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. 

Book Review: In Our Blood

I don't think I have to tell you that I specifically picked this book out because any book about someone's personal mental health journey automatically interests me. As soon as I saw this and learned a little more about her story, I knew I had to read this. 

In Our Blood - Caitlin Billings

When Caitlin Billings became a therapist, she did so with an intention to heal from her past. She wasn’t planning on a mental health relapse or an involuntary psychiatric hold. She was a mother now. A mental health professional. She thought the issues she’d faced in her past were dealt with, tucked away forever.

She was wrong.

Over the years, Billings contends with bipolar disorder while raising two children and fighting to regain her footing as a clinician. She feels she’s finally gotten a handle on her mental health when, on the cusp of adolescence, her elder child begins to struggle with disordered eating and depressive symptoms. Convinced that she is to blame for her child’s struggles, Billings pivots her attention to this new crisis, determined to keep it together for her family—but after it comes out that sexual abuse has taken place in their home, she questions her ability to protect her children and experiences a relapse. Amidst all this turmoil, her elder child also comes out as transgender, forcing yet another kind of reckoning. Billings must find a way to accept the many changes and unexpected challenges that have reared up in their lives—and, ultimately, to accept herself.

Trigger warnings: domestic violence, self harm, suicidal thoughts, eating disorders, addiction, sexual assualt, incest, assault with a deadly weapon... I think I got them all. 

I started this one in the middle of the night (are you seeing a trend here?) and I really only intended to read a couple of chapters and pick it up in the morning. Fast forward three hours and I put the finished book down and I think I said, "wow" totally outloud for nobody to hear. Well, Twinky (my dog) did but he didn't especially care. Since finishing this book, I have recommended it to no less than 20 people because it just hits differently. I think those of us who are parents and trying to juggle being a mom, being a wife, keeping a career, and struggling with our own health issues, we put ourselves last. We don't deal with the traumas we've gone through, no matter how bad, because someone else needs us. Nobody has time for mom to break down. Moms are supposed to keep it together. 

I remember when I had Lucy, I came home an absolute wreck. I think everyone expected I would struggle, but when it was clear I was really struggling, everyone was quietly worried in their own way, but nobody actually knew what to do. I was going to therapy biweekly, I was seeing a psychiatrist for mental health medications, I was seeing what felt like a doctor in every practice to manage my complicated health situation, but still, nobody really knew what to do with me. I didn't fit the mould of anything, and amniotic fluid embolisms are rare enough that there is no blueprint on what to do with us. I remember those first three years being the worst, and more than once I thought about checking in somewhere, anywhere, because I wasn't doing well by any standards. I never did, and I truly regret that now. I'm nowhere near in those years, but I definitely do come in and out of really awful depression and I think almost daily about what's the point of being here? Sure, I've got my kids and husband, friends and family, but once you look beyond that... what's the damn point? 

So while I definitely can't relate with Caitlin in much of her personal story, I definitely know what that really dark and scary feels like. To be so close to the edge you scare the hell out of yourself, nevermind everyone else around you. 

A quick rundown of the book is Caitlin is a licensed clinical social worker, who leaves college with the goal of helping someone, somewhere. She goes into this thinking that while she's helping others, she could also help herself heal from the trauma she had endured, which includes an eating disorder, being held at gun-point, learning her child is transgender but also has depression, self-harm, and suicidal thoughts, all while she learns she actually has a bipolar disorder. I mean, what a whiner, am I right? Of course dealing with your own struggles brings shame, and I don't care how much we try to normalize mental health, people definitely give you the look once they realize what you're trying to manage. 

I just really loved this book. It's well organized, it's written as if your best friend is writing you a letter explaining where they've been, and at times you also feel the weight of the world on her shoulders. You're rooting for her and her family, and you just to fix it all for them. As someone who has a child who has struggled with many of these same issues, I absolutely knew what she meant when she described the helplessness you feel as a parent because you can only do so much. Trying to help them, and yourself at the same time is a monumental task. 

Overall, I absolutely loved this book. Caitlin Billings did an amazing job pulling all of it together, bringing us into with her, while also showing us that it's OK to get help. Actually, it's imperative to get help because nobody else can do it except us. The world around us does go on even when we're gone and taking the time we need to work on ourselves is the best thing we can do not just for ourselves, but our family and friends, too. She really hides nothing, she pulls the rug all the way back, so to speak and it's beautifully brave. 

A huge thank you to Caitlin Billings and PR by the Book for having me on this tour and sending me a copy. You can learn more about Caitlin on her website, but also on Instagram and Twitter. As always, I will always tell you to pick the book up as well. If you, or someone you know, is struggling with mental health, this would be a great read for them. 

*this post contains affiliate links*

Rage cleaning.

Are you a rage cleaner? I didn't realize that was a thing until a few years ago. My therapist told me it's an anxiety overload thing, but also probably some OCD thrown into the mix, too. I realize now that all of my crazy cleaning marathons that I would go on years ago were likely my anxiety taking over because life was hard. Life was busy and I only had two kids then, but I was working full time, so I just never had time to do.... nothing.  

Fast forward to now and while technically I have the time to do nothing, I don't have the opportunity. Most of my days are spent trying to keep up with all four kids, but trying to keep the house relatively clean. I've long since given up my magazine worthy kind of clean for my house, because I don't have the energy levels to do that but also, just vacuuming the one rug exhausts me and I have to lay down for a half hour just so I can then make some toast for myself for lunch. 

God knows I haven't done a deep clean on anything in years. My standards have gone down drastically. 

This last weekend though, I realized the front porch was out of hand. It's the catch all area for toys and kid things, it's basically a play room for them. We never needed a play room before but since we moved, and downsized in space by almost half, we've had to get creative with space and storage. The front porch became the toy room, play room, storage for kid crafts and books, and other. It doesn't take long for things to get out of hand, let's put it that way. So I decided that I was going to spend the time to clean it out and get rid of the things we no longer need. 

I was hoping for help, but this is what my helper opted to do instead. Granted, it was significantly warmer outside than I thought it was going to be, so I know it slowed me way down. Twinky decided he was going to live his best life on the couch while the fan above blew cool air onto him in his indecent position. Jerk. 

It took me hours and I really mean hours to go through every box, every drawer, and every shelf. I went through every single toy piece by piece. Matt ended up hauling out two bags of garbage and a couple of boxes of things to donate. We were able to get all of the kid things onto one side of the porch, so it's not a spread out mess. 

Now we have this whole other side to either leave it empty or do something with. I think the horse (behind my rocking chair) might go soon, I'm not sure. The cats like that cat tree there since they can be the neighborhood watch from there. I'd like to get some kind of lounge chaise or something so I can read out there in the sunshine. Other than that though, I don't have any ideas. I might move some plants out there to see if they do better with more sunlight. I'm trying to get into house plants but so far I've not been real successful. I'm trying, though! 

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. 

Medical update, weight loss, and cat butts.

I haven't done a medical update in kind of awhile, not because I have nothing to report, but because I'm trying to figure out what's next. Let's go by department, shall we? 

Psychiatry: I see my new guy in March. I am grateful I even have a new guy considering the ridiculous lack of mental health resources anywhere, let alone quality ones. I'm a little bit nervous for this because my last psychiatrist was amazing and if I could still see him (even though he's in a state far away and a totally different health system), I would because he was the one I trusted with all of my medications. Part of my psychiatry visits is to monitor all of my medication use because I am considered "high risk medication use", so I have to be monitored. Yay. He would always tell me what would happen with a med, how I would feel, when to call, and he believed me when I would report weird side effects. Having a doctor believe what you're saying is huge and I am already missing that a lot. So send all of your Care Bear vibes my way that this is a good fit for me because my other option is less good, we'll put it that way.  

Neurology: This guy. If there has ever been a department that blatantly says, "I don't care" and can walk out and nothing is done about it, it's neurology. My really great neurologist has left, and I hear rumor that she's setting up shop somewhere else so I have to do some sleuthing on that because this guy is THE. WORST. I went for migraines, and he was mildly helpful with that but I ask about the nausea, and flat out say that Zofran doesn't work, he prescribes me Zofran. It's like, are you deaf or dumb? Which one? I ask about my memory issues, and he says, "that's too bad", and GOT UP AND LEFT THE ROOM. That's it. That was the end of my appointment. In the notes he says I'm depressed and that's my problem. And you know, I 100% acknowledge that I am depressed, absolutely no question. 

BUT. 

I am actively seeking treatment and I am 100% compliant with my treatment, so he can jack off. And I say that as nicely as possible. I've had two doctors mention this note and to them I say, perhaps I wouldn't be so depressed if any one of my health issues could be fixed, or maybe if I could remember my address and how to get home, or I could remember where my kids are during the school day or when to get them? It's pretty bad that I rely on my 15 and 12 year old to tell me where I need to be. 

But you know, that's too bad. 

Rheumatology: Honestly, I don't know why I even go anymore. Well, that's not true, I go because I have to in order to get medication refills each month, and they monitor my lab work. My lab work looks great, by the way. My inflammation is down with a slightly higher dose of Methotrexate, but if this starts to not work I will need to go to an injectable version and that does not please me. I'm afraid of needles so the idea of me doing it myself is ridiculous. I could have Matt do it but he isn't always gentle, and I know this because he helps me after any medical procedure and yeah, the level of gentleness is not something we agree on. So I'm not excited for that. I think honestly though, I'm going to just not say if I hurt any more and wait on that until I get really bad, if I ever do. I asked about my fatigue, the extreme fatigue, and she had no idea. She suggests maybe I do mindful and deep cleansing techniques. 

Weight loss: Admittedly, I've dropped the ball here. I haven't been exercising and I haven't see that doctor in almost a year. I know, it's bad. At this point I'm almost afraid to make an appointment knowing full well I'm going to get yelled at. The bright side? I'm still losing weight, but I'm certain that's because I'm sick to my stomach and nauseous all of the time but hey- no big deal, right? Sigh. 

I am currently 169 pounds depending on the day and when I started this, I think I was 212, so if those numbers are right, I've lost a little over 40 pounds. The goal was for me to get to 160, check all of my lab work, and see if I moved myself out of the pre-diabetic group, and then talk about long term maintenance. I am so close, and I need to just make the damn appointment already. That orange shirt, though? I bought that in 2015 when we were in South Dakota and it was a little snug. It is currently a little loose and I don't hate it. 

Gastroenterology: I still tear up when I think about my last two GI appointments, mostly out of anger. If you've been following along, you'll know I've had a ridiculous amount of lab work, endoscopies, colonoscopies, scrambled egg test thing, the CT scan thing, ultrasounds, MRI's, and x-rays. I feel like I have done it all aside from a barium test and I had already decided I would refuse that. HARD pass. Anyways. 

All of it says I'm normal. All of it. All of my lab work is within normal ranges and I keep saying to my doctors that what is normal for you, or the general population is not my normal. My body doesn't process anything normally, I don't absorb things normally, nothing, and that's some my old psychiatrist was firm about, he totally believed me and was absolutely fascinated by it. Anyways. 

The GI doctor in a very nice, but matter of fact way, said he has no idea and he can't help me. He said he's ruled out pretty much everything. 

Apparently, being constipated and then having the worst diarrhea of your life, both of which make leaving the house an absolute nightmare, is normal. Abdominal pain almost every day, sometimes so bad that you have to lay down and do breathing techniques like you would if you were in labor, is normal. Being so nauseous out of no where, throwing up for no reason, having no appetite and being unable to it, is all normal. 

Primary Care: I had my physical, I went over literally ever issue and of course, she has no idea either. We did learn that when Endocrinology took me off all of my vitamin D supplements, I was right, and my numbers are in the single digits. *sigh* So now I'm taking my own supplements and he can go ahead and yell at me when I see him in March, too. But I had my mammogram, the boobs are good, I was referred to pelvic floor therapy, which I see this week, and then I was referred to the University of Minnesota for GI. 

Oh, but don't get excited. I cannot go there physically, it is virtual only, but because I live in Wisconsin and they are not licensed outside of Minnesota, that's too bad. 

I also got referred to the other hospital in town here for Neurology, and they have changed my appointment 6 times in the last week, so who knows when I'll actually see them. 

Endocrinology: It all comes down to the doctor who always insists I pee in jugs for no actual reason. There is nothing wrong with my urine output but that and my vitamin D levels are basically all he cares about. Every doctor has told me to take my list of complaints to him because they are all likely from my adrenal insufficiency and hypopituitarism not being managed correctly. I have zero faith in this doctor and honestly, I don't know what to do about it. I'm just over it. 

But you know what I do have? Kitten butts. This is George, he likes to climb around my head anytime I'm on the computer. 

He's pretty great. George and his brother, Banana, are pretty great. I don't know if you know this, but having a kitten cuddle up on you and purr very loudly is great when you aren't feeling so hot. It's been a mood lifter for sure. 

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. 

My body is a lemon. What is the lemon law on bodies?

I had an eventful week of doctor appointments, that's for sure. Let's just go appointment by appointment then, how does that sound? 

Psychiatry: I think this may have been my last one with him since he is moving across the country and I am so damn sad about it. Truly, I can't even explain how sad I am without sounding like I'm nuts. This doctor is one of the only ones I trust implicitly. I trust my psychologist too, but she isn't dealing with my prescriptions and stuff, that's talk therapy. My psychiatrist is so damn great and I have trusted him for the last three and a half years to advise me on a lot of things. He always believed me when I said I wanted to die and I wasn't happy. He believes me when I say I really can't do it anymore and I just don't want to traumatize these kids. At the appointment, and I'm glad it was a virtual visit because I hope he couldn't tell I was straight sobbing, he said my greatest obstacle is, and will always be that I'm perceptive, honest, and realistic in understanding my limitations now. That I don't wear rose colored glasses, but I don't curl into a ball helpless. He kept saying I was worthy, I am one of the strongest patients he's had who puts in the work to get better. He said more but honestly by then I was just a damn wreck. If I was in person I probably would have hugged him for dear life and gotten boogers all over him and I'm not even kidding. 

I ended up asking him if he could give me a list of the drugs I've tried that didn't work because I can't find my notebook and at the end of his final note it says, "Med history: Extreme and difficult reactions to Cymbalta, Zoloft, and Lexapro. Failed Strattera, Topamax, Depakote, Nuvigil, Rexulti, Abilify, Vraylar, Modafinil, Ritalin, Adderall IR.". 

So damn. I mean, most of these I had forgotten but this is quite the journey. 

Psychology: I ended up having therapy two days later which was great because I also cried there, too. She doesn't think I'm nuts that I'm so sad and she also totally understands why every day is hard. I was telling someone the other day that being told the happy centers in your brain don't work is one thing, but really understanding what that means is a totally other thing. I thought I understood it years ago but I think I was still in the grieving stages because I was just really angry about it. Angry that people don't GET IT, and no amount of endorphins, exercise, sunshine, oils, sex, whatever is going to fix it. When your brain is busted, it is busted. Now I feel like I'm really accepting it and some days it just makes me sad again. I see photos of me years ago and I look happy. Unapologetically happy and carefree, enjoying life, and now I just feel... here. I guess. I mean, I'm here and that's something I guess. 

It was basically an hour of crying and I can't wait until I can go because I feel like I can't really let it out, you know? 

Gastroenterology: Well I saw him in the morning today and wow, that sucked. So I am still having a ton of issues since having my gall bladder out. Apparently, and none of you are going to be surprised, but I'm in the really small percentage of people who has a body that doesn't adapt well to not having a gall bladder. 

I know I'm not shocked. I'm only shocked we held out hope I'd be normal. 

With all of my issues: the nausea, almost vomiting, diarrhea, bloating, feeling full after a bite or two, etc., I get to do a gastric exit scan. He said I'd be eating a LOT of scrambled eggs with radioactive dye to see how fast I poop it out and basically its journey from eggs to poop. 

Which, isn't that grand? 

I have no idea when this adventure takes place but someone in scheduling is supposed to call me. They are basically trying to see if I have gastroparesis, which sounds awful. It would explain a lot of the issues I've had, so I guess that's something. The doctor said he absolutely wouldn't be shocked if I had it given all of the issues I've had, but also because I have a damaged pituitary gland which means I have no working hormones. Apparently, you need hormones for even your stomach to work and it sounds like it isn't. 

So just a reminder kids, your pituitary gland is important!

Weight Loss: I saw my weight loss doctor in the afternoon, and good news, I am down 31.8 pounds from end of December. I'm officially 174.2 pounds and I have 14 pounds to go for my goal weight of 160. I am pretty happy about it and I am feeling better overall. I definitely breathe easier, my back doesn't hurt at much and just the ability to walk around the entire house without getting winded and exhausted is really nice. Bad news is that he agrees, it sound like I have some kind of gastroparesis and he's concerned about how quickly I seem to be losing weight, like I'm down 9 pounds in a month. So we'll see where I am at when I go back. 

I just feel so damn defeated. On one hand, I'm grateful doctors still give a damn and are trying to figure out what is going on with me. On the other hand, I am so fed up. It is frustrating to think all of the things I deal with were kicked off with my AFE blows my mind. It's frustrating too when doctors blow that off and tell you an AFE is a one time event, it doesn't cause issues later on. Which, I guess it doesn't create havoc forever but it can certainly be a catalyst for things and doctors just don't want to go there. 

Oh well. 

So that's my medical update. If you have information about gastroparesis (or horror stories), let me know. I don't mind knowing the good, the bad, and the ugly, because it at least helps me make a list of questions when I go in. 

Have a good weekend, lambs. 

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.

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.

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.

Ears and Fatigue.

I feel like this week was more loaded down with doctor appointments but I guess not. I have an eye appointment yet this week but whoopty do.

We did take Lucy to her ENT appointment on Monday, though. Remember when I posted about how she's always sick and nobody knew what to do? Well as it turns out this guy doesn't either.

I had to wake Lucy up from a nap to take her so I wasn't sure what kind of mood she'd have because this girl LOVES to sleep. It turns out she was pretty great and doesn't mind the doctor at all, which is really nice.

So the first thing we did is her hearing test. That was actually pretty cool because I've always wondered how can they tell if a baby is deaf? Turns out they have this ear thermometer looking thing and with that they can tell. It takes literally 10 seconds. Lucy can hear but her left ear is greatly diminished and she has a lot of fluid in there. She has a little fluid in the right ear, not enough to get excited about. The game plan with that is to come back in two months and see if it gets better on its own. If it doesn't, she will need to have tubes put in and she'll likely have her adenoid removed because of her nonstop cold. I am VERY glad I went because Matt sucks at talking about symptoms and I'm basically a professional now. I also had pictures of her eye and how awful she gets and the doctor seemed taken aback by them and that's how the tubes and adenoid stuff came up.

But because we're coming back in two months we decided to cancel her ophthalmology appointment that was on Thursday because the last one is $400 out of pocket (insurance paid a whopping $2.10... yay!) and we know now that it isn't an issue with her actual eye, it's more of an ENT thing. So no point in going back to eye guy for him to say great, NEXT.

We did learn that little kids don't actually have a sinus yet, they aren't formed enough to get infected, so she definitely didn't have a sinus infection. Which I guess is pretty good. She did do her ten days of amoxicillin and seems to have helped because her eye isn't squinty and she doesn't have a cold (knock on wood). So I guess we'll see if that actually got rid of it or if we're just in a good patch and it comes back in two to three weeks like it's been. I'm not sure but I'm hopeful because she's just pitiful when she's not feeling well.

As for me I had my much awaited visit to psychiatry. He is really great and he's probably the only doctor in my lineup that I feel like sees the entire picture and knows what to do. He looks at things I'm experiencing and looks for connections and figures out how to improve what I'm dealing with without making something else worse.

I really appreciate that.

I think I've talked about being put on Ritalin to help with the chronic fatigue. I really am hesitant to be on stimulants but I also need to be awake at some point in the day and I'm out of options, basically. The decision today was because I didn't feel worse with my small dose of Ritalin, we're going to max me out but I can dictate how much I need in a day. So I can start at 10-20 mg and if that's not doing it or if I need another dose, I can take another 20 mg. I can only take 60 mg a day. I have to figure out at what time of day I can't have any more because I need to be able to fall asleep at night at a reasonable time.

We are leaving my anti-depressant and mood stabilizer the way they are because I'm not getting worse. I'm at the point where I know I'm not going to feel happy, joyful, etc so that's kind of unreasonable to expect out of a medication. The goal for me is to keep me even. I'm not happy, I'm not sad/mad. I still have a lot of days where I feel sad and I'm tired of getting up and going through another day. I have moments where for a split second I feel proud or I feel... like I can take a breath? Does that make sense? It never lasts long but it's something. I am getting better and better at faking it so I'm smiling, laughing, having a good time and people think I'm really feeling that.

I am not.

I've learned though that nobody wants to hang out with a person who visibly hates life. Have you seen the movie Inside Out? I'm Sadness. Basically that's my every day.

via GIPHY

I did forget to ask about my anxiety. I'm noticing my anxiety is actually getting worse and I forgot my notebook with my notes and questions in it (actually, I forgot where I put it so there's that) so I didn't even think of it. Until I was leaving and I realized the way I drive home is going to be closed for construction starting next week so I was going to try to find a different way to go.

But then I got really nervous and anxious about it so I chickened out and went the way I know that I know how to go. It seems dumb, doesn't it? But things as minor as driving a new route is stressful for me because I have a fear of getting lost. What if I get lost and I don't know how to get back home? I don't like to drive on unfamiliar streets because now it's requiring my brain to really pay attention and try to figure something out but that part of my brain no longer works like it did, so that's a really huge task, and I get anxious and upset.

Actually, I'm noticing more and more often that I can't focus. I've had focus and processing speed issues since my stroke but for awhile there I felt like while it wasn't getting better, I was learning how to function with it. Lately though, I'm dozing off and spacing out. I will start telling someone something and I trail off because I can't remember what I was going to say or what the point was so I can't keep going. It's really difficult and I'm really struggling with it.

Alright, so that's the scoop. Hopefully Lucy is on the mend and is getting healthier. I'm crossing my fingers.