Because I really know how to party

(Either that, or I am subconsciously a masochist...)

I have set up three appointments for my birthday: endocrinologist and nephrologist (both, for my three month check ups), and a BONUS! consultation session with a (new to me) psychiatrist, who, I hope, will help figure out if there is something chemically or physiologically wrong with my brain which causes me to be melancholy nearly all the time, and have the exquisite bonus of negative self-talk which is sabotaging me and my happiness, mostly manifesting itself in poor self esteem in my professional "self."

In the meantime (it IS, afterall, almost a full month until my birthday and my appointments), I'm trying to work on attaining more sleep, and perhaps diminishing anxiety or stress or depression, so I am trying out an aryuvedic herb, ashwagandha. Took one pill Saturday night, and Sunday I woke up feeling very fuzzy and hung over, not wanting to get out of bed. I didn't take it last night, and I woke up this a.m. not wanting to get out of bed at all.

I am sure my anxiety and depression are having some spill over effect with the husband, and again, I don't want to become a burden to him. And at the same time, I want to somehow or another get a handle on this, see myself thru the fog and negative self-talk and try to just get the fuck out of this negative workplace. But the money. What a trap. I'm not rich by any stretch of the imagination, but I'm not willing to take a 33% pay cut with zero guarantees that I'd be any happier. I see such a thing as a fool's venture. FOLLY, even.

I cannot wait for the day I leave here. Perhaps I'd take one final lunch with the two gents I used to eat lunch with regularly (up until our relocation to the new office roughly four months ago), or perhaps take in lunch with JabippyLoo (she, who shall go down in infamy for emailing me a picture of her shit, to my workplace email in box). Or perhaps I'll just gather up my things, go on vacation, and while on vacation just give notice. I have overstayed my usefulness here by seven years.

3.5 Years Out

Technically, it was three years in January, but I prefer to put off this appointment until spring or summer, because it’s nicer for me. It’s not a life-or-death type appointment, something perfunctory that needs doing, and well, rather than NOT DO IT AT ALL, I do it on my own terms, and this year it was June.

All things considered (the Wellbutrin experiment + Cymbalta experiment + PMS + I didn’t do my “primary poop” of the day—yes, there’s a preliminary, primary, and secondary poop of my day!), all in all, weight gain is roughly four pounds, negligible from their point of view.

Between me maintaining my weight and the numbers on all my blood work, all fingers point in the direction of me remaining on point, compliant as a WLS post op patient. Now if only, I could get a handle on my depression, anxiety and pain, which I feel is hindering my goals for a wee bit more weight loss as well as my goal of becoming more active.

Mind you, my blood pressure is high normally and I’m on an ACE inhibitor for that, which is normally controlled. I arrived at the appointment early and sat and crocheted while I waited. So I was about as peaceful as could be, before they called my name. They weighed me, then took my pressure with one of those automated BP cuffs, and I was appalled at the numbers: 165/120, which, no doubt were not accurate. My norm runs about 138/80 or 138/90. This surely was a mistake. Regardless, on paper, that’s the bp on record for yesterday’s appointment.

The elevated bp is distressing enough as it is, but when coupled up with what evolved next, I really have a wave of conflicting emotions and thoughts swirling through my head.

I mentioned in passing about my pain, depression, and anxiety hindering my goals, as well as messing with my overall sense of well being. The doctor spit-balled a few ideas:

Him: Wellbutrin?

Me: Tried it in November, and it made me very ragey, and not in a productive way.

Him: Cymbalta?

Me: Tried it at the beginning of this year. I gained weight, it caused horrid painful constipation and did nothing for my overall pain or anxiety.

Him: Topamax?

Me: I tried that YEARS ago for my migraines, plus, my endocrinologist assured me I’d lose weight on it. And much like with the Metformin which everyone promised I’d lose weight on, I never did.

Him: Perhaps lamictal? What about lyrica for the pain?

Me: I remain unconvinced that the side effects are a value added trade off for the symptoms.

And then with that, he did the most outlandish thing. Perhaps it was his sign that I was fishing around for an Rx, ANY Rx? I want the RIGHT Dx and the OPTIMAL Rx is what I want.  I don’t need a bariatric surgeon going on fishing expedition regarding my psychopharmacological needs. All that said, I found it more than a bit disconcerting as well as irresponsible that he wrote me an Rx for Phentermine.  Between the elevated BP plus the fact that I don’t want things to AGITATE me, I see this move as thoroughly confusing.

First order of business today was to drop an email to my ReproEndoGuy, whose only response back to me, all in caps was:  DO NOT TAKE PHENTERMINE!!! I guess I’ll have to wait on his recommendation for a psychiatrist or a psychopharmacologist. Perhaps my psychotherapist might be able to recommend a guy? One more thing for the TO DO list this year.

The appointment up until that point was decent enough, and actually was much better than I anticipated it to be (which I guess also is part of the dysthymic nature of my depression—that negative inward talk, sense of dread and failure that invades everything. And despite it, I power through the best I can. Most days I can fake it to make it, and other days I just need to curl up in a ball and be left alone, as I’m no good for polite civilization.

As is my norm after the visit with the surgeon, I usually plan a pop in at Murray’s Sturgeon for a celebratory tuna sandwich and stock up on other delicacies. But yesterday was warm and I didn’t have an insulated bag with me, and didn’t think that everything would “keep” in a plain sack. So, in lieu of my traditional tuna on rye, I got their smoked whitefish salad on rye, with onions, and a pickled herring filet. Traditional place to eat, is at the bench at the traffic median on the corner. And as I sat there, and unwrapped my sandwich, I had the conscious awareness and even looked upward at the sun, then back at the pristine whiteness of the whitefish salad tucked between two pieces of rye and said to myself, “It doesn’t get any better than this.”

Little did I realize, instinctively, all along, every single trek into NYC for medical appointments, every single trek I have planned a meal or planned stops throughout the day. Little did I realize this “reward system” of sorts I’ve structured for my days in NYC actually help stimulate my dopamine.

In keeping with my new way of being, this “growth orientedness” as I am calling it, I am going to try to focus on stimulating or elevating my dopamine, or my serotonin, or my oxytocin levels in small, but hopefully productive ways.

Dopamine: Just keep doing the things that bring me joy. If I do set a goal and follow through, enjoy the reward! And sometimes just doing good (for others, or even strangers) is its own reward. So I’ve got a few parcels to be mailed out soon.

Seratonin: Well, I guess I should revamp my protein shake regimen, and not mix it with coffee. I think I’ll start doing my banana-peanut butter shake again, as the power-punch of flavor is a boost. And also? Try to spend more time outdoors.

Oxytocin: More hugs and more orgasms from/with the husband, as well as more massages, and more regular pedicures/manicures. There is no disputing the benefit of just simple human, skin on skin contact.

Endorphin: Let’s not get ahead of ourselves! That will require physical exertion! Pain pain pain. So no. Also? I do not like to sweat.

So yes. With the depression, and the pain, I am fighting the Blerch. Even though I recognize I’ve been half assing the physical therapy since May by “under-committing to avoid over-regretting,” I feel it hasn’t made all that much of a difference, overall in the pain issues. I am more aware of my abdominal muscles and do try to hoist them up and suck it in while walking, but nothing else has changed. Yet, one good thing did come out of it: the physical therapist spit-balling a diagnosis of trochanteric bursitis. My chiropractor is confident he can make adjustments with my orthotics to compensate and hopefully remedy this. And in the meantime I’ve been doing ultrasound on the hip and avoiding taking the stairs any more than is necessary. 

It is all a lot to process. The anxiety and pain and depression feeds into every aspect of my life. I would like to “feel better,” not just pain wise, but also this cloudy, heavy, dark feeling of dread and melancholy that follows me most days. I feel this is a physical defect with the wiring of my amygdala, it’s not just MERELY a matter of changing my thoughts. I try to control what I can, and insulate myself from futile and stressful situations where I have zero control or cannot affect any productive change. But that aside, I still feel like a failure.

I view my problem as a snake with two heads: Physical and Intellectual:

Intellectually, I recognize all the good things in my life. I feel I’ve accomplished some good things in my life, and I’m contented in my marriage and my home.

Physically, I cannot shake this dread and depression, this melancholy feeling, on top of the anxiety, and on top of the pain. 

I power through as best as I can. Life is short. Life is meant to be enjoyed. I try to get out there and do things, have experiences, have friends and good food, and vacations to look forward to, and crochet projects and new recipes to create. And yet, this dread, this albatross around my neck from which I cannot extricate myself.

I know everyone has their ups and their downs, it’s part of the cycle of life. But when one is having good things happen, it’s not healthy or “normal” to be full of dread. It makes me feel like a cynic, and yet I’m not. I’m an idealist, who just is anxious and depressed and in pain.

I’m just trying to enjoy what time I have left on Planet Earth, and yet this nebulous force in my head is interfering with my goals and intentions nearly at every turn.

Man (or in this case, WOMAN) Makes Plans & God Says HAH!

Having PCOS + Adenomyosis + being well into my 40s = My uterus pretty much scoffing at the notion of a calendar. The month of May saw fit to have TWO onset days (May 6, and roughly May 28). Doing the rough math, and applying "Kentucky Windage" to my menses, according to my calculations, my onset day could very well be the 25th, the day I'm due to be in NYC for my 3.5 yr check up/weigh in with my bariatric guy, as well as possibly galavanting with a friend or two (or neither, as both haven't given me conclusive information I can depend upon that our plans are 100% a "go"). 

Opiate and pesudo opiate, and tryptan at the ready. Thermacare patch. Chewable ibuprofen just in case. And if all else fails, vodka tonic.

Note to Self: Cluster Headache

Woke with a headache that I'll categorize as a cluster headache. Though to be honest, it was touch and go all day, and I thought for sure it would bloom into a migraine, but never did. But it was persistent enough (11 hours long, to be precise) . It was touch and go, really. I thought for sure it would bloom into a migraine, be dealt with, and I could get on with my life. But no. It lingered all day long, with the potential of me losing yet another day to pain.

The process we (yes, "we," as I am lumping my husband into the team of "we" who try to troubleshoot and break the migraine and try to mitigate the pain) go through is roughly thus:

1. Before I get out of bed, he is at the ready with heating pads for my neck, back and face. He will re-heat them in the microwave if necessary. After a while, I will force myself out of bed to attempt the next stages.

2. I will start taking my supplements in the first wave: vitamin chew, fiber chew, colace, vitamin C and iron. All with a piping cup of coffee. Between the vitamin C and the caffeine in the coffee, sometimes that's enough to thwart it. Sadly, that was not the case. I laid back down for a half hour, to regroup.

3. I got up again, and tried the remainder of my first wave of supplements: omega 3, silymarin, alpha lipoic acid, CoQ10. More hot coffee. Still no dice.

4. Hubby hooked me up to the TENS/EMS unit to electric stim the headache into submission. No luck.

5. I forced myself to vomit. This usually is pivotal, and almost always has two known results: 
a. It stops the migraine
b. I cannot stop puking all day and end up in the ER.
Today it was the wildcard "C" (meaning, I was still miserable).

6. Pop a zofran to quell nausea. 

7. Take hot shower, shampoo. Nope. No dice. Headache in full effect.

We then decided to go to lunch, which means we also have cocktails and well...

8. Lillet spiked screwdriver was not enough to stop this beast in its tracks. Hell, before the cocktail arrived at the table, I had been loading up on water in anticipation, and refluxed it all back up. Off to the loo to spew. It was soooo romantic!

9. Got home, popped a tramadol (as really, the Frova is good in anticipation of a migraine like headache--not once you get it). The tramadol, unsurprisingly, did NOTHING.

10. More hot pads.

11. Hubby brought out cucumber patches for my eyes, and some cooling gel he rubbed on my temples. Got a shoulder rub out of it too. Headache still in full effect. 

12. About an hour or two later, I chewed two children's advil. Still no dice.

13. Hyper hydrating all afternoon with low caffeine home brewed ice tea. Nothing. No change.

14. Sitting around at my desk farting around, I chewed about 2-3 pieces of salmyak (or salty licorice), just because I was craving it. Headache started to "shift."

By roughly 10 p.m., I was aware the headache was gone, and I was left with that "hang over" sensation of being dragged by a cross town bus, every fiber in my being aching, and my eyes were burning. 

But mercifully the headache broke.
Mercifully it did not necessitate a trip to the ER.

A year ago this past April was the last ER trip due to unrelenting vomiting from a migraine. I'd like to see how long I can go without a trip to the ER for this shit. The headache is horrible enough, the unrelenting vomiting is horrid enough, without having to wait to be called (usually an hour wait if that), only to wait to be triaged, then wait some more until there's some actual resolution to my pain, usually in the form of an IV zofran and some dilaudid or demoral for the pain.

My Line Up of Supplements: VitaFusion Really Should Give Me a Kickback!

2 Gummy VitaFusion Prenatal Multivitamins (It's got all the good shit in it!)
2 Gummy VitaFusion Sugar Free Fiber Chews
Colace 200 mg (1x)
2 Gummy VitaFusion Vitamin C
Feosol 325 (1 tablet)  
Alpha Lipoic Acid 250 mg 
Milk Thistle 300 mg
CoQ10 50 mg
KAL Brand B12 spray (1-2 spritzes under the tongue)

Right before leaving the house, I take a Now Brand "Berrydophilis" probiotic chew.

Then during the day I take these: 

(If my joints are bothering me) Standardized turmeric in capsule form
1 Nature Made VitaMelt Zinc, 15 mg
Boron, 3 mg, 1x daily 
Magnesium 400 mg, 1x daily *I boost to 2x daily during menses, helps w/muscle cramps
2 Gummy VitaFusion Vitamin D3 (2000 mg) 
2 Gummy VitaFusion Calcium chews (500 mg total)

Then in the evening, I take:

2 Gummy VitaFusion Calcium chews (500 mg total)
2 Gummy VitaFusion Sugar Free Fiber chews
Quinipril, 80 mg
Alpha Lipoic Acid 250 mg
Milk thistle 300 mg
CoQ10 50 mg

On My Reorientation To "Growth Oriented" Mindsettedness

And yes, I do have a few of her books (albeit on CD, highly recommend, as she's got a great voice, and lovely sense of humor about things). Big help. 

Patience & consistency have been invaluable tools I've used on the path I've chosen to walk. Neither patience nor consistency are easy to come by, either. It takes fortitude and cultivation. It's not the destination, but a process. 

My husband's grandmother had a saying, paraphrased as "If you do nothing at all, 75% of your troubles/problems work themselves out." The hard part here is, knowing when to wait it out, and when to act; as well as knowing HOW to wait it out, and HOW to act. 

Triggers abound.

As I mentioned elsewhere regarding my over-clingy doorman at my office (forgive me, I truly have compartmentalized so much of my life, and by extension, my blogging habits), I've been actively avoiding him. I mentioned all this to my therapist this a.m.: The trigger, the constant neediness, my suspicions that I might have Oppositional Defiance Disorder (that the more someone demands or expects me to do something, the less inclined I am to do what is expected or demanded of me), and lastly how I've been avoiding him. 

I reiterated my personal mantra: "I say what I mean, mean what I say, and try not to be mean when I say it." While cutting him off cold turkey without discussion is harsh, I recognize he's a time stealer. If I give him 15 minutes of chit chat or an hour every now and again, he's not happy with that. He expects that to be the norm. And, well? Ain't nobody got time for that.  I've got shit to do, and to be honest, I'm at a different stage of my journey than he is, in dealing with an overly demanding mother with narcissistic and destructive tendencies. 

If he's not going to recognize HIS participation in his suffering and just disengage, it's somewhat toxic for me to subject myself to it. It's not rocket science. I'm not some super special FORTIFIED bitch warrior. But I made up my mind to no longer be consumed with it. I've somehow shifted it into neutral and have been able to keep my eye on my prize, keep my eyes open and be ever-vigilant regarding the things I will tolerate, things I will not, and things that I consider value-added. 

Bottom line is, I've given my time, and advice, both of which he surely must think I have an endless supply, and he doesn't take any of the advice. So, if you bitch to me, ask for advice, don't take the advice? You pretty much have lost the right to bitch to me about whatever it is. DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT. I don't have time for wallowers.

I said this to my therapist this a.m. "Everyone is neither entitled to nor needs to know every little detail in minutiae of what we think of them. Not everyone is ready to hear harsh realities. To tell them honestly what you think when they are not ready for that level of honesty, is nothing short of cruel. So, yes, my avoiding him is cruel, but it is the kindest option of the cruel things I can do at the moment."

I got some validation from my therapist as well, that all this is not my imagination. This is not all contrived. I *have* made progress towards my goal of shifting from a fixed mindset to a growth oriented mindset. Even if it's a lot of little things, rather than one or two major, VAST SWEEPING, life changing gestures. 

Talking to him is almost like a verbal to do list. Things I've done in the last two weeks which work towards my goals. What things worked, what things didn't work. Rumination on that for a bit. Musing openly about the futility of this or that, then progressing onto other things which might help work towards my goals.

I'm incredibly frustrated that my desire to find another job is so limited. I've quipped that my current salary is like the noose around my neck, keeping me tethered to this job, where I'm neither happy nor fulfilled. Not even the people with whom I work make it worthwhile. So this feeds my anxiety and my depression.

I'm incredibly frustrated by my inability to lose my Cymbalta weight. Next week is my 3.5 year weigh in with my bariatric surgeon. Full of anxiety. Wishing I could dump even a few pounds, so I'd feel less shitty about myself. Realizing that my insomnia is probably playing into that (if I stay awake 3-4 hours longer, that = additional food which then = additional calories which then = additional weight not coming off). So this feeds my anxiety and depression.

So at a minimum, I need to change my sleep. I need to get to sleep by any means necessary. I've been taking melatonin, but that's been leaving me feeling fuzzy headed and hung over for the first two hours of my day. So tonight I might switch to Zzquil just to get to sleep. I'm going to hydrate the hell out of me, and keep doing what I'm doing and hope for the best, and hope the scale doesn't depress me further next week.  

I'm still doing physical therapy, albeit once a week. As I said to my physical therapist, "I'd much rather under-commit than to over-regret." I'd rather do once a week and be conscientious about it, than over-commit to 2-3 x a week, lose interest or just cannot find the time to do it, and quit. Like so many other things in my life. QUIT. I was never taught fortitude. I was never taught (by example, that is) FOLLOW THROUGH.

Another thing hit upon in my therapy session this a.m. was about how damaged BOTH of my parents were. I know I put my father on a pedestal, and in many ways he deserves that pedestal, but the reality is, he abused us too. Sure. At least as far as I am concerned (I cannot speak to my siblings), he was pretty good about not continuing the cycle of brutal physical violence his dad did to him. But dad's inability to fight against the constant abuse and emasculation from mom? Well, if he couldn't help himself, it's no surprise he couldn't help or protect us kids. 

My sister and I both have anxiety and depression (or mood disorder) and zero coping skills because of our environment. Simply put, we were not taught how to be adults, because our parents were incapable of being adults. So here we are, well into our 40s, trying to teach ourselves that very thing. Trying to cope. Trying not to destroy or tear down those closest to us in the process. Trying to change our health and the direction our lives are going. Striving for something. Striving for a better quality of life and health. Striving for actual peace and happiness. Moving actively towards A GOAL. 

It's a process. Goals are grand, but the process is key. The striving and moving forward, even in the face of futility. Crossing things off my list. Noting the things that worked. Noting the things that didn't work. Reassessing. Redirecting. Adjusting. Tweaking. But always moving. Some days on a molecular level (like at the moment with my job thing, I realize on a very real level, that here I am, at work, blogging, where in most other jobs, I probably would not have the ability AND LUXURY to do so). So there are tiny things to be grateful for. It's not all horrid. It's a means to an end. It does not define me. So while it does frustrate me, that WANT, that need for fulfillment, the journey itself, in those in-between-moments of here-and-there, it is very fulfilling to know I am making progress.

I still have a lot of work to do. And I'm okay with that.

Dread

(Fill in all my usual rantings and drivelings herein.)

On top of my baseline of angst is the knowledge that 9 days from now I see my bariatric surgeon for my 3.5 yr check up (I'm six months past the 3 yr). I'm still not confident I've shed all my Cymbalta weight. Dread. Depressed. I think for this week I'm just going to take Zzzquil and go to bed in the spare room. Sleeping = weight loss. Sleeping also might = better frame of mind. So win-win.

Cycling Thru

Cycling through a rough patch/depression these days. Fatigued and depressed. Have absolutely no motivation, especially at work. I feel like I've truly run out of steam, run out of give-a-fuck, run out of usefulness. It also doesn't help matters that I feel invisible or marginalized. It also doesn't help that given the new office, I'm now sitting 18 inches from "TheWorkHorse," spinster-bitch extraordinaire, who personifies pettiness and hostility. Each day I catch myself ABOUT to say either "Shut the fuck up!" or "I quit!" Ideally, I'd love to say both of those sentences in quick succession, then grab my purse and valise and get the fuck out of Dodge. The dread and ennui are killing me.

Regarding Pain Management

For whatever reason, this neuron is firing:

Getting lip service or (possibly well-intentioned) promises of help is worse than getting no help at all. Doublely so, if I never asked for help in the first place.

Think or want to help? Then help. Otherwise, just STFU.

If folks aren't loving or supportive or even diplomatic with the things they say, I'd just assume they keep their yappers shut.

Hollow promises are like hollow chocolate Easter bunnies: on the outside they look appealing, it's only after sinking your teeth in do you realize it's a whole lotta nothing inside.

Opportunity knocked...

Was a strong candidate for a job. However, due to my current salary, no one can come close to making me an offer I can't refuse. My salary is like a noose around my neck, tethering me to my current job. But at a minimum, there is merit in knowing someone was interested in and thought I was a good candidate for a job. 

Resume is updated. But the realist in me realizes this is all an act of futility. I've been here 12 years, 7 years longer than my original 5 year plan. I live every day afraid that if I don't leave now, I never will. As I said to my therapist this a.m., "I realize the potential that I will encounter unpleasantness and assholes at every job; however, after 12 years, I'd really like to deal with some NEW assholes."

ETA: Turns out that particular workplace is dysfunctional and full of assholes, ranging from a chronic flatulator, to management that doesn't provide adequate support/help to new hires. Useful information. Glad to have dodged this bullet.

On Finding Happiness

A Guide to Finding Happiness by Bill Watterson

New Dx: Trochanteric Bursitis

Need to call insurance on a DME matter. After that will get scanned, and hopefully my chiropractor will make adjustments with a lift under my orthotics to lessen the hobble-wobble aspect of my walk.

Dear Uterus

What the ACTUAL fuck? Seriously. 25-almost-26 days? Can't me and my panties catch a break? Hell week is nearly here? I cycle in and out of this agonizing pain, and mess, and I'm losing between 12-24 days annually due to this, plus innumerable days of just recoiling from the horror show.

Here we go again. 

Vodka tonic, ahoy!

Giving the Status Quo a Kick in the Pants

So yes. I suck. I cancelled tonight's physical therapy session, though I have every intention of going to next week's. Sadly that appointment is not with my preferred physical therapist. Oh well. I needed more time go actually do my home work and apply myself. I've been tired and starting to slip a bit into depressed mode. So I need a bit more time to work on a few of the exercises, so when I have my next appointment, my slacking won't be so evident. At least I cancelled it yesterday and won't be hit with a $100 cancellation fee.

So one bad thing I did yesterday (cancel PT) is off-set by one good thing I did yesterday.

I got a message from a friend, "Quick, send me your resume. They're hiring admins at my job." Brilliant, no? :) Well I made a couple minor tweaks to my resume, and quickly zapped it off with the warning, "Hey, it's a three page antique. I haven't gotten around to having a professional resume writer have at it yet." That aside, within the hour, I got this message back:

“So just an FYI, they LOVE your resume! You will probably get a call in a week or so from a guy named Lee who will let you know a little more about the specific position and to ask if you'd like to come in for an interview.”

Looks promising, doesn't it? 

I do not know if this is my coping mechanism, by protecting myself, I talk myself out of HOPE. But I know the reality is, given the economy, they no doubt will not afford to hire me at my current rate of pay.  And that, at a minimum is what keeps me from hoping that it will self-manifest and blossom into the ideal job opportunity.

I am nothing, if not an unconventional person. And while, yes, I *am* hoping that Lee will call me, I am also hoping to have the audacity and opportunity to take the bull by the balls and invite Lee out for a lunch date, where we can discuss both abstracts, of what the job itself entails, as well as what direction I hope my life and career will take in the next (at current writing) 4 years, 2 months, and 27 days.  

Spoiler alert: I'd love more money, but will take a lateral move, salary wise if it means a shorter work week and opportunity for career growth. And of course, I'd want to become part of a team. I figure what's not to like about lunch, we both have to eat, and I'd gladly pay to discuss things, so then at the end of the "interview," neither of us feels like the time was wasted, because at a minimum our bellies were filled. And hopefully my suggestion of a lunch date might be either something memorable (for them) or something ultimately worthwhile (for me), and might actually work to my advantage.  I have found in the past that when I cared entirely too much about a particular outcome, I cannot contain my disappointment when a less than desired outcome happens. At this juncture, while I do CARE to a degree about changing jobs, I am a bit ambivalent about the outcome. Rather than worry if I will fit THEIR expectations, I worry if they will fit MINE.

Working Towards A New Normal

After last visit with the endocrinologist, he insisted I step down my calcium and perhaps change the formulation from the citrate to TCP. My norm was 1500-2000 mg cal citrate daily. Now I'm taking 1000 mg TCP. 

I might need to adjust other things (such as decreasing or eliminating my daily Colace) as a result, to keep things middle-of-the-road manageable. I don't want to go from one extreme (constipation/impaction) to the other (sudden onset liquefied shame). 

But so far, so good. I think.

The goal is to have me on the lowest amount of supplementation as necessary, as there's drawbacks to too much calcium (kidney stones, thyroid irregularities, bowel issues).

Riddle Me This

How or why is it...

I can consume 1-2 of these a day...

And eat a lunch like this... (in Paris) with 1-2 dinners nearly FULLY immersed in creamy Perogourdine type sauces, and still manage a TWO POUND WEIGHT LOSS? 

Baffles the mind! Note to self: Of the ten pounds gained while on Cymbalta, I am now 3 pounds away from my pre-Cymbalta weight! :) It's taken a while to shed it, but very glad.

And on another note, both post-vacation doctors visits (one with endocrinologist,

the other with the kidney doctor), all my numbers seem good-to-great.

Blood pressure is normalized for me (roughly 140/80), the proteinuria hasn't

relapsed, and my calcium levels are so good the endocrinologist wants me to

try dosing down from 1200 mg daily to 800.  

Pain is still kicking my ass. To be blunt, it was the perfect storm of combined

pain issues: headaches, migraines, knee pain, IT band pain, sciatica, adenomyosis, plus a bonus slight sprain in my ankle. No real relief in sight, other than the occasional, 

judicious vodka tonic. 

And the pesky-ness in my throat which I thought was related to my 

thyroid nodules? Nope. The prevailing suspicion is that it's reflux. Doc gets halfway

into telling me blah blah blah, and I said, "... and I took an omprezole, and VOILA. Gone." 

Momentary Niggling.

Nothing quite like gearing up for travel & exploits, only for my throat to be bothering me. If I tilt my head just a smidge too far back while swallowing... OUCH. Fortunately I have an appointment scheduled with my endocrinologist for when I return, and I've emailed him, so he'll be on the look out for my thyroid nodule ONCE MORE, when I return. 

In the meantime if I can wrangle it, I want to see my gastro guy and see about scheduling not just a colonoscopy as he wants, but also an endoscopy. So he'll get me comin' and goin' as it were.

It wouldn't be springtime if I didn't have something scoped, prodded or poked.

Better living thru diagnostics, people!

Sad State of Affairs

Still keeping up with the physical therapy, with the best possible intentions.

Last night, before I could even get around to doing my "home work," I had to add more air to my exercise ball. And well, fuck! I went into muscle fatigue just manually pumping air into the ball. 

My focus for now will be to continue to work on my low back and lower abdomen, hoping to strengthen myself, in preparation for a hysterectomy at some point in the not-too-distant future.  So, I'm using that to stay on track for goals. To make myself strong enough to join a pilates class without fear of injuring myself, and to physically prepare for surgery.  

There are worse goals to have, I think!

Maintaining

Nothing new to report. Or so I think.

The weight I gained while on the Cymbalta hasn't really seemed to come off, but no NEW weight gain, so I guess there's THAT. I just wish I could jump start the weight loss again. I'm trying to eat 1/2 a grapefruit a day, so hoping it helps burn fat, or boost metabolism or whatever.

I'm now about a month into the experiment known as physical therapy. I've been going once a week every week, though two weeks ago I had to skip a session and next week skip a session due to scheduling constraints. But for as little as I've done thus far, I feel different, physically. Perhaps in a few weeks I can explore a pilates class without harming myself in the process. 

Blood work drawn on Monday; accoutrements acquired for a 24 hour urine collection (good times). Perhaps sometime before my grand vacance I'll get around to doing the actual collection.

So, no new antidepressant or anti-anxiety medication. Been cold turkey off everything with the exception of an occasional cocktail for medicinal purposes.

And about that cocktail... 

Last Friday I hit my tipping point. I brought booze to my office, as I knew Friday would be a particularly horrible pain day (and it was, and it was also followed up by an even worse Saturday, which rendered me bed bound with a migraine). 

I think I'm ready to start thinking about a hysterectomy. According to my rough math, I'm losing 14-28 days a year due to the migraines, menses mess, and overall agonizing pain. Life is too short for this.

Of course, my mother is the poster child of ILL HEALTH, so I won't be using her as my case study for post-op hysterectomy progress. My mother-in-law, in stark contrast, is nothing short of awesome. Good overall health and lifestyle and mindset. So I'm hoping her recovery is a speedy one, and I hope she dispenses plenty of first hand knowledge of what her experience has been.

Bottom line is, pain sucks, life is short, and I don't want to be a burden to my husband or friends.

ETA: Six months later, and I am no closer to actually thinking about or considering a hysterectomy. And glad for it. I started taking B1 supplements, and it's helped quell some of the agonizing pain. Let's wait and see if it continues to diminish the pain over the long haul.

Tipping Point & Colonoscopies

(Cross posted from my dysfunction blog.)

Had a goodish session with the psychotherapist this a.m., talked about everything that's been cookin' the last two weeks: Physical therapy, work shit, Audrey, my sister's mass in her lung, pain, fear, depression, all my talking points.

It is hard work trying to go from a fixed mindset to a growth oriented mindset. By and large, at the moment, I find the hardest part just to be consistent. For me to consistently show up at my appointments, be focused, do my homework (for the physical therapy), keeping focus that this is a means to an end, working towards the goal of taking pilates (without seriously hurting myself in the process). 

My first instinct of course is to whine, "It's not fun. It is unpleasant. I hurt afterwards. I'm bored." My first instinct is just to recoil, or as Audrey would do, put the ol' head in the sand. And you'd think that with the seething disgust I have towards her and the train wreck her life has become, you'd THINK the last thing I'd want to do is the very same thing she did (or didn't do). It's easy to take the easy way out. 

As I said to my therapist, the hard part right now isn't the physical. It's the mental heavy lifting. Being present of mind, having some mental fortitude, working towards a goal, having a plan, starting something I finish. Trust me when I say, these are not qualities I inherited from either of my parents. My first impulse is to run away from conflict. Run away from things that are unpleasant. Run away from the possibility of failure. Right now, I'm trying to stay grounded, and take each session of PT on its own merit, on its own day. And as long as I can just SHOW UP, the rest will take care of itself. A good lot of life is just like that.

I make promises to people and work hard at keeping my word. It destroys me, in fact, when I fall short of my word. And yet, for myself, I think nothing of breaking promises I've made. How am I less important than others to whom I give my word? My mantra right now is JUST SHOW UP.

I made a promise to myself that I would go visit my mother tomorrow. She's been in the nursing home for 2.5 months, and I haven't laid eyes on her since before her surgery in January. Snow, sinus infections, adenomyosis pain, migraines, menses, you name it. The valid excuses kept creeping up and here we are, the weekend before Easter. And I need to go. No man's an island and all that crap. 

The older I get, the smaller my family becomes, and as less-than-ideal as my family IS, time is a bitch. Tomorrow isn't promised to any of us. Opportunities are finite. It'd be lovely to make a silk purse out of this sow's ear that my family has become. It simply is what it is, and that's just damaged. 

Mom's in the nursing home. Doubtful she'll come home at all at this point. Sis had a mass on her lung (which I believe was removed yesterday). Unsure if it's bronchial carcinoma or not. One aunt has stage four breast cancer with mets to the bone and liver. One aunt is so damaged from my grandfather's death, here it is nearly 2 years later, and she can't get her head out of her ass to just settle the estate (as if that will bring him back), and of course she's mentally checked out of the family and is uncharacteristically unreliable at this point. Brother still clueless and detached (said totally without judgment). His wife and my mother have made amends somewhat, yet my sis and brother's wife have not. So the whole thing is fractured into these little fragments. 

I told my therapist that I am mentally preparing to visit my mother as if I were mentally preparing to go for a colonoscopy--as both are a pain in the ass. It's a thankless thing. But as unpleasant as a colonoscopy is, there IS an endpoint. With my mother, that endpoint is not so clearly defined. 

So about that promise I made to myself, that THIS WEEKEND IS "THE" WEEKEND I'll go to Jersey to visit family, and get it over with. Of course, I'm about 12 hours out from menses and the distinct possibility of a migraine. Couple that up with just the overall crap at work, tipping point has been met. Today is the day I packed a travel flask of vodka with elderflower liquer in it and a can of sprite. I shall quaff it liberally before eating my lunch today... purely for medicinal purposes.