Just one more week until my surgery! These last three weeks have been some of the longest of my life! My pump is alarming way more frequently these days and it is just so stinking annoying - and loud. I will be so grateful to have it out. This time next week the surgery will be over, I'll be a bit drugged and tired, and my mom will be driving me home.
One more week!
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Monday, April 25, 2011
Just breathe
My chest hurts. I've been having a hard time breathing. I've used my inhaler and my humidifier is running. But I still keep waking from nightmarish dreams with a tightness in my chest that not only aches but scares me when I can't get a deep breath. I don't need to see a doctor, call an ambulance, turn up at the hospital. If they hooked me up to one of those cool machines, it would show my blood oxygen saturation at normal levels. What I'm experiencing are panic attacks.
Earlier I was lying in bed, attempting sleep, when it hit me, seemingly out of the blue. I couldn't breathe. My chest was so tight I thought for sure I was going to pass out before I could ever get enough oxygen. I sat up, tried to drink water, wished my inhaler was a rescue inhaler instead of a preventative inhaler, and then, when nearly hyperventilating and sobbing, I started searching for a Klonipin. It wasn't asthma or bronchitis induced breathing blockages, etc. It was anxiety and it was out of control. And worse, I was completely out of Klonipin since I had decided I was already too drugged and didn't need anymore sedation and decided not to get a refill. Needless to say I was kicking myself, hard.
I started petting my dog, who had come to sit by me with a look of concern and worry on her face. I forced myself to breathe in and out deeply and slowly. I repeated a mantra, "you are okay, you are okay." It worked and I calmed down. But like I said, I keep awaking from these terrible dreams, gasping in terror, with tears streaming down my cheeks. In my dreams I have no voice. I cannot say what I desperately want to say, cannot shout and yell when that's all I need to do.
I think it's because I've been processing so much lately. There have been some pretty big changes in my life, especially my social life, and there are more on the horizon, like my surgery May 4. And even though I tell myself these are good changes, they still scare me and I resent them. I even obsess about my pump, touching it often, thinking of how I will miss it (even though I hate it) once it is gone.
The adult in me says to toughen up, refill the prescription, and get through it. The scared little girl in me says to not refill the prescription because all of the fear and anxiety that crushes my chest might mean something and I'm really an escapist at heart, even when I know something is good for me, even if I know rationally that I want it. I'd rather escape as the scared little girl and run away than face the fear and reap the reward.
I will of course go through with the surgery, despite the looming fear of another spinal headache. But what if I just dropped every other thing in my life that scares me - my writing, my new and improved social life, the way I've found myself reaching out to others in a way that might defrock me of my misanthropic status…? What if I just crawl back into myself and burrow deep into the alone I love and go back to rarely leaving the house or interacting with others? Wouldn't that be nice, more desirable? What if the price I must pay for personal growth is facing another demon: my own obstructionist conscious mind?
This whole experience has made me mindfully grateful of prana, or "life breath". I must breath it deeply, and make my choice.
Earlier I was lying in bed, attempting sleep, when it hit me, seemingly out of the blue. I couldn't breathe. My chest was so tight I thought for sure I was going to pass out before I could ever get enough oxygen. I sat up, tried to drink water, wished my inhaler was a rescue inhaler instead of a preventative inhaler, and then, when nearly hyperventilating and sobbing, I started searching for a Klonipin. It wasn't asthma or bronchitis induced breathing blockages, etc. It was anxiety and it was out of control. And worse, I was completely out of Klonipin since I had decided I was already too drugged and didn't need anymore sedation and decided not to get a refill. Needless to say I was kicking myself, hard.
I started petting my dog, who had come to sit by me with a look of concern and worry on her face. I forced myself to breathe in and out deeply and slowly. I repeated a mantra, "you are okay, you are okay." It worked and I calmed down. But like I said, I keep awaking from these terrible dreams, gasping in terror, with tears streaming down my cheeks. In my dreams I have no voice. I cannot say what I desperately want to say, cannot shout and yell when that's all I need to do.
I think it's because I've been processing so much lately. There have been some pretty big changes in my life, especially my social life, and there are more on the horizon, like my surgery May 4. And even though I tell myself these are good changes, they still scare me and I resent them. I even obsess about my pump, touching it often, thinking of how I will miss it (even though I hate it) once it is gone.
The adult in me says to toughen up, refill the prescription, and get through it. The scared little girl in me says to not refill the prescription because all of the fear and anxiety that crushes my chest might mean something and I'm really an escapist at heart, even when I know something is good for me, even if I know rationally that I want it. I'd rather escape as the scared little girl and run away than face the fear and reap the reward.
I will of course go through with the surgery, despite the looming fear of another spinal headache. But what if I just dropped every other thing in my life that scares me - my writing, my new and improved social life, the way I've found myself reaching out to others in a way that might defrock me of my misanthropic status…? What if I just crawl back into myself and burrow deep into the alone I love and go back to rarely leaving the house or interacting with others? Wouldn't that be nice, more desirable? What if the price I must pay for personal growth is facing another demon: my own obstructionist conscious mind?
This whole experience has made me mindfully grateful of prana, or "life breath". I must breath it deeply, and make my choice.
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
All about my pre-op appointment!
By now I may have already called you and shouted my good news into your ear, but just in case you are reading and I haven't or you didn't get my detailed, play by play, action packed version, this entry is for you…
As I mentioned in this blog previously, I had a pre-op appointment with the surgeon who put in my pain pump yesterday. Pre-op as in I want surgery to get this useless, treatment preventing, P.O.S. out! My mom drove me to Boise the night before and we stayed with my grandparents. That was wonderful. I don't get to see them enough and we got to visit all evening, have coffee early the next morning before my 9AM appointment, and then have brunch after the appointment.
I dreaded the appointment. I hadn't slept much in days and days and days. I was running on E. But my mom was there. So I knew I would be okay.
The office was pretty deserted when we arrived. I filled out paperwork, we were brought into a tiny exam room, and saw the surgeon's P.A. fairly quickly. I explained why I wanted the pump out, she wrote it all down, and left. Then we waited. And waited. And waited for the surgeon. When he finally came in he just opened the door and sat down on the exam table without saying a word. He read my chart and then said, "This all looks doable."
I breathed a sigh of relief. I looked at my mom, who was recording the appointment, and we both held the same expression. He went over a few options in case I wanted to keep the pump and I said no. He also explained that he doesn't put in pumps anymore because they found the pumps just haven't had the success they thought they would. Now they just use them for cancer patients who are at the end of their lives and need massive dosages of pain medication.
He said it would be a simple, outpatient surgery and because of this, I could get schedule in about two weeks. At this point I think my mom and I were bursting trying to keep in our joy; we thought it would take months to get in since it had taken months just to get the pre-op appointment.
The surgeon explained there are a few possible complications. Because the catheter would be removed from my spinal column, there is a distinct possibility I could leak spinal fluid and have another spinal headache. If so, more blood patches and if that doesn't work, very serious surgery to repair it. Another possibility is that a piece of the catheter could break inside me and if that happened, they would just leave it. They have found it doesn't hurt me and trying to dig it out causes more harm than good.
At first I was really worried about the possibility of another spinal headache. I don't think I have experienced anything more painful, more awful than the month I suffered through that. But then I got thinking. The catheter isn't in my spinal column. It's stuck right outside, held in place by scar tissue. I might be just fine!
When the appointment was over, and we were in the elevator, my mom and I high-fived and got our happy dance on. In the parking lot I shouting and danced. I get to have my miserable, constantly beeping pump taken out! And soon! This feels miraculous.
And he was decent and professional. Probably because my mom was there. He was arrogant and his bedside manner left much to be desired, but he was decent enough. I had been so worried about him being mean to me again.
Here is the other part that feels miraculous: I'm not angry anymore. I'm fine. I don't feel the need to confront him or tell him he ruined my life. I don't even feel like he ruined my life anymore. I feel like a huge weight has been lifted and I can breathe again. I was able to face a huge fear and come out the other side braver, stronger, and better for it. I feel peace again. Last night I slept better than I have in weeks.
On the way home from Boise I got a call from the surgeon's office. My surgery is scheduled for Wednesday, May 4 at 6AM. I couldn't be happier.
As I mentioned in this blog previously, I had a pre-op appointment with the surgeon who put in my pain pump yesterday. Pre-op as in I want surgery to get this useless, treatment preventing, P.O.S. out! My mom drove me to Boise the night before and we stayed with my grandparents. That was wonderful. I don't get to see them enough and we got to visit all evening, have coffee early the next morning before my 9AM appointment, and then have brunch after the appointment.
I dreaded the appointment. I hadn't slept much in days and days and days. I was running on E. But my mom was there. So I knew I would be okay.
The office was pretty deserted when we arrived. I filled out paperwork, we were brought into a tiny exam room, and saw the surgeon's P.A. fairly quickly. I explained why I wanted the pump out, she wrote it all down, and left. Then we waited. And waited. And waited for the surgeon. When he finally came in he just opened the door and sat down on the exam table without saying a word. He read my chart and then said, "This all looks doable."
I breathed a sigh of relief. I looked at my mom, who was recording the appointment, and we both held the same expression. He went over a few options in case I wanted to keep the pump and I said no. He also explained that he doesn't put in pumps anymore because they found the pumps just haven't had the success they thought they would. Now they just use them for cancer patients who are at the end of their lives and need massive dosages of pain medication.
He said it would be a simple, outpatient surgery and because of this, I could get schedule in about two weeks. At this point I think my mom and I were bursting trying to keep in our joy; we thought it would take months to get in since it had taken months just to get the pre-op appointment.
The surgeon explained there are a few possible complications. Because the catheter would be removed from my spinal column, there is a distinct possibility I could leak spinal fluid and have another spinal headache. If so, more blood patches and if that doesn't work, very serious surgery to repair it. Another possibility is that a piece of the catheter could break inside me and if that happened, they would just leave it. They have found it doesn't hurt me and trying to dig it out causes more harm than good.
At first I was really worried about the possibility of another spinal headache. I don't think I have experienced anything more painful, more awful than the month I suffered through that. But then I got thinking. The catheter isn't in my spinal column. It's stuck right outside, held in place by scar tissue. I might be just fine!
When the appointment was over, and we were in the elevator, my mom and I high-fived and got our happy dance on. In the parking lot I shouting and danced. I get to have my miserable, constantly beeping pump taken out! And soon! This feels miraculous.
And he was decent and professional. Probably because my mom was there. He was arrogant and his bedside manner left much to be desired, but he was decent enough. I had been so worried about him being mean to me again.
Here is the other part that feels miraculous: I'm not angry anymore. I'm fine. I don't feel the need to confront him or tell him he ruined my life. I don't even feel like he ruined my life anymore. I feel like a huge weight has been lifted and I can breathe again. I was able to face a huge fear and come out the other side braver, stronger, and better for it. I feel peace again. Last night I slept better than I have in weeks.
On the way home from Boise I got a call from the surgeon's office. My surgery is scheduled for Wednesday, May 4 at 6AM. I couldn't be happier.
Monday, April 11, 2011
Happy anniversary
In front of Multnomah Falls.
Someday I may not feel so much, dwell so long, or think so hard about today, my wedding anniversary. But today is not that day. And yet today I feel peace. A tinge of regret and sadness yes, but mostly peace. I was able to have a wonderful conversation with my ex-husband last weekend and now I feel freer than I ever did before.
And I'd like to dedicate a song. And no, this isn't seventh grade I realize. But it does have deep meaning to me. Consider the following lyric;
"...In each other's shadow we grew less and less tall/ till eventually our theories couldn't explain it all…"
Here is a link to Ani DiFranco's "Both Hands"
Sunday, April 10, 2011
Panic
I am supposed to go to Boise Monday evening for my Tuesday 9AM appointment with the vile surgeon who botched my pain pump. He is the only one who can take it out. Monday is April 11, what would have been my 6th wedding anniversary.
This is too much. I just don't think I can do it. My gram and I had a talk about this appointment and about her cancer treatments, her radiation. She got all tough sounding and said these are things we have to do, we have to get through, and that we will get through. And I'm trying to draw strength from that, from her.
But it is just too much. I just don't think I can do this. I don't think I can face this man. I think I will just cry. And then I will feel ashamed. And that's the last think I want to feel with this jerk.
I think back to the month after my surgery and that horrible, awful spinal headache. It is the worst pain I've ever had in my life. I almost want to have a baby sans epidural just to compare the two. I think about all of this and I get angry again. Maybe I should stay angry. But I don't like that place and I don't like feeling that.
There is a song I really like right now, and maybe I've mentioned this before, but it bears repeating. A lyric is, "I'd rather hurt than feel nothing at all." I hear it and always, every single time, think, "Wow, you have never really hurt before, have you?" Because trust me, if a person had hurt like this, they would feel like me and want to numb out as quickly and as much as possible.
PS I realize that my posts have been extremely moody and up and down, up and down. I am doing a lot of processing right now. This particular thought woke me up a couple of hours ago and I can't get back to sleep. So I am spending less time admiring my pretty nails just now and more time stressing over upcoming events that I want very much to change.
This is too much. I just don't think I can do it. My gram and I had a talk about this appointment and about her cancer treatments, her radiation. She got all tough sounding and said these are things we have to do, we have to get through, and that we will get through. And I'm trying to draw strength from that, from her.
But it is just too much. I just don't think I can do this. I don't think I can face this man. I think I will just cry. And then I will feel ashamed. And that's the last think I want to feel with this jerk.
I think back to the month after my surgery and that horrible, awful spinal headache. It is the worst pain I've ever had in my life. I almost want to have a baby sans epidural just to compare the two. I think about all of this and I get angry again. Maybe I should stay angry. But I don't like that place and I don't like feeling that.
There is a song I really like right now, and maybe I've mentioned this before, but it bears repeating. A lyric is, "I'd rather hurt than feel nothing at all." I hear it and always, every single time, think, "Wow, you have never really hurt before, have you?" Because trust me, if a person had hurt like this, they would feel like me and want to numb out as quickly and as much as possible.
PS I realize that my posts have been extremely moody and up and down, up and down. I am doing a lot of processing right now. This particular thought woke me up a couple of hours ago and I can't get back to sleep. So I am spending less time admiring my pretty nails just now and more time stressing over upcoming events that I want very much to change.
Saturday, April 9, 2011
Gleek out
Today I am choosing to screw around instead of doing something urgently needed like cleaning my house. Nope, instead I am working on playlists in iTunes and painting my nails with my Glee for Sephora by O.P.I. nail polish. I am currently sporting "Celibacy Club," a very sparkly variety that will compliment the outfit I've picked out for later. In a few minutes I suppose I will get in the shower. I'm killing time because I'm meeting a new friend for coffee (even though I've had some at Gram's this morning and it's more than I usually drink). Oh, and later I hope to play Just Dance 2 with my mom.
I'm writing this nonsense, about how I like Glee enough to put it on my nails and how I'm not doing anything useful, because I'm just having a good day. That seemed to warrant a post.
PPS For those who are not full-fledged Gleeks, the loser sign = Glee.
PPS I'm reflected in the nail polish picture!
Friday, April 8, 2011
And it's already a new day
It is now after midnight on April 8th. It's still five years after my crash. But my day of infamy is over. And it wasn't a bad day. I did some writing/editing. I gave the dogs a bath (and then cleaned the bathroom top to bottom) because they stunk so bad from the drain ditch I couldn't stand it. I cooked myself a lovely meal of tilapia, quinoa, and baby green salad with dark chocolate and strawberries for dessert. I spent only a little time thinking, "if only I'd turned left". Yes, it wasn't a bad day.
Thursday, April 7, 2011
5th Anniversary
A preface: this blog is my free therapy and today I might use that therapy and whole lot…
Today marks the 5th anniversary of the day of my crash. My day of infamy. It is still so vivid, except the ride to the hospital and the time in the ER; I felt kind of out of it then. I know I cried a lot and kept falling asleep. Maybe I'm just blocking it out.
Next week I have to go face the surgeon who put my pump in wrong and deal with him to get it taken out. The good news is once it is out I can go to the University of Utah clinic. But to get to that point, I have to go toe to toe with my biggest demon - my conception of a ruined life, and the man I believe caused it.
I believe if my pump would have been put in correctly, I wouldn't have lost my career, my home, my car, and then eventually my marriage (because it would have been strong enough to get us through the tough times ahead). And yes, I have looked into a malpractice suit, but in Idaho it's basically ridiculous to try; I've spoken to two attorneys on the subject.
But here's a new concept: this has been my identity for five years now. The physical and mental anguish started five years ago today and I've worn it like a suit of armor.
And yet… now I find myself talking about it, gingerly and tenderly, but talking about as if maybe I'm ready to drop the armor. A friend referred to all of this as a five year setback. Obviously it is so much more to me than a setback.
However… if you stand back and look at like a Monet, you can see the brushstrokes of my pain make up a drop in my lifetime. If I live to be 80 years old, five years is only 6.25 percent of my lifespan. Maybe I could start considering the idea of a setback, and the idea that in the process what I've gained in strength, humility, and patience* might be as great as what I've lost.
It doesn't mean the mental and physical pain ends today. Of course not. And of course my former life is still over and I will still grieve for it - I must until the grieving is done. But even as I was awake in bed, watching the clock turn to midnight to ring in this day of infamy, crying and sobbing, I knew there was a good chance progress with my treatment, social life, writing, and independence might carry me through the day.
But there might still be a few more post today…
*Still working on all of these things…
Here are some things that I miss:
Monday, April 4, 2011
Sleepy
Last Friday I had an appointment with my doctor. Someone had pointed out my muscles spasms to me and I started paying attention to them. They had actually become kind of bad and were possibly making pain worse. So I got some muscle relaxers to try out and since my old pain killer wasn't doing it, he prescribed a higher dosage for me. Between the two, I feel I've done little but sleep in the past 72 hours or so. The combination of those two drugs have knocked me out! But I suppose it's like every other time. I adjust to the dosage, slowly, taking sometimes a week or more. And then, it's like a low-grade tiredness is just part of how I function. At least I can report that I do feel better today than I did a week ago. That's progress of some sort?
Saturday, April 2, 2011
Missing out?
Today my family planted trees in the yard. Not just any trees. Check out this picture:
They were some huge, freaking trees! And they rented earth-moving equipment the trees were so big! And had to haul them on a flat bed! We missed the family BBQ. The tree project took all day and into the night.
And I say "we" I mean "them" because I went out once to let the dog off her leash and fill her water, and then I went back in. I made hummus, maybe that was helpful... I do think I make good hummus.
But here's my deal. I always miss out of these miserable, "in the wind and cold, gives you nothing but character" (okay, and the benefit of trees, in this case) projects. Sometimes I insist that I participate. And then sometimes I pay for it with extra helpings of pain later. Sometimes I am glad I am out of it, like today. But then I realize, I'm not really a sidelines kind of person, even if it is nose-numbing and fingers-freezing-off cold. I should be out with my family, enduring it with them, and growing tougher and closer to them, for it.
They were some huge, freaking trees! And they rented earth-moving equipment the trees were so big! And had to haul them on a flat bed! We missed the family BBQ. The tree project took all day and into the night.
And I say "we" I mean "them" because I went out once to let the dog off her leash and fill her water, and then I went back in. I made hummus, maybe that was helpful... I do think I make good hummus.
But here's my deal. I always miss out of these miserable, "in the wind and cold, gives you nothing but character" (okay, and the benefit of trees, in this case) projects. Sometimes I insist that I participate. And then sometimes I pay for it with extra helpings of pain later. Sometimes I am glad I am out of it, like today. But then I realize, I'm not really a sidelines kind of person, even if it is nose-numbing and fingers-freezing-off cold. I should be out with my family, enduring it with them, and growing tougher and closer to them, for it.
Friday, April 1, 2011
Catch-up
I'm writing about pain a lot because (a) I'm in it and (b) this is a blog about pain, after all. Today's pain topic is about catch up. Right now I am in a world of pain. Six hours ago I was not. This is is because six hours ago I had taken pain killers a few hours earlier and they were in effect and all was well. Now I've slept them off (after staying up late catching up on episodes of Parks and Recreation).
And now I need to eat something that is approved by my stomach (AKA I won't puke up because these medicines are harsh). Then I will take the pill. Then I will lie here for about 45 minutes and wait, unable to sleep again until it kicks in again.
So there is this whole window of time where there is severe pain on the pain scale because you are playing catch-up. And sometimes, the regular medication regime doesn't do it. And I don't even want to go into that. That is why I have a doc appt today...
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