CREEK ROAD GANG
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Punxsutawney Phil
Jackie Kearinscopyright 2011
Thank God today is the last day of February. It’s been a bad month, for a number of reasons, and it all started with that damn groundhog, Punxsutawney Phil. You see, I try to think of fun things to share with my kids, just to make them smile and to stay connected with them in our busy lives. So in January, when I heard that Punxsutawney Phil was going to send out text messages announcing the results of his shadow status on Groundhog Day, I signed right up. It seemed innocent enough. I would receive a text message from Phil on February the second and forward it to my two boys in college and my daughter, a teacher, hoping that it would make them smile. At 9:45 a.m., on Groundhog Day, I received and then forwarded a text message that said: “Hey, just saw my shadow. I hereby do predict six more weeks of winter. Last one to a Pennsylvania ski lodge is an opossum. -Phil.”
My kids all laughed and sent messages back and we all enjoyed a little moment together, although we’re many miles apart.
What I didn’t know, or even suspect, was that stupid Phil would actually turn out to be correct about six more weeks of winter. Later that week, it started to snow and snow and snow. My mood soured and damn Phil’s weather forecast was no longer funny. I became very irritable and uncertain, like I didn’t have a real grip on myself anymore. You see, like many people, I have a moderate mental depression that ebbs and flows. I take medicine for this problem and am usually quite stable emotionally. I also have Lupus and take numerous medications to keep it in check, as well. In early 2009, at my rheumatologist’s advice, I started seeing a new psychiatrist, hoping that I could decrease the amount of depression meds from five tablets a day to something more manageable. The psychiatrist suggested that I try “Effexor” and I slowly weaned off of what I had been taking, to what finally became three tablets of Effexor. Now, I never really felt that great on Effexor, but slowly got to a pretty stable (albeit, anxious) mood state.
That is until mid-December, when I returned to my rheumatologist and she asked, “How did you manage to gain eighteen pounds in nine months! You just lost twenty pounds after stopping steroids and you’re almost back to where you were when you were on them! You had better get off of that Effexor.”
“Well shit,” I thought, “and a Merry Christmas to big, fat ass me.”
I talked to my psychiatrist and she agreed that we would now have me taper off of Effexor. She warned me that Effexor could have some really bad withdrawal symptoms. Great, why don’t they tell you that before you start taking the medication?
I began tapering right away, but two days after Christmas, I had a hellacious headache and nausea. On the third day, the headache was even worse. On the fourth day my head was about to explode and my eyes were flashing and I kept seeing weird things in my peripheral vision.
I went back up to the full dose of Effexor and felt fine the next day. The psychiatrist said that we should try a slower taper from the drug and added, “Oh, by the way, the lower you get on the Effexor, the worse the withdrawal symptoms might become.”
“Thanks Doc,” I thought.
I followed the new protocol with the meds and the headaches and nausea lessened, but I kept having visual problems and began having really crazy, complex dreams. Then I started to “hear” things, or rather, think that I heard things. For example, I thought my husband, Steve, was watching the Superbowl on Superbowl Sunday, February 7th. I could hear crowds cheering on the TV in our family room. I thought this was unusual because Steve is really not a sports fan. When he came into the kitchen, I asked, “Why are you watching the Superbowl?”
He said, “I’m not watching anything. The TV’s not even on.”
“Oh great,” I thought, “now I’m having auditory hallucinations too.”
Then, that night I dreamt that our Governor, Ed Rendell, was talking to damn Punxsutawney Phil. Governor Rendell was telling Phil that he was going to contact the National Weather Service and have them make it snow more in the next week so that people would believe in the groundhog’s predictions and thus increase tourism in Pennsylvania.
I had been sharing many of my weird dreams with Steve, but that day, when I woke up all disoriented - I said nothing. Now, I knew this was just a crazy dream and that it meant nothing other than I had to get off of the Effexor as soon as possible. But it bothered me. Why this dream? Why Phil? The thoughts kept rolling around in my head.
Then came February 12th and the skies began to dump another twenty inches of snow in the Philadelphia area. I sat on the toilet that morning, watching the snow blow sideways in front of our windows. Then there was a rumbling sound outside. I thought it was thunder, it sounded like thunder, but I couldn’t trust myself anymore.
“Steve!” I yelled. “What was that noise?”
“I thought it was you on the toilet,” he said, teasing me.
“Stop it,” I said. “What was it really?”
“I dunno, thunder I guess. How should I know?”
Well, it was his job to know everything that I didn’t know. I had supported him through seven years of Graduate School, and I expected him to be my own personal source of all knowledge. So I asked him again.
“I don’t know Jackie. I think it was thunder. Maybe it’s the end of the world!”
“It can’t be the end of the world!” I screamed.
“Why not?”
“Well because we have lots of food and I’m caught up with the laundry and the house is clean and I just paid all the bills. That’s why.”
“Ya, okay, whatever you say Jack, will you just come out of the bathroom? By the way - are you still tapering off of the Effexor?”
Yes, I was still weaning off of the drug. Yes, I was still just a little bit unsteady. And yes, secretly, I still thought that bastard groundhog, Phil, just might have something to do with all this weather ruckus. It seemed to snow forever - piles of snow, drifts of snow. When the winds died down, Steve and I went out to shovel our driveway and stairs. Steve thought we were finished when I reminded him that we still had to shovel the sidewalks.
“I’m not doing that,” he said, “no one is walking anywhere. Who cares, let’s just go inside.”
We went indoors, but I started to obsess about shoveling the sidewalks. “Should we do it tomorrow?” I thought. “We could get a ticket from the police if we don’t get it done. Do they give warnings? I think we got a warning last year…”
I kept asking Steve, “What about shoveling the sidewalks, the sidewalks, the sidewalks.”
He just repeated over and again, with increasing anger, “I’m not doing the sidewalks! No one’s walking anywhere!”
“But that’s because they can’t, because the sidewalks aren’t shoveled,” I reasoned.
“Just stop obsessing about it Jack! Jesus Christ - what’s with you, is it still the Effexor withdrawal?”
“I’m feeling better,” I lied. Oh my God, if he knew what was rattling around in my head, he’d have me committed.
That Sunday, two or three days after the storm, was
Valentine’s Day. Steve and I had decided to postpone our Valentine’s dinner until later in the week, when the roads (and sidewalks) were all cleared. I thought that I would take the day to try to snap out of my medication induced, withdrawal symptoms. I was down to the lowest prescribed dose of Effexor. I would get a grip on myself. I would end this craziness once and for all. I decided to stop my sidewalk obsession by going outside to clear the snow from in front of our house. It was a lovely day, sunny, somewhat warm, and even the snow was lovely to look at. It actually felt better to be shoveling the snow from the front of our house, rather than just letting it bother me. I worked slowly but steadily, breathing in the cool winter air. There now, I felt calmer and more settled within myself. I was walking back to the garage, when my next door neighbor shouted, “Don’t put that shovel away Jackie! We’re supposed to get a lot more snow next week!”
I forced a smile but my crazy brain was thinking one word, “Phil.”
I knew I had to stop this. I was letting a story about a groundhog drive me crazy!
I waited until my neighbor went inside and then made certain that no one else was within earshot. This had to be done. I looked upward, took a deep breath and screamed, “Fuck you, Punxsutawney Phil!’ I threw my shovel on the back stairs and the vibration made the snow from the back roof of our house roar and rumble to the ground.
I felt better. I was done with this madness. I would put it behind me at last.
I quietly went back into the house and was taking off layers of clothing when Steve hollered from the downstairs bathroom, “Jack, what was that loud noise outside?”
“Oh crap,” I thought. The snow had fallen right by the window that was behind him. What to say…
“How the hell should I know, Steve? I thought it was you on the toilet!”
I’m back, baby.
Biographical Note: Jackie Kearins was born and raised in Massachusetts. She studied Medical Assisting in college and has worked in doctor’s offices, clinical hospital and basic research laboratories ever since. In 2005, Jackie left her profession to become a full-time homemaker. She began taking an autobiographical writing class in January 2009. She lives in the Philadelphia suburbs with her husband, three children and two cats. See Author Index Prose A-K for more of Jackie's stories.
My kids all laughed and sent messages back and we all enjoyed a little moment together, although we’re many miles apart.
What I didn’t know, or even suspect, was that stupid Phil would actually turn out to be correct about six more weeks of winter. Later that week, it started to snow and snow and snow. My mood soured and damn Phil’s weather forecast was no longer funny. I became very irritable and uncertain, like I didn’t have a real grip on myself anymore. You see, like many people, I have a moderate mental depression that ebbs and flows. I take medicine for this problem and am usually quite stable emotionally. I also have Lupus and take numerous medications to keep it in check, as well. In early 2009, at my rheumatologist’s advice, I started seeing a new psychiatrist, hoping that I could decrease the amount of depression meds from five tablets a day to something more manageable. The psychiatrist suggested that I try “Effexor” and I slowly weaned off of what I had been taking, to what finally became three tablets of Effexor. Now, I never really felt that great on Effexor, but slowly got to a pretty stable (albeit, anxious) mood state.
That is until mid-December, when I returned to my rheumatologist and she asked, “How did you manage to gain eighteen pounds in nine months! You just lost twenty pounds after stopping steroids and you’re almost back to where you were when you were on them! You had better get off of that Effexor.”
“Well shit,” I thought, “and a Merry Christmas to big, fat ass me.”
I talked to my psychiatrist and she agreed that we would now have me taper off of Effexor. She warned me that Effexor could have some really bad withdrawal symptoms. Great, why don’t they tell you that before you start taking the medication?
I began tapering right away, but two days after Christmas, I had a hellacious headache and nausea. On the third day, the headache was even worse. On the fourth day my head was about to explode and my eyes were flashing and I kept seeing weird things in my peripheral vision.
I went back up to the full dose of Effexor and felt fine the next day. The psychiatrist said that we should try a slower taper from the drug and added, “Oh, by the way, the lower you get on the Effexor, the worse the withdrawal symptoms might become.”
“Thanks Doc,” I thought.
I followed the new protocol with the meds and the headaches and nausea lessened, but I kept having visual problems and began having really crazy, complex dreams. Then I started to “hear” things, or rather, think that I heard things. For example, I thought my husband, Steve, was watching the Superbowl on Superbowl Sunday, February 7th. I could hear crowds cheering on the TV in our family room. I thought this was unusual because Steve is really not a sports fan. When he came into the kitchen, I asked, “Why are you watching the Superbowl?”
He said, “I’m not watching anything. The TV’s not even on.”
“Oh great,” I thought, “now I’m having auditory hallucinations too.”
Then, that night I dreamt that our Governor, Ed Rendell, was talking to damn Punxsutawney Phil. Governor Rendell was telling Phil that he was going to contact the National Weather Service and have them make it snow more in the next week so that people would believe in the groundhog’s predictions and thus increase tourism in Pennsylvania.
I had been sharing many of my weird dreams with Steve, but that day, when I woke up all disoriented - I said nothing. Now, I knew this was just a crazy dream and that it meant nothing other than I had to get off of the Effexor as soon as possible. But it bothered me. Why this dream? Why Phil? The thoughts kept rolling around in my head.
Then came February 12th and the skies began to dump another twenty inches of snow in the Philadelphia area. I sat on the toilet that morning, watching the snow blow sideways in front of our windows. Then there was a rumbling sound outside. I thought it was thunder, it sounded like thunder, but I couldn’t trust myself anymore.
“Steve!” I yelled. “What was that noise?”
“I thought it was you on the toilet,” he said, teasing me.
“Stop it,” I said. “What was it really?”
“I dunno, thunder I guess. How should I know?”
Well, it was his job to know everything that I didn’t know. I had supported him through seven years of Graduate School, and I expected him to be my own personal source of all knowledge. So I asked him again.
“I don’t know Jackie. I think it was thunder. Maybe it’s the end of the world!”
“It can’t be the end of the world!” I screamed.
“Why not?”
“Well because we have lots of food and I’m caught up with the laundry and the house is clean and I just paid all the bills. That’s why.”
“Ya, okay, whatever you say Jack, will you just come out of the bathroom? By the way - are you still tapering off of the Effexor?”
Yes, I was still weaning off of the drug. Yes, I was still just a little bit unsteady. And yes, secretly, I still thought that bastard groundhog, Phil, just might have something to do with all this weather ruckus. It seemed to snow forever - piles of snow, drifts of snow. When the winds died down, Steve and I went out to shovel our driveway and stairs. Steve thought we were finished when I reminded him that we still had to shovel the sidewalks.
“I’m not doing that,” he said, “no one is walking anywhere. Who cares, let’s just go inside.”
We went indoors, but I started to obsess about shoveling the sidewalks. “Should we do it tomorrow?” I thought. “We could get a ticket from the police if we don’t get it done. Do they give warnings? I think we got a warning last year…”
I kept asking Steve, “What about shoveling the sidewalks, the sidewalks, the sidewalks.”
He just repeated over and again, with increasing anger, “I’m not doing the sidewalks! No one’s walking anywhere!”
“But that’s because they can’t, because the sidewalks aren’t shoveled,” I reasoned.
“Just stop obsessing about it Jack! Jesus Christ - what’s with you, is it still the Effexor withdrawal?”
“I’m feeling better,” I lied. Oh my God, if he knew what was rattling around in my head, he’d have me committed.
That Sunday, two or three days after the storm, was
Valentine’s Day. Steve and I had decided to postpone our Valentine’s dinner until later in the week, when the roads (and sidewalks) were all cleared. I thought that I would take the day to try to snap out of my medication induced, withdrawal symptoms. I was down to the lowest prescribed dose of Effexor. I would get a grip on myself. I would end this craziness once and for all. I decided to stop my sidewalk obsession by going outside to clear the snow from in front of our house. It was a lovely day, sunny, somewhat warm, and even the snow was lovely to look at. It actually felt better to be shoveling the snow from the front of our house, rather than just letting it bother me. I worked slowly but steadily, breathing in the cool winter air. There now, I felt calmer and more settled within myself. I was walking back to the garage, when my next door neighbor shouted, “Don’t put that shovel away Jackie! We’re supposed to get a lot more snow next week!”
I forced a smile but my crazy brain was thinking one word, “Phil.”
I knew I had to stop this. I was letting a story about a groundhog drive me crazy!
I waited until my neighbor went inside and then made certain that no one else was within earshot. This had to be done. I looked upward, took a deep breath and screamed, “Fuck you, Punxsutawney Phil!’ I threw my shovel on the back stairs and the vibration made the snow from the back roof of our house roar and rumble to the ground.
I felt better. I was done with this madness. I would put it behind me at last.
I quietly went back into the house and was taking off layers of clothing when Steve hollered from the downstairs bathroom, “Jack, what was that loud noise outside?”
“Oh crap,” I thought. The snow had fallen right by the window that was behind him. What to say…
“How the hell should I know, Steve? I thought it was you on the toilet!”
I’m back, baby.
* * *
Biographical Note: Jackie Kearins was born and raised in Massachusetts. She studied Medical Assisting in college and has worked in doctor’s offices, clinical hospital and basic research laboratories ever since. In 2005, Jackie left her profession to become a full-time homemaker. She began taking an autobiographical writing class in January 2009. She lives in the Philadelphia suburbs with her husband, three children and two cats. See Author Index Prose A-K for more of Jackie's stories.
