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Category Archives: hyperaware

And so I fly… (part 2)

I flew to Chicago for my niece’s wedding (I forgot to note that my Dad picked up a Bailey’s and cream for me at the open bar…I rarely drink, but I finished the small glass of it, hoping it might help me chill a little before the flight). It was a very pretty wedding, but we had responsibilities at home and so didn’t want to have to stay overnight away from home. So like idiots, we decided to fly in the morning of the wedding (1 1/2 to 2 hour flight) and then turn around and fly home that night. The wedding was at 3pm. Our flight home was at 9:30pm, but remember you’re supposed to be at the airport two hours early to make it through security and to your gate in time to board. Ye-ah. Considering our first foray had a one hour wait in line for security screening, I’m totally understanding the 2 hour timing. I was sure, though, that there wouldn’t be much of a line at seven at night. No shock that I was wrong…it took about forty minutes to get through security this time. And guess what? This time they made me get back into the xray thingy a second time. Then the TSA agent made a face and while I was IN the xray thingy, she made me pull my pants all the way up “to your natural waist, hon”. Um, okay. Problem is, the pants I decided to travel in are my slouchy pants, but I did as I was told. She looked at me again and said I had to pull the pants waaaaaaaaay up so that the crotch wasn’t hanging down away from, well, my crotch. So I yanked my pants up as high as they could go, but she wanted me to also spread my legs farther apart. Which I did. When I came out of the xray machine, she made another face and said she was going to have to pat down my waist and my legs, to which I said, “Okie dokie.” Meanwhile, Hub, who was behind me, scooted through the xray and was putting on his shoes while I was being patted down. Might I mention that his pants were also baggy? But they were jeans, so maybe that’s different? Or they figure men need more room in their crotchal area than women, and thus I was some sort of threat with my saggy crotched pants? Dunno, but I did what I was told. They also wiped my hands with a piece of something-or-other and threw it into a machine. Came back clean and we were waved on our way. So, that was an experience. (Did I also forget to mention that during our flight out, we saw a female TSA agent patting down a lady who was wearing spandex? Who would have been unable to hide anything if she had wanted to? Because I could see the brand name of her underwear through her spandex? –also, said lady was very trim, so don’t think that was fat-bashing, it was just a spandex thing…and a thing about how TSA could possibly think she was hiding something from them…)

Once again, the gate we were going to was at the farthest end of the airport, literally. So we were off on our hike to the gate, where we starting hearing announcements almost immediately that our flight was moved to another gate. The actual last gate in the terminal. Which was already crowded with people, as it was technically two gates in the same area. So we had to stand for twenty-five minutes until they were ready to start boarding because the chairs in the area were all occupied, either with people or, rudely, with their STUFF. And here’s where it starting getting really bad for me. First of all, I was tired and in pain from the first flight, all the walking in the airport, and the hard chairs at the wedding. Then, I started thinking about how we were sort of crammed in like cattle, and that the airline we were taking home was Spirit, which is a discount airline. I bought these tickets because they were the latest flight out we could get (technically it’s considered a red-eye because we were flying “overnight” due to the time change), and because it was a full-size airplane (versus American Eagle which uses a very small-ish plane). But at the gate I was thinking maybe Spirit was flying old planes that no one else wanted. Our plane was already at the gate and I could see it through the window. It arrived and was deplaning as we were told our gate was moved to that gate. And we were scheduled to board only half an hour later…how do they clean a whole plane in half an hour? How do the pilots get to rest in between flights? I saw the flight crew leave with their bags, but then I watched the two pilots get off the plane and go retrieve food for their dinners. As they came back with food, I said to Hub “two hands on the wheel Mr. Pilot-man!” out of jest, but it freaked me out a bit. Were we flying old creaking airplanes with crew who couldn’t make it onto one of the big airlines?

Listen, for those who don’t have anxiety, you have to understand that those of us who do, our thoughts aren’t always rational. I don’t know those pilots, I don’t know the airplanes, I don’t know shit about Spirit except that it’s “no-frills”. I have no clue if their training is different or requires less air-time for the pilots, or if the planes are made specifically as no-frills for Spirit or if, indeed, they are just older planes. But these are the things my brain was telling me at the time.

This time I had purchased the “big seats” in the emergency exit row because they were only a few dollars more when we booked. And I thought on the flight home it would be worth it since we’d both be tired and stressed. It was a good thing because Spirit’s seats are even closer together and smaller than United, which also pushed me further into the “rickety old airplane” theory. We boarded in the second zone/group and found our seats pretty quickly. Just a minute or two later, our seatmate (again the window seat) showed up, and I was relieved to note he was pretty slender, though tall. We let him into his seat, then tried to get settled ourselves. We had tons of legroom and just a little larger set of seats than we’d had on United, but we were also responsible for the emergency exit in the case of, well, an emergency. The seats were old looking, and everything around us looked kind of sparce and ghetto. Nothing seemed…finished. Like the plane was from back before they made things…pretty. It sucked, ya’ll. It really revved up my anxiety because it made me feel like we were flying secondhand airplanes. And to make things even more fantastic, as we were finishing up with boarding, two girls stumbled onto the plane, one of them making loud, drunken apologies on how they were running late. Then they proceeded to take the seats–you guessed it–right in front of us, one on each side of the aisle. Oh jeez. They were probably just barely into their twenties, drunk and acting stupid (one more than the other), and being really loud. They were punching each other back and forth across the aisle. Then the flight crew came to do their safety speech, and lucky them, the steward had to do his speech and demo right there next to the drunk girl. I’m pretty sure one or two of the times he bent/knelt down to pick something up off the floor, the drunk girl touched him inappropriately because he sort of started and then glared at her. Then another steward came to talk to her while the safety demo was still going on. After the safety demo, the steward put the stuff away and went back to the front of the plane briefly, until the girls starting acting up again, then he came back to quietly chastise them and warn them about further disturbances. The drunk girl started making a fuss and he shut her down, very quietly and very politely. She asked for her neck pillow from the overhead compartment, which he nicely retrieved, then within minutes she was asleep, flopped about like a doll.

I hated her. I hated the guy sleeping next to me. I hated the others asleep on the late-night flight. It sucked because I was really upset and unable to even sit back and relax, and there they were sleeping! So we head off to taxi along the runway and I plaster myself to Hub’s side again, while he’s watching an episode of Firefly he’d downloaded (to distract himself…poor Hub, being upset himself and having to deal with me…*sigh*). I had my headphones on again, but this time the plane was even louder and I had trouble drowning any of the noise out. As we took off, I felt like the plane was rattling around me, again like it wasn’t made very well or was old and on it’s way to tearing to pieces. I pressed my face against Hub’s shoulder and I cried. It was so hard to maintain myself at that point. I wasn’t having a panic attack, at least not in the way I know them, as my heart was very steady and I didn’t feel that overriding sense of doom and despair…I just felt tired and overstressed and I just wanted to be home. I didn’t want to have to fight my way through the discomfort of the turbulence or the feeling of the airplane dipping and turning, or ascending or descending. I just wanted to be done. I wanted the day to be over. I wanted to not be so tense or feel so vigilant. Hub had spent the entire day watching the clock, checking his phone nearly every twenty minutes (he told me) to make sure we were on schedule wherever we were. He told me as we were heading home from the airport that it made him feel in control. We both knew that was a crock.

The flight continued, as did the extraordinary noise (how did those people sleep through all that?). Twenty minutes prior to descent, the pilot came on with the announcement that we were approaching our home location. I spent the next twenty minutes clutched up against Hub, vacillating between crying quietly and telling myself that we HAD to go through the turbulence and descent in order to be done with all of this. Descent seemed to take forever, and although I thought I was more prepared for landing, this one was soooooooooooo loud and bumpy, it felt like the brakes were screaming the whole time. We finally taxied around to the gate and lined up to get off the plane. I was exhausted, beyond what I’ve felt in a long time, because it was all wrapped up in the physical and the mental and the relief of it all being over.

Only later did I realize that when I’d done some searching on the best place to sit on a plane before the trip, all the articles said to sit toward the back where there is less noise and less feeling of movement. I doubt highly about the movement, but from these two flights back-to-back, I do realize that it was quieter in the back of the plane. I didn’t hear them testing the flaps on the plane, I didn’t hear and feel the landing gear going up and down, and in general the engine noise was lessened in the back of the plane. Also, in the dark on the way home as we were approaching descent, I glanced out an open-shaded window and saw what looked like lightning, which freaked me out. I suspect it was the lights on the wings blinking, but that’s not something you see from the back of the plane, either. The drawback is, there are no seats in the back of the plane with extra legroom (that I’m aware of), so you get screwed on that. Do you deal with the extra noise and such and get larger seats with better legroom, or do you squish into the back seats for the reduction in noises? I dunno, but I will note that my flight out (back seats, smaller, less legroom) was an easier flight for me than the one coming home with the bigger seats. Then again, I was exhausted on the way home, and probably a little over-tired from the alcohol I’d consumed (which I literally never drink, ever, mostly because I don’t enjoy booze and the stuff that I do like–Kahlua and/or Bailey’s–make me so sleepy that I’m ready for a nap immediately upon finishing what is in the first glass I’ve had).

When we got off the plane, it was like the airport was deserted. We had to make the long walk to the baggage area to try to find the shuttle back to the car. Then it was a ride from the airport to the parking garage once the shuttle picked us up. And then from there, we were off for home, where our pups were waiting for us with much glee. We were very fortunate that a good friend of mine hung out with the dogs all day, while my parents’ hired a pet sitter to come watch their dog for the day we were gone. At one a.m., we picked up my parents’ dog and brought her to our house to spend the final night with us until my parents arrived back home. We were all sacked out by 1:30am, none of us really wanting to get up just a few short hours later to start the week.

By the time this posts, we’ll have already taken Le Moo in for surgery to have a thing removed from her eyelid, and my mother will have had her second infusion of the new medication to shrink her cancer. Later in the week, if needed after Butthead’s xrays (same time as Le Moo’s surgery), we’ll be back for another session of water ballet!

I am so glad this trip is over. I’m thrilled for my niece, and I hope she has a happy and love-filled life. But after this, she can come visit me.

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And so I fly… (part 1)

Spoiler alert: I made it home alive (and so did my husband).

Yeah, so the trip is over and I survived the flights both going and coming back. It was not fun either time and I hope to not fly again. Ever.

Our round trip was Sunday. On Friday night I started getting nervous. More about whether I was going to forget something or get to security and have to throw something away. But behind that, I was starting to get nervous about the flight itself. Hub isn’t a good flier either, so he was starting to get nervous, too. In some ways, that made me feel better because he doesn’t have anxiety and yet he was getting worried about the flight. Anyway, we left for the airport and parked our car in the daily lot, then grabbed the shuttle to the airport. We found the security line, which ended up taking almost an hour to get through. It was crazy ridiculous. I did what I was supposed to, including putting my liquids (mostly makeup) into a clear baggie and on the conveyor belt outside of my small bag. But guess what? After going through the xray doohickey, they stopped me and a female TSA agent said she was going to have to pat me down around my waist and my ankles. I actually thought nothing of it at the time, just let her do her thing, then grabbed my stuff and my shoes and went to where Hub was putting his shoes back on. We hurried along to find our gate, which seemed to be the last gate on that concourse, of course. Once we got there, we found seats and tried to stay occupied. We had about 45 minutes before boarding. I kept asking Hub if we needed to be in line for something because people kept lining up, but he said they were getting their seat assignments, which I had already done online when I booked the tickets. Also, I had checked in online (for both flights) the day before so it would save us some time and money.

They finally started boarding the flight. We were almost in the last group to board because our seats were in the back of the plane. I haven’t been on a plane in 17 years, so I forgot how small the aisles and seats are. And of course, I’ve got nicely padded hips…and our seats were in the back, so I had to pass alongside all the passengers already boarded. That kinda sucked. When we got to our seats, we found the person in the window seat was already there. Thank goodness he was a small guy, so I didn’t feel like I was smushed in between him and Hub, who is a big guy. We put up the arm rest between Hub and me, then I went to find my crochet in my bag. But I realized REALLY quickly that there was absolutely no elbow room to crochet. Ugh. I was really counting on that as part of my relaxation technique. So I swapped it for a book, then plugged in the headphones for my iPod and put the earphones over my ears. Were you aware that United uses their headrest tvs to show the safety video? It’s like a commercial and they tried to make it entertaining. Hub and I just rolled our eyes through the whole thing.

Lucky me, the little guy at the window seat kept his window shade open. So I pretty much had to crank my head toward Hub the whole flight. I clutched onto Hub as we took off, wrapping my arms around his arm so that I was pretty much attached to him. I did that almost every time I felt the plane bank, or there was turbulence, or we sped up or slowed down. I felt every single shift in the plane. Every single shift. I am so hyperaware of movement because of my vertigo and imbalance that I knew when the plane climbed higher or descended even a little. I tried to think of turbulence as pot holes, though that didn’t help very much (we had a good amount of turbulence as we ascended, then more during the length of the flight). I cranked my music and tried to sing along in my head. I tried to read but the book was terrible and I couldn’t concentrate. The woman in front of me put her seat back–of course–so I put my table tray down and just rested my head in my hand and my forehead against the back of her headrest (against the tv screen, technically). I had the little air blower from the ceiling on high, so that blew down the back of my neck and kept me relatively cool. I swayed my head to the music, tapped my fingers, and intermittently clutched at Hub as we flew. With the time zone change, I was having trouble tracking how long until we were supposed to land. At one point I was all happy because I thought we were going to start descending any minute, only to realize we had almost forty five minutes left. That was just less than half the flight. UGH. So back to the music I went, swaying and singing silently.

The pilot announced we were going to start descent, so of course I plastered myself to Hub, even though we still had twenty minutes before landing. I closed my eyes and just tried to ignore everything except the music I was blasting in my ears. The landing was hard and fast, and it felt like it took forever to slow down and stop. Everything was so loud…louder than I remembered from all those years ago. It took forever to get off the plane, because as I mentioned we were in the very back, just four rows from the bathrooms. It was interesting to watch the debarking process, because people were really patient and allowed other passengers to get off in order. All except ONE GUY who was sitting behind us who had jumped up as soon as he could, and instead of letting us out like he should, he pushed his way right up along our seats so Hub and I (and our seatmate) couldn’t get out in order like everyone else. SO RUDE, dude! I mean, really? How much faster were you going to get out by being an asshole?

Have you ever flown into O’Hare in Chicago? That mo’fo is HUGE. Walking to find the baggage area to get outside for pickup took forever. We used the moving sidewalks, too, but I was so tense on the plane and so squished into the seats that I was exhausted and in pain. It was kind of slow-going. But we had landed 30 minutes early (YES!) in comparison to the schedule, so we had some extra time to get outside. One of my brothers picked us up (along with some relatives coming in at the same time but via a different airline) and we were off to the hotel to meet my parents and change our clothes for the wedding.

Our flight out was an hour and forty minutes. The wedding itself, specifically, was thirty minutes long. Then we sat for ninety minutes in the reception room, as appetizers were circulated and the open bar, well, opened. I hadn’t eaten before flying (it was too early) and after we landed we went to the hotel. I had packed a tiny bag of gluten free cheese crackers, which I inhaled at the hotel (along with about six ounces of apple juice), but that was all I’d eaten all day. Unfortunately, every single appetizer was either breaded and fried, or had some sort of bread base (egg rolls, spanicopita, bruscetta), so I had nothing to eat again for those ninety minutes. I had two Shirley Temples and some water…and a few Hershey’s kisses that were on the table. That sucked. I was so hungry and I was getting a bad headache. Then the soup came out…but I can’t eat soup because it’s usually thickened with flour. But the waitress said they had some fruit, which she brought out for me and a few other people there who had allergies. That was some awesomely tasty fruit, ya’ll. 🙂 Then they served salad, which was good enough.

Luckily, my brother (it was my niece’s wedding) had arranged for a gluten free meal for me, which turned out to be pretty tasty. I was impressed because normally “gluten free” means plain and dry. But it was pretty okay, including a nice big baked potato, which I scarfed down like I was starving. They ended up bringing out chocolate mousse next, but I was too worried about being sick on the flight home that I didn’t eat it. Before we knew it, Hub and I were retrieving our bags from the car and changing back into our travel clothes in order to leave for the airport to fly home. When we went in to hurry around and say good bye, they were just serving the wedding cake (which I couldn’t eat anyway) along with what looked like ice cream or custard or something, and maybe some other small desserts. I’m not sure because we were already a few minutes behind schedule and it was more important to me to say good bye to my family than to see what we were missing dessert-wise. Then we were gone, on the road to heading home.

 

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I haven’t posted

mostly because I wasn’t sure I was ready to really share. Sometimes I need time to process before I know what to say. Often when I’m in session with T, she’ll say things and I’ll just sit there for a minute before I say, “Oh-kay” even. And then I’ll need to take home what she’s said and really process it.

I’ve been processing the hell out of some stuff.

We went to see my mother’s new radiation oncologist, who was not upbeat about the situation. He, in fact, was very gloom and doom about my mother’s prognosis. She hadn’t had her PET scan yet, but he seemed to indicate that they weren’t likely to be able to “cure” my mother. We spoke with him for about 45 minutes, maybe an hour, and he tried to explain what was going on. The phrase that still eats at me is, “Chance of cure is not high.” It took me a while to think on the fact that just because she can’t be “cured” doesn’t mean she can’t live WITH the cancer. But at that point, we still had no results of the PET scan, so we had no decisions to make. She has since had her PET scan, but the radiation oncologist did not call her to talk to her about his suggested path as he was supposed to. She ended up calling his office three days after the test, talked to the receptionist and left a message (the receptionist said, “oh, it’s always good that the patient calls to remind the doctor he was supposed to call” and she was SERIOUS not snarky!) but didn’t get a call back. So she called her chemo oncologist and left a voice mail and HE called back right away. He said he was going to call the other doctor first thing this morning to talk to him. Then he sent her the written report. But reading those damn things is…hard. So we still have no set path, and at this point Mom has decided she wants a second opinion, no matter what.

The appointment was hard. The doctor put his hand on my shoulder as we were walking out of his office and said, “I’m sorry to give you such bad news.” It made my heart skip a beat. It’s like you aren’t sure what is exactly being said, but when a doctor says that to you point blank, you really get it. On the way home in the car, we were only mildly discussing the appointment, but also trying to talk about other things. I knew my mother was upset–this whole episode has been much worse than the original diagnosis, the hysterectomy, the chemo–so I was trying to do something to help her. I finally wrote on my notepad (I always take notes for her during appointments), “Today you are okay.” I ripped the page off and handed it to her, and I told her to just keep it in her pocket. Every time I see her she shows me that she has it with her. The truth is, today she IS okay. The recurring spots are small and localized (at least from the CAT scan that found them), and she’s not having symptoms. (The unfortunate part is that they are concerned it has made its way into her lymph system…and also that it recurred so quickly after chemo ended.) So my brother and my uncles (her brothers) are all researching and inundating her with information, but I’ve been staying out of it. I’ve been doing what I can do, which is talking about other things with her. Doing other things. Planning other things. When she brings something up about the cancer or the research, I talk with her. But otherwise, I don’t bring it up. She has enough of that from everyone else.

The same day my mom was getting her PET scan, I was in with the gyno CRNP talking about MY fantastic upcoming procedure. Apparently the next step for me is something called a hysteroscopy. Where they put you in stirrups and shove a camera and a tube past your cervix into your uterus–which they fill up like a water balloon with some liquid–and poke around. They also take “material” for biopsy to see what’s going on. This is done in their women’s procedure center, attached to their office, which fortunately is attached to a hospital. So I get to be awake, but I’ll be having all kinds of medication. Now I’ve had a biopsy before, but no camera. This is supposed to take a little longer and likely be more uncomfortable than just a biopsy because the camera is larger and there’s more that needs to be done. In preparation for this fantastic voyage, I get to start my week by taking 800mg ibuprofen today, 2x a day, for two days. That’s today, by the way, and I’m home alone. So I have no Hub to be my safety person as I take my pills. I know it sounds weird because we’re talking about ibuprofen, but I haven’t taken ibuprofen in 15 years. I take nothing, other than the occasional antibiotics and only recently that stupid progesterone. I don’t even take tylenol or aspirin. So I get to take that ibuprofen with lunch, then again with dinner. Then 2x tomorrow, as well. AND I get to take something weird tomorrow night to “soften” my cervix in preparation for the camera. And then morning of the procedure, I get more ibuprofen AND a beta-blocker (which the doctor says is FINE with my PVCs) in preparation for counter-acting the epinephrine I’ll be getting directly into my cervix during the procedure (which causes people to be “jittery” and anxious!). I’m so unhappy about all these medications, I can’t even explain. I’ve been blocking this whole thing out until this morning so I wouldn’t have to think about it. I asked if they were going to be monitoring me, and the CNRP said they’d do my blood pressure ahead of the procedure, but during they basically just visually monitor me…and depend on ME to tell them if something is wrong. I wanted to laugh and cry, because those of you who are anxiety sufferers KNOW that we don’t interpret things–like pain, breathing, heart rate–properly when we’re anxious. Now the doctor DID prescribe me a couple of ativan pills in case I needed (or wanted) to take it the night before or morning of the procedure. I’ve had ativan ONCE in the hospital ER when they were putting me into the MRI. I don’t remember much about it, but I’m worried if I take the ativan (0.5mg) the morning of, I won’t be alert enough to tell them if something is wrong. I’m open to opinions on that from those of you who have experience with ativan.

I’m also concerned about being in that kind of horrible position for an extended period of time, due to my muscle issues. The CRNP keeps telling me that recovery shouldn’t be bad–lots of women go back to work the next day, some even go “shopping” the same day she told me–but I have muscle pain after going to an annual exam because of having to keep my legs open without any kind of support. So the CRNP offered me “candy cane” stirrups, which I found out later will sort of hang my feet in the air rather than me putting them into stirrups and having to keep them balanced. No idea if the candy cane stirrups will be better.

On top of all of that, I am trying to ignore the potential result of the biopsies they might get. This part has been really really hard, because it scares me the most.

I’m feeling overwhelmed between what’s happening with me and what’s happening with my mom. The potential scheduling of my procedure caused me so much stress because I KNOW it’s going to take me a couple of days to recover, and I was worried that my mother was going to have an appointment during the time I was unable to get around to go with her. I tried to work things out, but we had no idea what timing was going to be with her scan and her results and etc. As it turns out, because she’s considering a second opinion, I should be okay by then to go with her. And if not, my uncle (her brother) has really stepped in to attend appointments…he has some medical background, so he understands things differently than we do.

So just the length alone of this post should indicate my mental state, eh? If you’ve read all of it, thank you. If not, no worries. I just needed to be able to vent AND put this all done for posterity.

(and for record’s sake, my PVCs have been milder and less often in the past two or three days. I have no idea why.)

 

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Rope’s end

I might be at it. I might be at it.

Between all the hormones and the pain and cramps and headaches and nausea and fatigue and then a cough/cold, and a cough with my PVCs…and my PVCs. Crash. I went to go to the bathroom a few minutes ago and just burst into tears on the toilet. Sorry if that’s TMI.

I feel at the end of my rope. These cramps are driving me nutty, but almost even worse are the PVCs. Not only are they causing me to cough (which apparently is a THING, as the PVC aggravates the diaphragm) but they are working my anxiety nerve big time. I had told T that I was struggling and she reminded me that the majority of what’s happening is specific to this situation and that unless distraction could work for me–which it isn’t–then her best suggestion was to wait it out. Just make my way through the days until my hormones are back to normal and the cramps are gone and the fatigue eases. But you know what? That doesn’t resolve the PVCs and those are getting to me.

I’m trying diaphragmatic breathing…a lot. To the point where I sometimes feel like I’m going to hyperventilate. I’m trying to stay in the moment with my senses, grounding myself. I’m trying to remind myself that they are benign and mean nothing. And still…I feel like I’m within snapping distance. Strung tight like a bow and ready to go. I keep thinking I want to try some of the yoga DVDs I have again, despite my previous poor attempts. But I feel so shitty physically that the thought of doing it makes me kind of ill. And tired. And so I don’t do it.

At night in bed I try to breathe and meditate. I breathe and stare into my dark eyelids, pushing away thoughts and focusing on nothing. I try to ignore the PVCs. I try to ignore the cough. I fight the cough sometimes. Sometimes the cough is from this cold thing I have, sometimes it’s from the PVCs. I fight them both because they make me feel weak and like I’m giving into the PVCs, even though I’ve read this is involuntary with the PVCs sometimes (because of the aggravation of the diaphragm). I try to give in to the cough and the PVCs and let them both happen. The cough hurts my chest (along with the chronic cold-cough). The PVCs have changed how they feel again, and are now almost always accompanied by those ripples of anxiety.

I want to go upstairs and crawl into bed and cry, but I know that’s only going to make the PVCs more noticeable. “Waiting this out” has made the PVCs more noticeable because without having something to do, I focus on the sensation more. I wait for it. I hate wasting my time and “waiting it out” but I’m not finding another way through this at this point.

This week is busy. Besides my parents finally returning home from a trip (and the release of my dog-sitting duties with Cray-cray Lab), I have my mammogram, and now I have a ultra-sound scheduled. And my session with T. Three consecutive days. My mom has a CT scan this week to check for any changes in her cancer. I won’t be able to go with her because it conflicts with one of my appointments. She doesn’t need me to go with her anyway, as my dad will take her and there’s really nothing to the test itself.

I feel overwhelmed and taut. I feel at a loss. I feel tired. I feel weak and stuck and frozen and … just at the end of my rope.

 

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Waking a sleeping giant

Last night was the second night I took my fantastic pills. I survived yet another round of milder anxiety, and like every other night, had trouble falling asleep. Then, there I am, sleeping like nuthin, when I realize I’m awake. And my second realization is OW OW OW OW motherfucking OW. It’s like someone took my right ovary in a vise, squeezed it tight, and then twisted it around and around and around. I haven’t had cramps like that in years. YEARS. It’s like 3 am, I realize I have to pee, but the pain is so much that I don’t want to move out of bed. I know from past experience that the best way for me to relieve some of the pain is to lay on my back with my legs splayed in a certain way…it was a yoga thing that I learned at some point. But instinct has me curling into a fetal position on my side, trying to scrunch myself into a tiny ball. This relieves my back somewhat, but does nothing for the cramps.

Reluctantly I got out of bed and went to the bathroom, then went back to bed. I laid on my back like I knew I should and listened to the radio I turned on for noise (and company). Hub is snorin’ like a mother, facing me, almost in my damn ear. King size bed and that man ALWAYS knows when to snore right in my face. ARG.

I was up like that for at least an hour, maybe more. I woke up several more times through the rest of the night, but the pain was never as bad as the original wake-up. I’m kind of feeling like my body made me go nap yesterday afternoon because it knew it was going to give me hell overnight. I slept only a couple of hours in between the pain, the peeing, and the snoring. I’m still unhappy and uncomfortable today, but it’s more a undercurrent buzz of discomfort. Mom wants to go to the yarn store later, so I am hoping to be up to that to keep her company. She and my father are going on a cruise, so she wants to stock up on yarn to take with her to make hats. I’ve got my mammogram scheduled (after her cruise) at the hospital campus where her infusions were, so we want to have a good number of hats to drop off that same day (and get to see the nurses there again!).

Just now I realized my left ovary is more angry today than the right one. I guess they are pissed that they are being cranked into gear. Can’t say I blame them, but I wish they’d go hock off the doctor and not me!

 
 

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Pills a poppin’

So follow-up to my poppin’ pills post, I popped the first pill. I SKIMMED the leaflet that came with the pills, then made Hub read it, because even skimming it upset me. Then Hub came up to the bedroom (which is where I retire to after dinner most nights) to stay with me while I started my pill escapade. That was 2 1/2 hours ago. He left me here alone (he went downstairs) about an hour ago. I’m sitting with my heating pad because all my muscles hurt. I’m sure it’s not the pills, it’s how I handled the stress of taking the pills. My entire body was tense, I can feel the after-affects of it. Everything hurts. About an hour in, I couldn’t take it anymore and I asked Hub to retrieve the heating pad from the family room because my arms and shoulder and neck were all killing me (and I cried at this point, too). I was shifting around a lot on the mattress, which I do when I’m anxious. And I was putting weight on my arms and shoulders to do that….and I was sitting hunched over which hurt my back and neck and shoulders.

I’m still in pain. I still feel restless and anxious. I tried to use the techniques I know to keep myself from going over the edge, but I don’t think they were entirely successful. Especially considering the shifting and the pain. My hands really hurt, too, which I’m noticing as I’m typing. Hands and arms. I’m not sure how I’m going to sleep, as I’m still feeling somewhat edgy. And of course the pain isn’t helping. I’ve already asked Hub if there was muscle pain on the leaflet, but he said not general muscle pain. More to the tune of leg pain, which I would assume is liken to blood clot type pain. See, even now I can feel my legs tensing. It sucks. I’m stuffy from crying, my whole body hurts, and I’m warm from the heating pad and edgy from anxiety. I don’t know how I’m going to sleep. I still feel like any minute I could have some kind of adverse reaction or side effect. I’m still anxious.

For some stupid-ass pills. Stupid-ass pills that hundreds of thousands of probably millions of women have taken and survived without injury or harm. And right at this moment, at least I can count myself among those who have taken the pills and come out the other side.

At least, the first of ten times. Ugh.

 

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Poppin’ pills

I don’t mean to be glib, please don’t take it that way. I just couldn’t think of another title for this post.

I have to take some pills. I’m extremely sensitive to pills. I hate taking pills. I take next to nothing at this point in my life because of my sensitivities. I take almost nothing OTC and nothing prescribed (no one has requested me to take rx meds these days for anything medical). I’ve taken anti-biotics when necessary, and I only take the z-pack because I know the repercussions of that…and even then I make Hub sit (and stay for about an hour) with me when I take the first pill. Taking medication gives me very high anxiety. I still have no idea how I forced myself into taking the digestive enzymes and probiotic pills I take daily.

So as per a previous post, I’ve been to a new gynecologist. She requested blood work–which I gave on Monday afternoon and the results were back already on Tuesday morning, WTF?–and all came back normal. I’m waiting on the good ole pap smear, but what the CRNP really wants is for me to get an ultrasound (outy and inny, for those of you in the know) to check my lady innards. I know she’s going to find fibroids, that isn’t new. But the other thing she wants to check on is the lining of my uterus. Previous tests have shown that to be “thick” — which shouldn’t be terribly surprising, considering my crazy cycle. This is the first time, though, that the doctor (or CRNP) has wanted to force a cycle before putting me through the tests. In fact, two of the previous times I’ve had the test, the doctor has pulled me directly from the exam appointment and right into the ultrasound test. So anyway, the issue that remains is that I gotta take progesterone to force a period. I’ve taken P before–over 20 years ago?? Maybe-ish…and I actually don’t recall it working. I don’t recall much about it, actually. That was back before I really struggled so much with anxiety. Now, I struggle with anxiety, and I struggle a ton with health anxiety. And I am entirely paranoid about pills. I have to be on these pills for 10 days. Generally, once I get over the first day (or two), I’m okay. That first day is a kicker.

I’m trying not to think about it between now and when I start taking them (probably Thursday evening). We were waiting a little bit to see if I started a cycle on my own, based on my exam (sorry, TMI) and some physical symptoms I’ve been having. But so far, no luck. And at this point, I’m pretty sure I’ll be needing the pills. Prior years, I suspect I would have just ignored the pills and not followed up with the doctor. Now, after my mother’s issues…I’m going to push myself to deal with the pills. I wish I had an appointment with T this week, but no such luck. I’ll have to work through this with the knowledge I have.

Anyone do progesterone pills? Want to give me any words of wisdom? I had asked the CRNP, and all she said was it’ll make me grumpy. WTF, that’s not what I was trying to find out. I got the prescription and all the fantastic paperwork that comes with it…and I skimmed it, but I’m afraid to read it. Anyone?

 

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