Rollercoaster Ride

Breast Cancer, , , ,

I feel like I’m on a rollercoaster I did not sign up to ride. I’ve been feeling pretty good mentally and emotionally about moving forward with surgery in January. I’ve been researching what to expect post-surgery and trying to mentally prepare myself. That’s how I operate, the more I know, the less shock, the better I can deal with it. I’m even okay with not having all the information so I can adjust to expecting the unexpected. I can handle surprises along the way, but for some reason my first visit to the oncologist punched me in the face and sent me spiraling.

Leading up to the oncologist appointment, I’ve been in a world of distractions. I hadn’t thought about it too much. I jotted down some questions to ask, but to me it was just another appointment. I ended up with the flu after my son had it last weekend, so I dealt with the 3-day fever and focused on getting back to work. I met with my surgeon over the phone because I couldn’t go in for the appointment due to my fever. She explained my MRI results more and the surgery plan – what to expect and what is to be determined after further testing up to a week after my surgery. She answered every question to the best of her ability.

On Thursday, I went to work as usual and left early for my 3 pm oncologist appointment. My mom was waiting for me in the parking lot. I’m so grateful for my mom. She talks a lot, but she’s really trying to be there for me. She’s a good distraction while we wait in the waiting rooms because she talks about the craziest stuff. And this time was no different. We got checked in, led back to the exam room, and waited for what seemed like forever for the oncologist. I was asked the same questions I’m always asked over and over – medication list, etc, etc.

My oncologist, a petite Indian woman in her mid 50s, walked in and began the appointment. She spoke quietly, studied my chart quite a bit, asked a few questions, did a quick exam, and basically told me more of what I already knew – that I’d have to wait for post-surgery pathology results to return in order for her to be able to make a plan. She basically ran through a few potential plans, but kept ending it with, “but we’ll have to wait for your results”. At the end, my mom innocently asked “if she were to have chemo, how long would that process be?”

The doctor, with her face mask covering most of her expression, so I could only see the serious look in her eye said, “6 months”. She said, “it will be very strong, and it would be every two weeks for 6 months.” There was no hesitation to this response. There was no maybe this or maybe that, it was a very direct and definitive response.

Well shit.

I was happily digesting all information until that point. And then my brain malfunctioned into a soggy mess. My mom sat there with her mouth open for what seemed like eternity, while I fought back tears. I can’t tell you what else was said in that appointment. She ordered me two more tests to get and was on her way, said she was going on a trip to India and would be back after the New Year. The next time I’ll see her is a week after my surgery, when she decides the best treatment plan for me. Everyone left the room, and I cried while I got changed back into my clothes. My mom tried to hug me. I walked my tear-stained face to the appointment desk to make three more appointments in January: Bone density test, CT scan, follow up visit to oncologist. I feel like I need a personal assistant to help with all of my upcoming appointments.

I’m not sad for me. Obviously, I want to be healthy, but all I can think about is how my health is going to negatively impact my kids. They are 14 and 8. I physically do a lot to take care of them. I literally don’t sit down until about 8 pm every night after very full days. I was prepared for a 4-to-6-week recovery time from surgery. That feels very temporary. But to realize that my New Year could be completely eaten up with cancer treatments that are going to exhaust and deplete me (after finally recovering from surgery) is so disheartening and just makes me sad that I’ll be a burden. My parents are in their mid to late 60s. They already raised me, I don’t feel like they should have to take care of me. I then get furious at my ex-husband. I should be his mess. He should be taking care of me and the kids. I called him crying on my drive home from the appointment to let him know of the possibilities I just heard. I don’t expect him to take care of me, but he needs to step it up with our children. He didn’t say much, mostly tried to tell me “we’ll figure it out.”

Ugh. I got home and got my kids in the car, drove to meet my ex so they could be with their dad for the next couple of days. I ordered Indian food for pick up and came home to watch a movie and eat. Nothing tasted good. The movie ended up having a woman in it that got breast cancer and died. Seriously? I cannot make this up.

All I can do is pray. I have no control over anything. I’m supposed to be on this rollercoaster for some reason that remains to be seen. If I had no Faith, this would be much worse. It brings me peace when I’m spiraling. I’m a planner, but long-term goals are not in my view right now. So I’m going to go short-term and concentrate on enjoying Christmas with my loving family.

Stifle Me Not

This Would Be Easier if I Didn’t Think So Much

Breast Cancer, Overthinking

This week I went for an MRI. I’ve never had one before, and I will not forget the experience in that freezing dim hospital basement. I knew an MRI could be a claustrophobic experience, but the loud noises (even with ear plugs) were so shocking to me. It was a full half hour of loudness while I laid as still as possible and thought every thought imaginable. I was worn out after that.

I already have an appointment lined up next week to discuss the MRI results, so it came as a complete surprise when a nurse called the very next day to tell me the results. They returned in less than 24 hours. It was both great, and not so good news. Great news because they couldn’t see anything had spread outside of my left breast. For awhile, that was all I heard, even as the nurse continued talking. I was so thankful that the worst of the worst wasn’t a reality in that moment. It had been a grueling three weeks of only knowing small amounts of information. To know the rest of my body is “safe” for now, that was great news.

The not so good news, though, was that there were more spots in my already troubled area, which means I’ll need a mastectomy instead of a lumpectomy. It didn’t bother me on that initial phone call, but I’m still processing it. The nurse was wonderful and answered every question I had. A plastic surgeon called me within the next 20 minutes to make me an appointment. Over the next few weeks, I have four appointments coming up: breast surgeon (to finalize surgery plan), oncologist (to discuss post-surgery treatment plan), plastic surgeon (to plan reconstruction), and a genetic testing counseling meeting (to go over my genetic testing bloodwork results).

My mind is so full. My surgery is tentatively scheduled for January 22nd and will take 4 – 6 weeks for recovery.

Meanwhile, work is nonstop, I woke up today to my son having a 100.4 degree fever, next weekend is Christmas, my daughter’s birthday is next month, and my kids are both in sports. Life is not stopping. In fact, I feel like it’s going extra fast.

I’m trying to concentrate on the good news and not let anything drag me down, but all it takes is one sneaky little thought to send my mind racing. All it takes is one stupid thought to make my eyes shine with tears, and I become stuck in a pit of what ifs. This is annoying and not healthy. I usually pull myself out of it after a few red lights, but I’d really love not to overthink at the moment. Wish I could temporarily pause my brain waves.

For now, I have enough information to know it’s not all doom and gloom head, but it’s also not going to be a picnic either. I know once this process starts, I’m going down an all new life path. I have a little over a month to wrap my head around that.

Stifle Me Not

Getting Ready

Cancer Sucks, God

My life has changed since November 23rd, when I got the news that I’m not “healthy”, even though I’ve been going through life feeling and functioning very well. It’s insane to me that your body can deceive you like that. I know my diagnosis is in the early stages, so feeling well is to be expected, but I guess with cancer you get images of cancer patients in your head and forget that they went through this phase of finding out first, before they got to the treatment phase where you don’t feel well from side effects.

I’ve been knocked down mentally, emotionally, and spiritually many times, but my body has always been there for me. I’ve always been able to count on myself to be physically capable. Knowing that my body isn’t cooperating is throwing me a giant life curveball. I’m used to sucking it up and dealing with just about anything physically (a cold, aches, etc.) because “I’m healthy”. To have someone tell me otherwise is such a shock. I’m angry about this part, I feel tricked by my own body.

I’m equally eager to move forward and stop in my tracks all at the same time. I met with a surgeon, who was wonderful and explained everything very well. I trust that she’ll do a great job. Her team is great as well – all of the nurses explain things in detail and communicate great. My next step is to get an MRI this coming week, followed by a series of appointments to discuss more details of the surgery and meet with the oncologist to dive into the best “treatment plan”.

The purpose of the MRI is to make sure it hasn’t spread anywhere else in my body. Ugh. I will be suppressing the knot in my stomach until I find out more in the results meeting.

In the meantime, I’m gradually telling people who are close to me about my “news”. I’ve had a few weeks to digest this information, so watching a person’s face contort before my very eyes as their brain tries to grasp what they just heard and what it all means is surreal. Sometimes I choke up a little when I tell someone, and sometimes I’m as matter-a-fact as can be. Everyone wants to say “let me know if there’s anything I can do for you” or they immediately dive into a story about someone they know who’s in this situation. I don’t blame them, I used to be the same way.

I won’t have any surgery or treatment done until at least January, so I’m trying to enjoy the Christmas season while I can. Most days I go about my same routine, with occasional tears in my eyes in my car, as I overthink during a drive from home to work or wherever. And then I catch myself being too negative before I know all the information yet, and I scold myself for doing what I know I should not do.

I have two great kids and an army of a family behind me. God has some plan here and I have to trust it. Every bad thing in my life has turned out for the better. I said a prayer not long ago to God, praying that He help me with this breast pain I get each time I go through my female cycle. I’ve always thought it to be “normal” because I’ve had some sort of pain for a long time, but when you deal with something for so long, sometimes you don’t realize just how bad it’s become. It turns out that all along my hormone levels have been very high and they are the cause of this madness. Although breast cancer isn’t really in my family, there are other things that indicate the females in my family have had other issues that relate to high estrogen and progesterone.

This isn’t what I had in mind, God, but I know there’s a reason I’m not seeing yet.

Stifle Me Not

Cancer Diagnosis

Cancer Sucks, Change, God

One week ago turned into one of the worst days of my life. I got a call from the doctor’s office that my biopsy results were ready, and they weren’t good. “There is evidence of cancer”.

Breast Cancer.

I answered my phone, sitting in my office at work. It was the day before Thanksgiving. The nurse’s voice entered my ear canal, but each word just made me freeze more. I could barely speak. I was stunned. She said she’d call me back soon because she had to call my doctor and have an order put in for me to be scheduled with a surgeon.

I hung up the phone and just sat there. I couldn’t function. I couldn’t cry, I couldn’t move. Everyone else in the office was either gone for the long weekend or intently working. No one knew. No one knew a thing except for me. I finished up whatever meaningless task I was working on and left for Thanksgiving break. I was crying a little, but more so trying to make sense of what I just heard. I drove away and called my mom. She sounded devastated and thoroughly surprised. As far as she knows, this doesn’t run in our family.

My head was swirling with how I was going to tell my family. All I could think was I was ruining Thanksgiving. How was I going to tell my daughter and my son? How in the hell is this happening? What is happening? It’s been one week and I’m still trying to wrap my head around this new reality that hasn’t hit me yet. I find myself doing very basic things, like pumping gas, and then I remember I have a cancer diagnosis. And I can’t help but wonder how hard this is going to be on me physically and mentally.

I’d like to say I don’t remember the rest of last Wednesday, but I remember it all quite clearly in slow motion. After my mom, I called my ex-husband so he would know when I told my kids. His reaction was stupid. Next, I called my dad and asked if he was home so I could stop over. I didn’t want to drop this news on Thanksgiving, so why not the day before? Ugh.

My dad just knew before I could get all the words out and hugged me. My stepmom came home, and I had to tell her. She was a mess. They held it together while I sat there, but I’m sure they lost their minds once I left. I went home and told my kids my results weren’t good. My daughter was a mess. My son doesn’t completely understand because he’s younger. Lastly, I called my sister and then my brother. I just didn’t want to save this for the Thanksgiving dinner table.

It was horrible telling this news to all of these people I love.

The wonderful nurse called me back when I got home. She scheduled me for an appointment with a surgeon the next week. That appointment has already been moved to another surgeon because my cousin, who is a doctor, insisted I see a different surgeon. Over the past week I’ve had an outpouring of love and support from many people. I dreaded coming into work on Monday because I had to tell my bosses and immediate co-workers. I didn’t have to tell them, but it’s only a matter of time before they need to know anyhow. I’m going to need them. I’m going to need all of them.

So now I wait until I see a surgeon next Tuesday to find out more and “start the process”. I know very little, but I know enough to speculate what is coming. My mind is a fog. I’m doing really dumb things, like I walked into a health food store earlier this week to get a couple things, but once I was in the store, I couldn’t remember what I needed. Luckily, I had it on a list.

I was in a health food store because that’s somewhere I go regularly these days. Over the past three years I’ve dramatically improved my lifestyle. I work out regularly, I avoid processed foods and sugar, I don’t drink much alcohol, I get decent sleep. I do all the things you’re supposed to do. I avoid toxic people, I attend church and try to raise my kids to be good humans, and I try my best at all that I do.

And I end up with a cancerous boob that I have no control over. I was very angry. I don’t have time for this. No one has time for this. I’m angry that my kids are going to have to witness the aftermath of this diagnosis when their mom needs to be there for them the most. By the end of the long weekend, I was less angry and more sad. I did get a lot done this weekend that involved physical labor – putting up Christmas decorations, cleaning up leaves in the yard, cleaning out the basement, etc. I couldn’t sit still, my mind wouldn’t let me.

I want to be mad at God, but I’m just not. I’ve been around the block enough times to know He has some greater plan. It will end in blessings. It always does, but I have to hang in there for the ride.

Stifle Me Not

Sandwich News

New and Unknown

The last two months of work has been busy and tiring. I’ve been in a continuous cycle of nonstop emails, phone calls, reporting, and just overall reacting to other people’s needs, wants, and issues. I’m in human resources, what do I expect? I don’t expect much, I get it, and I’m usually happy to do it, but burn out is real. I’m thankful the past couple weeks eased up and I felt like I could breathe again. A walk to the copier and back has stopped with me coming back to another 10 more emails to sift through.

Last Wednesday, I finally had time to go for a second mammogram. I’m the queen of second mammograms. For the past 5 years, each year, the radiologist wants retakes. And then I get the phone call and letter to follow up in another year. Until this year. This year I could tell something was wrong. I’ve also been in some pain, aside from typical tenderness. After being in the hospital breast center for an hour and a half, I was sent away without results. This isn’t typical. They usually give results in person after a follow up appointment. But today was extra busy in the breast center, so they called me a few hours later to cheerfully give me sandwich news.

What is sandwich news? When you tell someone something good, then bad, then good again… just to make it less of a shock to the system. I knew what she was doing at the first sound of her voice. Such a welcoming cheery voice. I know that voice because I do it too. I’m in HR.

The nurse informed me that the one area they imaged looked good! Followed by her cheery concern that the other area should be inspected further with a biopsy. This is when things get hazy and hearing the word biopsy gives way to future visions of a funeral and life insurance disbursements. The nurse tried to cheerily close out the call by telling me that I’ll be fine and this and that is a precaution, yada yada yada. I don’t really know what she said because it was a blur of words in an ultra-cheery tone. I scheduled it for the first available upcoming Monday to get it over with.

Monday was yesterday. I worked in the morning and went to the hospital breast center in the early afternoon. I was going through the motions. My mom insisted on meeting me there. I was so thankful for her presence. She talks a lot, which is usually annoying, but she kept my mind off the bad thoughts as she sat by my side in the waiting room. They called me back fairly quickly and I didn’t want to leave my mom’s side.

I was led back to the dressing room where I got a gown and waited. They called me back. Two nurses. So kind, so friendly, trying to be reassuring. Then two doctors came in. I had two nurses and two doctors hovering over me for an ultrasound-guided biopsy for about 40 minutes. It seemed longer than that. Once I was numbed up and realized it didn’t hurt, I calmed down a little. But my nerves were shot up until that point. I was relieved when they were all done.

But as I’m sitting up, still in relief mode, I’m very directly told that before I leave they need to get one more mammogram. Come again? I need to be squished right after getting my boob dug out? Whaaaaaaat????

And so it happened. Thank you God Almighty that my local anesthetic was in effect for the next two hours. Luckily, I didn’t feel a thing, but my brain was on overload that this was even happening after all that already happened.

When I was given the clear to leave, I couldn’t get my sweater and coat on fast enough. I shuffled back to the waiting room where my mom was happily making friends with another lady. She was calmly sitting there, and I wanted to run out into the parking lot. I just wanted out of that place!

My mom walked me to my car, and then I drove her to her car a few blocks over. I was so happy she was there. After she left, I drove myself home. I noticed my eyes were bloodshot. Probably from all the stress. I got home to my daughter hovering by the door. She was worried about me. I changed my clothes and laid on my bed.

Results are supposed to be available in 3 to 5 business days. This is Thanksgiving week. I’m not confident that I’ll hear any news this week. I’m exhausted. And I need lots of prayers because I need to take care of my two awesome kids.

Stifle Me Not

Original Conclusion

Uncategorized

Where have I been? Long time, no write. I feel like I’ve been hibernating, but it’s gone into several seasons.

Last summer I went back to church and re-prioritized my thinking. Big perspective shift. This blog started as a venting mechanism when I started the divorce process. It evolved into a series of “funny” (but not so funny) dating disasters that I found myself in post-divorce. And now it has lingered in the blogosphere, collecting cyber dust, for the past year.

So where am I now? Nowhere in particular, but certainly not in the hell hole I was in with divorce, dating, and very little divinity in my life. I opened the Bible last August, went back to church, changed my priorities, and drama literally disappeared from my life. It’s been so amazing that I crave nothing less. It also probably helps that I stopped dating cold turkey. Dating gave me great blog content, but very little peace.

In February, I briefly chatted with a guy who asked me out. I initially agreed, but as time got closer to meet, I backed out. I didn’t see it going anywhere and felt like it was a waste of both of our times. He was mad, and I just didn’t care. That’s when I knew I needed to stay away from dating awhile longer. If I wasn’t being serious, I shouldn’t drag someone else down with me.

Things have been very timely. A big project kicked off at my work in February and carried throughout the spring and summer. Things are finally easing up at work and my kids are back in school and sports. My life is so full right now. I don’t sit down to relax until 8 pm every night, and once I do my eyes are closing soon after that. Between my work and kids, I have no true social life. Sad but true. But do I really need anything more right now? Clearly I’m tired.

I have a hunch that I do – these days won’t least forever. My daughter started high school this year, and it’s been a wakeup call. Even though my son is still in elementary school, the time with my daughter is going by so fast. I know I’ll blink, and my son will be on his way to his own independence in no time. That leaves me with me, and me. I thought about getting a dog, but that sounds like more work than dating. I’ve had so much responsibility for so many years that I’m up for the path of least resistance these days.

It’s now been 5 whole years since I moved away from my “married” home (where I was for 10 years). I’ve reached my past marriage “half-life”. I guess I thought I’d meet someone sooner than 5 years of being single. But I haven’t. And I’m still living, day by day, not thrilled to be alone, but certainly not miserable, and definitely not desperate to settle.

I went on one date in the middle of the summer. One date. And it was disappointing. We chatted for a week leading up to the date. It seemed positive, but the actual date gave way to reality. He was 15 minutes late, had on a wrinkly T-shirt, and stepped on my toes (at the start and the end of the date). When the $35 food bill arrived, he stared at it entirely too long, causing me to offer to pay for my share of it. He accepted my money, and that was it for me. He had a great job and lived in an apartment, I don’t think finances were the issue. I’m not out for a free meal, but I am looking for someone to take the lead a little bit. I’m an independent person, but I don’t steal the show. I let men be men, and he didn’t do that. We went to a few shops afterward, but I think my brain went on auto-pilot after that. In the end, he gave me hug (and stepped on my toes again) and said “Give me a call some time… if you want.” My brain: Nope.

He knew, I knew, we both knew this wasn’t going past date #1.

I drove home in a daze, but not upset. The last year already showed me how disappointing a date can be. I’ve had much worse dates. And all of those previous dates paid, so that wasn’t the true kicker. Dating is very much a numbers game. The odds of “finding” someone who compliments you is slim already. Add in my age bracket, tendency to be risk-adverse (by nature and due to having 2 kids), and my own personal preferences — well, that’s a recipe for extra slim chances in the dating world.

I keep going back to my original conclusion –> I don’t think it’s up to me. Only God can pair you with who makes the most sense for you, and in the timing that’s right for both of you. I keep going back to this conclusion. Maybe I’m in denial, maybe I’m in fantasy land, maybe I’m nuts. I’ll continue to go on dates if the opportunity is there, but I don’t think you “find” any one person. You can control it to a point — you can impress them and they impress you, you can start dating and hide feelings about things you don’t agree with, but if a person isn’t truly good for you, it comes out someway or somehow. I’d rather wait forever than force something.

I used to feel like I was waiting around for something to happen. Or until I could make something happen. Now I’m living day by day with an open mind, rather than a controlling mind. It’s on my mind, but not consuming me.

When the time is right, I the Lord will make it happen. Isaiah 60:22

Stifle Me Not (or do, whatever is best)

God Guide Me

Bible, Perspective Shift, Trust

I recently (within the past year) had the realization that chasing after happiness is a never-ending pursuit of ultimate disappointment. The unfortunate part is you don’t usually realize you’re doing it. It’s such a habit, you pursue what you think will make you happy, end up not as satisfied as you hoped, and repeat the viscous cycle. We do this with whatever fills our “needs”. It can be with something obviously bad, like drug use or dependency on alcohol, or it can be something less obvious like shopping, working, dating or needing to control situations.

Over the summer, I went back to church and started reading the Bible. Quite frankly because I was all out of ideas. I got fed up. Fed up with endless disappointment of whatever it is that I’ve been pursuing. Fed up with chasing and controlling and trying to “be somebody”. Trying to prove my identity? Trying, trying, trying… to do what and for what reason?

And as I got more into scripture, I realized that’s the point. When it comes to God, you’re identity is in God’s hands, so you’ve just got to pay attention, ask for guidance (aka pray), and do what you think is best (regardless of your own personal interests). It’s obviously easier said than done, but this perspective shift has been a game-changer for me the past few months. Whenever I’m in a funk or upset, I pause and just pray, “God, please guide me.”

More often than not, my answer is to be patient rather than react. And that’s okay, the answer usually comes (just not always with my preferred timing). I’ve had less sleepless nights the past few months by simply handing over my worries and frustrations rather than dwelling on what “I” should do about them. I’m not fully in control. I need help all the time. It’s humbling. I can’t do it on my own. I have limits.

Maybe I’m living in some kind of fantasy world over here with all of my positive thinking and prayers. If I am, I don’t want out, because not allowing myself to be consumed with my frustrations is amazing.

Stifle Me Not

The Bible Say What?

Bible, Change, Church, Perspective Shift

At the end of August, something clicked. It was a slow click. It was a gradual build up of years past that aligned in such a way that I stopped many habits over the last two months. I just had enough with my current state of life, and stopped.

I stopped following/watching certain things on social media, I stopped scrolling through dating apps, I stopped letting my thoughts get the best of me, I stopped letting old perspectives halt new ones from coming in.

I started appreciating my life and family more, I started realizing I’m doing the best I can and giving myself a break, I started reading the Bible, I started going to church, I started raising my standards.

I’ve never really been into reading the Bible before. I had all the reasons: It’s too long, it’s too complicated, it’s been translated so many times over the years, etc. One day I had a question on my mind about the Ten Commandments, so I randomly googled the books of the Bible where the Ten Commandments appeared. Exodus and Deuteronomy. I flipped to Exodus 20 and read it. The next thing I know, I read the entire book of Exodus.

After that I didn’t touch the Bible for weeks. It’s like I was slowly digesting everything that I’d read. This month, I picked up the Bible and back-tracked to Genesis. I’m halfway done. I can’t get enough. My thirst for more Bible knowledge has completely replaced all of my old habits. It’s the greatest history book of all time.

I’m a little confused, but pleased, with whatever is happening to my brain, and my being. I’ve been sleeping better and thinking more clearly. I feel more sure of myself – I’m not sure why exactly. I’m a little sad I didn’t start this path sooner, but I guess some people go their whole lives and never open a Bible, better now than never.

I’m in learning mode. And I’ve learned enough that I can’t go back now. I can’t go back.

Stifle Me Not

The Pits of October

Uncategorized

October used to be my favorite month, but now it bothers me. Five years ago this week marks the beginning of the end with my ex-husband. It’s the month my ex-husband and I met (in 2000), the month we were engaged (in 2006), the month we got married (in 2007), and it is also the month when everything ended (in 2017). Here we are again in October. I hate October. This October brought my teenage daughter having surgery, spending entirely too much shared space with my ex, having a horrible reaction to poison ivy, and ending up on prescription steroids (only to experience all the side effects that go along with that).

I’m sensitive to my surroundings – who I associate with, the food I eat, what I drink, and the medications I take. I know this and I live my life accordingly so I can feel my best each day. I avoid sweets (including sugary drinks) and fast food, I usually work out regularly, and I limit medication I take because, from past experience, it doesn’t end well when I have too much of anything. My medicine intake is limited to seasonal allergy medicine, occasional ibuprofen (for a headache), and a daily probiotic. If I don’t pay attention to what goes into my guts, I always pay the price.

I desperately needed to destress after spending consecutive days with my ex as our daughter recovered from surgery. I took care of her as she recovered at home, worked at home, cared for my son, and took care of my ongoing awful poison ivy reaction. The stress of being around my ex was enough to make me not feel well, let alone all of the other variables mixed in. I found myself slipping back into my old ways. I was disassociating – going through the motions, where I’m there but not fully there. I was walking on eggshells – watching what I said so I didn’t invoke a negative response from him. It was hard to go back to that “place”.

I was finally looking forward to a calm weekend on my own. Both kids went with their dad over the weekend since my daughter was finally feeling strong enough to travel in a car. Once I dropped my kids off for the weekend, I picked up some Indian food and headed home to stuff my face in peace while I caught up on some shows on HULU. I was going to sleep in and simply relax for the weekend without worrying about anyone else.

That Friday evening, free of all responsibilities, I happily ate my spicy Indian food and started watching an episode of a show. The food was so satisfying. I finished the whole plate. Toward the end of my hour-long show, my stomach started to make noises.

Oh no.

I made the unavoidable trip to the bathroom, with stomach pains so intense I wasn’t sure what kind of sick was going to be. I was in there for a very very long time. I’d exit the bathroom, and turn right around and go back in. Apparently, eating Indian food after lots of stress and being on new steroid medication was not the best idea. It was miserable. On top of it all, I was still itchy from the poison ivy rash. My nerves were shot. My stomach was shot. My hope for feeling good ever again was just shot.

The next day was a slow start. I didn’t make it to the shower until about 2 pm. Everything I tried to do was a challenge. I laid on the couch for the majority of the day. Somehow I mustered up the energy around 5 pm to go to Target since I needed so many little healthcare-related things. After Target, I was starving. I had barely eaten all day. I decided that chicken noodle soup and a Mediterranean bowl from Panera should be okay. I picked it up as carry out.

It wasn’t okay.

It was like deja vu from the night before. Not long after I finished my meal, I was howling in pain in the bathroom again. Thank God I was all alone. This time it was clear that the spice from the Indian food had exited and burnt the literal shit out of my rear end. I was mortified, winded, and feeling more hopeless than the night before.

This was not a relaxing weekend. Not at all.

That night was the first night I slept through the night without constant itching. Hurrah, I was less itchy from the poison ivy rash, but the downside was my stomach hated me and I was going to have raging hemorrhoids for the foreseeable future.

On Sunday, it took me just as long to get moving as it did on Saturday. I finally got the strength to go to the grocery store and I bought as many sensitive-stomach-friendly foods as I could find. I came home and made ground turkey and rice for dinner. No more food indulgences for me, not until my body has recovered from all the built up stress and medication.

Today I returned to work after more than a week of caring for my family and myself. I feel slow and tired. The pits of October is halfway over and thank God for that.

Stifle Me Not

Sometimes Life Just Sucks

Hope, Yard Care

It’s been one hell of a rollercoaster ride the last few of weeks. On Wed, Sept 28th my daughter complained of her side hurting. Kids complain a lot. I’m used to dismissing most things as an ache or growing pain, and then it’s never talked about again. She persisted through the evening that it really hurt. I told her to put a heating pad on it, thinking it could be a pulled muscle. The next morning she said she couldn’t go to school because she was in too much pain, so I made her an appointment with her pediatrician. He ordered blood work and we waited. The results came in later that afternoon and all appeared normal. She woke up on Friday morning, doubled over in pain. I rushed her to the Emergency Room.

After 10 hours in the ER, she was diagnosed with having a large softball-sized cyst in the left side of her abdomen. Five days later, on Wed, Oct 5th, she had surgery to have it removed. Everything went well. They removed the large cyst, but it was also entangled in her left fallopian tube, so it had to be removed as well. Her ovary was untouched and able to remain. Her reproductive system will be fine. I was so relieved for her.

She ended up needing to stay two nights in the hospital. It was difficult, but necessary since she had a c-section type incision. She was such a trooper. I am so proud of her. She was discharged the afternoon of Fri., Oct 7th. The weekend was a good start to her recovery. She has been improving very well each day and can hopefully return to school next week.

In the midst of all this chaos, I was a bit of an anxious wreck, but I was taking it day by day. In between her ER visit and her surgery date, I did many things around the house and pre-planned for a change in our normal routine with my work and her brother’s schedule too. The weekend before her surgery, I did some much-needed yardwork and cleared out overgrown flower beds on one side of my house. It was a nice day and therapeutic to be outside, burning off some of the anxiety of the week to come. I showered immediately after doing yard work, happy to have another thing checked off my list.

On the day of my daughter’s surgery, I scratched at my forearm while in the waiting room. Then scratched again, pulled up my sleeve, and saw a small red rash. I was so stressed out from my daughter’s surgery and now having to hang out with her father for the next 3+ days, that I immediately thought I had some kind of stress rash. I wiped it off with some alcohol and put some hydrocortisone cream on it. For the next couple of days, that’s all I did with it. It did not become worse. A couple of people asked me if it could be poison ivy. Nah, it wasn’t very big and even though I did yardwork recently, it was 5 days ago.

Fast forward to Mon, Oct 10th, and I had a pus-filled golf ball-sized boil on my forearm as well as welts popping popping all over both of my arms and on the side of my face. WTF? I was itchy and in pain and the most uncomfortable I have been in a very long time. By this time I realized it probably was poison ivy, but I still wasn’t convinced since it had been so many days since I’d done yard work. It had been 10 days. I’m typically a research junkie about just about anything. But with everything going on, I never once looked up timeline information on poison ivy rash. Apparently it can start forming up to 5 days after being in contact with it, and it can continue popping up wherever you made contact with it and it can last up to a month. WHAT!?

On Tue, Oct 11th, I took myself to urgent care. It was the fastest urgent care visit I’ve ever had. They took one look at my miserable rash and prescribed me a topical cream and some prednisone to start the relief process. Little did I know that the rest of the week was going to be miserable with my best relief being cold water and ice packs, alcohol wipes, and hydrocortisone cream. My nerves are shot, I’m wired and tired at the same time.

I’ve been trying my best to work at home, care for my daughter, care for my son, and maintain some sort of functional comfort with this poison ivy rash, but it has been so difficult. I can’t sleep at night. I fall asleep quickly but wake up at 1 AM with my arms burning with itchiness. I spend the next two hours trying to relieve the itch and pain, only to wake up to my alarm to face another day of discomfort, work, and mom duties.

Somehow I managed to go to two nights of parent-teacher conferences in the middle of this week. Not ideal, but I had to get all of my daughter’s missed work, and I definitely had to keep tabs on my son’s behavior. Tinted moisturizer and mascara helped make me looked somewhat normal despite the red splotches covering the left side of my face. I slapped on a smile and got that mom crap done.

Last night I hit a breaking point after 1 and 1/2 weeks of nonstop stress. I went into the bathroom for my evening routine of running cold water over my rashy arms and hot tears rolled out of my eyes while I sobbed uncontrollably at the pure suckiness of life at the moment. I was so happy that my daughter has been recovering so well, but I personally felt like complete shit. I’ve had two babies, gone through a divorce, had my career crash (and rebuild), had to live at my parents, have had horrible dates this year, have put up with lice in my home, have experienced people dying in my life… and I’m letting a poison ivy rash break me?

That’s when I realized that it was PMS week, and just about anything was going to make me break. Haha!

October is half way over and has sucked the whole time. I guess sometimes life just sucks. Today is feeling better. I think the prednisone is finally starting to take effect after 4 days. I’m hoping for an upward swing for all of us.

Stifle Me Not