back to the trapeze, my partner did a somersault over me and grabbed the catcher as he released me to the bar. Just two weeks before the shows were to open, my partner came out of his somersault early and kicked me in the back, sending me hurtling toward the ground. I missed the net altogether. A spotter under the net caught the top half of my body. My heels hit the cement, crushing bones in both heels. The spotter and I both bruised our tailbones, but she saved my life. I still performed in the shows that year, but we never did the “Passing Leap” again. 

That was my tenth year in the circus and I was 16. Suddenly other things demanded my attention – my boyfriend, my car, my friends, school activities. I’d missed cheerleading camp the year before for circus. I wanted to have that new experience, so I left the circus that summer. I took so many friendships and memories with me. I’m not sure I’d have survived that 10 years without the circus. So if you have children and you live in Miami County – let your children join the circus! There aren’t too many who ever have that chance. And when they’re older and someone asks them something no one would ever guess about them, they can say like I can, “I was a flyer in flying trapeze in the circus!”

“May you live as long as you laugh and laugh as long as you live!” @ Debby Myers

A few weeks ago, I wrote a piece on directing in community theater. To my surprise, a lot of you took an interest in it. I referred to several things that I said I’d tell you more about later. I think you’ll have as much fun reading about another side of directing.

The “Ole Gods” are often disturbed when opening week is looming at the end of my directing experience and my frustration has put me into a fetal position. Now keep in mind that I am a perfectionist. I forget I’m working with amateur volunteers who sometimes don’t take theater quite as seriously as I do. Praying to the “Ole Gods” is my next step. I could tell you that they don’t really exist, but it wouldn’t explain how much better it makes me feel to get everything off my chest! And when opening night comes, I feel the presence of the “Ole Gods” when the cast pulls off a fantastic performance and all my frustration vanishes.

The big royalty mishap I talked about in the last piece happened a few years ago when both the board and membership approved my request to co-direct Grease. I was so excited and couldn’t wait to get started on it. My co-director and I applied for royalties, ordered scripts, got together to talk about the set and made a date for auditions. About a week before we were to start, we received an email from the company holding the rights to the show. Basically, it said that because our

theater only seats 60 people at a time, they didn’t feel the venue would work for the production. Weeks of work had gone down the drain and now we had a limited amount of time to find another show. This isn’t even the first time that has happened. If the play you’ve selected is on tour or being performed by a group within a 60-mile radius, the royalty request will be denied. As a director, you can’t apply for royalties until the show is approved by the membership, so that possibility is always there.

Mark S. Esch

When it comes to casting, I told you I make the final choice and I like to take chances. I think I proved that in the very first show I ever directed, Forty Carats. I was fresh off having been an assistant to a veteran director. I needed five women and five men for the show. I had a very good turnout for auditions, which gave me many different choices. There was a new woman who came. She had never been to an audition or been on stage. She was nervous, apprehensive and

inquisitive. Yet I was very impressed with her – she showed a lot of courage and energy. My panel at the table with me wrote down their choices for all the female parts, but her name wasn’t on any of their lists. After everyone left, I made a bold decision. I cast the woman as the lead! Despite all the flack I took for it, she was fantastic!

In my previous article I talked about blocking – I am the “Blocking Nazi!” I want movement on the stage all the time. I want all the movement to look natural. My pet peeve is walking backwards on the stage. I mean…do you walk backwards? I want to create tableaus whenever possible. I tell the actors that knowing their blocking is as important as knowing their lines. Hence the nickname.

I directed a two-person play called Same Time Next Year. Although I had set a deadline for the actors to be “off book,” this was the first show I’d done with a cast of two who had all the lines – 100 pages! Sometimes we must break our own rules…those two probably never really knew all their lines, but I realized that their chemistry on stage and dedication to the show was what really mattered to our audience – not the lines.

Rehearsals were going great for Miracle Worker, I had decided to start working with the crew. The show was very light intensive and the gentleman who was working the light board was struggling with my notes in his script for the light changes. Directing this play was a milestone for me and I was brutal with the crew about the set, costumes and props. Everyone had really stepped up. However, the further we got into the light cues, the more this gentleman’s

frustration grew. About half way through Act Two, he got up from the light board, walked out of the office and yelled “I quit!” I learned a valuable lesson that day.

There are so many unexpected mishaps that happen with live theater. There was the time an actor went completely blank on stage and yelled to the stage manager “Hey can you help me? I need a line, I’m sinking!”

Another time, an actor missed his cue and he was downstairs. Once he realized it, he barreled up the steps, bolted onto the stage (as the audience was laughing about hearing him running up the steps) and went on without missing a beat. 

One night, an actor broke a glass on the stage and all the other actors kept going as if nothing had happened.

When the ceiling literally fell, one of the actresses calmly lifted it back up as if it was part of the show.

During a storm, the lights suddenly went off in the middle of the show--the actors onstage attempted to keep going, thinking they would come back on. When they didn’t, one of the actresses blurted, “And that’s all folks!”

Finally, there was the time a bat came flying through the Depot during a show as audience members began to duck and scream. One of the actors yelled, “Meet our new cast member – Dracula!”

So now I’ve caught all of you up on the ups and downs of being a director. No matter what gets thrown in your path, you have to laugh!

“May you live as long as you laugh and laugh as long as you live!” - Ole Olsen

*

Debby Myers is with us this week to talk about directing in community theater. A veteran of 15 shows from "behind the camera," she's sharing the process. After reading this, check out Ole Olsen Memorial Theatre Inc., where you can find out all about her next show, Five Women Wearing the Same Dress.

Directing Magic @Debby Myers

Debby Myers is with us this week to talk about directing in community theater. A veteran of 15 shows from "behind the camera," she's sharing the process. After reading this, check out Ole Olsen Memorial Theatre Inc., where you can find out all about her next show, Five Women Wearing the Same Dress.

A good director creates an environment, which gives the actor the encouragement to fly. - Kevin Bacon

Liz asked me to write a piece on directing in community theater. She felt like I should have some knowledge of it since I’ve directed 15 shows for Ole Olsen Memorial Theater here in Peru. It seems, however, that each show brings forth new knowledge and challenges. I’ve directed casts as few as five to as many as 27. There really is no magic wand; however, I often turn my shows over to the “Ole Gods” to finish them! More on that in a later article….

Debby Myers

Honestly, from the time I decided to be a director, I learned that my work isn’t done until the curtain closes on the final performance. It begins with ordering and reading through scripts, then choosing a script and reading it many moretimes. This helps me develop a vision of the playwright’s intentions and how I can bring the script to life – my own interpretation. This sense of “what the play is really about” will shape my thoughts about every other aspect of the production. I then go into the process of investigating royalties and script costs and putting together a budget for the show to present to the Board of Directors and membership for approval. I’ll talk to you about a BIG royalty mishap in the next article…

Once I feel like I know the play inside and out, it’s time to set audition dates to

Debby Myers, Brandi Murphy, Jo Hayes, Anne Loy

cast the show. I study the characters in the script – their intended physical and psychological traits. However, for me, they are just a guideline. With most play scripts, as long as you don’t change the words, you CAN change the characters. Sometimes a male role must be converted to a female or ages must be adjusted to fit those who audition. I select the actors who are best able to bring the characters to life in my vision, even if it’s not the obvious choice to others. I enlist three other experienced directors to be at auditions and give their opinions. Something to know about me is that I am willing to take a chance on someone new to acting. In community theater, the more we increase our members and keep them involved, the more likely they will stay. I let everyone know that the final casting choice will be mine. I have a great story about…oh…next article.

Once the show is cast, I begin scheduling the rehearsals, often to fit the needs of the cast as well as my own. It’s also important to select a crew before casting. All shows require set builders and designers, lighting and sound technicians, a prop person to gather items, a costumer to find and alter costumes as needed, a stage manager, and an assistant director. Surrounding myself with these critical pieces of my production gives me peace of mind to begin to direct. I’ve been brutal a few times when I didn’t…you’ll love this--in the next article.

Blocking the play by adapting the actor’s movements to workable floor plans on the set is my next step. Although most scripts have stage directions I have to determine if they are feasible on our stage. Leading rehearsals, I’ve learned to collaborate creatively with the actors and the technical crew to make the blocking natural, changing it when necessary and allowing the inspiration of the actors themselves. Blocking the show takes up half of my total rehearsal time. Finally, I strongly suggest the actors write their blocking in their scripts to save time later. I have the nickname in our group of “Blocking Nazi”….next article…haha!

Actors draw out character motivations and relationships under my watchful eye because ultimately I make the decisions. I strive to develop these expressions and characters as rehearsals continue. It’s important to me to have excellent communication through notes taken during the rehearsals for each individual actor as well as the group. I always set a deadline for being “off book.” Most often this is two weeks from opening night. There was one time I broke my own rule…next article.

There are many details that I handle behind the scenes. Gathering information from the actors for the show’s program, taking photographs to use for publicity and scheduling media, working closely with the crew as well as with hospitality and tickets. At Ole Olsen, we also seek out a sponsor for each of our productions and I feel like I should be a part of that solicitation.

Debby Myers on set

Something we directors often joke about is becoming “fetal” about a week before opening night. This is when we begin to wonder if we’ve succeeded or failed. Tweaking characters and movements begins to feel like treading water. It’s when I invite in other directors for approval. Of course, there was one time I didn’t like what they told me….next article.

Finally, I must write a “Letter from the Director” for the program and put together a curtain speech and a curtain call. I’m not finished with my work until I feel that pace during the final dress rehearsals and see my vision coming alive – it’s satisfying. I bring together the many complex pieces of a production—the script, actors, set, costuming, lighting, sound, and even all the little stuff —into a unified whole because I love it. For me, as a seasoned director, it’s also often just the reaction of those watching the play that completes me. No matter how much hard work is involved, it’s the finished product that always makes me beam with pride. Not just in myself, but in the whole village it takes to make small town community theater so special, and sometimes unpredictable! Join me for the more mishaps I’ve had as a director if Liz will have me back…next article!

...a journey that must be traveled...

Debby Myers is back with us on the Window today, continuing her story where she left off last week. She'll mention in today's post that she doesn't feel "strong and brave." I think I understand that, but to me, she still is. I'm so glad she's back this week to include us in her journey.

Life is a journey that must be traveled no matter how bad the roads and accommodations.- Oliver Goldsmith

The woman I was before February 22, 2016 no longer exists. She worked 50 hours a week on her feet, supporting her household. She was a social butterfly, always on the move. She was trim and fit. She traveled. She played at the park or jumped on the trampoline with her grandchildren. She cooked, cleaned, and shopped. That woman is gone. That was me & now I’m trying to figure out how to be me again. To be continued…this is where I left off.

So today is Christmas Day. It’s been 22 months since I was diagnosed with Primary Progressive Multiple Sclerosis. It’s literally taken all these months to get my plan of treatment set to move forward – to slow the progression & manage my symptoms. I started infusions of Ocrevus in September, which I’ll receive every six months for…. I guess, forever. I’m taking a drug for spasticity, a drug for nerve pain, a drug for cog-fog, a drug for bowel movements, a drug for inflammation and a drug for digestion and finally a probiotic, magnesium, Vitamin D and my thyroid medicine I’ve been on for 26 years. All that and, still, my most recent MRI showed a new lesion on my spine in my neck between the third and fourth vertebrae.

There’s walking, or should I say falling, which I’m doing more and more often. My right leg being numb, tingly, and buzzing constantly does little for my walking. I just drag it along with it feeling like it weighs 100 pounds. Speaking of pounds, I’ve put on 40 since my leg stopped working. Before that I spent 8-10 hours a day, five days a week, running around a grocery store. Now I can’t run around at all – or walk. Of course, the steroids I’ve taken four times in the last couple of years haven’t helped. I ride a stationary bike every day, but physical therapy has been temporarily ruled out. Not because of my leg, but because of another symptom I’ll live with forever. The MS hug is its nickname. What it really is is severe inflammation of the tiny muscles that hold together the rib cage. This inflammation causes a feeling of tightness, like a girdle, from just below my breasts to my belly button.

The lesion on my spine was the striking force that led to discovering my MS. It’s located right where the nerves split off mid thoracic. In that very spot, I have a pain that feels like a knife in my back. Not that I know how a knife in my back feels, but that’s my best description. Just below that area is my stomach and colon – a part of which became numb because of the attack on my spine. This makes it a challenge to digest and then release food. That one lesion led to my first MRI, which disclosed 15 more lesions on my brain. Although none were active, they were at some point. Therein lies the cause of my cognitive fog, my lack of focus, my reaction to bright lights and sounds, the blurring off and on in my right eye and the occasional screeching sound in my right ear.

Finally, what may be my worst symptom is the fatigue. I have never felt anything like it. Even when I worked in the grocery store the day before Thanksgiving and would come home so exhausted. The hardest thing to accept about it is that I don’t have to have done anything at all and still it comes. Every day, sometimes several times a day, the fatigue is overwhelming. I’ve learned in the last 22 months that when it arrives, no matter where I am, I must stop whatever I’m doing and rest.

So, the woman I used to be was just gone in a flash. And now people call me a survivor, strong and brave. If only I could see me in that way. Most of this time I just feel weak, alone in my feelings. We with MS are snowflakes – no two alike. For the most part, those who don’t have MS aren’t schooled in it. As much as I love my family and friends, I’m pretty sure most of them don’t really get it either.

Yet it could be worse. I could already be in a wheelchair. I could already be dependent on all of them to take care of me. I know all of that….but I still miss the woman I was. And I’m still trying to figure out the woman I am now.

Despite the constant pain and weirdness I live with daily, I have many things to make me happy. I’m spending a lot of time with my four grandchildren – time I never had before when I was working. I’m continuing to enjoy community theater. Even though I can’t really act anymore, as long as I’m able, I want to continue to direct and serve on the Board of Directors. I’m currently the publicity chairman and am enjoying designing programs, newsletters, and flyers. I’m also working on solicitation, finding new advertisers and audience members for our shows. I’m doing a lot more reading and writing.

I spend a lot more time, alone, giving me the opportunity to figure out who I am now. It’s a different me--I didn’t ask for it, but I got it. Telling my story helps. I hope it does the same for you.

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Debby Myers lives in Peru, Indiana with her husband, Alan. She has three grown children. She has four grandchildren. Debby has been involved with Ole Olsen Memorial Theater for 22 years now. This season she will direct her 15th show. Since her diagnosis of Multiple Sclerosis in 2016, she has embarked on doing some writing. I 

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Besides being here last week, a year and a half ago, Debby visited Word Wranglers. Click on the link and read what she shared with us that day.

A Change in Plans

I'm pleased to welcome my friend Debby Myers to the Window today. She has stories to share and a storyteller's voice to do it with. 

I try not to give too much writer advice--I'm not an expert by any means--but I know the place to start a story is where something changes. Debby's story today starts with a huge change. Please make her welcome. 

Life is what happens while you are busy making other plans. - John Lennon

Where did I go? Why am I feeling forced into being someone I’m not? Why do I feel like I’m gone? Only I seem to know that I’m never coming back.

February 22, 2016. One day I will not soon forget. A couple of days earlier, I’d been at work at my job as a co-manager for Kroger. Towards the end of my shift, my right leg kept giving out on me. It felt like it was buzzing, numb, prickly. I thought maybe I was just tired. When I got home, I went to bed.

When my alarm went off at seven a.m., I stepped out of bed and fell. I couldn’t feel my right leg at all. I sat on the edge of the bed and began rubbing my leg. That seemed to help bring the feeling back. I showered and got ready for work, all the while feeling the strange sensations in my leg. I started to feel a sharp pain in my back too. That’s when I decided to make a quick trip to the Redi-Med. I called my husband, who was very concerned. I called my boss to let him know I’d be late, but would be in after my visit to the Redi-Med.

That decision led me to the ER for a cat scan, blood work, and X-rays. The ER doctor said the tests hadn’t revealed anything, but because of the numbness, he was afraid it might be neurological. Neurological--what did that mean? Then he said they would be taking me by ambulance to have an MRI and see a neurologist.

Now, I’d never had an MRI before but just the thought of it terrified me. And an ambulance? Was this an emergency? What was happening to me? This was the beginning of my losing myself. I called my husband. He was on his way. He seemed terrified too. I called my boss. He seemed terrified too. Was I dying?

Once there, I was taken to a room in the neurological wing. For 24 hours after arriving, I sat and waited for someone to tell me what was wrong. I cried, I yelled at nurses, more symptoms arrived. Not only was my right leg numb, I still had the stabbing pain in my back and now I had this squeezing pain in my ribcage and I felt like my head was going to explode.

Finally, they took me for the MRI. Several hours later, a doctor came in. He said I had a mass on my spine, possibly a tumor. By this time, my daughters were there. Now they also looked terrified. A tumor? Were they going to remove it?

The doctor didn’t have any answers yet. He was not a neurologist. He said that they were going to do a spinal tap. What? They were going to stick a huge needle in my spine? Why were they testing my spinal fluid? Did they think this tumor on my spine was cancer? I’d been afraid in my life before, but nothing like this. 

I waited.

A neurologist came into my hospital room where I’d spent two of the most trying days I'd ever known. He explained that I didn’t have a tumor after all. He told me that the mass on my spine was a large sack of inflammation. The inflammation had been the result of my nervous system attacking itself. He said the myelin on my nerve endings had been eaten away, causing my nerves to send mixed signals to the rest of my body. This caused the numbness, buzzing, and prickly feelings as well as the stabbing pain in my back at the sight of the inflammation. It also led to the squeezing in my rib cage.

My first questions seem very stupid to me now. So, do I need to take some medicine? How long until I’m better?

The doctor replied, “You aren’t really going to get better. You have Multiple Sclerosis. There is no cure, but we will manage your condition.”

Multiple Sclerosis? Manage my condition? Wait a minute…I have to get better, right? He said I had had the condition for decades, that I had 15 brain lesions and two on my spine. He said I was lucky that I’d gone this long without an attack. He would send me home with steroids to reduce the inflammation and would see me again in two weeks. At that time, they would start me on an MS drug to help prevent future attacks.

He would initially take me off work for 90 days to see if any of my symptoms subsided enough for me to return. He also told me I should apply for disability. Oh no. I could surely go back to work, right?

The first MS drug I was given caused side effects. More symptoms. I had to go through four months of detox, which made me weak and nauseous.

My short-term disability was exhausted and I was terminated. My disability was denied. The doctor said he couldn’t give a definitive answer as to my ability to work yet and I had to file an appeal.

Shortly after that, my husband said he thought we should get a second opinion. He felt this doctor wasn’t invested in helping me like he should be. So, I got a new neurologist. She made me feel comfortable, because she didn’t pull any punches. But she gave me more bad news. My MS is primary progressive–meaning my symptoms are with me to stay and I won’t have remission, only progression.

So, let’s go back to the first paragraph. Where did I go? Why do I feel like I am gone? Because, in truth, I am gone. The woman I was before February 22 no longer exists. She worked 50 hours a week on her feet, supporting her household. She was a social butterfly, always on the move. She was trim and fit. She traveled. She played at the park or jumped on the trampoline with her grandchildren. She cooked, cleaned, and shopped. That woman is gone. That was me & now I’m trying to figure out how to be me again. To be continued…

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Debby Myers lives in Peru, Indiana with her husband, Alan. She has three grown children. She has four grandchildren who are the apples of her eye - Makenna,Taylor, Izaac & Jameson. Debby is a graduate of Maconaquah High School and International Business College, where she studied business management. Most recently she was employed as a co-manager for Kroger for 15 years. In the past she co-owned & operated a local day care for seven years, worked in development at the Honeywell Center for five years and "played" as a radio personality for Peru's former radio station 98.5 FM for nearly 10 years. Debby has been involved with Ole Olsen Memorial Theater for 22 years now. She has performed, worked backstage, costumed & served on the Board of Directors, where she now serves as Publicity Chairman. But her true love is directing. This season she will direct her 15th show. Debby is also a member of the Ole Olsen Hall of Fame. Since her diagnosis of Multiple Sclerosis in 2016, she has embarked on doing some writing. In her spare time she likes to read, listen to country music, and travel. Having been to 40 of the 50 states, her next destination will be the Eastern part of the US, particularly New York City to see a show on Broadway.  

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A year and a half ago, Debby visited Word Wranglers. Click on the link and read what she shared with us that day.