Holiday Stress

by Dean Kramer
December, 2006

Here I sit, smack in the midst of preparations for the Hap-Happiest time of the year trying to remember all the holiday rules for people with MS: avoid stress, remember to get enough rest, let others pick up the slack for you, avoid stress, let things go if they’re too overwhelming, avoid stress, keep up with your wellness programs, don’t overdo it, and avoid stress.

Reciting the list of all the things I need to do to keep well over the holidays gives me a slightly stressed feeling. I’ll never be able to do all those things and all the holiday things I need to do, too.

Holiday stress comes in many forms. For instance, I thought I had my shopping done two weeks ago. Last year one of my New Year’s resolutions was to create a budget for holiday spending and stick to it. So I did. But Twink, with her more expansive social sensibility, keeps remembering people we really ought to give "a little something" to. Those people weren’t in my budget and now my budget isn’t in my budget, either, leaving me with a slight feeling of stress. And the house continues to fill with gift tchatchkies tiny enough to need protection from my small retrieving service dog-in-training.

The dog, Trisket, is being taught to pick up things I drop and to fetch things I require. So far, he will bring my hairbrush, my medicine box, a pen, and the TV remote. He also believes I require noxious socks, items of lingerie not belonging to me, and used tissues. And now, with wrapping papers, decorations, tape and scissors left here and there, he is having a stressful time, himself, trying to determine which of those I might wish at any given moment while I am having my own stressful time trying to teach him to leave them all alone.

He was rescued from a shelter and you can tell he used to be a thief. Whenever he picks something up his first impulse is to run for it. Then he pauses and you can see the wheels turning as he remembers, “Wait a minute. If I take this over to that human, she’ll give me something to eat.” So he walks over and waves it at me. Now, let’s say in this case it’s an expensive felted wool bag Twink bought at a crafts fair.

Well, naturally, my first impulse is to scream, “Noooo! Oh my God! Honey! Get him! Help! He’s got one of the felt bags!” But as soon as the “N-word” leaves my lips Trisket, knowing he’s done a Bad Thing, will run as fast and as far as he possibly can—perhaps through the open dog door and into the muddy yard. So, stifling my first impulse I say, in a happy, cheerful, welcoming and encouraging voice, “Bring it!” followed by, “Good boy, good boy, good boy!” Until the light comes on in his doggie brain reminding him that he gets a treat when he brings me things. Training him takes time and energy at any time of year. It takes more of both during the holidays, when I have less of both, giving me an additional soupçon of stress.

Wrapping presents has always been a stressful endeavor for me because I have always been vastly incompetent. Others in my family, including Twink, present packages that are, no lie, actual works of art with trompe de oeil Christmas scenes, 3-D ornamented bows, and hand-made, free range wrapping paper. As for myself, no matter how I measure or cut I always wind up having a patch of box that isn't quite covered, or the paper tears on a corner, or I have a humongous flap of excess paper to fold over giving my package the appearance of a toddler with a full diaper.

Now that my right hand is numb and uncoordinated wrapping a present is impossible. This year, to cut down on stress, I bought a variety of boxes, some flat, colorful snowflake ornaments, and some stickers and managed to make my packages look quite festive with no paper involved at all. And whenever I dropped a snowflake ornament, the tape, or the scissor, there was Trisket. “Nnnnn uh—bring it! Good boy, good boy, good boy!”

I did all my shopping online this year and, thus, was spared the stress of scooting through stores. That’s a good thing because they are crowded with more shoppers than at other times of year. They have less room to scoot in due to end cap displays with the proportions of cruise ships jutting forth into the aisles. The aisles themselves, like the cruise ships’ ports of call, are glutted with temptations for impulse buyers. There are huge displays of gadgets that seem serendipitous when you are harriedly looking, at the last minute, for something—anything for your uncle Max. Later these impulse buys reveal their true nature as ideas that, while interesting, weren't quite ready for mass marketing. They end up in closets and drawers and, eventually, in yard sales.

Along those lines, one year Twink bought me a talking tire gauge for my power wheelchair. Sucker for gizmos that I am, I was enchanted until a co-worker with better visual acuity mentioned that the digital read-out said something different from the robotic voice. This threw me into a stressful quandry—who to believe? In the end I opted for flat free tires.

People ask me what gifts I want for the holidays. What stress that question creates! I never know what to say. The petulant child in me wants to say, “If you really loved me you wouldn’t have to ask.” The greedy child in me says, “Get me a Harley Davidson trike with all possible accessories.” And though they say Christmas is for children, I tell those particular children to shut up and I say, “Oh, I don’t know. I don’t really need anything.” Of course, if anyone actually took me at my word and I received nothing for the holidays you can bet I wouldn’t be able to keep those children from whining resentfully. We’re often reminded “it’s the thought that counts,” but the thought of a lime green negligee with hot pink maribou trim (I actually received one once) for a woman whose taste is more L. L. Bean than Victoria’s Secret to begin with creates enough stress to require my downing an acid-reducing tablet simply writing about it.

I’m difficult to shop for. I only like expensive clothes and shoes and I never like them for long. So, naturally, no one buys them for me. I don’t wear jewelry. I don’t like knick-knacks because we have too small a house and I have too little energy for dusting them. I love tools and sports and outdoors equipment, but my lifestyle no longer supports them. That leaves music, movies, and books and I’m particular about those. Like I said, difficult to shop for. On top of that I have a phobia about opening gifts in front of others. What if the expression on my face isn’t thrilled and delighted enough? What if I’m really, really not thrilled and delighted? I’m left in that slightly stressful state of wondering whether or not I’ll get anything and, if so, will I like it? If I don’t like it, will I be able to disguise the fact?

What really tickles me is shopping for others, especially Twink. Twink has no trouble telling me what she’d like for Christmas. She gave me a list. One item was not on her list. She has a “thing” for the Indianapolis Colts quarterback, Peyton Manning. Now, one way to lighten your load of holiday stress is to share it with family and friends, right? So this year I told her she was getting a Peyton Manning Fathead, one of those larger-than-life-sized NFL wall decals. She was appalled. It would totally not go with our décor. She looked them up online and saw what they cost. She begged me to take it back. I told her to try living with it a while.

Watching Twink stress over this has been quite relaxing and mildly entertaining. She still isn’t sure whether she’s really getting one or not. Her real gifts cannot be disclosed here because you can’t tell someone, “No peeking until Christmas.” and then post their entire gift list online.

We’ve all heard the adage “Tis more blessed to give than to receive.” When it comes to holiday stress, that’s the adage for me! Sigh…if only it was less meaningful to Trisket.

Happy Holidays from Cripple Creek!