Medical Update: PTSD, diapers, almost diapers, and more!

I haven't given a proper medical update in... months. Honestly maybe even a year. I will be all over the place, but as always, if you have questions, feel free to leave a comment, email me, message me on IG, and I'm happy to do my best to answer them. 

Well, the best way to start the year is with a broken mirror, am I right? Well this was this summer courtesy of Pickles and it is still right there and it is still just as broken. At this point it really just feels like a metaphor for my life, you know? 

Let's talk about PTSD though, because I am finding out that lots of people don't actually know what it is. To be honest, I would have been in that group because when you think PTSD, I think we all automatically think combat veteran struggling when they come home. Right? I remember maybe three months-ish after having Lucy my doctor flat out held my hands and said, "You aren't crazy, you have PTSD. This is normal." I know I huffed, and I refused to believe it. 

Until stupid things would happen and I would find myself struggling, sometimes out of nowhere, and I didn't really have any other explanation for it. I've been in therapy for six full years now and I am able to recognize my triggers, I have coping strategies for different situations, and I also know how to manage my self-talk so I don't get to the point of needing the coping situations, if that makes sense. 

Cue December. 

Olivia and Jackson were finishing up their senior project hours for school, which was them participating in the Penney's From Heaven project. Different businesses in the community have Christmas trees full of tags with items the family(ies) chosen need. It's always a family (or multiple families as donations allow)who have been hit with especially hard times outside of their control. (We were a recipient in 2016, the same year we had Lucy and it's been important to our family that we give back, very much a pay-it-forward for us.)

We bought a lot of items, lots of different tags and I didn't even look at the tags I was picking up. One of the tags was a pack of diapers. Now, a normal person would walk in, grab the diapers, and keep it moving. Not me, lambs! 

Instead, I break into a cold sweat, that turns into a gross, weird sweat, my face, neck and chest turn read, and I start shaking because I feel like my blood pressure is going out of hand. Enough for Jackson to notice and nicely ask what the hell is wrong with me. There isn't anything wrong with me, I'm just freaking out for whatever reason. Baby things are really hard, even still. 

Also hard? The OB office. I hadn't been in here since November 2016, where I had the worst panic attack I had ever had (except I didn't know that's what it was). I learned that it isn't OK to break out in tears and tell people I died having a baby, and that they might die. Yup. I'm not even kidding. 

Fortunately, this time when I had a panic attack, I was steadily going through my coping things and I was able to get through the time in the waiting room. I cried, but quietly, and not to the point that I'd scare anyone. I do need to have a follow up OB appointment but it'll be in a new office so that was officially the last time I would ever see this waiting room. Which is bittersweet. *sigh*

Let's talk adult diapers though. Thankfully, I am not there. My god, I'm only 40, almost 41. I will say that four children has really taken a toll on me but also, the last two were REALLY hard on me and my insides. (I'm not naming anyone specifically, but Penelope was the largest baby, so..) None of my abdominal muscles do a damn thing so it is a surprise to nobody that it is the worst experience having a chest cold when your bladder and muscles have become squatters doing nothing in this house. Every time I would cough, I pee. Sneeze? Pee. God forbid you get the combo of a sneeze/cough, big trouble. I also have no idea where the hell it is coming from because if I pee, you'd think there would be nothing to sneak out, right?? RIGHT?? 

WRONG, loser. Wrong. 

Enter the incontinence pads and the little old lady doing me a solid at Target. Not only did I hear her entire journey from romps in a car with her husband when her hip was still good and he was alive, how she has three children but only one is grateful and in the will, and she's onto full diapers herself, but helpfully pointed me to the pads she recommends. (And then told me to get diaper cream because I might chafe and that it is no fun.) (I did not buy the cream and it was no fun.)

So that's where I'm at now. 

Between that now wishing I took eye serum more seriously in my early 30's because I'm paying for it now, that's for sure. (Get a good serum, ladies! Moisturize your damn face! Wear sunscreen!) My eyelashes are lightening, my hair is changing, my skin is thinning, wrinkles are popping up, and I feel like I'm in that weird zone that people panic in. I'm scared to get old, but I'm also not going to sadly cling to the youth that is packing up and leaving out the door. It's funny how we were desperately to be a grown up and now here we are and we want to stay young. 

Crazy times. 

But stay tuned because this coming week I'm going to update medical stuff by specialty, because I have hit them all, I think. Well, no. But if this was a Girl Scout badge, I'd have a pretty full sash, we can say that. 

Self care, parenting insanity, and bad drivers

I try to be pretty honest about life around here, and I really don't sugar coat things. When I say that I am literally driving the struggle bus, I am not joking. I feel like I was having a pretty good stretch this summer but right before our trip to Iowa, things kind of imploded and it's been absolute chaos ever since. 

I haven't been taking care of myself like I'm supposed to. Not so much out of purposeful neglect, but things have been so chaotic and stressful that my memory is just shot, so I am forgetting to do all of the things I am supposed to be doing for myself to stay functional. So the other day I decided screw it. Can we afford me to go get my hair done? NOPE. Am I going to go do it anyways because I need to do something relaxing for myself? YUP.  

And that's just what I did. I decided that I'm over the blonde because summer is over, fall and winter are on their way and I just needed a change. I found a last minute appointment with someone new to me and took a chance. 

Best chance ever because I love it. It's darker but depending on the light it looks completely different. It has different shades of brown in it, a super light blond going through it in spots, it's just really very pretty. It's like two shades darker than my natural, so that's kind of my limit on how dark I'll go, but I'm glad I went. It was almost a four hour process and it was nice to be alone, talking to another adult, and not giving any kind of crap on anyone else in my house. It was glorious. 

Which made up for the day before, where I took Lucy to a physical medicine physician for a second opinion, only to come out to see that some asshole clearly scraped my car as they were (likely) backing out of their spot. I'm parked perfectly dead center in my spot and even still a person couldn't get out. This is a brand new vehicle, I got it in March and now someone has totally scraped it. Leaves no note, nothing. How freaking rude. I think Matt is going to take it to get it looked at, maybe it can just be buffed out (crossing fingers) but it just makes me mad because I try really hard to keep my things nice, I don't touch or ruin other people's things, and I feel like people are just assholes. Sigh. 

To make up for it though, I got this amazing package in the mail from a friend. It's a sunshine box and it was the CUTEST thing ever. I mean, I may or may not have eaten candy under my desk while crying the other night, but it's hard to get too sad when I can aggressively throw a mini beach ball around my office while I rage at the things that are making me angry. 

I have really been struggling as a parent lately. I find myself bouncing between wanting to be a really, really good mom and being available at all times, but then also being completely over everyone sucking me dry. I think my family doesn't understand that my capacity for caring and being available isn't what it used to be, that tank is very small now. Sometimes I'm not sure if they don't understand that or if they just don't care and think I should just do things for them anyways. I'm learning that part of saying no to things in life means saying enough is enough to your own family sometimes. I'm also learning that part of letting them grow up is realizing I'm not responsible for their happiness. I can do nice things for them, I can be supportive and encouraging, but coddling isn't love. I feel like I'm maybe crippled them into thinking it is, so I'm trying really hard to fix that. It's incredibly difficult to explain to someone that I love them but I also can't be an emotional crutch anymore. At some point you have to pull your own weight. 

Throw in some puberty mood swings and teenager angst that only highlights how immature they are, and we've been having fun times. Then on the other end of the spectrum, I have an incredibly artistic and intelligent six year old who needs to be challenged more and that's exhausting on its own, and I have a five year old having on/off mobility issues that I haven't really had time to look into because the other kids are sucking me dry. I feel like I'm tapped out, I've got nothing left for anyone. 

It won't be surprising at all to you then, when I say that I've been sicker than sick. Oh yes, because when life gets stressful and chaotic, your body pumps out cortisol to help you and your brain function with the changes. Guess what my body doesn't do because it doesn't have a functioning pituitary gland? That's right, it doesn't pump out cortisol! So that means that I am constantly sick, and even when I take extra medication, it's never the right amount, so I always feel like I'm depleted and lethargic, I'm often throwing up with a headache, constantly dizzy, and exhausted. That's especially fun, because it's usually on the days I feel my actual worse that I get to hear how one of my kids wishes I was a better mom and did more. 

Yes, because I don't feel guilty enough. 

I'm just over it. I'm really over all of it. I'm tired of everyone relying on me for every part of their life. I'm tired of everyone expecting me to make them happy. I'm tired of everyone expecting me to do something for them. I'm tired of listening to people tell me I'm wrong and don't know anything when in fact, I'm not wrong and I actually do know things. It's so frustrating. I feel like I'm supposed to be enjoying this time as a mom and I'm not. I actually really hate it. I'm exhausted and I'm finding it hard to even care. I'm sure some of this is my own depression at play because this is a really awful time of year for me, but of course, I can't even work on me because all of my time and resources are going to people who just take, take, take. 

It's exhausting. Some times I wish I could just disappear. Walk right off the side of the planet and never come back. 

Depression, still a thing around here.

I haven't been super vocal about my medical stuff going on, mostly because it's the same thing over and over: people just don't have a clue so they optimistically send me off and tell me things will "probably be fine".  

I don't know if you know this or not, but that's literally the most unhelpful thing to tell someone with a chronic illness. I mean, if you don't know what's wrong, that's fine, but maybe send me to someone who would know instead. 

I still don't feel well physically and at this point, I've just decided this is the best I'm going to get. Every day I feel like I have the worst flu, with body aches all over, I'm so tired I'm barely functional, and if I'm not sick to my stomach and/or vomiting, it's a good day. I'm just tired of advocating for myself because as far as I'm concerned, that's just some bullshit people say to be motivational or encouraging. 

I'm already struggling but now that it's fall I have moved firmly into the worst season of the year for me with mental health. I know it's going to happen every year but this last weekend I hit my wall and I've steadily slid down it into a dark hole. I'm just over it. I'm trying to keep myself afloat and I have one child dealing with their own mental health issues and I'm having to drag them along with me. It would be helpful if they made some efforts to help me move them but no, it's straight resistance and I'm struggling with forcing them to get help or saying fuck it, because until they want it, it won't work? Does that make sense? I also love being told they wish I was a better mom. I mean, I already know I'm not the same mom I once was and it's taken me five years to not feel tremendous guilt and just angry about it, I was finally feeling like I could let that go. 

To have one of my kids point blank say they wish I was a better mom not only felt like a stab to the heart, but it was like confirmation for my brain to start the "you're a shit mom, you're better off dead, they're better off without you" track that plays on repeat. I know they are just a kid so they don't understand fully that what they say has a direct impact on someone else, it doesn't make it hurt any less. So since then, I've really had some dark moments where I've been worried to be home alone. I'm doing the best I can, I can't give anyone what I don't have. I feel like I'm being sucked dry by other people and nobody gives a flying fuck that I'm struggling. 

I continue with my therapy and my psychiatry because I know it's the best thing for me. It's the only place I can say what I really think and how I really feel. Because I am so angry. I'm starting to feel resentful and I feel like I don't ever get the chance to get better because it's always me having to come to the rescue of someone else. I spend 90% of my time taking care of and doing things for other people. I'm always running someone around to appointments, activities, or places with friends. I do my best to plan out a menu, shop, and cook only to have people not eat or tell me they decide to starve themselves to lose weight they can't afford to lose. I don't understand why people don't seem me melting down until nothing. I just don't get it. 

Four years of flowers.

I realized I've had this post in drafter since a few days after Lucy's birthday and I'm not sure why I didn't post it. I'm going to post it now because I use my blog as a journal of sorts and I find myself going back to read things from previous years to maybe understand where I was at.  

**

It is really strange to think Lucy is four. Every year I struggle with her birthday and I really hate it. I hate that her birthday, which is a time that I should celebrate and be grateful I have this amazing little kid, is also synonymous with the worst thing that has ever happened to me. It's the source of my trauma and the starting point of all of the things I struggle daily with. 

I hate that it is the same event. 

Most every year I think her birthday is going to be the worst, maybe the hardest day. And every year I forget that it is always the day before that is a struggle for me. I think maybe because I don't remember anything from the day she was born, which is certainly a blessing and a curse all on its own. The day before her birth is the last memories I have of my old life. When everything was easier, it made a little more sense, I had a little more control. 

On that day, I was in tremendous pain, I didn't feel well. I was sick to my stomach, everything on my body hurt, I was swelling up in weird places, I felt faint and dizzy the entire day. I had Olivia and Penelope at exactly 39 weeks so the goal was to walk this baby out because the next day, I would be exactly 39 weeks. 

It was mid morning so we went to Canal Park, that's where I successfully walked a baby out before. The kids pretended to be tourists, we threw some rocks in. We went to eat lunch at Grandma's Restaurant, just like before I had Olivia. 

After lunch, all of us went to the Rose Garden/Leif Erikson Park. We hadn't ever taken the kids there and we thought it was weird. It was starting to get hot. There were artists on the walkway and a woman with interesting art that she was giving away on magnets. I don't remember looking at her art, but I remember her giving me a magnet and telling me it would all work out. Thinking that was strange, I put the magnet in my purse. It's actually still on my fridge because I feel like I can't throw it out. 

Penelope was obsessed with flowers that summer so we spent so much time sniffing flowers, right up until her nap time. The last thing I remember of my old life is getting into the cry with everyone crabby and Penelope crying. 

That's it. 

Every year I think about that day. The last few years I've gone to Leif Erikson Park by myself. It's usually been after a doctor appointment or something, so I've always been basically right there. Every year I've sat on a park bench, looking at the lake, and cried. 

Alone. 

And I've been OK with that. I'm not sad because I'm alone. I'm sad because I struggle with being happy and being sad and being angry. I have a hard time being all of those things. I feel like if I'm angry, I can't be happy. If I'm happy, people think I've moved on and I haven't. I won't move on from this. 

This year though, I asked Matt if we could do our nightly walk there instead. 

Because he's such a great guy and he gets it because he has memories of his own from those days that he doesn't share with me, he said yes. 

So that's what we did. 

We did our whole walk, mostly in silence. I looked at the lake. I tried hard to not cry. I don't know if you know this, but if you sit on a bench, staring at the lake, and you are silently crying, people think you are mentally ill and unsafe. You get the quick glances, people point, some laugh, but nobody asks if you're OK. 

This year I had Matt though. He doesn't do any of those things. I didn't cry on the bench, though. I think maybe I was all cried out from earlier in the day, though. He will hold my hand and pull my hair back when it gets sticky on my face from the humidity. He doesn't say anything. Maybe he's thinking his own things. Life hasn't been the same for him either. He doesn't have the same wife, the same partner. We both make do with what we have. 

A theme I've really struggled with this year is being grateful and being angry and sad at the same time. I've worked a lot on it in therapy. I've thought a lot about it. I still do. 

So imagine my surprise when, on our way out of the park, I literally stumbled on this: 

I didn't even notice until Matt said the established year is the same year we got married. Maybe I'm just an actual klutz and the world is a coincidence. Maybe its something more. I don't know. 

On Lucy's actual birthday my friend Amy sent me flowers. Of course I cried. 

Then my friend Tammy sent me flowers. Of course I cried again. I am lucky, and grateful, to have friends who know those days are really awful for me. I know I don't even have to tell them those are hard days and I am at my emotional lowest point but I'm trying to be upbeat and happy because Lucy is so excited. I am lucky. I am lucky to have amazing friends, terrific kids, and a great husband. I know of other survivors who don't have that kind of support system and I don't know how they do it. I know I struggle so hard with it, I don't know what life would be like without them.  

💕

The reflection of four.

Lucy turns four on Saturday and what I am not going to do is talk about my AFE on her birthday and what that has been like for me. So on Saturday come back here and I'll have a special post about Lucy and how great she is, plus we can all admire how beautifully adorable she is. 

Because that's just a fact. 

Today though, I'm going to talk about what this means for me. (If you're new around here or have no idea what I'm talking about when I say AFE, you can go HERE to catch up.) On Facebook earlier this week I shared this and it made me pause. 

I have spent a good chunk of the last four years trying to get people to understand that right now the concept of be grateful has nothing to do with trying to heal from trauma. Being grateful doesn't make my trauma go away. It doesn't make the depression go away, the PTSD, the panic attacks, the anxiety, the fear, the feeling of not wanting to be here, none of that goes away whether I am grateful or not. 

Even after four years I am still sad. I still feel terror when I see a pregnant woman. A small baby sometimes makes me cry. I still feel angry. 

I am angry it happened at all. 

I am angry my life isn't the way I worked for. It isn't what I wanted at all. I don't even feel like this is my life anymore. 

I am angry that I missed out on Lucy's every first because I don't remember any of it. What kind of God lets a person survive this and then robs you of memories? To make me feel like a constant disappointment to my children when I can't remember important things or share in their memories? To make me always wonder if I'm as good of a wife as I was? 

I cry all of the time. I cry because I'm sad. I cry because some days I don't know what I'm doing. I cry because some days I don't want to be here anymore. I cry because I feel guilty. I cry because I feel like a prisoner in someone else's life. I cry because I'm crying and because I'm angry. 

I cry because I'm not grateful. 

I am angry and I cry because I'm not better. I'm angry there is no such thing as "better". I am so sad that I never feel well. I always hurt. I am always so tired I can barely function. I am angry my memory is awful. I'm really angry that I am so short tempered and angry and that my family sees it. I'm feel so deflated because I keep trying and trying and still, I'm running in place. Its like I'm running uphill but I never reach the top. I hate complaining about my life because I KNOW people are out there who have it worse, but my therapist absolutely hates when I say that because its downplaying my reality. I will say that I would take all of the pain and ailments if it meant Lucy could stay healthy. Anytime she gets sick or worse I feel guilty. Its an endless wheel of thoughts of what I messed up when I was pregnant, how did I fail her? 

I am angry people still push their stupid essential oils on me like that's going to fix me. I'm angry people tell me if I just did a specific thing I would be cured. I'm angry people suggest memory games for me and assume I haven't tried them. Or maybe they think I just didn't try hard enough. Yeah, its probably that. Maybe I should just try harder and suddenly my brain and body will snap together and be normal. 

I am angry people talk about me like I'm not trying hard enough. I am angry these people can't see me on the bathroom floor in the middle of the night crying. That they can't see me in my therapy sessions trying so hard. I am angry they can't be in my body just to feel what its like to feel like you have the worst flu of your life every day. I'm angry that they can't see me in the shower sobbing almost every day because I am so emotionally exhausted from just going through a day. 

The only thing I know for certain, the only thing I know for sure with every bone in my body, is that Matt is my person. I know I'm lucky that he has stuck around, that he still loves me. I'm not always a pleasant person and I know that. It has to be hard for him to know I need so much help and some days, some days I just can't do it at all. I also know my kids are pretty damn great. I couldn't have a better set of kids even if I handpicked them. I constantly feel like I'm failing them but how do you explain to them that my best is really crappy and I'm sorry? 

I'm really struggling this week, as I always do this time of year, and I'm trying so hard to fake it. 

I wish I had the same connection with my family as I do with Lucy. It's not that she is my favorite or anything like that, she is the only person who knows what it was like. Some days I am grateful babies can't remember their birth and then other days I wish she did so I wouldn't feel crazy alone. Isn't that messed up? It feels messed up. I know there are other survivors and I've friended many and I listen to every one of their stories, some are similar to mine in ways but we are all different. Some days it helps but other days it makes me feel more alone. I'm surrounded by so many and I have never felt more alone. 

But I'm here. I'm acknowledging that I am here, I have worked so hard to stay here, and being here is an accomplishment. I might still be running uphill in a storm but nobody can say I'm not hanging onto every rock and branch so I don't fall. Because I might be a lot of things, but I don't want to be a failure too. I also know that nobody has the right to make me feel worse, to make me feel more guilty. So I guess I'm learning things, too. 

So here we are, four. I don't know if things will get better. I'm no longer in that "give it time, it'll get better" optimistic phase, I've moved firmly into the "its shit and that's OK" phase. I'm not even sorry about it. I'll just keep swimming, surely I'll wash up somewhere. 

Stop crying your heart out.

I feel like I've hit an actual wall. I don't know what's going on with my depression but it has flared up and I'm really struggling.

I don't blame the quarantine or coronavirus so much, though that has had an impact. I think this is just how life is now for me and to be frank, I'm sick of it. I am tired of treading water only to keep being overwhelmed by waves.

I really miss every day, every week, every year that I took for granted. All of that time where I had good days and things were OK. Even on my worst days I felt better than I do know. I don't know why everything feels amplified. I can feel a huge difference if I forget to take my medication, so I know that it is working. I'm at the highest doses possible. I'm starting to wonder if I'll have to just deal with awful medication side effects to feel better.

I haven't been sleeping. That's been a thing for awhile. Don't come at me with your melatonin, I can't take it with my other medications. I hardly eat at all. If I do it's just munching on something but not enough to be considered a meal. Even if I do sit down for a meal I can't taste it and I lose my appetite immediately. I am so tired the entire day. I have such a hard time getting out of bed in the morning. A lot of mornings I cry because I just can't do another day.

Is it ironic that it's the week of Mother's Day and I feel like the worst mom? I have to rely on Olivia and Jackson so much and I hate it. I feel like I'm stealing their childhood away. Granted, its less time on YouTube and video games for them, but still. They didn't ask for this. I love them so much and I have no idea what life would be like without them.

I feel terrible for Penelope and Lucy because they won't know a happy mom, excited to take them to a park. I love them so much but god help me, my days are so long and so hard right now.

I am lucky I have family that care. I am lucky to have friends who check on me. I have a support system when so many people don't.

I just feel so tired and I don't know what I would even say. I was thinking about that earlier, if I had to list three things that are at the top of my bubbling emotions, I have no idea what I would say. I can't even tell people what it is that is bringing me down. Things like this make me feel like I no longer have control over my mind. I can list all of the things I feel but none of it is different from yesterday. Or last year. It's always the same and I'm so tired of it.

Oh well. It's only Tuesday. One day.

It can always be worse.

It would've been a good week.

I haven't really looked at the calendar much except to stay on top of book reviews because everything is obviously cancelled. It really hasn't been a big deal because we don't do much, but this was supposed to be a big week.

• Olivia would have had high school transition night yesterday. She is going to be a freshman next year and I'm so nervous and excited at the same time, and I know she is too. I think she was looking forward to that just to learn more about high school and ask questions to calm her nerves. She's like me in that way, she wants to be as prepared as she can ahead of time and it helps. 
• Today would have been Penelope's spring concert at school. I was going to buy her a cute spring dress to wear and she was going to sing some songs, probably have a family craft day afterwards like for the holiday concert. 
• Tomorrow Penelope turns FIVE, if you can believe it, and no pandemic can cancel that so we'll still celebrate. 
• Olivia would be having her final middle school band concert on Thursday. She was looking forward to that too and her songs sound amazing. I think this is the first of a few things she's sad about as she closes out her time at middle school. 
• Friday would have been big, Penelope should have been going to Kindergarten Round Up. She would be meeting teachers and seeing classrooms. Maybe doing a craft alongside some other kids. It would help her be less scared when we (hopefully) start in the fall again. 
• Sunday would have been a finale practice for Olivia's dance recital. The recital would have happened on May 9th, but the show I know she worked so hard for is cancelled. Well, they are doing some kind of performance on Zoom and its going to be lame and she likely can't even do it because we have zero room in the house to do it. We get zero internet in the yard so that's out. I'm so angry that our costumes can't be used next year which is a whole other thing, and Matt is livid that we're expected to shell hundreds of dollars for more costumes when we didn't get to wear these. I get it. Sigh. 

Some good things, though: 

• Penelope turns five tomorrow and I'm so excited. She has been counting down for months and her little brain just about exploded when she realized tomorrow is the day! We have a cake for her, some presents for her, and some ice cream, of course. I think a couple of friends are going to drop something on the porch for her, too. She was really bummed that she can't be the birthday star in her little 4K class, but her teacher DID mail her a little card and she was so excited and as she put it, had "happy tears". 
• My library/craft space/office is amazing. I know I keep talking about it but truly, it is so amazing and I'm so grateful and I thank my lucky stars Matt is so great at everything. 
• Its getting warmer, which means I can walk outside more often. I am hoping I can find my winter hat and just got now. (It's still chilly and my ears get too cold.)
• Twinky got to go to the groomers and thank goodness because I think he was just as nervous as I was when I told him I was going to try to give him a hair cut. 

I'm trying to write out the good and the bad every day. It's OK to get the bad out there as long as I don't dwell on it and I am able to throw up some good there, too. I hope you have some good happening, too. 

Losing my sanity.

I know, I absolutely know that I am not special. Just because I am losing my sanity being in quarantine doesn't mean I'm special.

Everyone is slowly losing their minds and I get it.

What is different here is that since my AFE, I have a whole slew of mental health issues. On my absolute best days I struggle with volatility. I might be happy as a clam and out of nowhere I'm so angry I could break every dish we own. I might start a craft project with the best intentions and suddenly I'm throwing it all away and sending everyone to their room because I can't handle the sounds of their voices and I'll likely burst into tears because I know it isn't normal but I can't stop it.

Believe it or not, that's me medicated. That's the best version of what life is like for me.

Is it normal? NOPE. Is it OK for the kids to deal with that? NOPE. Do I feel like the worst mother in the world? YEP. Am I angry that this is how I am now? ABSOLUTELY. Do I feel terrible because I used to be a really great mom and now I just suck and make everyone cry? NO DOUBT.

The last couple of weeks started out alright. I had a list of things to do everyday and my therapist told me I can do anything for short spans. If I look at things as small chunks of time, I can do anything. Look at the start and end date and I'll be OK. The problem with there being no end date here is that I am just left feeling like I'm in a bottomless pit of awful. It reminds me of the spans of time that I was suicidal.

Don't get me wrong, there has never been a time that I didn't think about being dead in general or being dead as a solution to life. That remains consistent; however, with medication and coping techniques I've been able to shift my thinking on really awful days.

Unfortunately, those aren't long term solutions. I'm 100% sure that if I lived in a warmer climate I would be better because at least I could go for a walk or a bike ride and not worry about getting so cold that I can't function. It isn't a matter of bundle up and I'll be fine, I no longer manage body temperature too well so I swing wildly from so cold I might die to so hot I'm going to pass out. It's one and then swing wildly to the other. You might be able to ride your bike with a light jacket and maybe gloves but I need full winter gear and then will sweat profusely, only to feel like hypothermia is setting in when I take the jacket off.

Going outside isn't a real option for me.

Instead I've been trying to keep busy around the house. Unpacking, cleaning, going to the old house to work on stuff. It's great until I get going and everything starts to hurt. I get so tired, like I've run a marathon, and all I've done is swept the kitchen floor. It's aggravating and I get angry because I just want to be normal and do normal things. I stopped the medication that kind of helped with that because my hair is coming out in massive clumps. Handfuls. That picture above? you can see the receding hairline on the sides (like right under my pins). My hair has always been outrageous thick and full and now? I can put a bun in my hair. Absolutely unheard of a year ago. Without the medication though everything on me hurts. I'm also so tired that ten hours of sleep isn't doing it. I'm barely making it to nap time every day.

I won't even tell you about the outrageous crying sessions I'm doing. Last week I collapsed onto the living room and just cried. For HOURS. Meanwhile the kids are seemingly used to it and just go around me. Matt has to work and frankly, he doesn't need to deal with me. I am hoping I can do a telehealth appointment for therapy in two weeks otherwise I might go right off the deep end. I'm barely hanging onto the edge anymore.

That time I was beat up by a gallbladder.

I'm going to preface this to say there is a lot more to this story that happens before that I'm just not mentally ready to talk about that would make my feelings about this make more sense. Just know that immediately before all of this happened, I had some major life changes happen the same week as this, so by the time all of this happened, I was already in a depression low. So that makes all of this that much more depressing.

If you follow this blog you know I have a ton of medical stuff going on at any given time, especially stomach issues. I've had unexplained pain and though I've had two endoscopies and a colonoscopy, no real cause was determined. We knew that I had a few gallstones and while my symptoms weren't screaming that I needed to have my gallbladder out, I knew that eventually it may be a thing.

As it turns out, now it is a thing.

Last Wednesday, I woke up with a minor stomach ache. Nothing big, and everyone in my house has had a stomach bug so I thought I was probably next. I had been having weird bowel movements for about three weeks and I figured it was either the stomach and flu bug going around my house the last month or so and/or some medication I was only a month into taking. I thought maybe my body was telling me this wasn't going to work out. That day though, no issues with that, just an icky tummy.

I couldn't eat a small bowl of cereal in the morning, I felt a little nauseous. I couldn't eat lunch because I felt like I was outrageously full. By dinner I knew I had to eat something so I could take my nighttime medication, so we had spaghetti and I tried to eat a little of the chicken and the plain noodles. I just really couldn't stomach it so threw most of it out.

Around 9 p.m., we all go to bed. Matt had been sick and barely functioning so when he went I figured I probably should in case I really was getting sick. By 10 though, it was clear it wasn't happening. My stomach hurt. When I say it hurt, I mean it was worse than being in labor. I'm not even exaggerating. I decided to go take a hot shower because it was a pain going right through the middle of my chest into my back, like I was being impaled. Shower was nice but not helpful. I got into bed and thought maybe a heating pad would help. I literally suffered through this for two more hours until waking Matt up at midnight and saying I think I need to go in.

Let's just feel remember Matt is loaded up on NyQuil, he feels like absolute crap, but he's more able to drive than I am at this point. I felt terrible.

Olivia was still up so I told her I was going to the ER, don't freak out, but if there's a fire she's got to wake everyone up. Cool, so we leave.

We get there and thankfully there wasn't a crazy long wait, maybe a half hour or so, but I thought I was dying in that waiting room. At this point I had Googled enough that I thought I'm either having a weird heart attack or a gallbladder attack, neither of which had super enjoyable options.

By the time I get there, the doctor (and nurse) are fairly surprised that I'm in as much pain as I'm in. It felt like contractions, like a dull pain that stays and every minute or so it ramps up and just HURTS LIKE A MOTHER%*!@)!. The doctor can't even touch my abdomen without me screaming and jumping off the bed so he orders a CT scan and an ultrasound.

I got my handy dandy IV and they gave me some pain medication, Fentanyl, which was horrible. I mean, it took the pain away but I also felt like I was on an out of control speed boat going side to side. Even Matt said I looked completely high.

I go to my CT scan and they tell me I'll have to lift my arms up, which is fine because I've done this kind of scan on my abdomen before so I know what to do. I can only lift my IV arm up though and she tells me totally fine. We do the first two scans, normal, no problems. The next ones are with contrast and as she puts stuff in my IV it really hurts. I go to put my arm up and it explodes everywhere. The contrast stuff is all over my face, both arms, chest, hair, machine, everywhere. Apparently there was too much pressure but my IV was intact.

In case you don't know, that contrast stuff is SO sticky. By the time I was done, they had me go into a restroom with some towels and told me to do my best to wash off because it basically looked like someone ejaculated all over me. Like all over, and it was getting crusty.

Nice.

I got wheeled into ultrasound after that and she had me rolling over into the weirdest positions I've ever been in during any kind of exam. She tells me she sees a LOT of gallstones, sees that it's extremely inflamed and that there is a "big chunk of something" towards the bottom.

She said she would send all of that to bed read after she got me back down the hall. As soon as I'm wheeled away and she's not even down the hall, the ER doctor comes in and says my CT scans are really pretty bad and I'm getting my gallbladder out first thing in the morning.

So we wait. We had to wait for them to find me a room to go to for the rest of the night and be prepped in the morning.

At this point I have enough drugs flowing through me so all I'm feeling is a dull pain I'd register at around a 5, but it's what I feel EVERY day so I'm not even phased anymore. I mean, I can work through this because I've had to for years now, so I'm fine.

About an hour later, they get me up to the fifth floor, but instead of the surgery side, I get put on the orthopedic side because they didn't have a single room or a shared room with another female.

At this point I'm delirious with sleep because I hadn't slept all night on Tuesday because of Matt's snoring, and now it is early Thursday morning and I still have not slept. Matt wasn't feeling so super, either.

We waited all morning. Apparently my idea of "first thing in the morning" is different than everyone else's, so I was getting a little annoyed.

I did have a nice room with a decent view though, so I can't even hate on that. My nurses literally had no idea what to do with me because they aren't used to handling people with gallbladder issues, so I was getting annoyed as the day progressed. By 5 pm or so, it was shift change and I had two very nice nurses come in and ask how I was. I started to cry and say that my child care was going to be done at 7pm and I honest to god needed to have surgery by then. They asked if Matt had to be here and I was like, YES because I can't speak for myself if I'm unconscious and he sucks at answering the damn phone.

Lo and behold, if you call down to surgery and ask when your patient needs to go, they come and get you. (Which... I honestly would like to know if any of my daytime nurses did that because when I got down there they had all be waiting for me. For HOURS.) Anyways. I had to have my hydrocortisone drip set up before my surgery, one during my surgery, some iodine drip so they can see what they're doing in there, etc.

I just remember laying on this bed back there, speaking with the anesthesiologist about the procedure and he recognized my name from my AFE and told me what a big deal it was. He talked about how things are still being changed because of my case and they talk about it often. I mean, that's cool to hear, but at that moment, I was terrified. I've had anesthesia a few times since but it doesn't get easier. It's like now that I know first hand that things can and do go wrong, and I'm not immune to that, I'm scared. Regardless, the gallbladder still had to go.

While Matt got the summary from the surgeon, he learned that not only was my gallbladder in rough shape, but a rather large gallstone(s) had worked its way up into an artery and that likely is the extreme pain I was feeling. I sat in the recovery area for almost two hours because they couldn't get my pain under control. I don't remember much, but I remember a nurse holding my hand and rubbing my arm and telling someone different things to try and listing off what she had already tried. I just remember awful pain everywhere.

I don't remember being transferred to my room, but I remember being there and meeting my night nurse David, and seeing Matt there. He had ordered me food in case I was hungry and had gotten me water (because I wasn't allowed to have anything to eat/drink before surgery so I went an entire 24 hours with nothing... which is HORRIFIC if you have diabetes insipidus and you grave ice water at all times and feel like you're dying of thirst) and was helping me get ready for bed.

I know Matt left to go home for a few hours to sleep, and my pain was just awful. They had me wedged in bed so I couldn't move really and I had this cool towel on my head which was helpful because I was starting to get a headache. They gave me morphine at some point and I had to yell because I thought for sure I was going to throw up everywhere.

Fortunately I didn't, but the barf bags now kind of look like weird, giant condoms. Right? The morning after surgery,  Friday, I was in so much pain. Honestly, recovery after child birth didn't even hurt this bad. They were having a hard time getting my pain under control and just really wanted me to go home, which I get, so I gave up when my pain was at a 5/6 and told them fine- send me home. Honestly. The surgeons came in to talk about the procedure and answer questions and they are looking at me like I must be feeling SO much better and I'm just nodding my head with tears streaming down my face. I left two hours later.

Not before I looked in the mirror though, because I am a glutton for punishment. I already have a mutilated looking stomach since Lucy's birth, that line under my belly button is the start of my c-section scar which ends a little lower and I call it the second butthole, because it does look like a butthole, no joke. But now I have these four other spots, with another one that looks like a belly button/butthole hybrid. My stomach is contorted and lumpy, and it's just.... I wasn't feeling great about myself as it is but this sets me even further back. To say I've cried over something so stupid more than once is an understatement.

So on Friday afternoon, I hobbled my way down the ramp I know so well (it's my only real memory of my time at the hospital after Lucy's birth) and went home. 

It is now almost a week since my surgery and I'm still in pain. It has definitely moved beyond the trapped air pain and it feels like every muscle in my abdomen was torn to shreds. Every organ was squished and manipulated, it feels like my ribs are broken, and it hurts to breath. I can hobble around a little more now, but sitting hurts. Laying down hurts. Using a pillow to move doesn't even help. It hurts to eat. I can pass gas and have a bowel movement OK though, and I was kind of worried. I can't dry myself after a shower. I have had to have help getting dressed. I cannot bend over, can't put my shoes on. Of course no lifting or anything that would use ab muscles, which is a lot as you can imagine. 

They sent me home with some oxycodone which is like eating Smarties and calling it a pain reliever. They don't do a dang thing for me so I only tried two and gave up. I alternate between Tylenol and Advil and those have never worked on me so I don't know why I even bother with those either. I'm just kind of using the labor breathing techniques I learned and who knew that would end up being a life skill? I just feel like crap. 

I really wanted my mom and I can't have that, and my depression is at a ridiculous low right now so I'm grateful to have therapy this week. I already struggle with independence with my medical issues and now having to have my children help me put pants on? It doesn't really do a lot to help me in anyway so I'm struggle. Which is STUPID, because it's just a stupid gallbladder. 

But. Here we are. 

So yeah- I had gallbladder surgery. No big deal. 

Bright side, hit my insurance deductible for the year, I suppose. 

Disappointment, Depression, Diet.

I know I haven't blogged in a few days and I wish I could say it's because I have so much going on I just couldn't squeeze it in. In a way, that's true.

Mostly though, it's just depression.

It's kicking my ass. My irritability is at an all time high. I feel like I'm walking a tight rope between looking fine and falling all the way apart. I constantly feel like the littlest thing could happen and send me into an emotional spiral of never ending crying.

I'm trying really hard to be cheerful and I really hate that this seems to happen this time of year because this is my favorite time of year. I hate that while depression has ruined a lot of my life it's now taking the one holiday I really, really love.

Why can't I have just one thing?

In other news, I finally went to the weight loss doctor. I'm sure I've talked about this months ago but it's finally happened and I learned a lot. The bare facts:

• I'm 206.1 pounds, 40% body fat. (No surprise there, I knew all of that)
• My goal weight is 160 pounds, 20% body fat (this is actually reassuring because that's where I was at before Penelope and I felt pretty good about things so I felt good knowing I wasn't aiming for something crazy like 120 or something)
• I'm an apple shape and apple are better than pears BECAUSE apples genetically can lose weight doing light/moderate exercise whereas pears have to really go hard in the gym. It's just how a body works, and it's weird but I like being an apple. 
• My visceral fat is 11, and that puts me in the "high" category. Between the visceral fat information and all of the lab work I had done, he's very concerned about me and diabetes. It's not my blood sugar necessarily, but my body is clearly not processing, absorbing, or breaking down anything normally so he said my primary concern needs to be this.  

I came away with a new pill, Metformin, and so far I'm tolerating it OK. I'm astounded at how huge it is so THAT's fun to take every day. Pretty soon I'll have to take it twice a day. Goody.

The plan is for me to get 30-60 minutes of exercise every day over and above what I normally do for activity in a day, nothing crazy. He doesn't even care what I do, he just wants activity.

My new diet? It's called the "Measuring Cup Free Diet" and it's pretty much just portion control. He spent a lot of time doing math with me to figure out what I need to (hopefully) help my body function more normally.

• 75 grams of protein, spread out over the day. I can have a protein shake or a protein bar but he showed me how to tell if the bar is actually any good for me, and told me to not get a shake at the local shake places, I have to make my own. There are too many other additives and things in those that would make it basically useless for me. So, that sucks because I'm scared of my blender so YAY. 
• 4 servings of vegetables. A DAY. If you know me at all you know I hate vegetables and I'm already really struggling on this. 
• 3 servings of fruit. Again, barf. 
• 2 servings of starch... which is the worst. I can have one piece of bread, 1/3 cup of cooked pasta or rice, and 1/2 cup of cereal. Only one of those a day. I'M GOING TO DIE. 
• 1 serving of dairy. Which I'm OK with because I'm not big on dairy, but it's only one slice of cheese. I mean, I love cheese. 

The plan is food journal EVERYTHING and I'm on day three and I hate it. I'm sure it'll get easier. My limit is like 1700 calories or something, and I'm finding I'm ending up with left over calories every day, so at least I'm doing well there. It's the protein that's going to kill me. That and vegetables. I think I can swing the fruit if I have to. But vegetables are gross. Barf. 

I'm only allowed to lose 1-3 pounds a week. If I'm losing more he's concerned something isn't functioning the way it should so we would do labs and see what's going on and make adjustments. Same if I'm not moving anywhere. So I'm optimistic. He's very nice, he made it clear he isn't going to lecture or shame me and said he 100% understands why I haven't lost weight, I'm fighting genetics and a hormonal system that doesn't work. 

Oh! And I learned that just because you take replacement hormones, that doesn't make up for the real thing to the rest of your hormones. My blood looks normal but my organs are functioning as if they have no hormones bossing them around, so things are kind haywire. It's like leaving a bunch of toddlers with no supervision in a kitchen. Basically. 

So we'll see. Best case scenario, this time next year I might look and feel totally different. 

Forgetting It Sucks

I feel like it's been awhile since I've posted about what life is really like. Away from book reviews and kids being fun (and sometimes not), there is a lot going on in my life. Some of which I'm not ready to share because I haven't quite worked out how I feel about it. And that's OK.

It seems like every November I really struggle with life. Last year was pretty bad and I guess the good thing is I forget how bad its already been. I know fall of 2016 was really horrible because I was planning my suicide. So, I guess we've gone up from there. 2017 was bad. 2018 was really bad but by then financial issues were catching up with us and they are still here so that really sucks, but every year it's like the depression morphs into something new, if that makes sense.

I've really struggled this year with the realization that this actually is it. I'm really at the peak of my depression treatment. I've really come to the end of the road medication wise in some areas and my mood stabilizing medication can obviously be increased but I've been waiting to do that to make sure I really need it so I don't max out sooner than I should. Nobody can ever say I'm irresponsible with my medications because I'm scared of everything so I'm willing to suffer until the absolute last minute before I change anything.

Every day though I sit at home while all four kids are in school and I just think about how difficult life is. How hard it is to just get out of bed, then to get dressed, then get them to school and back, and all of the stuff a mom does during a day. I'm barely keeping anything together as it is and I'm just so mentally exhausted. I just don't know how much longer I can do this, you know? I'm not sure what I'm doing as a mom, I'm a really crappy wife and I know that Matt is absolutely tired of always correcting me and double checking what I'm doing because I probably screwed something up as usual, I have no desire to do anything, and I just don't know how I manage to get through every single day.

Last week I brought Penelope to school when she had no school. I had almost left her there. I was late for a therapy appointment and that wasn't good. I had to pick Jackson up from school for an appointment, I went to the wrong school. In fact, I went to a school none of my kids have ever been to. Explain THAT. We had family pictures taken and I inexplicably ordered 168 photo cards. We needed 60. Thank god Matt was able to get that fixed and save us $82.

Needless to say I cried a lot last week. I forget something, get frustrated, so then I forget more, and get more frustrated, start messing things up more, so now I'm angry. It's a spiral. I get upset because I'm frustrated my brain doesn't work right. I'm angry that any of this has happened to me. I'm exhausted because pretending I'm OK is really hard.

On my really bad days I obsessively "clean" and "organize". I put those in quotations because that's what I call it when in reality I'm really just moving things around. I move books from one shelf to the other. I organize pencils in a cup. I take everything out of a drawer and put it back in. Over and over again. (I found this note on Wednesday that I had kept and it was just everything that day. I needed it.) I can't even tell you how many times I've written and re-written our Christmas card lists. I have to be nearing 30 times in the last two weeks. I'm not kidding. I'll see that a letter doesn't look right and now I have to re-do the entire thing. I know it's obsessive behaviors but I can't stop.

I have a lot of big changes and stress happening in my life and 2020 is going to kick my ass. I already know that I won't handle it well and knowing that I am not in a good space to deal with them scares me. While I still think of wanting to be gone, I'm now medicated to the point where I know that isn't true so now I scare myself. The last two years death didn't scare me and I just wanted to be there. This year I'm so medicated that while I want to be dead I am absolutely terrified. I am having my nightmares again of dying and I'm waking up terrified and crying. It's horrible. I'm tired of feeling like I can't share how bad things are for me because it makes people feel guilty or feel like I'm a burden. In my head I know I can't control how other people feel and that's on them. I know that. My feelings don't know that so they are always reminding me of what a pain in the ass I am.

I hate talking about it because I often get the "is therapy even working for you?" question and YES. Yes, therapy is working. Therapy is the only reason I'm even here. If I didn't have therapy I know without question I would have been dead by June 2017. No question. I had one attempt and several days of toughing it out on the phone with my therapist, praying to anything to get me through the day. So yes, I know its working. I know people are sick of it and god- nobody is sick of it more than me. Nobody. Try living this EVERY SINGLE DAY. It's Groundhog Day. Every day its the same version of hell. No better, no worse. I keep being told I didn't die for a reason, I haven't fulfilled my purpose, but I sure hope that purpose is shared with me soon because I just don't know. I'm not nearly as strong as people think I am.

It's just a shitty season. Every year I get through the winter and days get easier, and I think it's OK. It's just a bad season.

Then that season rolls around again and I'm reminded that it sucks and every year it seems to outdo itself. I'm just tired.

Purple fingers, season change, and pills

It's been awhile since I've talked about what's happening health wise. Not that I think anyone really cares, but it's been nice for me to constantly have this to check back on when I forget. Between my blog and Facebook memories, that's really the only memories I have. Is it weird to say I'm grateful for social media for that? Anyways.

So it's fall, and as I look back on this time of year the last three years I see that this depressing slump I'm in is pretty par for the course. I had therapy last week and I went in as a wreck. An hour no longer seems like a long enough session and she said maybe down the road I might consider going weekly because I seem like I could benefit from it.

That's probably true, but I'm getting tired of always waving the flag. Every threshold I've had in the "I'm not that bad" column I seem to be crossing off and it's frustrating and defeating.

It's fall now and I can feel depression coming in like the cold weather. Any motivation I had to try to do things is pretty much gone. My interest in pretty much everything is gone. My appetite is gone. I'm so tired all of the time that all I want to do is sleep. Even with my medications it's just.... gray. Everything feels gray.

Have you ever been to the blog Hyperbole and a Half? Anyone who was anyone in the world of blogging 5-10 years ago had visited this blog regularly and she just did it so well and ended up writing a book and it is great. Anyways- she did a blog about depression that was so SPOT ON and honestly, if you  have never seen it, please-please-please go, read it, and come back.

Go HERE.

OK, so that's kind of what it is. It feels much worse some days. It dawned on me the other day that the idea of dying or being dead no longer scares me. I think for a little while after my AFE the idea of killing myself or being dead was scary because I had never had the feeling of wanting to be dead. I think when you first register yourself as someone struggling with suicidal ideation (which is different than being suicidal, don't freak the hell out, people) it's kind of alarming. More alarming though is being in it right now and know that you had a couple of weeks/months where you didn't think about it and you never realized how good you were having it right then because you depression is still bogging you down. Then you realize that's it is really depressing that that moment in time becomes the goal, knowing that you are fully depressed and feeling awful but at least you didn't think about wanting to die everyday.

That's a really depressing goal.

It also makes me wonder why am I even hanging on if that's my goal, that's what I'm working towards. Because that couple of weeks/months wasn't great at all, it was just a period of nothing. I felt nothing, but I wasn't raging. Realizing that my brain functioning makes no sense to me but is also really difficult to manage is just.... it's defeating.

Aside from that though, the medical situation is just as bad.

Auto Immune stuff: My inflammation lab work is still very, very high despite taking my methotrexate every Wednesday. I was on 8 pills on Wednesdays and then she had me do half in the morning, half in the evening to see if my body absorbed it better. It didn't seem to make a difference and the lab work showed that. Now I'm up to 10 pills on Wednesday, split doses again, and still- I feel no different. I've become one of those people who are like a weather barometer- I can feel the weather. Last week was pretty rough and I normally feel like I'm getting the flu but last week I felt like I was on day 3 of the worst flu of my life. That was every day and there isn't a thing I can do to deal with it. Plus, my fingers are almost constantly purple so hello, fall.

Gut check. I continue to have really horrible abdominal pain. I've done so many tests, scans, and lab work and nobody has any idea why my entire abdomen area hurts. It's not heartburn, it's not my gall stone, it's not my liver or appendix, it's not cancer, it's not any weird disease or syndrome, it's not a diet issue, they legitimately have no idea. Which is just great. They said I could "come back if I wanted to" later this year and it's like YES- BECAUSE MY ENTIRE MIDSECTION HURTS EVERY DAY TO THE POINT OF HAVING TO LAY DOWN AND DOING BREATHING EXERCISES AS IF I WAS IN LABOR TO GET THROUGH THEM. So yes, I want to come back. Fucking fix this. Jesus. I mean, I get not knowing, but ask another doctor, send me somewhere else, literally do anything at this point.

Busted. In not sexy news, my entire reproductive system and parts seem to be busted. Intercourse hurts and it's all for nothing because I can't feel anything and orgasms aren't happening. I know that this is probably really normal for my situation but the last three years has been... crappy. I see my primary care doctor in November for my physical so that's on the agenda but yeah. It's busted. Also, the hot flashes are getting SO MUCH WORSE. I only get a period once a year (which is just fine) and this year I got it maybe a month ago and it was so painful and I felt like someone was actually stabbing me for an entire day. It only lasted for one full day, and so I'm grateful for that because it was painful.

Neurology. I won't get into it much here but just know, my memory is not improving. For awhile there I thought maybe it was but that was like a false oasis because it's gotten worse. At first you think it's just little things like your car keys or phone go missing, you forget to put the milk away or shut a cupboard- all stuff that regular people do everyday. I know people blow that stuff off when I talk about it but for me, that's irregular. That is not my normal, those are not things I normally would do. Then it kind of morphs into other stuff. I'll forget to take my medications, I'll sort them all wrong or forget to have Matt check them, I'll forget to wear my CPAP mask at night, forget to shower or how to wash my hair, I couldn't remember how to tie my shoes last week. I dropped Penelope off at school and couldn't remember how to turn my car on and then how to get home. The forgetting where I live thing is starting to happen more and more. I had a bigger incident that I know Matt kind of brushed off and said, "well you remembered- and that's what matters" and I'm like, NO- the fact I forgot IS A BIG DEAL.

Sometimes it feels like a split personality. Where fog Sara is kind of in control and at the wheel but then old Sara pops in to say, "danger! danger!" and nobody listens. Like some little part of my brain knows I'm in murky waters but can't get me out.

I'm really afraid that I'm going to just progressively decline. I'm doing all of the puzzles and exercises, I do them all of the time, and still- it's not working. The closer I get to the 5 year mark (which is when I should be at my "peak recovery"), I'm getting scared, like I'm going to just miss the target.

Ha ha. I saw in Facebook memories that a few months after my AFE I was like, "god, I hate taking all of these meds" and I was only on 4 things. FOUR. That's nothing.

I've got all of my steroid replacements, my beta blocker, my acid reducer, my mental health medication, and my vitamins. And this is only my normal day, when I get to Wednesday I have to add 10 more in. 

That's my typical morning. I'm so used to it now that I don't even think about it but at every doctor appointment I ask if I can stop any of these. I know the answer will be no because my body doesn't produce any of this stuff or function without them, but I ask anyways.

I'm just in a really awful spot. Yes, I have my kids. Yes, I have things to look forward to. Yes, I have a great husband. Yes, I have family and responsibility. I know all of this, and I get all of this. But I also know that I'm tired. It's like asking an amputee to just drag themselves a little further through a desert when they are straight exhausted. I feel like I can't keep dragging myself around.

But I do it. I'm medicated and even-keel so I can keep going.

The cusp of 3.

I often wonder if I am always going to feel the way I do now about Lucy's birth. My therapist says it might change over time but it might not, because your body will always remember what happened to it, like a reflex. I might not remember, but my body does so there is a natural fear response happening. Which is such a weird thing to think about but I suppose it's true.

It's hard to tell you exactly how I feel on this day. The day before Lucy was born is my last real memory and that's not even really true because I don't have memories like you, I can't replay a scene like an old movie in my head. What I remember are the actual snapshots that we took of the day.

I remember Penelope standing next to roses at the Rose Garden in Duluth. I don't remember Olivia or Jackson. I don't remember Matt, but I remember taking this photo. It's so weird, but mostly scary, to look at this photo and know that that person died the very next day. It doesn't look like me. Well it does, but I don't recognize it as me. To me it's like looking at an ex-wife of Matt, which is weird because I know it's me..... but its not. 

It's strange to know this woman is dead. She died the very next day and somehow I'm here in that body and nothing about it feels familiar. I cannot tell you how many times I have stood in that exact same spot to see if a memory would come, would I remember standing there? Would I remember what it was like to be pregnant? Would I remember what it felt like to have a baby inside of me? 

To say this has been a hard three years is an understatement. I can't remember all of the doctor visits, the medical buildings, the procedures, the lab work, the waiting rooms, the hope, the disappointment, the frustration, the desperation, the resignation that I've had in these three years. I know its there and I guess its best if I don't remember it all. 

Not one person in the whole world can tell me that I haven't tried to get better. That I haven't marched forward, kept swimming, climbed the mountain, done the work. I have taken bad news like a champ and not told anyone. I have accepted the looks from people who think I'm crazy, I've been told to "just deal with it" and kept my mouth shut even though I want to scream, "I FUCKING AM" but I don't. I've become a better person because I really believe if I do good I will get good back and I just so desperately need that some days. 

I have confronted really awful truths from my past that I haven't told anyone, ever. Matt doesn't know. My mother doesn't know. My best friends don't know. I can see things around me a little more clearly now which is bittersweet because I realize how awful some people are and I never saw it before. I have lost friends. I at least know which ones are fair weather friends too but that comes with its own wave of disappointment. I have battled crippling depression, I have sat in darkened closets and in my car in the dead of winter wishing I could just die and thinking that being alive is really the cruelest punishment of all. 

I have confronted the things that hurt me the most. Did you know that I never look at my scar? I think sometimes maybe I don't lose weight because if I did the scar would be more prevalent on me. It's just a scar, millions of people have them and ones just like mine, it shouldn't bother me, but it does. It brings feelings of anxiety and panic. I get a tingling in my chest and I can't catch my breath. I feel fear, like something is trying to get me and I need to run.

So I don't look at it. I don't look at myself in the mirror anymore because I don't know this person or this body. I want to be old Sara so badly and I know I can't and so I feel shame. I feel shame because I'm not pretty and I'm not skinny, and no matter how many times Matt assures me I'm still attractive I don't believe him because he has to say that. 

I hate feeling broken. I hate feeling like everything in my body is malfunctioning and there isn't a fix. Sometimes I lash out. Sometimes I scream in a pillow until my voice is raw. Sometimes I go on walks and cry so hard neighbors look at me, probably wondering if I'm OK or crazy. Sometimes I sit and my car and cry. Sometimes I cry in the shower. Sometimes I cry when the girls nap.  I have to deal with everyone else and their problems and I'm dying a little more inside. I know it's daunting when I tell people it's going to be like this forever, like "Ugh, we have to help her FOREVER?!" and believe me, what you feel? I am more angry than you are. Trust me.

And then I have Lucy.  Lucy is really the best thing in the whole world. I wish I remembered what it was like to be pregnant with her. I wish I could have seen her born or remember what it was like the first moments with her. I wish I remembered what she was like as a baby. What she smelled like. I wish I could remember what her fuzzy hair felt like. How little she was. I wish I could remember her looking at me like I was the greatest thing in the world. Or what it felt like to rock her to sleep, or hold her on my chest. The irony is that I don't do well around pregnant women or little babies because they scare me and are a PTSD trigger... which I never knew was a thing until I'm in the thick of it.

It's weird to think I took this picture on Sunday, but I don't remember. I can piece things together. I know we were at Thomas the Train, I know we were on a train, I know it was summer. Anything else? I have to ask Matt because it's not there. I know I think I'll remember, I always do, and then I don't and I'm angry that I'm so stupid and thought that in the first place. But I forget how quickly I forget.

So tomorrow Lucy is 3. Tonight I'll go to bed absolutely petrified of what will happen. I'll be scared, panicky, and sad all day. I will try not to show it because I don't want to ruin her birthday. I will cry when I go to bed. I will pull it together because on Friday she has a doctor appointment and I need to pull it together. On Saturday we have her party and I will try to not cry and not ruin it. I will try to smile and be happy. Because ultimately, nobody cares. And it's OK. It's not your burden. It's not your PTSD or depression. It's not your trauma. It's not your stolen memories. You aren't broken. You don't understand where I'm at. You don't know that all the therapy in the world can't fix this and suddenly make me normal. And it's OK.

I'll keep trying anyway. I will fake it until I make it. I will get through today. And the next. And even the next after that. I can only do what I can do.