Day 179

Struggling to hold onto “splendid.”

It has been challenging to advocate for myself & get the care I need. 

Last month I had a consultation with a new bariatric surgeon with the interest in a revision on my bypass. While there, I noticed an associate there specializes in age management medicine, and I scheduled a consult with him regarding hrt.

Well over a month later I am no closer to the goal of either the bypass revision or actually getting hrt; however, the blood tests the doctors ordered showed crazy high testosterone & cortisol, and I decided to finally get a consult with an endocrinologist to tend to any underlying issues that are contributing to my rage, depression, anxiety, and sleep issues. 

Today started off with a trip to the lab for a dexamethasone suppression test which the endocrinologist ordered to rule out Cushings. Later in the day I had my first appt with a new gyno. 

Very glad I changed doctors. I felt seen, heard, validated. In both cases neither were able to provide me hrt, but the endo is thorough and will address everything else, and the gyno gave me the name of a colleague at NYU that might be able to help me. 

Maharajah is in India visiting family & attending an ashram. So in the interim, I am emptying all our closets and purging out and organizing what I can. I am making progress but it is slow. 

At the moment I am no where close to getting the bathroom project done. It is a real struggle trying to find a general contractor interested in working on my project. I have enough things in the house that need doing—I could keep someone busy for a while. Whatever. It’ll get done eventually. 

Struggling to regulate my moods and sleep. And feeling even more isolated since M is away. And I feel like everyone is out there experiencing life and I am just too busy surviving.

Day 113

Retirement Dispatch Day 113. Things are still splendid. Still chipping away at making decisions to help my assortment of issues, and to help keep me moving forward. 

Ultimately I would like to lose 30 lbs. I see my primary care doc this coming week and will discuss possible revision on my bypass. Lots of improvements to be made. 

This past week the weather was good & I did a lot of socializing outdoor while I had the opportunity. And despite that, I have feelings of loneliness & emptiness creeping in. Trying not to analyze it. 

Early retirement wasn’t my plan. It is splendid not to be feeling like a failure or problem every day, so I’ll take my victories when & where I can. 

Dad’s death anniversary was 2 days ago. I wish he were here. That missing him has not dissipated in 16 years. 

Another Radical Change #2

Thanks to COVID, I moved most of my medical care closer to home. Prior to COVID, 100% of my specialists were in NYC, with the last of my remaining specialists being my nephrologist. 

Last September I found an ob/gyn office near home that advertised something to the effect of “care for every stage of a woman’s life.” 

I changed gynos because for 4 years I have been abandoned/neglected on my menopause journey. In short, I was miserable. Miserable enough to stop seeing the gyno I saw for close to 11 years. 

At my first visit a year ago, ai inquired about HRT. The doc poo-pooed my request saying I was at risk of clots/strokes. 

Before my most-recent visit, I got approval from my hematologist who cleared me for a specific type of HRT. 

When I pressed the doc about HRT, she claimed she doesn’t prescribe it. This information would have been useful to me a year ago. I wasted yet one more year with yet another doctor neglecting me & my menopause journey, she provided ZERO in the way of relieving any of my symptoms & complaints. 

Then almost in a cosmic way, one friend told me about Winona HRT (which is about $200 a month), and my chiropractor found someone he knows who prescribed (but there is a $600 consulting fee and my HRT might be covered by my insurance. 

Then an other friend who lives in NYC highly recommended her doc (who takes my insurance, I’d pay a $25 copay and my HRT copay would be close to $20 a month). SOLD! 

Four days after being told I essentially wasted yet another year of my life suffering, I scheduled my appointment with a new doc. 

Quick & radical. Bold moves from here on out! 

October 14 I see my kidney doc & I have scheduled a consultation with my friend’s gyno for later in the day, and with any luck I will be picking up my Rx within the next 24 hours. 

Hope is one thing, but without having a solid, bold plan, hope won’t get you where you need to be. 

Yet Another Radical Change

In 2019 I started seeing a wonderful acupuncturist. Saw her every week. At the time the spouse’s insurance covered some of it. At the time, she charged $75 an hour. 

Then COVID hit and her pricing went to $85 to offset the price of all the PPE & air purifiers. This seemed reasonable. I saw her every week. 

Then in 2021 I picked up my own insurance at work which is a platinum plan, which had unlimited acupuncture visits. 

From January until mid March I would pay out of pocket to meet my deductible, and for the remainder of the year she just accepted what insurance paid. She was billing insurance roughly $300 a visit every week from 2021-2023. 

At some point around 2022? she changed her hourly rate to $150. I sucked it up, and figured “well, that’s what flex spend is for.”

In the last several months, she relocated to a new office and hired someone to handle the billing.**

Unbeknownst to me, my plan changed, and now I only have 20 visits per plan year. And rather be told this in January when I could have changed up the frequency of my visits from weekly to every two weeks, no, she informs me of this SIX VISITS after my 20th visit, and I was on the hook for $900. (Again, that’s what flex spend is for, and we submitted that to the husband’s flex spend, since I am now retired. However the person who does her billing should have alerted her and she should have alerted me so I could have planned accordingly**.)

Last week, she informed me she is cutting her treatment time from 60 minutes to 30, and the cost still remains $150. So I’m getting less time for the same cost—with me on a fixed income. 

The sequencing of everything in context as detailed above, plus the fact that after five years of weekly appointments this isn’t merely a transactional thing, this is a relationship. And to be honest, I feel that more consideration should have been given to me as a long time client—especially how she benefitted from my generous insurance plan for three years—especially during the early part of COVID when most of her clientele had not returned yet. 

My nose is out of joint about this. And rather than disassociate as I normally do when I am presented with complicated scenarios or emotions or conflicts, rather than set aside my own feelings so as not to make someone else feel better, I am showing up for myself in the form of informing her at our next visit that since I will be starting physical therapy & paying out of pocket for it, for the foreseeable future I am discontinuing my acupuncture treatments as financially I can’t sustain it. 

She doesn’t need to know nor is she entitled to know that I feel like she is taking advantage of me. Also? It is the truth, I can’t sustain it. 

Day 76: More Radical Decisions Afoot

It is now Day 76 since my last day in the office. Zero regrets! It is splendid! 10/10 highly recommend!

Initially, I experienced a bit of separation anxiety or feelings of abandonment, even though it was my decision to leave when and how I did. I miss my friends. That is about it!

More radical changes are on the way! 

The last two years I worked diligently to get myself back on track emotionally as the last 1654 days have been an enormous setback for me, emotionally and physically given the pummeling of: the COVID19 shut down, mom’s death, getting seriously sick after the initial shot of Pfizer vax, instant menopause, etc etc, bringing me to my DVT diagnosis in December 2023 & me catching COVID for the first time in January 2024.  

Two years ago while out recuperating from my hip replacement, I finally had a neuropsychological evaluation, proper diagnosis of C-PTSD, then genetic testing to help determine which Rx would be best, get on Rx, and start up psychotherapy yet again with a new trauma therapist. 

The past two years of doing all that plus holding down a full time job, took all my time and attention and didn’t leave much energy & stamina to consider & focus on tending to the physical. Add to that dynamic the unexpected drama of he DVT diagnosis and sussing out all the consultations needed (vascular, hematology) on top of finding a new primary care doc, it was a full time job to get to this point. 

I am now in maintenance mode regarding the DVT. So now I have a bit of focus for addressing my physical health setbacks, re: pain & weight gain. 

Prior to the COVID shutdown I was still managing well enough from my gastric bypass; however, that all changed with the shut down, with my as yet dealt-with grief, and menopause. I know I have gained weight yet I cannot bring myself to get on a scale yet. But now my blood chemistry is creeping back into numbers that make me anxious, and now I am ready to explore what type of bariatric surgery revision I might be able to get. I want to get under 200 lbs again. 

In the meantime, my new neurologist has run several MRIs on me and has a clearer vision of my collection of challenges I have. Starting next month, I will start a 6 week course of physical therapy to essentially work on building up strength in my ass. Also scheduled: a consult with a new physiatrist for hopefully a kenalog injection in my back & maybe a cortisone shot in my hip. 

My sleep hygiene has gone to shit with all the pain I am in, I cannot find a good position that doesn’t cause pain. 

Next month I also have my 6 month follow up with my kidney doc, and even though that appt is at 11:00, I am going to try to be fasting when I arrive so we can rerun my blood tests. 

After I see him, I have my annual mammo, and lastly a follow up appt with my primary care regarding medications & discuss the bypass revision idea. 

My quick & radical decision to retire really awakened in me a sense of purpose in my ability to be more present for myself & to stop neglecting myself. 

More radical changes are afoot!

Quick & Radical Life Decision

The story behind my quick & radical decision isn’t all that quick!

Where do I start? After nearly 22 years, with the last 6 with my most recent bureau chief, 5 years with my most recent office manager, and the last four years with the advent of COVID, as well as the death of my mom, my tormentor, who died of COVID—the last six years have been a brutal slog. 

I have known since my first interaction with my bureau chief that she was an awful human and an equally awful manager, as each interaction left me with the prevailing worry that I’d lose my job—and one time I even worried I’d be arrested. 

Every little molehill was escalated to mountain status. Bit by bit she chipped away at my confidence and my self perception, never acknowledging my contributions, but shredding me any time I dared to move out from this box she rammed me into. 

The gaslighting & indignities came on much more regularly after my friend left the bureau to go elsewhere. He & I collaborated well, and he was a human shield of sorts. 

I haven’t done anything differently since he left, and yet the perception that that quality in my work diminished markedly was claimed by all three: my bureau chief, deputy bureau chief and my office manager—all three boldly said to my face how they all thought I was being intentionally difficult to work with. 

Essentially they were calling me an asshole. This was enough to rouse me out of my dissociative state for me to defend myself, and also tell all three people present in my evaluation I was insulted they thought that. And when I pressed them to qualify what makes me so difficult, they claim I ask too many questions. 

I then pointed at all three cunts and said, “Each one of you knows I have C-PTSD. What you perceive is me being intentionally difficult to work with is in fact me suffering from crippling performance anxiety & and I ask as many questions as I do to ensure I do a good job.”

This, of course, shattered me. I was wounded in a way that was so familiar and toxic. I knew no matter what I did, I would never get the recognition I felt I was entitled to. If volunteering to work as part of a skeleton crew during the shut down during a god damned global pandemic would not be enough, nothing else would suffice either.

Additionally, over the last 10 years the scope of my job changed bit by bit to the point where it was no longer the job for which I was hired. Same thing goes for the culture in the office changing too. 

For the last six years, whenever I was physically in the office, I would sit & silently weep uncontrollably in my cubicle. Each morning I would say to my husband, “I don’t wanna go. Don’t make me go. Do I have to go?” It was six years of trying to muster up an appetite to chow down on rotten meat.

Two years ago when I was out recovering from my hip replacement, I sought out a neuropsychological evaluation, and got my diagnosis. Then I found a psychiatric nurse practitioner to handle finding the right medication. I even got genetic testing to help determine which medication might be best. 

The medication helps, I still cry from time to time, but it has helped that uncontrollable urge to sob. I am not borked out of my mind, it hasn’t blunted me entirely, so I am still functioning. 

That all being said, after the evaluation broke my heart & broke my spirit, my husband finally said “it is time to retire.” He reminded me of how I stuck it out for my 20 year mark and how it is now nearly 22 years. It’s time.

Before my eval, I requested 7/18 off as we had tickets for an event. The email was sent to my bureau chief and office manager was cc:. The office manager replied with this: 🙁 Yes, a frowny face emoji. Not sure what that means or what place it has in an official email. Looking back on this now makes me laugh, because in the end, my effective date for my retirement is 7/18.  

So after the eval, we went on our cruise as planned, and I would contact HR on Monday, 6/10 from the privacy of my home; however, on 6/5 when I returned to the office I was so stressed out & miserable & unable to swallow coffee or dry pretzels without refluxing them into my trash can. And when the refluxing happened again the next day, I said fuck Monday, and I sent an email to HR on 6/6.

On 6/7 I had my first full on discussion to explore my options. I stated “I’m sure I’m not the only person to reassess their retirement plans in the advent of covid.” I didn’t want to let HR know why I was leaving. I don’t want to walk away mad, I just wanted to walk away. 

On 6/21 I had my last conversation with the director of HR confirming all my choices, and tended to the last detail: determining my last day in the office. When the director asked, “when would you like to notify your bureau chief?” I replied, “How soon may I do so?” When she replied, “Today!” And by 2:11 pm, I sent an email notifying all 3 angry cunts, plus cc: the HR director and cc: my gmail account. 

The HR director spoon fed me the language in my email, and 7/5 was my last day in the office; 7/17 was my last day on payroll; and my effective date of my retirement is 7/18. 

The bureau chief replied first, congratulating me on my retirement. 

The office manager’s email was noteworthy for its lack of exclamation points: “Wow. What a surprise. Good luck with your retirement.”

And the biggest disappointment was my deputy bureau chief, who failed to reply to the email or acknowledge me or my retirement at all—even refusing to say hello to me unless I initiated it. She was the biggest disappointment. I thought we were on good terms & understood each other. 

At one point my office manager wanted to know certain tasks I do, and she only asked about items she had on her list. I talked down to her regarding my methods by which I generate my monthly reporting. “I do them all via pivot tables. If I could teach myself, I’m sure you’ll do fine.”

She asked about a voluminous task which had a 7/24 deadline, and wanted to know where I was regarding it, and stated how she didn’t want to get slammed with it. Well? Calling someone an asshole isn’t conducive to getting them to perform optimally. 

TBH, I had cut back substantially on working on that project. I was only doing things that were essential to my departure, such as archiving whatever files of mine that needed archiving, shredding 22 years of other notes, files, manuals & how to’s to do my job. Every day I threw out bits of this and that, and carted home things I wanted to keep. 

My focus was clearing out my desk, and notifying others in other offices who I interfaced with for archive help, FOIL requests, and interfacing with people at criminal appeals—none of that was discussed with my office manager, and tbh I don’t give a shit anymore and it isn’t my job to point out her deficiencies. Let her figure it out. 

7/3 I was in the office & neither my bureau chief nor my office manager acknowledged me. A handful of four friends got an ice cream cake for me and we sat out on the patio and commiserated. 

7/4 was a holiday. 7/5 was my last day, and all three angry cunts, cowards all, were not in the office. There were no cards nor flowers nor anything tangible I could toss in the trash before leaving the office for that final day. 

Office manager wanted me to leave my ID and my laptop (with all my passwords) on her desk, unsecured. We had mandatory training regarding this kind of thing. 

A week before, I reached out to my contact at the supply warehouse for a box for my laptop—and she even provided a FedEx label for it. I sent an email to HR stating my ID was en route, provided the fedex tracking and cc: my bureau chief & office manager. I did the same for the laptop, but sent the email to asset management & my contact at the warehouse. 

Before end of business on 7/5, I prepared my final time sheet, dropped the items to be fedexed in the bin, grabbed my purse and my air purifier, and I exited the building for the final time. 

Other things I did on my to do list was block all three angry cunts on my cell phone, change the outgoing message on my voicemail, set up an out of office message on my email, transfer files to the shared drive & prepare a thumbdrive for a coworker, then do my final walk about, saying goodbyes and giving out little gifts to friends. I even arranged for a box of brownies to be delivered to the HR director to thank her & her team for their helpfulness in my crash course to retirement. 

By 11:00 am the following morning, my email access was deactivated, and it is now as it I were never there. 

It has been two weeks since, and I wish I could say I feel overjoyed. I am sure in chess, this is like sacrificing your queen, a necessary tactic in order to win your battle. I feel relieved. I will feel even more relieved once I receive my first pension payment. 

Life will go on, and I ate before I started working there and I’ll continue to eat now that I am no longer there. Yet these familiar pangs, waiting for those who wronged me (much like my mom) to apologize. And those apologies will never come. And I have to remind myself “this is how things are now.”

And here it is, the day before the deadline to turn over all those documents which I left for the office manager to…”manage” without me. I hope she worked her ass off over the weekend. I hope it inconvenienced whatever birthday plans she had. However, I doubt she possesses the self awareness necessary to realize her accusations that I was being intentionally difficult to work with were off base. Truly, if I actually applied myself, she would not be able to handle me if I actually applied myself. 

I have always used the analogy of blue cheese to describe myself: either people love blue cheese or they hate blue cheese. No one is wishy-washy about blue cheese. And I understand that not everyone will like me; however, do they have to be cruel about it? 

In hindsight I am thankful for their cruelties. As it was the catalyst I needed to take care of myself. Just like I am thankful for that 18 wheeler that rear-ended my car, and the pain and suffering money/annuity checks  I waited 25 years to mature started to arrive each month last year. Had it not been for that pain and suffering money, I probably would not be able to extricate myself from this ever-increasing toxic environment and end, or at least minimize my pain and suffering. 

This wasn’t the plan, and it isn’t ideal, but I will survive, and for the first time in a very long time, I am optimistic and hope that whatever comes next will be transformative. 

Onward & Hopefully Upward

Monday I saw The Foot Whisperer. We immediately came up with a game plan: Shockwave therapy every Monday for the next four weeks for the soft tissue issues in the right foot. 

The left foot has its own set of issues/concerns. As of late, I have had an ever increasing amount of pain across the instep of the left foot. Right now, we don't know what is causing it. The following is a list of issues it could be:

1. Referred pain due to the DVT in the same leg.
2. Referred pain from the greater trochanteric pain syndrome.
3. Radiculopathy that's in the leg or a pinched nerve somewhere else in the same leg.
4. Arthritis at the site of a fracture I sustained 50 years ago.
5. Possible gout as my uric acid is elevated.
6. Some combination of the above; or some other issue as yet to be identified.

Additionally, 4/2/24 I go for an MRI of the left foot to get a better idea of what else is going on in the foot.

3/18/24 I have an appt with my kidney doc.
3/25/24 I have an appt with my primary care doc.
4/1/24 I have an appt with my gyno to follow up on a pelvic MRI.

Hopefully I can get some kind of consensus between the three of them regarding possibly putting me on low dose HRT instead of gout medicine, as so many of my issues are a byproduct of going through menopause totally unsupported--even the DVT is a byproduct (of several issues in addition to) of menopause. 

So, if you're keeping track, every Monday and Tuesday I work from home, and every Monday and every Tuesday has either a doctor's appointment or a radiology appointment to chip away at my collection of issues, and tbh it's made me very weary. But what other choice do I have? I have a great case study (mom) regarding what happens when you do nothing--everything has a cumulative effect and ends up becoming an avalanche out of which you cannot extricate yourself.

The pain in my left foot is truly breathtaking. I could be walking along fine and then be struck with a pain so intense it just about knocks me off my feet. I could be sitting and watching tv peacefully and then get struck with a throbbing hot pain I cannot ignore. And with the anticoagulant Rx for the DVT, I cannot take ibuprofen, and acetaminophen really doesn't do anything for the inflammation (and is a known liver toxin), so the pain has to be otherworldly for me to take a Tylenol. And the turmeric I resumed daily isn't really doing anything for this foot pain. I keep a cane at work and one in the car just in case I suddenly need it. And I'm still keeping my daily footstep count around 3000, and yet I get seized with this intense pain. Last night I actually sobbed about it and wailed about how I can't wait for my next rebirth so I can finally ditch this shitty body.

Unrelated to the foot pain, and circling back to the pelvic MRI I had on Tuesday, from what I can see on the radiology report, there isn't anything indicated as "suspicious," and there are no masses; so the appointment on 4/1/24 with the gyno is to discuss the MRI and I guess find out if she still wants to biopsy anything. 

This is a full time job: scheduling all these appointments, then actually attending them. A job I don't get paid for, but the payoff is just restoring and maintaining mobility.  I'm doing what I can, but I feel like I am sliding into the abyss anyway.

And in other news...

Today is Long Covid Awareness Day. And four years into this mess, I am still met with resistance. I was supposed to take my break today and sit and chat with a friend. So I show up at his office (with me in an N95), and as I attempted to hand him a KN95, he gave push back and claimed he can't wear a mask. And with that I replied, "Then I can't sit in a closed office with you." We're supposed to have a phone call instead, and really, I don't have it in me to call him. Fuck him and every other plague rat just like him. 

I want my 2019 version of my life back.

Another Week, Another Post

Another week, another post with progress as yet to be determined.

Monday I went to the lab for some blood tests for my nephrologist appointment on 3/18/2024. My nephrologist is normally top notch; however, he only ordered a urinalysis and a comprehensive metabolic panel. He faxed me the order, and before I went to Quest, I selected a lipid panel, triglycerides, CR-P, Sed Rate, and Uric Acid, as it looks like I am following my issues more closely and consistently than he is.

I got the results overnight, and already there's a huge improvement with my CR-P. In August it was 11, whereas my norm is 0-1. This week's value was 2, which is a considerable improvement, so I'm happy that it appears the inflammation is going down--and I can only assume it's because of the anticoagulant is helping by minimizing clotting, and allowing my body time to dissolve the clot.

Tuesday was a consultation with a hematologist. I got some answers, and of course, I have YET ANOTHER FOLLOW UP (I think in July). Right now we don't know what the triggering event was for the DVT, as we have quite a few risk factors in consideration as I am post-menopausal, hypertensive, carry the gene for Factor Five Leiden Mutation, I'm over weight, I'm sedentary because of foot chronic foot pain, and I did some air travel in October, and lastly, yes, my Pfizer booster before we traveled might be playing a part in it as well. So take your pick. 

Only bad thing really is that the clot still has a ways to go, as the portion in the calf still needs to show some progress. This was the part that was completely blocked.

I won't know until July if I'll be on a lower dose of anti-coagulation therapy for the rest of my life. Only the blood tests in July will determine that. I'm less than thrilled.

As I said to the hematologist: If I can't take ibuprofen or aleve because of the anticoagulant, and if I can't take opiates because of the antidepressant, how am I expected to manage my pain if I'll be on anticoagulants for the rest of my life?

He told me he couldn't recommend I resume my turmeric supplements; however, all he could do is tell me there isn't anything documented to contraindicate it with the particular anticoagulant I'm on, and for me to be mindful to avoid gastric bleeds.

Anyway, coming up next week are a pedicure and foot doc appointment on Monday, and a pelvic MRI on Tuesday. This is my life. Even the hematologist remarked on it, "I see you've had quite a few encounters at the radiology department!" 

Most years I empty out my flex spend account by June; here it is the first week of March, and all I have left of my $2500 is $400, which I'll have emptied out before Memorial Day--or sooner. 

Trying to get a handle on this unshakable loneliness I have. It's a byproduct of my C-PTSD, and also in this COVID hellscape which persists is not helping. And the loneliness is only the surface shit I can articulate. I wish I could dig a bit further and get to what I really am feeling. And on a related note, I'm going to look into some meditations or stretches or body work or yoga specifically for somatic healing, as so much of my trauma is trapped in me physically.

I don't know if it was helpful or not, perhaps not, but I was stalking the alumni group on FB for my graduating class, and TBH, there isn't one god damned person in the group who is still alive that I'd even care to see, if I made the effort to attend a reunion--and I know the same is in reverse, no one wants to see me, either. There I go again, always being the outsider looking in, wanting to be included but not, but in the end there are very few, if any, people in the group that were particularly nice or kind to me. I feel so lonely, and yet, part of me worries and wonders about how narcissistic is it, really, for me to feel this way, lonely and feeling like no one misses me. As you can see, I still have a ways to go to break that attachment. But people need people--even traumatized introverts with avoidant tendencies--we just don't know how to navigate it.

Mom & The Malocchio

So today's her birthday. She would have been 79 today. Right on time, this morning her sister sent me a text with nothing but a heart emoji in it. That's what my relationship with her has been reduced to: no actual communication, no substance, just emojis. 

Anyway. Where I left off, I wanted to find someone to lift the curse (or curses) with which mom cursed me. Though I haven't found someone to do the traditional Italian ritual to lift the malocchio, my therapist highly recommended an energy healer out on Long Island.

I am not sure what I hope to evolve from the meeting with the healer. I need to focus my intent for that appointment. Right now, I am hoping to achieve some nebulous goal of the healer unblocking whatever it is that has me stuck in this cycle of suffering and grief and everything that is triggering my C-PTSD symptoms. 

Mom has been dead four years now, and I want her emotionally destructive programming expunged from my psyche so I can move forward with my life. I made so much progress in 10-15 years before COVID, and in one fell swoop, like a tsunami, the pandemic, mom dying, my friend Susan dying, the constant state of stress from assessing my risks for EVERYTHING--it wiped out the life I had.  

I am tired of just existing or surviving; I want to resume THRIVING.

Coincidentally, I was looking at the attendance calendar my office manager keeps, and I see that she did not remove my March vacation dates then we changed those dates to May. So I'm on the calendar for the last week of March (okay, 4 out of the 5 days--I have to be in the office on the Friday of that week). 

Initially I was going to remind her those dates were changed, and then I decided to just keep it to myself, and let the vacation dates stand. I need a break. So, I've scheduled my appointment with the healer for 3/28/24. Maharajah and I plan on going for a movie and doing some other things if we can during that time. I also have been day dreaming and planning and squirreling away supplies and items for a bathroom renovation project too, so I might even have the contractor come out for the initial consultation early on in that week, too. 

Self care takes many forms, and for me, in addition to the bevvy of medical appointments I have booked (so far, 15) for the month of March, I've got a pedicure scheduled and an appointment with the energy healer scheduled. The bathroom renovation project is also self care--as I spend so much time at home now, I want my bathroom to be updated and become as nice as possible, and become my oasis.

Foot doc on 3/11/24
MRI on 3/12/2024
First day of spring: 3/20/24
Internist on 3/25/24

All the hard work of all scheduling & attending these appointments hopefully will bear some fruit on the 25th. Hopefully Spring will provide me with some relief.

Yet Another Cha-Cha

On 2/26/24 I saw the new vascular doc, who is in the same practice as the fat-ist one I saw initially. The RN said they recognized me and wondered why I was following up with Dr. C. instead of Dr. G., and I said how he spent my entire appointment trying to bully me into considering diet pills. I remarked, "Look, I know I'm fat. But I am here to get my leg and DVT evaluated, and NOT to get diet advice in the first five minutes." The RN looked at me and said, "Fat? You're not even the biggest person we've seen here." I said, "Thanks for that, but Dr. G., made it seem like I was the fattest fatty that ever fucking fatted."

The appointment with Dr. C. went splendidly and he answered most of my questions, and even remarked how impressed he was with both, my medical acumen, how organized I was for this appointment, and the initiative I've taken with my health. He even went so far as to entice me to view the ultrasound images. At first I balked and said "thanks but no thanks, I think I'm obsessing on enough things." And when he said, "But the images are really beautiful!" I relented. 

The DVT ran from my groin, down the thigh, behind the knee, and ends mid calf. The portion in the mid thigh has resolved significantly, with a little residual up at the top of the groin, and there is still progress to be made in the calf area.

Additionally, he provided me a name of a podiatrist who hopefully will be able to restore some functionality and reduce pain in my feet. And of course, a follow up appointment & a follow up ultrasound has been scheduled for May.

Cha-cha. 1 appointment = 3 more appointments made.

The next day I saw my ENT for an early annual follow up (thinking I might still have some antibody protection from my COVID infection in January). I'm still suffering from the after effects of COVID, a persistent cough, post-nasal drip, and fatigue. She wrote an Rx for Flonase. A follow up thyroid ultrasound has been scheduled, and a 6 month follow up appointment has been set.

Cha-cha. 1 appointment = 2 more appointments made.

Then I got a telephone call from my cardiologist's office letting me know the TTE I had a week ago was normal--so wonderful! No indication of left ventricular hypertrophy! YAY! And yep! One more appointment made!

Cha-cha. 1 phone call = 1 more appointment made. 

At this point, every single Monday and Tuesday between now and Memorial Day has an appointment scheduled. This coming Monday is Quest for blood tests for my follow up appointment with my nephrologist; and Tuesday is FINALLY! the consultation with the hematologist. 

There are so many appointments I need to keep track of I have created an Excel spreadsheet with my appointments sorted by date and time, and I never make any plans without consulting with that spreadsheet.

In related/unrelated news, the last time I had a pedicure was the end of November, as I had my DVT diagnosis December 5th, I haven't had a pedicure in all this time, as I've been concerned and babying my leg. Out of the blue, I received a text from Jimmy, my pedicurist, asking if everything is okay. I was so glad to get the text from him, as I have been intending to schedule an appointment. The one time I managed NOT to consult my spreadsheet, I scheduled the appointment for 3/11/24 at 10:00; and how SERENDIPITOUS! I see the new podiatrist on 3/11/24 at 2:45! So my feet will be presentable for that appointment! 

I love it when a plan comes together!

After Thoughts Regarding "I hope this happens to you"

Again, like a terrier with a bone, I have been gnawing on the "I hope this happens to you" with an intensity that is not healthy, as for all appearances, it seems like I am on the path to her curse becoming a reality. Clot in leg, agonizing foot pain, reduced activity as a result of both, being depressed and morose. Yep! Looks like it's happening! 

But here's the catch: She may have cursed me and hoped that I'd be as depressed and immobilized and miserable as she was; however, one thing she lacked which I apparently possess is RESILIENCE. 

Instead of getting overwhelmed and putting my head in the sand as mom did for decades, I am trying to do something, ANYTHING, to just keep moving. My gastric bypass in 2011, and my hip replacement in 2022 were tools to keep moving. Researching the hell out of which dietary supplements will help me achieve my goals. Trying to take care of myself. Trying to be gentle with my inner narrative. Trying to find the answers that she never bothered to find for herself. Trying to do the things I want to do for as long as I am able to do them--even if that means being able to go to the store and pick out the perfect tomato, melon, or pineapple! Trying to maintain my independence!

On the surface it would appear that my best efforts were not enough to fight against genetics (factor five leiden mutation, and possible Chronic Venous Insufficiency) or fight against Father Time (menopause). Who knows how much worse things would have been for me had I not opted for the interventions of surgeries or supplements? 

Every day that I do not weigh 300, 400, or 500 pounds is an accomplishment. Yet all some doctors see is just another out of control fat woman. I am more than what other people choose to think of me, and that includes that shitty, sizeist, misogynistic vascular asshole, as well as my now dead mother.

One of the most cruel things mom ever said to me: "I Hope This Happens To You"

It has now been 1,390 days since mom died--nearly four years, and yet, her voice and her hateful words still resonate with me.

Twenty years ago, on the day of our housewarming party, the solitary time my mother ever forced herself to visit my home, the words in the title of this post were uttered as she was struggling to climb the 15 stairs to get to my condo. I was standing in my doorway waiting for her, with my dad and uncle and we all were chatting and laughing about something unrelated to her, and my words really don't do justice in sharing it in a blog post because you miss out on the tone of voice and facial expression; however, if you've ever watched The Sopranos, trust me when I say it was with the same intonation as Livia Soprano saying "Poor you." And every day I climb those same stairs and get to the 7th step of 15, I say, "Fuck you Ann, and every hateful shitty thing you've ever said to me."

As part of my self care or trauma work, I want to find someone who has a grandmother or aunt who is well versed in what I'll call Italian witchcraft. It seems outlandish, but I want someone to perform the ritual to remove the malocchio. I view this along the same lines of eating chicken soup when you have the flu, "it couldn't hurt," and if anything, there is merit in having it done for emotional comfort. And yes, I am convinced my mother cursed me.

I am now 32 days out from testing positive for COVID (first time!) and now 80 days out from my DVT diagnosis, and there are days when I am unable to muster up the energy to even bathe. I caught COVID after attending a mandatory meeting, where I didn't give any push back because my boss has got me convinced I am a problem--so even if I pushed back (I do have medical justification to continue doing remote work two days a week), I'd still be seen as a problem ("there she goes again.") 

I am certain I caught it in that meeting, where I was the solitary one in an N95 respirator, in a closed conference room with people who were coughing, though entirely plausible I caught it from someone asymptomatic. My boss, of course, totally in keeping with her character, has not asked me even once how I was doing. Because the reality is, she doesn't give a shit. 

I could have participated in that meeting via MS Teams or Zoom as others did. I think upon a co-worker of mine who died of a stroke 7 years ago. She dedicated herself to 30 years in our office. And now she's gone, and no one ever utters her name. I think to myself if I am bound to have a stroke or my kidneys shut down, I hope it happens at work. I hope it happens at work because I doubt Maharajah is capable of handling that kind of crisis on his own. I also hope it happens at work because MAYBE? it might cause some of the plague rats to pause and think about how their own actions might have contributed to that situation. However, the reality is, just in the way that Val dropped dead, I know by the end of the week my desk will be emptied and my 22 years of service to our organization will be as if it never happened.

I struggle each day to try to muster up the stamina to do what I can to get through the day. And people's casual cruelties continue in the form of my concerns being dismissed. The tediousness of having the same conversation over and over again, justifying my concerns and viewpoint with people who are either trolling me or lack the GIVE A FUCK to pay attention. I already have a clot in my leg and issues with my kidneys, and I'd like to somehow or another get through the next six years until I retire without having a stroke or going on dialysis, thank you very little!

December 29th I saw a shitty vascular specialist whose solitary job I was paying him for was to assess my leg and assess the DVT, and instead, before I even got into the office, he read my file, saw my BMI and decided instead of assessing my leg and DVT, he was going to try to bully me into prescription diet pills. Mind you this isn't the first, nor will it be the last time I've encountered this misognynistic fat bias. I shut him down immediately. And instead, he kept at it. And when he got tired of me pushing back and trying to refocus the conversation back to my leg, he hussled me out of his office and back to the front desk to schedule a follow up appointment and a follow up bilateral ultrasound to check on the progress of the clot. 

I was like a terrier with a bone all day, just chewing on that, and by the end of the day, I went on the patient portal and cancelled the appointment, as there was no way in hell I was going to get the care I needed for my leg if this doctor could not see ME past what he no doubt thinks is an out of control fat woman. He didn't ask me any questions, no family history, no lifestyle questions etc. Just decided to fat shame me.

I saw my new cardiologist recently and that went well. And I went for my TTE and a CT to get my cardiac calcium score (23!). And the RN said the doc suggested I go on statins (my numbers really aren't that high!). I said thanks but no thanks, I want to try to get proper care for my feet so I can keep moving and hopefully my numbers will improve. 

Two more days (2/26/2024) until I see the NEW vascular specialist, and I have already prepared my characteristic 8.5 x 11, bullet pointed list of questions for that appointment, and hopefully I'll have some valuable information from that appointment. I even dare to hope he is able to help my foot pain issues, and if not, I hope he has a recommendation for someone who is a vascular doc with a sub-specialty in feet. And in ten more days (3/5/2024) I see the hematologist, the appointment date is literally three months to the date of the trip to the ER when I got diagnosed with a DVT. 

I dare to hope for some positive transformation as spring time approaches.