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Category Archives: thinking

Fake (my) news

Do you listen to yourself talk? Do you have an internal editor who sifts through what you say before you say it? Do you tell people the truth when they ask you questions?

I don’t remember when this happened, but one day I remember listening to myself talk as if I were watching the conversation from outside of it. Not in a derealization kind of way, just in a way of WTF am I doing? Someone had asked me something and I was answering them, and the words coming out of my mouth were–technically speaking–lies. I wasn’t lying with malice, I was lying because I didn’t want the person to know how shitty I was feeling. I was lying because I didn’t want to have to deal with the eventual questions of why and have you seen a doctor and have you tried x. I was lying because I didn’t want the person to pity me, or to worry about me, or to think less of me for my health issues.

I’m in pain almost every day, from various parts of my body. Possibly from my mind, who knows. I feel lousy the majority of the days in recent years…not pain specifically, but sometimes it’s anxiety, sometimes it’s due to a known illness, sometimes it’s what my mind conjures, and sometimes it’s some unknown ailment. I get tired of telling people how I’m feeling when they ask. And for the most part, it’s not about them, it’s about me. I don’t want to deal with whatever the blow-back is, as I said above.

And on this particular day, I came to a realization of how often I lie (without malice) to people. Clearly I do it without forethought or planning…and in some cases it seems to be an automatic response. I try not to do it with Hub (he can often see through me anyway) and I definitely try not to do it with my therapist. Sometimes I will edit the “truth”, even though I suspect both of them know it. But with everyone else? I lie. I give fake answers. I edit the things I’m saying to meet the person I’m conversing with.

I hate how are you? I despise how are you feeling? I always feel put on the spot to answer in a manner that the person asking can understand or respond to in a manner that works for them. I absolutely abhor when Hub asks me what hurts or does something hurt? Again, no one else’s issue other than mine, but this is the truth.

I don’t remember a time when my body didn’t harbor pain. I don’t remember a time when my body didn’t report some form of illness–real or anxiety-induced. I don’t remember a time when I didn’t lie to people about those things.

How are you? Shitty.

How are you feeling? Shitty.

What hurts? Everything.

Giving those answers…what does it do for me or for the person asking? Nothing. It puts me on the spot to explain, clarify, defend, respond…and I don’t want to anymore. I would very much wish that I wouldn’t need to anymore, but in lieu of that, I lie.

How are you? Fine, thanks.

How are you feeling? Good days and bad days.

What hurts? Nothing new or different.

If you can’t beat ’em, fake ’em?

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Insider information

I went through a couple different ideas for titles for this blog post, but this one seemed the most benign. Because I’m going to talk about my upcoming test on Monday.

It’s a colonoscopy.

I am less than thrilled, and at the moment, getting more and more anxious about it. Unfortunately, this last week, I’ve had stomach issues that resulted in me wanting to just cry all day and all night. I don’t get really constipated often, and this time was the absolute worst (and I have NO idea why this happened). It was made worse by the fact that I think I have a hemorrhoid (sorry, TMI) which was causing me pain every time I tried to go to the bathroom. Needless to say, the latter half of this week was bad. I had to call the GI doctor’s office late Thursday evening to see if I could take something because there was no way I could make it through to Sunday when I start my actual bowel prep. They said yes, I took something, and it hardly helped at all.

Are you aware that there’s a guy on Reddit (which I almost never read unless it’s a link from somewhere and even then it’s rare) who didn’t poop for a month and then posted about his “ordeal”? OMG, it’s both hilarious and horrendous. Don’t go look it up because there are links to pictures (which I didn’t look at), and lots of advice and a (supposed) doctor who urges the guy to go to the ER. The end result is that he goes to the hospital and eventually goes home and is fine. But there were thousands of people checking in to see if the “poop guy” had actually pooped.

I spent too much time on the internet Thursday and Friday.

Friday I finally had some relief (at the expense of more pain than I would have liked), but of course Friday night and today I’ve been feeling the effects of the milk of magnesia I took Thursday night. And since I’m expecting to start a bowel prep Sunday late afternoon, I figured I might as well eat light yesterday and today. Maybe it will make things a bit easier Sunday night and Monday morning. But the lack of food has been challenging, in that I feel cold and tired and anxious. I’ve been trying to stay hydrated and to eat enough to not feel woozy, but I’ve literally done nothing today. I desperately want to go back to bed, but if I don’t at least try to stay awake and move around, I’ll never sleep tonight.

I’m also worrying about why I ended up so damn constipated, because that was the absolute worst. I don’t know how people deal with that on a regular basis, for those who have IBD and Chron’s and such. I am afraid that this might continue to happen to me–because I can’t pinpoint WHY it happened this time, my diet has been pretty much the same for months–and I don’t know how I could handle it. On top of all the other stuff in my medical life…

I’m concerned about the actual procedure as well as the prep. They’re going to be putting me under anesthesia, which is scary to me. And of course the test could result in problems if they screw something up. And then the results of the test could bring up issues that will need to be dealt with in some way. All of this is is settling in on me and making me anxious. I talked to T about this stuff at my appointment yesterday, but I was feeling less distressed then than I am now. Of course, I’m a day closer and I’ve had nothing to do today except think. I have tried distracting myself with TV and watching some videos on Youtube, but I’m at a point where it’s not working anymore. I’m also vacillating between feeling hot and cold, for no reason…except maybe the lack of food. Also, it’s 35 degrees out and windy, so the weather isn’t helping, especially when I have to take the dogs out.

To add insult… Hub has some friends over to hang out. When they stopped to eat lunch, Hub told me he “wasn’t feeling right”, which scares me. He didn’t know what it was or why, but it was enough for him to check his blood pressure (which was a bit low for him) and his pulse (which was a little high for him, but he was feeling anxious). About an hour ago he reported in that he was feeling pretty much the same as earlier. So now I’m worrying about me and the prep and the test AND worrying about him.

I just want the test to be over.

 

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Some days it feels too hard

Le Moo likes to hang out in our partially unfinished basement. We don’t know why…if it’s the cold concrete floors, the darkness, or the general idea that she gets to sleep uninterrupted down there. We have a baby gate on our steps that we try to keep closed when we’re not down there, otherwise she goes downstairs and refuses to come back up unless there’s food involved. Unfortunately, sometimes Hub goes downstairs for something (it’s sort of his man-cave) and Le Moo follows. Then when we finally get her back upstairs, if Hub forgets to close the baby gate (it’s set up down half a flight of stairs around a corner out of sight) then Le Moo will just kind of disappear and we’ll have to go searching for her.

So she was down in her lair this morning and it was time for their lunch, so I’m yelling and yelling for her–sometimes she’s a hard sleeper–while I’m putting together their food. I turn around and I see her in the hallway at the top of the stairs and I’m like “you lazy cow”… and then I realize she’s limping. And my heart sinks.

We adopted Le Moo in the fall of 2011, and from what I remember, she was about 3  1/2 years old at the time. We’re at about 4 1/2 years from that time, so she’s about eight years old. She’s 95lbs (ish…we’re working on getting some weight off of her, even though we’ve never been able to accomplish that in the last 4+ years), and we think she’s a large breed dog. Large breed dogs have shorter life spans than their smaller counterparts. Le Moo is the twilight of her life. She’s had these limps on and off through her entire time with us, and our vet has never found anything. Despite Le Moo’s stature, she can haul ass when she wants to, and she’s prone to po-go’ing when she sees a bird or some other critter she wants to chase outside the fence. We’ve never gotten the po-go’ing on camera, but it’s pretty amazing the amount of air that she can get when in flight. Most of the time, the limp resolves, probably because she strained something when running or jumping. It’s wholly possible this limp, too, will resolve. I sat on the floor and checked her feet, paws, toes, leg, elbow, etc. She didn’t show any distress and I found nothing.

After the initial alarm, I’ve left her to rest on her own. Now I’ve been interrupted by the request to go outside. I took the opportunity during Le Moo’s snooze on the deck to inspect her paw and I have found a sore. I thought there was something on her pad and I pulled it off but it felt like…a sticker (as in a piece of paper with glue on it). But now there’s a sore left behind, which explains the limping. I’ve contacted the vet to see if we need to do anything other than keep it clean, but there’s not much we can do with a foot,  you know?

Anyway, after the initial alarm and the back and forth with Hub about what was going on, I told him If there was any reason for me not to get another dog in the future, it’s the worry and anxiety I get over them. It’s so hard to be worried all the time. He said he understood, but that they give us so much back, it’s worth it. I said, Some days it feels too hard. Some days it does. Le Moo is in her golden years. I can’t even fathom the idea of losing her, especially after losing SP. Butthead has been throwing up on and off, not to mention her ACL replacement and ensuing second surgery AND ensuing limping issues. I go to sleep every night and wake up every morning wondering if Butthead has gotten sick. We don’t know why she’s throwing up, and it’s sporadic and hard to figure out. We’ve put her on digestive enzymes in case it is acid reflux or tummy issues, and we have pepcid on hand at our vet’s recommendation if the enzymes don’t work. But it’s more worry for me. More anxiety. These I need like a hole in the head.

Don’t get me wrong, I love my dogs. I love my dogs more than I love most of the people in my life. I can’t imagine my life without them. I couldn’t imagine life without SP or life without my parents’ dogs over the years (their current, Cray-cray Lab, is limping and we don’t know why…sigh). But the stress over caring for them and worrying for them is tough. How do I balance it? How do I manage it?

How do I handle the ache that keeps settling into me knowing that Le Moo is aging…and that one day she’ll be gone? How do I not sit in this chair and cry?

 

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Picture this…

Oh yes, well, um, sorry, but no can do.

Ask me to picture something in my mind and my creative brain will give the a description of the “picture” to the smallest detail you require, but I cannot actually picture what was described. I can’t bring up an image if I close my eyes. I do not see a photo, a television or movie screen, art on a canvas, my husband’s face, my beloved deceased Sweet Pea…

Ask me to describe any of those things and I can (and will). Ask me where something is in my house and I can tell you, down to what close, what shelf, which side of the shelf, behind what other object. I can…but I can’t bring up an image of that item. I’m broken that way, and I don’t know why.

The reason behind this weird rant is that I get to fly (woo hoo–not) in September to my niece’s wedding. I haven’t flown in more than 25 years. Prior to that, I flew several times…mostly on full size airplanes, but twice in a small six-seater plan (flown by my aunt and uncle). Not one of the flights I’ve been on has been uneventful. I’ve had really bad take-offs, really bad turbulence, really bad landings. One flight had turbulence the entire flight. Another flight, we were landing in a storm and the 747 we were on–full size plane–actually tipped sideways as we were descending to the runway. The flight with my aunt and uncle, the landing was so windy that not only did the plane sway violently as we tried to descend, but my two younger cousins who were sitting across from us, facing us, were throwing up as we tried to land. And they flew almost every weekend with their parents (my aunt and uncle–the pilots).

I don’t like to fly. I’m not a good flyer. I will pretty much drive almost anywhere rather than fly. But driving to my niece’s wedding did not seem to be prudent, in that the drive would be 12-14 hours long, for a four hour wedding. And the wedding is on a Sunday afternoon, so getting home would take us into the work week, which was going to be a problem for Hub. In addition, if I drove, my parents were going to want to drive with us…and my father is not a good driver anymore. It’s sad to say, but true. He has some physical issues that wouldn’t be good on a 12 hour trip, and he’s not one to let others drive even though we’re all perfectly able. Plus, his reaction time isn’t so good anymore. And no matter how I tried to work it, I couldn’t talk my way out of attending the wedding (I’m not particularly close to my niece as my brother and his family have lived that distance away from us for most of her growing up years and they rarely visit).

So to that end, we have to fly to the wedding. Hub and I are flying into the destination Sunday morning and flying home Sunday night. We’ve made this decision because of Butthead, who had her crutiate ligament surgery less than four weeks ago. She’ll still be in “recovery” when we need to be at the wedding, so we don’t want to leave her for too long. We’re fortunate that a very good friend of mine is going to come stay with the dogs while we’re gone for the day…and I trust her with our dogs. Before we go and after we get back, we’ll be watching my parents’ dog, too. But she can’t be with Butthead in a normal fashion because Butthead can’t play yet (see crutiate ligament recovery), so we have to restrict their together time and it has to be very supervised.

I was trying to find ways to make flying an easier experience for me. Initially, T suggested hypnotherapy, and I tried to get appointments with local hypnotherapists, but one was booked for a year (a YEAR), and the other could only fit me in with two appointments before the flight, one of which was barely three days before the flight, so I cancelled those. I tried a third hypnotherapist, but she was traveling in August and September and wouldn’t be able to fit me in before the flight. I was hoping to try other options, one of which was a guided meditation someone made for me to reduce my flying anxiety. Although it was a nice meditation, it included bringing up a picture of a plane in my mind and replacing it with a picture of something nice. But I realized at that point, I wasn’t able to bring up either image.

So I turned to youtube hoping to find some videos on hypnotherapy and/or relaxation techniques for flying. But once again, they were all trying to get me to PICTURE things in mind. Picture things to relax, picture things to move into a hypnotic state. I can’t do those things, and I was stressing out so much over it that I was in tears. Hub told me there must be another way to relax or move into a hypnotic state without picturing things, but I couldn’t find anything. Everyone wants you to picture good things, or picture a staircase, or picture your loved one…a beautiful meadow, a waterfall… and I can’t. It’s so frustrating it really pushed me over it tears. It’s the first time I’ve cried since my second surgery. And it wasn’t hormonal, it was just pure frustration and distress. And it sucks.

I don’t know what’s going to happen. I hope I’m going to be able to get through the flight(s) easily. I’m not thinking about the anxiety of the flight, I’m more thinking about how annoying the trip is going to be. I’ve never been through today’s security measures at an airport (again, haven’t flown since 1989) or had to think about getting patted down or going through an xray machine. Or the size of our carry-on bags. Or how big and busy the airports will be, or the parking… I’m bringing my crochet and a book, and my iPod. I hope I’ll be able to distract myself enough to not be miserable the whole flight.

 

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Six month increments

I had my post-op with the surgeon on Tuesday. After waiting over an hour for the appointment (it’s almost criminal, seriously, wth?), he came in with a big ole smile.

Everything was clear, “negative” pathology, and we’re good to go. He talked a little bit about the cancer again, then asked if we had questions. I asked what the final stage was, and he said 1A, which is the lowest stage with a cancer finding in the uterus. So then I said, “Um, okay. What do I do now?”

Nothing. “NFT” — no further treatment. Every six months I go in for exam and pap (to check for cells on the vaginal cuff, which he said is where recurrence is most likely to happen), every year I get a follow-up CT…for five years. I try to pay attention to any new symptoms (pelvic pain and/or bleeding), and I go on with my world. Make sure to get my mammograms (these estrogen based cancers “travel in packs” he said, so breast and colon cancer are issues…). Good news, I get to do mammograms and 6 month exams during my birthday month. Happy birthday to me.

On his way out of the room, the surgeon asked if I was having any hot flashes or other surgical menopause symptoms. I said I didn’t think too much was happening yet, that most of my hot nights were probably from the fever from the infection. He nodded, said he’d see me in six months, and left the room. I’m still cold a lot and then get overheated when I try to stay warm, but I’m handling that. But again, I think because of my weight, the SM symptoms might be delayed for me. We’ll have to see.

I’m a little numb. It’s good news, I know it is, but I wasn’t exactly sure how to feel. I worry about missing recurrence symptoms. I worry about cancer popping up somewhere else. End result, I don’t really feel like my worry is gone, just pushed off and moderated a bit. Ugh. I wanted to feel elated. I wanted to feel relief. Instead, my brain just found something else to worry about.

On top of ALL that, my mom was checking on our dogs while we were at the follow-up appointment. She let them out around lunchtime and Butthead flew off our deck (not unusual) to chase a rabbit (not unusual) and came up lame on her back leg. She’s been having some mild limping after laying down, but upon movement, she seemed to be fine. We’d been monitoring her, but it seemed to be getting better. Mom told us Butthead laid in the yard for a bit, then when Mom called her back, she tri-podded it back to the house. Not good.

When we got home, she was still pretty bad. Within an hour of being home, I was on the phone to the vet, because this looked BAD. Our regular vet (my uncle) is out of the country, so we saw one of the other vets in his practice. She was barely finished with a physical exam when she gave us a grim look. It was as we anticipated…she tore her cruciate ligament in that back leg. And that means surgery. Which we would ONLY allow my uncle to do…and he’s not home for another two weeks. And Butthead is an active, restless, young dog. So we have to keep her quiet for these two weeks, then 4-8 weeks AFTER surgery. It’s so horrible to watch her limping around. It just breaks my heart.

And on Wednesday I go to get my baby toof removed. Which I’m freaked out about. On Monday we go to get the results from my mom’s follow-up PET scan after her radiation treatments.

So my brain has plenty to worry on. Woo.

 

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Here we are

Mom had her 8th radiation treatment today. It was the second time she was scheduled to see her doctor after the treatment, so I went with my parents to sit in on the appointment. Luckily, Mom hasn’t been experiencing any side effects yet. She’s taking an anti-nausea pill every day just in case, and so far it seems to be working. Unfortunately, I think it’s affecting her taste buds (she had the same problem with the anti-nausea pills during chemo), but if that’s the worst… They did say that the fatigue and other side effects might not start until three weeks into treatment, but we’ll see. I did think it was interesting that Mom told the doctor that today she was 1/3 of the way through treatment. But if that’s how it works for her, that’s fine. Mom says she’s still taking her gratitude prompts to her appointments every day, so that’s good, too.

I’m just about eight days out from my surgery. I have been trying to find lounge-dresses to wear after surgery so that I don’t have to wear pants that might aggravate any incisions I might have. I went all over on Monday and found nothing. I was so disappointed. I do have a whole list of what I want, so I guess I was really narrowing down my options. But mostly the two places I went had nothing long. I really want an ankle-length item to cover my legs in case I have company. Plus, if I’m going to be sitting in my recliner in my family room, I want to have my legs covered or Butthead will try to lick my legs all the time. And YUCK. Today Mom and I went out to a discount store to see if they had anything. I was surprised at how much clothing they had in my size, but everything was polyester, and I really don’t like the way polyester doesn’t breathe. In the end, though, I bought something that felt like jersey but was polyester (for a whopping $8) and another that was the rayon/spandex mix that I was really looking for (which was $20). Mom was so happy to be able to help me go out and find something. She’s still upset that I’m not really wanting her to be at the hospital with me, but I need to know she’s taking care of herself and that she and my dad will be taking care of our dogs. I am both hopeful and worried that I’ll be home the same day, so it won’t be a long, drawn-out stay in the hospital where people will need to come and go to visit me. Mom was in the hospital for four or five days, so we came and went a lot. Like I said before, my doctor said if I go in early enough in the morning, I might be able to go home the same night.

So the deal is, I’m nervous. But I’m not panicking and I’m not anxious. I feel like I feel like a normal person who would be nervous before surgery. I’m keeping my information-gathering to a minimum. I haven’t started packing (or thinking about what to pack) or putting things aside to take. I haven’t looked at the pre-surgery prep (bowel-prep) information. I’m trying to take all this one day at a time. I got my lounge wear, I’ll go the library this weekend to get a bunch of books. I have yarn. I can watch movies on our on-demand. I have good pillows and blankets and I’ll be sure to have lots of water to drink and pretzels to snack on. We’ll go to the grocery store this weekend and make sure we have enough easy-to-prepare foods. I already have a bench seat in my shower, so if I need to sit to shower, I’m okay.

I’m okay. I hope my health anxiety doesn’t spiral during recovery, but I can’t do anything about it now. I’ll have to work on that as it comes. I do, however, have to stop taking my digestive enzymes and probiotics before surgery (starting tomorrow), so I’ll get to see if I really need to stay on that stuff to keep heartburn away or if I am able to manage without it.

My PVCs are plaguing me tonight. What’s up with that? They haven’t been too bad recently. Some issues trying to fall asleep, a few here and there. But tonight…more often. I could do without that annoyance. Ferreals. Also, my sleep has been really crappy recently. Dreams, nightmares, etc. I’ve also been waking up earlier and earlier. That’s really frustrating for me since I’m going to sleep at the same time every night. I really need some sleep. But hey, after surgery they say I’ll be napping a lot. Maybe I’ll make up for the lost sleep? Until then, I’m just tired.

Tomorrow I’m planning to mow the lawn. The weather is supposed to be 70s and breezy. My kind of lawn-mowin’ day. Mowin’ zen, here I come!

 

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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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