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Category Archives: surgery

Calgon take me away

Preface: This blog is about me and my experience/feelings with regards to medications. It is not a judgement on or valuation of what anyone else does/feels with regards to their anxiety, depression, pain, insomnia, allergies…etc.


Monday morning I went to physical therapy for my shoulder. I’ve been going for close on to six weeks I think, but only once a week because they are so booked they can’t usually fit me in twice a week. This past Monday, I actually cried during the appointment because the pain was a) so bad and b) so frustrating. For the first three weeks or so, I was doing my exercises religiously at home. Then the therapist started adding in more and more exercises–without giving them to me in written or picture form–and I got overwhelmed and lost. I still try to do stuff daily, but it’s not everything I should be doing. Even so, I’m continuing to progress with my flexibility, but the pain continues. And I guess because the therapist is trying to push my range, the pain is…bad.

I am extremely sensitive to medications, and have been for most of my adult life. I don’t even take OTC pain killers like ibuprofin or acetaminophen or tylenol because they either screw up my stomach or they don’t work. I will take anti-biotics when prescribed, but I hate the experience and it’s mentally very challenging for me.

So last night I was in the shower and thinking about how much my shoulder still hurt, how sore it was, and I was under the hot spray of water and thinking…if I only took pain killers this would be a lot easier. And I knew…I KNEW part of the reason I don’t take pain killers or cold medication or antihistamines or sleeping pills or any other medication is that I would cause a bigger issue for myself. It’s NO LIE that I have medication sensitivities…I very much do have them. But maybe if I searched hard enough I could find things that work for me. I don’t do this…and here’s why.

About fifteen years ago I had a bad cold…a sore throat that was horrendously painful. I started using these OTC throat drops that had some kind of liquid medication in the middle. It was probably Haul’s brand, probably cherry flavored. I used them constantly in the beginning and they seemed to help. Then my throat started getting better but I literally got addicted to them and was continuing to suck on them like they were candy. I had to use them. I was addicted and I had to have one in my mouth almost all the time. It was vaguely terrifying when I finally realized what was happening (maybe like 3-4 weeks later). I quit them cold turkey and made Hub take the bag to work with him to throw away. I knew if they were in the trash in my house, I would dig them out and eat them. I don’t buy those kind of lozenges anymore, though in the last two or three years I have started buying honey-drops for sore throats.

I don’t do drugs and I don’t drink any alcohol and I don’t smoke. I never did any of those things. I feel like if I did or if I started using something like pain killers or anti-anxiety medication or sleeping pills, I would be using them constantly and for the wrong reason. I’d be in less pain, I’d probably have less anxiety, I might sleep more, but I’d also be zoned out and not living. I would just figure out the best way to shut myself off from everything and everyone in life by doping myself up on OTC or prescription medication. I would be gone, in every sense of the word. I’m not sure I’ve ever admitted this fear to anyone out loud, but in my heart I know that I’d use the medications to hide away. I’m not sure I’d be doing anything illegal or overdosing on the meds–or even overusing in any significant way–but I’d be using them in a way that would excuse me from life.

I feel like my anxiety over medications keeps me safe from all of this. Yes, I DID use some pain medication after my first surgery, but it was only a day or so (and so regimented!) and then I used tylenol. And then after a day or so I used nothing. The second surgery I didn’t use pain meds because I didn’t like the way they made me feel the first time, so I used tylenol as needed and I suffered through. I suffer through pain on a daily basis because I’m afraid of who I would become if I muted all the pain in my life…physical and mental.

Before I first got sick in 2001 (at 29yo), I’m not sure I ever really needed medications. Sure, I probably took cold meds on and off over the years, and never gave it another thought. Yes I did use Advil every month for cramps (which is how I ended up with stomach issues!) and probably occasionally for headaches. But after I got sick, everything changed, including who I really was. Who I really am.

The physical therapist said that I could go back to my Ortho doctor and ask to get a steroid injection to help with the pain as we continue with rehab, but I declined. I hate the pain I live with daily, and I hate the pain that reduces me to tears during PT, but the pain reminds me that I’m alive. I’m alive and I’m experiencing life.

This all sounds very fucked up. I guess I’m not surprised at that revelation.

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Next up in our schedule

The ceremony yesterday went as I expected for the most part. Hub and I–and one of my brothers–stood right with my dad, in case he had an issue during the service. He really shook like a leaf the whole time, so I was grateful that Hub was there right behind me and Dad in case Dad fell or fainted or whatever. Our Rabbi was the only one who spoke, and he said very nice things about Mom…he’s known us for more than 45 years, and he was especially close with my parents for the last twenty or so since my mother served on his temple’s board for many years in several different capacities. In addition to her attending services weekly after my grandfather died. He also read a poem, which I think is kind of a standard poem for funerals, even though this technically wasn’t a funeral.

After the short service was over, I stood at the headstone for a few minutes. While I was there, my brother (the same as above) came back over and sat in one of the chairs that the cemetery provided us. I went over and sat with him (after asking if he wanted to be alone, which he said no), and after a few minutes my father came back, as did my other two brothers and my SIL. We kind of sat there quietly for a few minutes…some of us crying and some of us not.

After about another five minutes, we left Dad at the headstone for a moment and the rest of us moved a distance away. When he joined us, we left and went home to eat lunch with everyone.

The lunch was fine at Dad’s house. We mostly did a buffet style, so it was easy enough to just put stuff out and then congregate at the extended table in the dining room. When everyone but my siblings and SIL left, we hung out for a while until my father ended up falling asleep in his recliner. Then Hub and I went home for the rest of the afternoon. We went back last night to say good-bye to my out-of-town brother and SIL, as they were flying home early this morning.

I don’t feel any differently about my loss. The Rabbi kept telling me that with the passing of this ceremony, maybe my father would find some closure and his depression would lift and he’d be doing better. I don’t think that’s going to be the case for Dad. Mostly because I don’t see Mom’s passing any differently on the other side of the ceremony. It doesn’t change the day-to-day living without her. Not for me, anyway.

Now that we have passed that…milestone?…, I have to move on to things that are waiting for me. One of which is a colonoscopy. Next Monday. I was having some mild stomach issues–that mostly resolved after my PCP appointment–that my primary sent me onward to a gastro doctor. The gastro doctor talked to me about my cancer history, which puts me at higher risk for both breast and colon cancer (which I knew, which was why I went to my PCP right away), and he suggested a colonoscopy. He said it was better safe then sorry, and indicated that if all was well and I didn’t have issues, I could go ten years until my next one. Normally you get a colonoscopy starting at 50, but again because of my history, he wanted to go ahead and do it now. It’s probably nothing major going on, but I don’t want to let anything go, so I’m getting the test.

Sadly, the part that worries me the most is the prep. I hated the surgery prep that I had to do twice in three months for my hysterectomy and then oopharectomy last year. The gastro doctor prescribed a different type of prep–so no gatorade, thankfully–but surgery prep is still really uncomfortable and tiring and anxiety-inducing. The procedure itself will include propofol, so I shouldn’t remember anything. I had that with my other surgeries and they were right, I don’t remember shit after they said “count backwards from 10” and the last number I remember was 9.

I’m also worried about the recovery in the days following. With my physical issues and pain issues, I am sure I’ll be uncomfortable after. I only hope I’ll be recovered in time to go to my in-laws for the holidays.

Coming up after that are appointments for my 18-month follow-up with my oncologist, Le Moo’s yearly “senior” vet visit (and buying lots of dog pills for both dogs), and then my mammo. I also have to get in to get my eyes checked and see the dentist, but I’m saving those for after my mammo.

Life keeps going on…

 

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1 degree of madness

This recovery has not gone well at all.

The surgeon told my husband and mother in the hospital (while I was in post-op recovery) that the surgery went “perfectly” — it only took 30 minutes versus 90 and I lost no blood.

When I woke in recovery, I felt awful and dizzy and nauseated. They moved me to a cube where my husband and mother were waiting, but I couldn’t open my eyes and there was some kind of goo all over my face (forehead, cheeks, nose–which later I was told was from the tape from the breathing tube, but I didn’t have that issue last time). I was so dizzy that I couldn’t open my eyes. I hurt all over. I stayed in the hospital longer this time than the last time. They took me into surgery early (like 8:30am) but we didn’t leave until 5pm. That was over an hour more in recovery this time.

On the way out, the nurse handed over prescriptions. We were both horrified to see the surgeon was sending me home with injectable blood thinner. I had to inject myself in the stomach once a day subQ for fourteen days. I HATE NEEDLES and Hub is so terrified of needles that when he has to have his blood taken for testing, he has to go to a specific lab that has a gurney because he has to lay down because he has passed out in the past. Hub tried to get the injections from the hospital pharmacy so the nurse could demonstrate the first injection, but when he got there they were closing. FUCK.

So we came home and he went back out to put the prescriptions in. The prescription said to start the shot the next day, so I tried desperately to ignore the thought. First night, Hub helped me clean the area with alcohol and I gave myself a shot while he was looking in the other direction. The shit burns…for like 20 minutes afterward. It’s bad. I hate it. I have four more to go.

Saturday night I went to give myself a second shot, but I was really cold. But my face was so hot. So I gave myself the shot, Hub gave me an ice pack for my face, and then he put a blanket over me because I was shivering uncontrollably. And then I had a full-on anxiety attack. I was lying prone on the bed, head covered with the ice pack and a towel, body covered with a blanket, feet up on a pillow, crying and shivering and it was terrible. TERRIBLE. Overnight that night, I was SO HOT. I was sure it was from the surgical menopause. I didn’t sleep, I sat up all night feeling hot and sweaty and miserable. The next day, Sunday, I was pretty miserable. I was able to do my shot that night without another anxiety attack, but I was so hot all the time. I finally started taking my temperature when I couldn’t sleep again. I have 3 thermometers… two oral and an ear one. Two of them were new because I thought my old thermometer wasn’t working right so before this surgery I ordered a new oral and decided to try the ear one. By 1am, all three were reading 101 or over. The surgeon said if I had fever over 101 to seek attention. I woke Hub and we had a long conversation about what to do…ER, walk-in clinic, wait for the morning. He HATES the ER because no matter when we’ve gone, it’s always been mobbed and we end up having to wait forever to get out of the waiting room. It’s a terrible process there…they always seem overcrowded and understaffed. Our choices were limited and I was so freaked out about the fever, that we headed out, leaving the dogs alone in the house because I didn’t want to wake my parents and scare them if we could get in and out at the walk-in clinic. So at 1am Monday morning we headed out, but the walk-in clinic was locked up and closed down, even though the hours showed them as being open.

So at 1:50am, I checked in at our local ER. My temperature on their unit was 100.8 and my pulse was high. I felt like I was burning up. The triage nurse offered me ibuprofen or tylenol but I said no because I had just seen the terrible new report on NSAIDs and heart issues (also the reason why I’ve taken NO pain killers after this surgery). So we sat in the ER while I was hot and cold, waiting for someone to call my name. They took me back for blood and urine and an IV, then sent me back to the waiting room. By about 4:30am, when the triage nurse came to take my temp again and it showed 101.3, I took the tylenol. It was another hour plus before they took us back to a cube. The nurse came in about half an hour later and took my vitals again…the fever went down somewhat and my BP was low. About twenty minutes later, the PA came in and said my bloodwork indicated an infection…probably a UTI. She did a physical, then decided to send me for a CT (with IV contrast) to make sure I had no abscesses from the surgery. Went for CT after giving more pee for a culture (which the next day came back inconclusive), then waited around for IV antibiotics. CT was negative, so they gave me the IV antibiotics and by 8:30am they sent us home with a week of oral antibiotics. Hub and I both went home and straight to bed. He slept

For two days I suffered with the fever, taking tylenol every six hours to keep it below 100 degrees. I’ve never had a UTI before, so I had no idea about the symptoms, even though the PA asked me and the surgeon’s office asked me (when I called to report in Monday afternoon). I thought I was just recovering from surgery and the pain was from that. I thought the fever I had was just hot flashes and night sweats. I just had no idea.

Did I mention also that my baby tooth and the surrounding gum has been irritated since surgery? Even though I told them about the tooth, I think he bonked it. And I don’t have the energy (or the immunity & stamina) to go to the dentist and have them rip it out. Plus, I’m on blood thinners, still, so I suspect going in to have the tooth removed right now is probably not a good idea.

I’ve been SO tired during all this. I assume it’s not just the (second) surgery, but also recovering from the infection. And also the antibiotics are making me nauseated 24/7. I get out of bed and within an hour or two, I can barely keep my eyes open. Then the rest of the day I’m struggling between trying to rest and being exhausted. I am not moving around nearly as much as I did after the first surgery, so despite the fact that I DESPISE the injectable blood thinner, at least it has helped my anxiety somewhat about the blood clots.

I’m also struggling from nightmares about the cancer and tomorrow’s follow-up appointment with the surgeon. I know he’ll have the pathology report, which will set me forward to the next step in this journey. At the very least, I made it through yesterday (Sunday) without a telephone call from him (which is how I heard about the cancer initially, with a phone call from him on a Sunday during lunchtime). It was harder than I thought to go through the day yesterday, as every time the phone rang, I was sure it was going to be the surgeon with bad news…

It has amazed me at how I could tell the different between 98.6 on my thermometer and 99.1. I can feel the heat start, I can feel the chills start. It’s not even a full degree difference, and yet I could tell when it was time to check my temp and take more tylenol. It’s the same with the house thermostat…there’s a major difference for me with 1 degree whether it’s the heat or the a/c. Is everyone else so sensitive? (this was the reason behind the title of the blog post, so I figured I’d better explain the non-sequitur.)

 

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Once more into the breech

Tomorrow’s the day (again). Seems I’m first on the list, so we need to be at the hospital by 6am. That means I have to be up around 4am to shower and get myself together. Seriously, I’m considering not going to sleep at all, because I can’t imagine I’ll even be able to sleep. Did I sleep last time? I can’t remember. I was second on the schedule last time, so I had an extra hour in the morning to work with.

Yesterday I started with what felt like a little sore throat, which upset me. But from all the reading I’ve done, they won’t make you reschedule unless you have a fever or lung involvement. I have no fever and no cough. This morning the throat thing is much less scratchy, though my nose feels a bit stuffy. That’s nothing new for me, though, because my allergies have been crappy this year and I’ve had stuffiness on and off since early spring. I’m hoping that’s what the scratchiness was from my throat yesterday, too.

I’m trying to read and distract myself. I had an early breakfast (per instructions) and after that I’ve been sitting around. Later I’ll go up and change my sheets so they’re clean and fresh. Later, I’ll be making a path to the bathroom. Bleh.

I’m nervous. I felt this way last night, too. I feel like I’m breathing funny, but that could also be because my nose is stuffy. Either way, that’s making me more anxious. I want to pay better attention to my breathing so that it is slow and normal, but I feel like if I pay attention to it, that’ll make things worse. Damned if I do, damned if I don’t.

Stuff hurts. Arms, legs, back, neck, head, jaw, ears. And I’m tired.

Hopefully by this time tomorrow, I’ll be in recovery, bitching and moaning about…something. And maybe by dinnertime, I’ll be home.

 

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Rinse and repeat

So here I am, just days away from surgery number two. I wrote about my pre-surgery nerves in this post last time. I’m feeling pretty crappy these days, some of which is because I haven’t been sleeping. I’ve been having nightmares and I’ve felt overheated at night. I’m terribly heat intolerant, so it keeps me away and/or wakes me up when I’m too warm. And of course, if I’m warm when I try to go to sleep, then I can’t fall asleep. So it’s been sucky sleeping lately. Not a great way to go into surgery, I’m sure. Also, my throat has been dry in the mornings and my nose feels stuffy. I’m hoping it’s allergies, because I can’t take the thought that it’s a cold, which might (or might not) postpone my surgery. No fever, so I feel like just a cold won’t be an issue, but my anxiety makes me worry about it. Repeatedly and often. Woo.

In my previous post, I talked about all the prep work I was doing in advance of surgery. I re-read the post and feel kind of embarrassed at how much I was doing. I made all that food and ate none of it. I got all that yarn and used none of it post-surgery. I borrowed all those books and it was over a week (or more) before I could read anything. I used almost none of the things I packed to take the hospital. Even so, some of it was worthwhile. I’ll be changing and washing sheets in advance, because I like the comfort of the laundry detergent when I get into bed. Hub will be getting me deli turkey and making me gluten free biscuits because those were the two things I ate for the first two weeks, almost exclusively (great diet, eh?), along with plain water. So no soup, no lemonade, no mushrooms and cheese…that was all a waste of time the first time.

I’ll pack my small bag for the hospital with pain medications (leftover from the first surgery, so we don’t have to pay for them a second time), my gluten free chewing gum (peppermint, to get my stomach working again), and my pillow for the ride home. I’ll have my lip balm and my cell phone and my advanced directive (again). That’s pretty much it.

I’m still going to the library tomorrow, so I don’t have to go soon after surgery, but I know now that reading will be nearly impossible the first week. Even watching television was nearly impossible, because my brain just wouldn’t focus.

And on top of things, I’ll be worrying about surgical menopause. Woo hoo. There are horror stories about this, and I’ve been trying really hard not to read them. I talked with T about them at my last session, but I’m not sure I can be reassured about this. I’m mostly worried about the insomnia…and then the possibility for increased depression and anxiety. There’s a whole host of new symptoms for SM that I’ll have to learn, and that my health anxiety will have to feed on. I’m wondering if acupuncture might help. I’ve been trying to read about it, but I know full well that acupuncture doesn’t always work for everyone.

I finally saw the massage therapist last week. It was so nice to have her work out some of my muscles. I wasn’t able to lay on my stomach, but she was able to work most everything while I was on my side. I can’t say how much it all helped long-term, but it felt really good during (with the exception of the trigger points which generally hurt like a mofo). I really hope I’ll be able to get back to her more quickly after this surgery than after the first. My muscles really took a beating after surgery.

No matter the fact that I went through this surgery (basically) once before, I’m nervous. I know now how it is going to feel to wait in pre-op…and how I felt in the post op, and how gross and out of it I felt in recovery. And on the way home. And the immediate days following. I made it through, obviously, so I get that, but it doesn’t mean it was easy and/or no big deal. In the back of my head, I’m also thinking about actually making it through the surgery. I’m afraid. I don’t know another way to be at this point.

My PVCs have mostly dropped off in the last two weeks or so. I had some last night, but they were mild and didn’t last very long. I hope that continues, because I can do without those.

 

 

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Here’s where I wait

I had my doctor’s appointment with the gyn/onc surgeon. My parents came with us to try to help me listen, but in the end there wasn’t much new to learn at that point. He had no further information on the cancer, because he didn’t have enough information from surgery as cancer was not the expected outcome. Mostly what the doctor wanted to talk about were options for next steps. They were:
Do nothing…wait and watch — not really much of an option for me. There’s cancer, it has to be addressed somehow.
Go for treatment…radiation and chemo — with the hopes that whatever is in there would be killed by the treatments. But the exact treatment would be a guess, since we really have no idea what’s left inside me.
Go back into surgery…take out ovaries and tubes, sample lymph nodes, do a pelvic wash — only this option allows him to stage the cancer and plan an appropriate treatment.

Without hesitation, I took the surgical option (DaVinci robot assisted laprascopic). As much as I don’t want to go back into surgery and/or deal with (bowel prep again!) recovery, I also don’t relish the idea of going through treatments that might not really target whatever is going on. Fumbling around blindly does not sound smart to me. So surgery it is going to be…but they won’t do surgery for six weeks after the last surgery. And on top of that, when I went to schedule it, they wanted to wait until AFTER six weeks. Which meant from the time I went into the appointment until the new surgery date, it’s over four weeks.

Four weeks to sit and wait…and do absolutely nothing. Well, now it’s three, so I guess that’s a step in the right direction.

The cancer is grade 2. I asked for and got a CT scan on Friday that showed “no evidence of metastatic disease” so that’s also good news. Bad news was that because they didn’t expect to find cancer, they cut up the uterus inside me (in a bag to keep any potentially errant cells contained) so identifying how far the cancer might have gotten into the uterine wall was difficult for the pathologist. The report says “superficial” advance into the wall, but then goes on to state specifically that it was hard to determine because the uterus had been cut up. I don’t know how they will properly stage the cancer if they don’t have that information, and I forgot to ask.

As I said in my previous post, I don’t really know how to trust the things being said at this point. I heard all those nicey nicey things during my mother’s early appointments, but once she got her surgery and the cancer was staged, it was much more advanced (and more aggressive) than they had first anticipated. So I don’t want to get my hopes up, and that leaves me in a low spot…worrying.

The first couple of days I cried myself to sleep. Hell, the first week I spent crying on and off, and crying myself to sleep. There are things going on around here that I want to be present for, but the cancer and the surgeries are messing stuff up. My niece is getting married in the fall, and her bridal shower is in July. Unfortunately, with the next surgery scheduled, I’m already having to decline the invitation to the shower because it will be just over a week after my surgery. Based on my first recovery, there is no way I’d be able to handle that, physically or mentally. And as my mother pointed out, I might not be able to make it to the wedding in the fall (out of state and a looooong trip) if I’ll be needing treatment. I don’t think she was thinking when she said it, but she kind of blurted it out and that sent me into a spiral of crying again.

I just want to know what I’m facing. And in the meantime, I don’t know how to be normal and do normal stuff. I just feel afraid and lost and helpless. I’m still spending time doing much of nothing…staring out the window, staring at the television. I read a book the other day, but no crocheting. I just sit and zone out…and try not to wonder and try not to what if…

I’m still not sleeping well, so I’m tired all the time. I’m having terrible nightmares when I do sleep. My body hurts so much…my legs, my back, my neck, my arms. Every part of me is so tired and so achy and so painful, tense, sore. It’s a struggle to move around, it’s a struggle to do much.

 

 

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It’s not good

When your gynecological oncology surgeon calls you at noon on a Sunday. It just isn’t. And even when he’s being kind and asking you how you’re feeling and how’s that incision doing, you just know it isn’t.

At this moment, I know very  little, except that he tried to reassure me that the prognosis is good. Despite the word CANCER coming out of his mouth. He tried to speak calmly and kindly, telling me it was a surprise to him, too, based on my hysteroscopy results, but that treatment will likely only be surgery to remove my ovaries, because it’s hormone fed cancer. But he gave me so little information, and I was so unprepared for this call that I asked him almost nothing. Despite all the knowledge I have from my mother’s uterine cancer, I basically asked him what the stage was, but he seemed unwilling to give me too much information at that point. Low grade, early stage. Those are the words I wrote down, among a few others. Then he told me we would talk all about it at my appointment on Tuesday.

I’d been just sitting down to have lunch when he called. There was food on the table, not much on my plate yet. I wanted to throw up. Instead, I bawled. I put my head down on the kitchen table and I bawled. Hub tried to comfort me, to tell me we’d tackle whatever it was together. But all I could hear in my head was the conversation at my mother’s first appointments. “Caught it early” they told her. “We got it all in surgery” they told her. “Early stage” they told her. Later, they ended up telling her it was a higher stage and higher grade because it was an aggressive and fairly rare type of cancer. The initial conversations were before the pathology came in about the type of cancer after surgery (they’d gotten cancer results in the initial pathology from her hysteroscopy). I’ve already had my surgery, but it seemed like he was telling me he couldn’t stage my cancer until after my ovaries were removed. I asked about lymph nodes, but I honestly have no recollection of how he responded. I’m sure they’ll take lymph nodes for testing. I’m sure I’ll get more information tomorrow. I’m sure I’ll be overwhelmed. I suspect I will cry, though I might be able to hold that until I’m home and can cloister myself away.

I waited more than four hours to tell my parents. I pretty much cried on and off those four hours. I called my mother–I couldn’t tell her face to face–and I told her. It was a terrible terrible moment to say it out loud. To say it to the woman who has been living it for over a year. To say it to the woman who had ONE DAY left on her radiation treatments, with the hopes of not thinking about cancer until her next PET scan. To the woman whom I’ve been cheering for for over a year. To the woman who is strong and has handled every single bit of her journey with such strength and such acceptance…and with an ability to live with so much unknown.

I’ve told no one else in my family. What’s the point when I have no information? I don’t even know what kind of surgery he’ll want to do or how quickly. I know that my mother had an abdominal surgery because they wanted to look around and do a pelvic wash to check for any bad cells floating around. But I just have no clue. I have no clue whether he’ll talk chemo or radiation or potential for …I don’t even know what.

I emailed T to see if she could spare some time for me. She’s leaving on vacation for a week, but I wanted to get some words of wisdom from her. She generously called me from home and spent about a half an hour talking to me. I told her I didn’t really expect to hear some great miraculous words from her, but I felt it was the right thing to do…to seek support from her. Especially since she’s going to be gone during this difficult week. She’s supposed to be sending me someone else I can call while she’s gone, but I haven’t gotten that yet. I’m not sure I’d go talk to a stranger at this point, but T assures me that this person would be a good fit for me. And as expected, I spent the thirty minutes on the phone just telling her I didn’t know what to do or how to act. That I didn’t know what I wanted people to say to me or to do for me. That I have no idea what to do with myself.

I cried on and off the whole of yesterday. Last night I had a vicious headache from the crying. When we turned off the lights to go to sleep, I did go to sleep. I was up early and the thoughts started racing right away. I want to be strong, but right now I feel weak. I am so fucking scared of what is to come. I’m so fucking scared.

 

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