First thing in the morning, lie on your back with your head hanging over the edge of your bed



iStock/nesharm

Grip a 5- or 10-pound dumbbell with both hands and extend it behind your head, letting your arms hang down toward the floor. Take 10 deep breaths, trying to expand your rib cage as much as possible. Bring the weight back and place it on the bed beside you. Scoot onto the bed so your head is supported, and take another 10 deep breaths. Repeat three times. The stretch will open your rib cage and chest, making it easier to take a deep breath. “The most common unrecognized source of mild depression is restricted trunk flexibility that interferes with full respiration,” says Bob Prichard, a biomechanist and director of Somax Sports in Tiburon, California. “Most people with mild depressionare shallow breathers because their chest and stomach are too tight to allow full, easy breathing,” he says. Here’s how to tell the difference between depression vs. anxiety.

Look in the mirror and force your lips into a smile



iStock/Susan Chiang

“Research shows that the physiology of smiling actually makes you feel happy,” Dr. Cumella says. Laughter helps stimulate production of the feel-good hormone serotonin, so if you’re feeling down try watching a funny movie or stand-up routine.

Pull an all-nighter





Staying up all night for one night—and therefore depriving yourself of sleep—has been shown to lift depression for as long as a month. Although researchers aren’t sure why it works, they speculate that one night of sleep deprivation may reset the sleep clock, enabling people who are depressed to sleep better.

Bang on something


Employees at a retirement community who took a drumming class felt more energetic and less depressed six weeks after the class than before they started it. Researchers speculate that drumming helps to relax your body. Whacking a few notes out on your desk may help, but joining a weekly drumming circle may help more, particularly since it provides camaraderie with others, which, as noted earlier, also helps with depression. Watch out for these silent signs that you need depression medication.

Sleep in a different bedroom





Many people with depression also have insomnia. Switching your sleep location can help, says Dr. Cumella. You can also reduce insomnia by getting up at the same time every day, never napping for more than 20 minutes, shunning caffeine after 3 p.m., and relaxing for an hour before bed
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Go easy on yourself





When something goes wrong, resist the urge to mentally beat up on yourself. “Give yourself permission to be a human being and not a human doing,” says Karl D. La Rowe, a licensed clinical social worker and mental health investigator in Oregon. When you catch yourself mentally berating yourself for some supposed failing, replace your negative thoughts with the phrase “I am doing the best I know how to do. When I know a better way and can do it, I will.” Find out what psychologists wish you knew about depression.

Break out of your routine today





Sometimes being stuck in a rut is just that. Get out of it and your mood may come along with you. Take a day off from work and go explore a town nearby. Go out to a restaurant for dinner—even though it’s a Tuesday night. Take a different route as you drive to work, wear something that is totally “not you,” or take your camera and go on a photography hike. For a major blue mood, consider that it might be time for you to take a vacation.

Take a 10-minute walk three times a day during the winter

Many people feel depressed during the winter months, when they travel to and from work in darkness and don’t get enough natural sunlight. Physical exercise, however, encourages the release of hormones and neurochemicals that boost mood, says Richard Brown, MD, associate professor of clinical psychiatry at Columbia University and coauthor of Stop Depression Now. Walking outside during the day will give you a few short doses of sunlight, also shown to boost mood, particularly in the winter.

Exercise

Numerous studies have shown that exercise increases both the production and release of serotonin. Find an exercise program that you enjoy doing and you’ll find it’s surprisingly easy to fit in a little exercise every day. While aerobic exercise is the most effective way to boost serotonin, calming exercises like yoga are also beneficial. Or get a day of vigorous outdoor recreation, like hiking, canoeing, or biking. Let the combination of nature and physical activity work their magic on your mood. Next, read about these ways to help someone with depression.

8 Hidden Signs of Depression to Watch Out For



Lauren Gelman




Depression, especially milder cases, doesn’t always involve crying or feeling obviously unhappy. These subtler mental clues could also indicate you have this mood disorder.




You hide from your feelings

You might be a “perfectly hidden depressed person,” says Fayetteville, Arkansas psychologist Margaret Rutherford, PhD, where people think, “This is someone out there in the community, very task-oriented, almost perfectionistic. She has her act together.” On the inside you might be grappling with unresolved or troubling issues, but you don’t like to think about them, let alone talk about them. “This person might look and seem like she has it all together, but if you scratch the surface, you’ll see they’re terrified that if they begin talking about what they really feel like, they’ll just break apart,” Rutherford says. While you’re watching out for these signs of depression, you should also be aware of these facts psychologists wish people knew about the illness.

You wouldn’t say you’re happy or unhappy



This weird gray zone could be a sign of apathy or ambivalence, according to wellness expert Brett Blumenthal, author of A Whole New You: Six Steps to Ignite Change for Your Best Life, on her blog. “If one is depressed, they may unknowingly turn off all of their emotions in order to shut out emotions such as unhappiness,” she writes. If you notice that someone close to you is showing signs of depression try out these 12 ways to help someone with depression.

You’ve carefully constructed a very busy life

One way that people may cope with these buried emotions, says Rutherford, is to stay on autopilot. “They might be very into their children, their church, other community groups, they might be workaholics—they use this activity to stay away from their feelings,” she says. However, certain lifestyle changes can also help you with overcoming depression

Random things make you mad

A lot of people think of signs of depression as sadness, crying, and melancholy, but anger can be a common sign too, especially for men. It might be that anger is a more comfortable—or, socially acceptable—channel of expression. Rutherford shares an example of someone grieving from a recent divorce who might not be able to get through the day without expressing rage: yelling at his kids, or being more irritable at work. “This anger is just as much a sign of depression as if he came in and were sobbing on my couch,” she says. Or if you’re just feeling angry, learn how to control anger using these 24 tricks and tips.

You’re acting recklessly
Another sign of depression, particularly in men, is taking dangerous risks with driving, sex, gambling, drinking, or other similar activities, according to WebMD. Here are some of the signs of high-functioning depression

You aren’t thinking clearly

A sluggish mind is a common sign of depression Rutherford sees with her patients. “They’ll say, ‘It feels like my mind is just murky; I can’t think through things like I used to, like I’m dragging my mind through mud,’” she says. Blumenthal writes that it’s common for people with depression to have trouble focusing on even the most basic tasks and that they can become very indecisive. Depression and bipolar disorder can have similar symptoms—here are the silent symptoms of bipolar disorder you could be ignoring.

You stop enjoying activities you previously loved

You used to go to the gym three or four days a week, or rarely missed a golf or card game with friends. But if you start to feel like you have to force yourself to go, or just don’t want to do them anymore, it could be a warning sign of depression. Brain changes during depression can make you less engaged and motivated. This is why some women get depressed during menopause and others don’t.

You’re introspective to a fault

Depression forces you to focus on yourself and your needs, and you become less concerned about others. That turning away can lead to guilty feelings. “Patients feel bad because they realize they’re not as involved with their kids, or families or friends. Many people are aware of how self-involved they are,” Rutherford says.

Recovering from a Stroke Is Hard—Here’s How I’m Making the Most of Rehab



Recovery is possible 
for most anyone, if you have 
enough determination.




Recovering From a Stroke Is Hard—Here's How I'm Making the Most of Rehab
Andrea De Santis for Reader's Digest

I stood in the bathroom doorway of our Vancouver Island home watching my wife, Pat, prepare to go out to lunch with friends. As I leaned against the doorjamb and took in an 
eyeful of the woman I have loved for close to half a century, 
I felt a bit odd. Not nauseated or faint, simply odd. Perhaps 
a bit weak. Nothing that a brief lie-down wouldn’t cure.

I bid my wife au revoir and drifted to sleep. When I awoke, two hours had passed. I made my way to my study, sat down at my computer, and noticed my right hand was sluggish.


This was definitely strange. I had developed the habit of searching the Web for the peculiar things happening to my body as I got older, so I typed stroke into Google. I can’t say why I typed stroke and not flu or Lyme disease or heart attack.

I found the common symptoms: sudden numbness or confusion, trouble seeing or walking, dizziness or severe headache. I also found several tests: Can you raise your arms? Can you smile?

I lifted my arms above my head. I smiled. So I told myself, You’re not having a stroke.

The light started to disappear. “I’m dying,” I said. I was terrified.



Still feeling tired, I went back to bed. I had the flu, that was it, although the image of my uncooperative hand still nagged at the back of my mind. And I still felt odd … perhaps a little light-headed or dizzy.

At about 4 p.m., Pat came home. “You’re still in bed!” she remarked.

“Yes,” I admitted.

Another hour passed, and I still felt odd. Finally Pat insisted we head for the hospital. At last, I thought as we were shown into an exam room, we can put an end to this nonsense.
The doctor asked for a detailed account of what had been happening. Then he performed a number of tests. He asked me to touch my nose and then follow his finger with my eyes. He told me to count backward by sevens. He had me squeeze his two fingers with each hand. He tested my reflexes.

I passed every test, so I thought what I’d been experiencing was just a temporary malfunction of the wiring.

“I’d like to keep you in for observation,” the doctor said.

My jaw dropped. “Didn’t I just pass your tests?”

“You might be having what we call a stuttering stroke,” he explained. “It happens over several hours, perhaps even several days. You’ve likely had a number of ministrokes since this morning. If that’s the case, the likelihood of being struck by a larger stroke is very high.”

Recovering From a Stroke Is Hard—Here's How I'm Making the Most of Rehab
Andrea De Santis for Reader's Digest


He told us someone would be along as soon as there was a free bed. Pat sat beside me working on a crossword puzzle while I squirmed in my seat. I remember trying to find a comfortable way to sit, something I suddenly found extremely hard to do.

Then the light started to disappear. Close in on itself. Into a tunnel.

Soon there would be no light. There would be an absence. Of everything. Of everyone. Of Pat. “I’m dying,” I said. I was terrified.

Diagnosis confirmed

I could hear Pat calling for help as I slowly slid to the floor. Then the room filled with intense white light. I was surrounded by people who hoisted me onto a stretcher and whisked me into a treatment room, where they inserted an IV and attached me to monitors. I could hear bleeps and beeps and people assuring me I was in good hands.

“What is happening to me?” I asked. My voice sounded like an old phonograph record spinning too slowly. The words seemed heavy and thick. I saw Pat standing in a corner, fear in her eyes.

The next thing I knew, my clothes were being removed. My pants came off. My arms rose above my head and my shirt slipped off.

“Aren’t you a lucky man?” a nurse said to me. “You’ve got five women undressing you.”

I laughed and agreed, but it was dawning on me that my movements were no longer voluntary. The lights dimmed. Pat kissed me on the forehead and departed. I was alone.

I remember nothing else about that night except a vague recollection of being shunted back and forth through a fluorescent glare, never conscious of where I was going. I had been sedated, which was a good thing, or I may have plummeted into the black hole that engulfed me. I curled up, thinking the fetal position offered me the most reliable protection against free fall.

When Pat returned in the morning, she told me the doctors had confirmed the diagnosis—I had suffered a stroke. How severe it had been, no one knew yet. It would be another 36 hours before I was told what I never, ever thought possible: that I might be paralyzed on one side of my body. Soon I would learn that not only could I not move, but when I went to form words, my tongue was heavy, my vocal cords twisted. My words were strangled.

As I lay there, the confusion was overpowering. Everything seemed so vague. So alien. Nothing made sense, no matter how hard I tried to slot a sight or sound into a compartment of my brain.

In the afternoon of the second day, a woman came into my room and said I had been assigned to a bed on the fourth floor. Pat packed up my belongings, and the porter rolled me up to the acute-care ward, past people shuffling along in nightgowns and patients in wheelchairs.

As soon as I had been transferred from the stretcher to the bed, a curtain was whipped around its track and I was partitioned off from the rest of the room. A nurse told me, “If you need assistance, just press the buzzer on the pillow. Someone will come running.”

the confusion was overpowering.Everyth ing seemed so vague. so alien.

I don’t know what kind of magician she figured I was. I couldn’t reach the button, and even if I could, I lacked the strength to press it.

I yearned to close my eyes. I could see that Pat was anxious to get home, but I think she feared she would be abandoning me. Finally, I said, “Go. Please. I need to sleep.”

My sleep was interrupted by people taking my blood pressure, my pulse, my blood. I was made to sit up and swallow several pills. When Pat arrived midmorning the next day, I woke up torn between panic and a huge sense of relief. Panic because the stark reality of what was happening was finally beginning to sink in, and relief because my most reliable connection to the outside world was seated at my elbow. She would protect me. I was certain of that.

Later, I saw a face peek around the curtain. Our daughter, Nicole. I wanted to leap out of bed and embrace her, but all I could do was lie there like a beached whale. It’s unsettling to have your children see you so vulnerable, and for a moment I felt desperate. Almost ashamed.

I had always presumed my daughter saw me as a figure of strength, as someone who would protect her. I had a sense of having let her down. Of disappointing her.

She leaned over and kissed me. “Oh, Dad,” she said. “I’m so sorry.”

“Me, too,” I said, sounding like I was chewing on rubber bands.

Ready for rehab

That afternoon, a rehab doctor appeared at the end of my bed. At first, he told me, they’d thought my stroke was fairly mild. Nothing showed up on the CT scan. But a second scan revealed I’d had an ischemic stroke—an obstruction in a blood vessel—on the left side of my brain, resulting in the paralysis of my right extremities.

“What caused it?” I asked.

“We don’t know. I’d guess hyper*tension. Your blood pressure was very high. But you have other conditions that could have been contributing factors.”

Risk factors for stroke include high blood pressure, diabetes, high cholesterol, sleep apnea, and being overweight. I qualified on all fronts.

“The good news,” the doctor said, “is that a bed has become available in rehab. You’ll be put on a six-to-eight-week intensive rehab course, followed by eight weeks as an outpatient. You need to be willing to work hard. What do you think?”

“Yes, I can do it,” I answered, although at the moment my body suggested otherwise. “Count me in.”

The next morning, Pat and Nicole were both there when a man and two women arrived to take me for a walk. With one swift movement, they had me perched on the side of the bed. “We’ll walk as far as Nicole, OK?”

I stood, slightly stooped, looking across the room at my daughter. I shuffled, my left foot lifting, my right foot dragging behind. Each step seemed like a gigantic task. I almost lost heart halfway across the room, but I refused to give in.

I walked a distance of only 20 feet, but Nicole seemed excited and applauded. “Oh, Dad,” she said. “You did it. I’m so proud of you!”

“Congratulation s,” the therapists chimed in. “You’re ready for therapy.”

“I’m so hungry,” I said. “Even a bowl of gruel would be nice.”

A young nurse lifted my wrist and took my pulse. “We’re not allowed to give you anything to eat. Not until the Swallow Lady has been to see you.”

Recovering From a Stroke Is Hard—Here's How I'm Making the Most of Rehab
Andrea De Santis for Reader's Digest


I stared up at her. “Swallow Lady? Who’s that?”

“The speech therapist. We don’t want you choking on your food.”

“I can swallow,” I said. “I’ve been swallowing a bucketload of pills.”

“Yes, but that’s different,” she said as she disappeared beyond the curtain.