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Category Archives: triggers

Birthdays and grief

My mother’s birthday was a few days before the holidays. As one of my brothers said to me, “I’m sure it’s not creeping up on you, either…” And it wasn’t. T thinks that a lot of my pain and anxiety were around the colonoscopy without my mother being there, and because of my mother’s birthday, and because of the holidays without her.

Yeah, I knew her birthday was coming. I knew it was going to be bad. I also knew I had somewhat of a plan for the day. Before Mom got sick, when she was still crocheting, she hooked up a bunch of preemie hats for our local hospital’s NICU. At the time, it wasn’t a lot of hats, so we kept saying we were holding off before taking them in. After Mom passed, I took all of the small amounts of yarn I had and crocheted more tiny hats. Then I put them all into a bag and left them in my library. Because I knew what I wanted to do.

On Mom’s birthday, I woke up and got dressed. And I called my father to see how he was. He said he was just going to call me because he was going to the cemetery and he wanted to know if I wanted to go. I didn’t really, but I didn’t want him to go alone. So instead of answering him directly, I said if he would take me up to the hospital to drop off the preemie hats, I would go with him to the cemetery. He said okay, so we left about ten minutes later.

At the hospital–where my father’s sister (my aunt) was admitted and stayed for several days, and where my mother went for her lymphedema wraps–I left Dad in the parking lot and I went inside. At the main desk, they checked me in and directed me to the NICU. As I made my way down the hall, I saw someone walk into the elevator, so I hurried to join her so I could save some time waiting for another elevator. Inside, the woman standing across from me smiled, then looked at the bag in my arms and her smile got wider. She asked me if I was bringing hats to the NICU. I said yes, and her eyes seemed to sparkle. She was heading for the NICU herself…she had twin girls who had been born before Thanksgiving–when they were due after Christmas. I said congratulations and I hoped they were doing well, which she said they were. And she told me, “They brought me to see the girls for the first time, and there they were in hand-knitted hats, and it just made my heart skip a beat. That someone out there did that for me and for them, complete strangers!” Her smile was so big.

When the elevator doors opened, I walked with her down the hall and into the NICU waiting area. I wished her luck and she disappeared behind a door that the nurse unlocked for her. I approached the nurse, who was behind a glass windowed reception area, and I put my bag of 40 hats on the counter in between us. And I announced that I was there to drop off crocheted hats for the babies. In all sizes, all colors, all different types of yarns. The nurse smiled and took the bag, then started going through the hats. She oohed and ahhed over some of them, and even rubbed a few on her cheek and said how soft they were. She told me how wonderful if it was to have them, and wanted to know “how many women are there in your group that made these?” I laughed and said it was just my mom and me. The sweet woman said, “oh my goodness, please give your mom a hug for me!”

I basically nodded and smiled, gave a wave, and left the unit for the safety of the hallway. It was hard. I tried not to cry as I made my way back through the hospital and out to the car where my father was waiting. Fortunately, he was busy navigating the parking lot and trying to figure out the best way to get to the cemetery, so our conversation was pretty sparse.

When we were done and I was home, I cried. I cried because those were the last hats I had from her. I cried because I missed her. I cried because I hated where I was in my life without her.

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When my mom was going through chemo, I made her a bunch of hats for her to wear after she lost her hair. Years ago, probably six or seven years, before I was crocheting, she was supposed to crochet me an open-weave sweater to wear over a tank top. She never got to it, for various reasons. I don’t even know what happened to the yarn we picked out. She crocheted me a shawl for my brother’s wedding, and added crocheted sleeves to an evening gown for my cousin’s black-tie wedding. So I really have nothing I can wear that she made for me. I wish I did. The last thing she crocheted was a lap blanket that she was expecting to donate, but a few days after she died, I took it. I wrapped it up in tissue paper and put it into a plastic bag that a set of sheets came in, and I put it away in my guest room. It’s in a drawer in my grandparents’ dresser. It’s ugly as sin color-wise, but I can’t bear to part with it. I also have a ruffled ball that was supposed to be for a baby that was a test-project. It’s on a shelf in my bookcase hidden behind some doors with the perfume that I took from her bathroom drawers a few months after she died.

I honored my  mom as best I could on her birthday. My birthday is coming up soon. Hub usually cooks me a special dinner and he’s been asking me what I want to eat. I kept putting him off, because I honestly do not want to celebrate my birthday. I finally told him I didn’t want anything special on my birthday because I didn’t want to have my birthday. I don’t even want it to be acknowledged, because it’s just another reminder to me that she isn’t here with me. Last year she was in brain radiation on my birthday…she was just getting over the symptoms of the brain mets. We were dealing with the lawyer trying to get my parents’ trusts all finalized and stuff.

Last year, five days before my birthday, I had to call an ambulance at 11pm for Hub because he had an episode of paroxysmal supraventricular tachycardia (PSVT) where his heart rate was sustained up around 225 or 250bpm. They had to stop his heart twice with medication to get it reset. We went to his follow-up appointment with his cardiologist on my birthday.

Right now, I’m in pain. My arms and back and neck and shoulders hurt. I have headaches on an almost daily basis for multiple hours at a time. My hips hurt when I try to sleep. I still have nausea. I still have jaw pain. I still have anxiety over the jaw pain, though it’s not as persistent as it was in the past few weeks. I’m not sleeping much and I’m not crocheting because I hurt too much.

I don’t want to celebrate. Right now I just want the days to be days, so I don’t have to be so sad.

 

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Probably TMI for most

Well, I won’t go into all kinds of details, but still, you’re forewarned.

I was talking about some anxiety in my last post. Here’s what is going on. I’ve been doing hypnotherapy during a few of my regular therapy sessions with T in order to work on my cardiophobia. We’ve actually been working both with CBT and hypnotherapy for my fear of exercise. Part of my fear is because of my heart, but part of my fear is also putting myself in more pain than my daily dose…on purpose. I’m in pain pretty much most days, but exercising means I’ll be suffering more pain because of strained muscles and such.

So part of my therapy is to exercise. Shocking, I know. We have both a treadmill and a recumbent bike in our house (the treadmill is like…oh, 15 years old, but it still works!), so I have options on what I can do for exercise with machines. The bike is newer than the treadmill and it has those little dohickies on the handles that measure heart rate, which is a no-no for me. Just watching the heart rate go up is an anxiety trigger. So many people say exercise helps their anxiety, but it’s actually a major trigger for me. I started riding the bike (I figured it was lower impact on my arthritic knees than the treadmill) every night, with the intention that I was riding it to work on my fears, not on my weight loss. It gave me permission to see the exercise as something different…not to be perfect at it, not to think that if I only ride it a few minutes every night that it was a failure because a few minutes is a waste in the weight loss world. No, it’s part of my therapy, part of my recovery, and even sitting on the damn machine is an accomplishment.

I started slow with the bike, literally and figuratively. And I met my first goal of riding the bike three days in a week…and then I just kept going. I’ve been able to increase by one minute since I started. I’ve learned not to put my hands on the heart rate dohickies…and if it is too tempting, I’m going to put socks over the handles to make them not work. I listen to a little music, I play a game or two on the iPad if I have it. I go in, I get on, I ride, I leave, I recognize the accomplishment of what I’ve done. I went ten days. Some of the days I could have talked myself out of it (the a/c upstairs died again…my knee hurt, I had another owie which I’ll explain shortly) but I didn’t talk myself out of it. My mental recovery seems to be so much easier for me to work on than my physical. I haven’t really ruminated on that very much, but I suspect that is coming in therapy soon.

Monday night I went to shower and I realize there is a redness under my right boob. I’m endowed and…droopy. I’ve been that way all of my adult life, I’ve never gotten a heat rash or sweat rash under my boobs before (I am wondering if this is because of the surgical menopause and hormone issues). I don’t sweat like normal people. My first thought was oh shit it’s breast cancer because it was only under one boob and I know that there are some breast cancers that present that way. I managed to convince myself it wasn’t cancer even before the redness showed up under my other boob. At that point I was pretty well sure it was a heat rash (or sweat rash) from riding on the bike. So now I’ve got knee pain, foot pain (stupid plantar faciitis) and underboobs rashes. *sigh* I go buy these things that go under the boobies that is supposed to help wick away sweat. The are uncomfortable and weird and they move around. Joy. I also buy some tea tree oil and a powder for rashes and fungus, in case it’s a yeast fungus under there. The under-boobie wicky thing seems to help but not make it go away altogether yet.

Wednesday night I’m on the bike again (I’ve even been able to ride when I’m home alone, which is a big deal for me because if I have a heart attack on the bike…and I’m alone… shudder) and I’m like what is that pain? It’s in the crease of my left leg where it meets my groin. And I’m thinking it’s another damn heat rash. Great. I put some gauze in the crease and try to deal with it for overnight. Next day, I put another clean bit of gauze there to keep the area from rubbing and getting worse and I go about my day. I get on the bike again last night and I’m like … unh, that hurts. I finish my predetermined ride and go shower and suddenly I’m realizing it’s not the heat rash in the crease of my leg that was hurting. I have a cyst…my guess is an infected cyst (I get sebaceous cysts under my arms sometimes, but not for a while) or it could be an ingrown hair. It’s, uh, down there. Ya’ll ladies know what I mean. It’s in an unfortunate place, making sitting, standing, walking, lying down all very very uncomfortable. Dammit.

I tell Hub about the issue (he looks somewhat horrified), I go to sleep and wake up this morning first thing to call my doctor’s office. I don’t want to mess around with this area, so I beg them to fit me in today. They do and I go see one of the other doctor’s in the practice. She says “abscess” but won’t otherwise identify if it’s from a cyst or an ingrown hair. She doesn’t want to do anything with it but suggests I see my gyno to see if they want to drain it or what. I tell her my gyno is an hour away and not likely to be able to fit me in today, so she suggests I see the gyno in their extended practice and she goes to make an appointment for me. When she comes back, she tells me I’ll be seeing the nurse practitioner that afternoon, and oh by the way here is a prescription for bactrum (antibiotics). Oh how I love pills. And ABs are my favorite.

I go back later to see the NP, who tells me she can’t drain cysts and all the doctors are booked. But she graciously offers to do a lookie loo to see if the cyst actually needs to be drained. She measures it and says it doesn’t look too big, but writes down the info for future reference in case I come back with an issue next week. “Good news!” she chirps. “I wouldn’t drain this. It’ll drain on its own. Take your ABs and use warm compresses and a sitz bath as often as you can manage.” We talk about timing for when the pain will abate and what to expect from the “draining” and I go home.

The first time I saw the cyst last night, it was white. By the time I got home and everyone was done poking at it, it was a purple-red. Yay. (I told you, TMI.) Upon getting my ABs, I come home and go look up my blog post from when I had to take these particular ABs, and I apparently have nausea, bad taste in my mouth, and dry mouth (editing to add, and dry/itchy eyes near to the end of the course of ABs) to look forward to for ten days at least. Two pills a day over ten days. The NP told me to be happy, the other option is something like 4 pills a day over 20 days or something ridiculous. But at least I have experience with this AB, so maybe I’ll be okay with taking it more easily. (Prolly not, but one can hope.)

This is what I get for exercising? One time I went to vacuum my bedroom…I plugged in the vacuum and 10 seconds later the circuit blew. I reset it, plugged the vacuum into a different outlet across the large room and 10 seconds later another circuit blew. I reset it, used a plug in the upstairs hallway and THAT one blew. I decided at that moment that G-d did not want me to vacuum. I wrapped up the cord and put the vacuum away. So, is this what I’m getting about exercising? Multiple messages saying “don’t do it!” Well, another conversation for therapy, I guess.

Also, ow ow ow ow. 😦

 

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Don’t pity me

I’m doing that just fine all on my own. Bleh.

Seriously, this is the first day I’ve been able to concentrate even a little bit. Prior, I was feeling very foggy and dizzy, and like my eyes wouldn’t focus. It was pretty horrible. Thursday I was trying to be a good girl and eat protein, so we had some deli turkey in the house in preparation. Turns out there’s something on there in the gluten range (maybe the seasoning? we don’t think we’ve bought this meat before, it was fresh-made at the store) that was affecting me and I spent most of Thursday suffering from hot-face, which made me miserable. It wasn’t until after I’d had some for dinner that I realized it was probably the turkey and I had to just wait it out. I didn’t start feeling that going away until sometime Friday mid-morning. Meanwhile, my sleep has been close to nil. That has been kind of horrible because it aggravates anxiety big-time, as all us anxiety sufferers know. My PVCs remain annoying…

I’m in some mild pain, but taking ibuprofen twice a day, just to help speed healing, I hope. Friday the doctor’s office called to check on me and the nurses warned me to be very aware of blood clot symptoms, especially with the weekend coming. She told me to not wait and go to the ER if I felt I had symptoms. So now I’m spending the majority of my time worrying about a blood clot. Fan-fucking-tastic. And apparently this is an issue for MONTHS after a surgery. So my leg is bothering me and it’s kind of freaking me out, but I am trying to remind myself that it’s probably a muscle ache and maybe must my knee hurting (which is normal for me). I’m afraid…there’s so much going on in my body, I have no idea how to identify what is normal and what is not. My heartburn is pretty bad (with accompany nausea!…yay), even though I’ve gone back on my regular digestive enzymes and probiotics…they haven’t really taken over yet. So that means I’ve got pain in my chest which radiates to my arms and back. And I have to decipher that as being different from being short of breath and in pain which could be a clot my lung (versus in the leg, of course). This has not been a good experience for me…I’m sure T is thinking “Ooooh, exposure therapy” but I’m thinking OMG how am I going to get through this?

I feel very split up about all this…trying to realize I had major surgery and still feeling like I’m supposed to be active to help heal. They’re all telling me to listen to my body, but my body LIES to me. So how am I supposed to know how much to rest and how much to do? I had major surgery and yet they sent me home five hours after. Which is it? Major surgery and rest, or get up and move? I’m FINALLY able to stand up and sit down without groaning from the pain and stretch, but it’s still uncomfortable.

Eating is difficult because of the nausea and the heartburn. I have no appetite, but I know without food I won’t gain stamina or energy. I’m trying to drink but I’m NEVER a good drinker so I’m sucking with that, too. Which apparently could lead to more potential blood clot issues. So much fear in my body at the moment. I told T when I had my phone appointment on Friday (which I could only talk for half an hour, I was so out of it) that I feel like I’m in the midst of anxiety even though I didn’t feel ANXIOUS. She said it’s my body responding to the trauma of the surgery…and to just try to use my tools even though it’s not really “anxiety”.

My head feels full and pressured. I have a headache (while I’m taking 800mg of ibuprofen…wtf is up with that?) and I’m so tired all the time. I want to be past all this NOW.

On top of all that, Hub has a really bad cold that came on Tuesday night. I’m SO lucky that I haven’t gotten sick yet, even though he’s feeding me and getting me drinks. It’s really really sucky, though, because he’s not touching me. No hugging, no kisses, no rubbing my back or my hands or my arms. No comfort. It’s a really big loss for me… I want so much to be soothed and because we’re trying to keep me from getting the cold, I feel bereft and alone.

Like I said, I’m doing a find job of pitying myself. And now the eye floaters are back, so I’m done here.

 

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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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Struggling

I’m still struggling. Last night was a bad night. I ate something that did not agree with me and for the remainder of the night, I was awash with anxiety. It was a typical gluten’d feeling: hot face, feeling hot and cold, anxious, antsy, wired, and thinking about my health. The few times I managed to doze off, I had terrible dreams that stayed with me even after. When Hub went downstairs to work this morning, I dozed again and had more dreams. Bad ones. Unhappy, uncomfortable ones. I’m tired, and I feel down. At the moment, I’m struggling not to cry.

On top of already feeling like crap today, two different times on tv they were talking about women’s health. The first one was heart health, and how women’s symptoms of heart attacks are different from men. When I saw that the segment was upcoming, I took the dogs outside and stayed out for at least half an hour so I would miss the whole thing. It’s too much of a trigger for me. But then as we were getting ready for dinner, there was a local report about breast cancer and how women are just skipping their mammograms. Since my mom was diagnosed with uterine cancer, I’ve been struggling not to dwell on the potential for the hereditary impact on me. I’ve never had a mammogram, though I’m 42. The year that it was first recommended to me, I was unhappy with my gyno, so I didn’t follow through. I’ve not been back to any gyno since that whole episode, so there’s been no one to write me a script to get one. And truthfully, I’m afraid of what might come of it. Now with my mother’s diagnosis, I’m even more afraid of cancer than I was before. Even though my mother did pretty well (relatively speaking) going through her surgery and chemo, I’m way more sensitive to everything than she is, and I’m afraid of everything surrounding the potential of cancer. Surgeries, chemo, pain, nausea, etc etc. But still, the segment on the news triggered me, and I feel anxious and upset. I know part of it is because I’m really tired, but part of it is because I am me.

Tomorrow I go back to the dentist for a cleaning. I’ve enlisted Hub to drive me to and from. I expect he’ll sit in the waiting room and wait for me, even though the dentist is only 15 minutes away from home and it’s only a cleaning. And if they let him, he’d come back and sit with me while I got the cleaning. I haven’t had a cleaning in about 3 years, and prior to that I was in and out of the dentist’s office fairly regularly. I didn’t love it, but I didn’t hate it. But my anxiety is worse now than it used to be for me. And this dentist is new to me, as is the hygienist I’ll be seeing tomorrow, so I’m apprehensive. I’m not anxious yet, but we’ll see how the night goes. Unfortunately, my back has been bothering me all afternoon, but I’ve already rescheduled once and I’d like to get this over with. I know the anticipation is worse than the actual appointment will be. I’ve had enough cleanings to know that they are generally uncomfortable, but not life-threatening. However, this IS the first time this hygienist will be dealing with my frakin’ baby tooth. Urg.

I had my session with T this past Friday. I ended up crying in session, because I told her how much I miss my writing. She keeps telling me that I need to get back to it, because it is my purpose. Without it, she thinks I’ll continue to be stuck and struggle. I want to write so badly, but it isn’t working. I’m angry that my books don’t sell anymore, and that no one ever gives me any feedback. It’s like dumping a child out into the void, never to be heard from again. It’s hard to continue to put yourself out there and never see any kind of return. In that same vein, I made a hand-made crocheted gift for a friend, sent it to her, and never heard back from her about it. WTH. It’s painful for me to say, but I want to be validated. I want someone to say THANK YOU. To say, “Whoa, you put your heart and soul in that. That’s awesome.” What I get is radio silence. And it makes getting motivated to do stuff very difficult. It used to be that I’d write for myself, but that doesn’t seem to be enough for me now. I need to find that kind of satisfaction for myself again, and quit worrying about other people validating me.

I do feel like I’m a bit depressed these days. I’m tired and angry and stuck. I’m in pain. My tinnitus is acting up big time. My weight is still an issue. I have anxious moments. Is that reason enough to be sad? Or is this a depressive episode? Does it matter?

 

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Disconnected

One of the people I follow here on WordPress wrote a blog post with a paragraph that hit a very deep part of me. Her name is April…go read her blog, it’s pretty amazing. I hope she won’t be upset that I quote her (and if so, April, let me know and I’ll edit and remove your words)…

The worst part of depression for me, is that I can’t show, or I withhold the love I feel for the people I love. I don’t hug, tell them I love them enough, pay attention to what they are saying. I deeply feel it, but for some reason, I can’t show it. That makes me feel the worst about myself, which continues the cyclic pattern of my depression. Not only does my behavior hold me captive by depression, it truly hurts my heart.

That struck me so much, and right now it’s something I’m attempting to deal with in therapy. T says I’m disembodied. The thing is, I feel everything so deeply that it is often painful. But on some level I’ve begun to realize that I feel pain, anxiety, unhappiness, guilt, shame, self-judgement…and the like very deeply. I can feel anger and fear and panic. I have a very deep understanding of my body and how it feels when it relates to any of those emotions (or pain). I know when to rest if I’m tired or feeling unbalanced. I know when to hold back energy-wise so that I can do things I really need (or want) to do. My relationship with my physical body is probably more on point than most, because I’ve HAD to be that way.

But T asked me in my last session about feeling emotional happiness, contentment, joy, things like that…in my body. ANYWHERE in my body. Where do I feel it when I look deeply into my husband’s eyes, or hold my mother’s hand… And I told her I had no idea. She asked me to think about something important, someone important, and asked me where I felt it physically. My mind went right to my first dog, who I still grieve over. I can feel the texture of her fur, smell her unique smell, see her deep brown eyes. She asked me where I was feeling that energy in my body…and I immediately burst into tears (which I rarely do in sessions). I told her I felt it in my throat, a huge lump. But it wasn’t what she was looking for, because that went right to grief and pain, and loss. Those are “easy” for me to feel.

Why do I always go right to those feelings, those emotions? Why are they so easy to manifest physically, but the good things are so hard. I love my husband and my family, my dogs, my friends. I love the people (and dogs) who are gone from my life. I love my writing, the creative side of me, but I’m disconnected from them physically. I would do anything for any of them, without hesitation, and often do what I can to show them I love them. I hug them and tell them I love them, but it’s almost an effort, in that I have to THINK about doing it. Finding the physicality of it is not automatic for me anymore. But ask me to make something, do something, go somewhere, look something up, buy something…I do it without question. Ask me about the emotion of it, how it makes me feel to show that love? I can verbalize it, but I don’t know that I FEEL it inside me.

T sent me home and told me to listen to a piece of orchestral music and to try to breathe with it. Feel it, find where it touches me physically. I did it once last week and got…nothing. In her office, she had asked me to focus on a painting and find where it brought up physical feeling in my body…but it was just a picture. I could talk about how it represented hope, and the future, and how it was full of dreams. But those words didn’t connect to anything inside me. It was a painting. I don’t have a thing about artwork, and I don’t have a thing about music. I’m not sure I EVER have. How am I supposed to find connection, embodiment in those things?

She was quick to tell me in the office that the painting thing was a diagnostic tool, not a show of failure on my part to connect. And yet, I felt like a failure. Listening to the music and feeling nada made me feel like a failure. Something else I can’t do right. I left the office, practically ran out to my car, and burst into tears again. I cried in the parking lot, I cried on the way home. I feel split open…filleted. I cried over my failure, I cried over my dog…the one whose grief haunts me. I often feel that I’m still grieving her, and that it’s blocking my ability to feel real happiness and contentment. Not one time have I mentioned Sweet Pea in therapy that I haven’t cried. That I haven’t felt inundated with grief and loss. Am I still holding on to that? Is that really doing a number on me? Or am I overthinking things again? Am I looking for a WHY when there is none?

 

 

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Post history

I feel crappy. I like to lead with the good stuff, ya know?

I feel nauseous and my stomach is unhappy and I’m exhausted and stuff hurts. Like, multiple parts of my body. All this is POST massage. TWO days post massage, no less.

When I finished with PT, I promised myself I would get in to see the massage therapist I had met a year ago through my PT group. I remember her as being kind and knowledgeable, and I knew she spent years as a PT, so she’d be good at working on my trigger points. I did remember that I came away from the appointment with a headache, but I thought it was because I didn’t hydrate. So I tried to be prepared this time…

I remember the good parts of the massage…it felt great while she was working on me. She found lots of trigger points and worked several of them out. Others she softened, but didn’t want to spend the whole hour on them, so she had to leave it at that. I felt good immediately after the massage as I was dealing with payment and chatting with her. But by the time I made it to my car and was on the road home, I felt foggy and blurry. I felt on the verge of tears and I really wanted to go lay down. I felt nauseated. I got home, let the dogs out, peed (which I had to do desperately) and then I drank half a glass (32 ounce up) of water. I ate lunch. I felt slightly better.

Since that point, I’ve felt like shit. The nausea has not subsided, I’ve had muscle pain and I’ve had anxiety. My stomach is still unhappy, no matter what I do or don’t eat. I didn’t sleep last night AT ALL because I felt so crappy and I was bordering on an anxiety attack. I laid in bed and listened to music all night, trying not to give in the anxiety, but I didn’t sleep. Which is just as bad as actually having an anxiety attack…maybe worse, because not sleeping heightens my anxiety. Nausea heightens my anxiety, and the fact that I had the chills, but was hot, but was cold, and felt flushed, also didn’t help. All of this activated my health anxiety (heart attack…) It stinks. I tried to fight it today, and I went out briefly with my mother, but gave in after lunch and went upstairs to try to lay down for a while. That made no difference, but after a short trip downstairs, I ended up back upstairs in bed. I don’t want to give in, but I’m tired and I just want to feel better, and my bed is my safe place. So I came up to sit in bed while hub heated up some leftovers for me to try to eat. And while I was waiting, I went hunting through my blog right around this time last year, which is when I saw the massage therapist the first time. I was almost positive that I had blogged about my experience, and I wanted to know how long it took before I felt better. A day, two? Four? Today is the 2nd full day post-massage.

I finally found it. And what is too funny, is that I was thinking about using that same title for today’s post…I’m nothing if not consistent. Anyway, I re-read the post, then checked the next couple of posts to see how long I felt poorly. It was a similar experience this time to the first time, with the exception that last time it was a headache but this time it was this nausea. I don’t know if the release of so many trigger points at once (and other muscles) released some toxins into my systems that is making me feel crappy, but who knows. Hopefully I’ll start to feel better tomorrow. In the meantime, I’m TRYING to be kind to myself, and remember that giving into the anxiety is not weakness, it’s a learning experience. And no matter if I do get anxious, there will be a new day to follow where I will be okay.

Meanwhile, anyone else have this kind of experience with massages? Or trigger point release? It sucks, because I KNOW I need to keep up with the trigger points, but dealing with this multiple day crappy feeling really stinks. I mean, who else but me would have an adverse reaction to a MASSAGE?!

 

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