Endemic Idiocy (6/18/25)

I am just trying to stay alive, and it is wild to see, 5.5 years into this COVID reality, how few doctors are informing themselves about the virus as well as how few are protecting themselves & their patients by refusing to mask in medical settings. 

So, as a consequence of so few doctors masking, anytime I require a medical procedure, I have to weigh the risks vs the benefits in doing so. 

Very long story short, I needed an endoscopy & colonoscopy. I showed up at the endoscopy suite wearing an N95, the RN was not initially masked; however, when they left & returned to the exam room they wore a mask. As did another nurse, and as did the anesthesiologist. 

I asked the RN after the endoscopy was over, please put my mask back on my face.

We all go to the OR, every last one of us masked and waiting on my gastroenterologist to arrive, and when he did, he was unmasked and polluting the OR with his vapors has he yammered on.

“Should I wear a mask?” he asked me, cluelessly a la Mr. Fucking Magoo. I replied, “Considering I will be UNCONSCIOUS WITH MY MOUTH OPEN, yes, please, mask.”

When I woke up in the recovery room, my mask was on my face just as I asked. 

I have been seeing this gastro for 10 years. Ten years ago he was super thorough, and over the past 5.5 years this aspect which I will call “Mr. Magoo,” has become more pronounced. I can only imagine how many patients he sees each day and how many times he is repeatedly exposed to COVID and other viruses, which he then exposes all his patients too—as well as his special needs son at home. 

What most people don’t realize about the word “endemic” is, it doesn’t mean the virus has weakened where we can let our guards down. It just means it will be a persistent threat—and isn’t that contradictory to the Hippocratic Oath, to do no harm, yet by extension of refusing to mask, doctors are in fact, harming their patients?

Day 440 Raging Into The Abyss

When I woke two days ago, my first thoughts before removing my CPAP mask was, “Fuck yiu and your shitty-assed genes!!!” Furious at my dead parents for birthing me, and furious at how for decades they lived in a cloud of delusion about how shitty their health was, oblivious to it until the day they couldn’t ignore it anymore, and yet, they continued to ignore it. 

Then I realized, oh shit, it was my dad’s birthday. And so it recommences the annual ritual of grief, which takes me from his birthday on 9/16 to the date of the surgery which silenced him on 9/26, concluding with 10/24 his date of death 28 days later. 

Before my feet even touched the floor, I was already awash in a mix of emotions, with the most pronounced thoughts percolating to the surface: here it is 17 years later, and though that acute intense loss immediately following his death has been blunted by time, I continue to miss my dad and the silence left behind is still difficult to navigate. 

Here I am, age 57, literally 10 years away from the age he was when he died, and I am going through A LOT of medical appointments & exploration for my issues, and wish he were here for support (which he actually was great at providing), as I have so many questions that have to go unanswered, and can only deduce the answers as I get my own answers from my doctors. 

It is selfish I know, to wish my dad were here to help me, but I also think it is a normal impulse given how close we were. 

Day 439 On Being A Complex Patient

Every day that goes by, I am more and more grateful that I chose to retire early. Not to be bleak but the last year has been a never ending series of challenges to overcome. 

Very disheartened & weary by this year. I want & need a revision on my gastric bypass (from 14 years ago), and there have been a never ending stream of obstacles in my way: what they thought was acute pancreatitis turned out to be an ulcer, an abnormality on my stress test which they thought was an “artifact”/scar or a heart attack which (thankfully) turned out to be nothing; meanwhile my GFR & bun/creat is out of whack & w/my inferior vena cava birth defect/anomaly, I now wait for 2 weeks (!!!) for the CT scan to rule out an IVC blockage or May Thurner Syndrome.

My IVC defect or anomaly was detected 25 years ago during a renal doppler; however, at the time I had no other issues and was never counseled about the significance of the finding. 

Couple that up with my Factor V Leiden Mutation*, and my DVT 2 years ago, plus I exhibit 9 out of 10 symptoms of a possible IVC blockage, that is the next worrisome obstacle to overcome. 

(*22 years ago my niece was born with a clot in a renal artery and nearly died before they discovered she carried the gene for Factor V Leiden Mutation. After the discovery was made, the whole family got tested for it. Once again, as I didn’t have any other major health issues, I neither was counseled about the significance of this finding, nor was I put on anticoagulant or baby aspirin therapy. Here I am, 2 decades later, connecting the dots, and hoping it makes a positive impact to my medical care, as well as have the added ROI of time/money/effort with a reward of a longer life expectancy of both of my parents.)

The earliest I could get in for a CT scan is 9/30/25 & the earliest follow  

The stress test was 8/26/25. Maharajah left for India to visit family & then visit a spiritual study ashram on 8/31/25, and three days into his visit his mom had a stroke (and there’s evidence she’s had others which did not get medical attention). 

Several hours after finding out about amma having a stroke, my cardiologist let me know the results of the stress test, and I had to schedule the cardiac catheterization for after Maharajah returned home on 9/8/25–cath was on 9/10/25. Mind you, the stress test was just a cautionary thing so my cardiologist could provide a clearance letter for my bariatric revision surgery—all my EKGs were normal, and the last stress test I had was 25 years ago. 

Fortunately I have scheduled all my appts related for my bariatric revision surgery and I had an appt already booked with my vascular specialist on 9/15/25. I didn’t even have to get too detailed about my IVC issue & whatever the possible issue might be. He disappeared for a few minutes to go read my chart & the old radiology report with the IVC finding on it, and when he returned to the exam room, he made some speculations & then gave me the order for the CT scan.

The cherry on top? My side quest of exploring whether I can get on HRT or not looks less and less unlikely as each day goes by. My surgical concierge says I’m handling all of this with grace, but I don’t feel graceful—not one bit. Challenged & discouraged barely touches how I feel. TBH, I wonder if this is what dying feels like. 

In addition to shouldering my worries by myself while M was in India, I distracted myself with more Swedish Death Cleaning (organizing, purging items to trash or donate), I had a dinner party with friends on my balcony one Friday, and a luncheon with cousins on one Sunday, and the following week I was overseeing the last remaining big ticket items for my bathroom renovation.  See before & after photos: 

All this left zero time for self care, and I am feeling it mightily today. Monday I resumed my chiropractic appts, and today I resumed my acupuncture appts. After today’s session, I took a nice nap.

I remind myself after my early morning tears that all this does not define me, and these are necessary steps on the path to achieving my goal of getting my gastric bypass revision. I have had to do some mental gymnastics to being resigned to the fact that I will achieve my goal; however, that goal will not be achieved on MY timeline. The process takes however long it will take. 

Oh, and all this is prelude to a greater goal. Next year will be our 25th wedding anniversary & the55th anniversary for my in-laws. Considering the precarious nature of amma’s health & the uncertainty of my own health issues right now, it makes all the challenges & discouragement I am facing right now all the more important and poignant as time waits for none of us. 

Day 315

Wild to think that I am now at say #315 since my last day in the office. 

Six days ago was the anniversary of the cruel annual evaluation, which prompted me to consider an early retirement as it became obvious to me that no matter what my efforts were, I would never get the validation that I sought from my immediate supervisor and bureau chief so 315 days ago was my last day in the office concluding 22 years of service to the state of New York. It was not ideal. I paid a penalty on my pension in order to do so however, every day that goes by, I am convinced it was a solid decision. I walked away with my pension and my medical insurance, but this was not part of the plan I had in mind for my retirement.

 I am experiencing this residual resentment that I was driven to do this in order to escape what became an increasingly more toxic work environment.

So what have I been up to since the last blog post? I have been continuing to chip away at things on my to do list and a big thing or list of things on my to do list is to try to reverse course and reverse whatever damage has occurred within the last five years since the advent of COVID-19, namely, dump the 40 pounds that I gained and trying to improve my mobility.

I started Zepbound seven weeks ago, and this is on top of my antidepressant which was accomplishing the initial goal that I set out which was to no longer sob silently & uncontrollably at my desk at work and since I am no longer at work in a toxic work environment, which was a never-ending trigger for the sobbing, as well as the existential dread residual grief over losing my mom to covid, as well as losing a very dear friend of mine to cancer, the physical and psychological challenges were becoming too much for me to handle  maintaining a job where my efforts were not appreciated, and it became an increasingly unsafe environment for me both physically and psychologically. Psychologically,  it drove me to the point of seeking out a Neuro psychological evaluation in 2022 when I was recovering from a total hip replacement after the evaluation, I got a proper diagnosis of CPTSD. I got myself a nurse practitioner who handled prescribing the antidepressant we went through genetic testing to help identify possible new medications for us to try as I had several failures in the past in regards to medicine and I was on Trintellix for now almost 3 years.

Unbeknownst to me, the Trintellix carries with it a risk for pancreatitis, and since roughly November or December of this past year, I have been experiencing what I figured was just low level discomfort on the left side of my abdomen into the mix.

Seven weeks ago,  I started Zepbound, and things just got even more intense. I sought out my gastroenterologist to quarterback this much like a quarterback to my crisis in 2021,  and he drew blood and my amylase and pancreatic enzymes both are elevated so I discontinued my Trintellix, of which I was on the lowest dose anyway, easy enough for me to do, discontinue that and as I waited for my primary care physician or Gastro to get back to me in regards to the Zepbound, I held off on this week‘s injection thinking surely it’s gotta be playing into the dynamic as well.

Today 5/16/25, I went for an upper abdomen CT scan. I believe the scavenger hunt we are on right now is to rule out pancreatitis I’m convinced that’s what’s going on so hopefully by Monday or Tuesday I will have some kind of information in regards to that and sadly this just proves to me that no matter what medicine is provided to me that will promise me weight loss. There is always a high price to be paid and in this case, I do not foresee myself being able to stay on the zip bound and rather than look at this as yet one more failure, I am looking at this as OK. We crossed this off on our to do list. The insurance probably would not have paid for me to go for a revision on my bypass until or unless we tried other measures, and the Zepbound was other measure so hopefully this brings me one step closer to the possibility of getting a revision on my bypass so that I can get myself back on track and lose the weight that I gained during Covid.

I am continuing with chiropractic and acupuncture as far as pain management in November. I had an epidural on my spine to help regarding the reticulopathy and other issues with my spine and did not offer up much in the way of relief next week. I have a follow up epidural planned with a different approach and hopefully that will bring me one step closer to some kind of relief. Otherwise there’s always going to be a surgical intervention as a possible thing to try after this in the event that the epidural fails all this is  get myself moving and doing the things that I want to do for as long as I’m able.

The guiding force in my life is the question. What would Ann do? and once I ascertain what it is that she would do in a similar situation, m I then decide to do the direct opposite and continue to advocate for myself. 

The last thing I want to do is be a burden on my husband and live in isolated life like she did handicapped and imprisoned in the body that she just allowed to go off the rails, expecting and demanding that others take care of her, in spite of the fact that she did the bare minimum as a mother. 

The 5 year anniversary of her death was 12 days ago, and I wish I could say that my grief journey has turned a corner; however, it hasn’t. Covid19 is still here, mutating & contagious as ever. Maybe once we get some sterilizing vaccines my grief might improve, at least to take me out of this heightened vigilant state I have been in since the shut down in 2020. Covid was a huge trigger for my C-PTSD. 

That being said, my simmering rage continues, rage towards mom directly for the long list of creative ways she undermined me and abused me (and my siblings), and indirectly for the status of Covid19, and here we are five years later and not much has been done—so similar to AIDS in the 1980s. Most people have moved o & want to get back to life and their super spreaders and their bottomless mimosa brunches and shrug their shoulders at the 1 Million+ US Americans that died due to Covid—assuming they think of the dead at all. 

Day 274

 Doc finally got the pre-auth for Zepbound, & I got the insurance & discount card all sorted out, and my first jab was four days ago. Hoping to avoid a revision on the bypass and hoping to dump the 40 lbs weight gain due to the pandemic + menopause. 

After a change of scenery for a couple days, I have an appt to try Maya Abdominal Massage. I hope it will revitalize my libido, help with digestion, and maybe help release the anxiety I feel trapped in my belly. 

Follow up appt with primary care doc on 5/7, and hoping some improvements will be made. 

Day 255

Plenty going on and yet not enough is going on fast enough for my own personal timeline. 

I was considering a revision on my bypass & try to find a doc to prescribe HRT; however a new weirdness popped up and needed to be addressed first.

Then there’s the issue of my gouty arthritis which went unaddressed for years. Now on Rx for that & hoping for a side benefit of some weight loss from that Rx before agreeing to go on a Rx for weight loss before seeking the bypass revision. 

Additionally bp was so low, I hardly had any energy to do anything more than the barest of minimum to get through my day. I was so fatigued, my napping habits would rival a geriatric house cat. 

Progress all in due time. Hoping by June I’ll feel better. 

Day 181

181 days into retirement and my “splendid” is ebbing away and feelings of anger & resentment are bubbling to the surface. Angry and resentful that retiring early was the only option for me to change my paradigm. 

Had my newest boss not come on in 2018, I more than likely would have continued to work for another 6 years to reach full retirement age. 

Resentful that in order for me to leave/retire & still maintain my medical insurance, I had to do so by taking a 24% hit on my retirement—24% in perpetuity.

Resentful that I had to walk away from the only “community” I have known for 22 years—the closest thing I had to an extended family, especially the last 4 years since mom’s death dissolved most of my immediate family connections. 

Mom’s death was the final, physical and emotional abandonment. 

Maharajah left for India on 12/24 and returns on 1/8, leaving me alone during the holidays, a time I normally am very blue; however this year I feel it even more, as I no longer have the day-to-day social interactions and distraction that my job once provided. 

While M is away, I have continued with my Swedish Death Cleaning, and feeling even more morbid as I do so. I am trying to be ruthless with some of the things I am parting with—and disassociating while I do so. I am almost feeling like I am someone else going through the possessions of someone who has already passed. In a way, I am experiencing my own mortality almost on a molecule by molecule basis. 

It is the new year, and I am filled with dread for the next four years—and hoping it is just four years. I am joyless and always worried for M’s safety. The world just seems to keep getting more and more unstable and violent. 

Hope is a dangerous thing. The disappointment is crushing. He is 8,000+ miles away right now, and I have a knot in my gut. I wonder how many rebirths did I have to endure until I finally found him nearly 25 years ago. I am greedy. I want more time with him. I want him back home with me. We are such a tiny family, he and I. Without him by my side, I am profoundly alone. The thought of its preciousness nearly cripples me. 

I never thought when I met him nearly 25 years ago and subsequently fell in love that every new beginning has its own conclusion. Falling in love is the start of eventual suffering, loss and grief. 

He is with his family & being well taken care of by them. And yet I still worry, and I miss him intensely. Counting down the moments until he is back home. 

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.

Trying to See The Brighter Side

Where we left off in the last blog post of four months ago, I saw my kidney guy. My numbers were elevated, and I wanted to try some things before other interventions were necessary, and wanted to re-run the labs. All reasonable.

On December 5th I went to Quest for the 3 month follow up labs; however, for 6 days solid prior to the 5th, I had been experiencing what I thought was a charley horse cramp in my thigh. Over the course of the 6 days, it shifted to behind the knee, and ended up in the back of my leg, mid-calf. The pain was unrelenting, but manageable. And for 5 of the 6 days I treated it as I would any leg cramp: I blasted it with my Theragun, I iced it, and the last 2 days I chewed a baby aspirin.

So, after I had my blood drawn at the lab, I called the primary care my new gyno highly recommended to me. I tried to get an in office appointment, and none were available, but a video appt was available. It became increasingly more obvious to me that I needed to get my leg checked out and a video appointment was not going to accomplish much. I then headed to urgent care.

When I arrived at urgent care, I efficiently summed up that I was 17 months post op from a total hip replacement, I was hypertensive, I carried the gene for Factor Five Leiden Mutation, and I have had a cramp in my leg for 6 days, and though I hoped it was just a cramp, I was concerned it was a DVT. Urgent care waved me off, and recommended I go to the ER, as they don't have the ultrasound needed to rule out the DVT.

I arrived at the ER at 9:30 a.m. I was lulled into a false sense of security as there were only 3 other people waiting. When they called my name and I walked through the double doors, I was crestfallen when I saw SEVENTY-FIVE people in the ER. They put me on a gurney in the hallway with a clear view of the entrance where EMTs bring people in via ambulance. More and more people came in, and thus, I saw the ER nurse less and less, once per hour, if that.

The RN would ask questions, then disappear for an hour. Return. Ask more. Disappear. Lather, rinse, repeat. "Want a tylenol?" was met with me replying "that won't do anything, please give me a Flexeril, if possible." Another hour went by. Finally got the Flexeril and a bit of water, which was the only thing I had taken by mouth all day, as I went to the ER right after going to the lab, where I went for a FASTING blood test. 

Then the ER attending showed up, asked me some questions. I replied with the same script I gave the RN. Another hour went by. Then an ultrasound was performed. Another hour went by, before the ER attending gave me the verdict, that my fear was confirmed, it was in fact a DVT. Another hour went by. Then I was administered Eliquis. And another hour went by before I was released. By this time it was 6:30 p.m. NINE HOURS LATER. 

I was told to pick up my Rx at the in-house pharmacy--roughly 1000 foot steps from the ER, only for me to hoof it back to the ER as I parked in the ER parking lot. 

I promptly got back home when it felt as if every fiber in my body spasmed at once, with my fingers and toes cramping into scary and unnatural contortions. I have had gastric bypass, and a total hip replacement, and a dodgey root canal that caused my tooth to explode when they tried to extract it--NONE of that shit was as painful as these terrifying cramps. They jarred and worried Maharajah to the point of suggesting he take me back to the ER. I begged him to dig through our household "rainy day" stash of extra Rx meds, to see if there was an expired flexeril in the bunch. Sadly I had to make do with a hydrocodone--at least it knocked me out. It got the job done.

As I was in-between my former primary care and finding a new one, I tried the office of the doctor my gyno recommended, and sadly THAT primary was not available, but I managed to see her associate. TBH I was not expecting much from the appointment. He wasn't the doctor recommended to me, and this was now a totally different situation than a comparatively casual initial consultation wherein I was super prepared and focused. In this case, I was lucky I had the presence of mind to provide my hematology work up paperwork from 2021, and showed up, in agonizing pain, distracted, unfocused. 

"We're going to get through this together," he replied. TBH, I don't know how I managed to hear those words and not burst into tears; however it would be several days later before the shock of the DVT diagnosis finally set in and I was able to finally feel my feelings, and sob in sadness, terror, and feelings of failure frothed at the surface. "What didn't I do?" I kept asking myself. I had all these surgical interventions, and lifestyle changes, and try to keep moving and make smarter choices--hell--ANY CHOICES, and yet, here I am wondering if the tipping point has been met and I'm going to slide down the slippery slope and become my mother. 

Now for the absurdity--the first appointment I managed to make in my barely functional fog of shock was the hematologist my primary care wants me to see for an evaluation. THE EARLIEST APPOINTMENT IS MARCH. Although my initial response to this has been just shock and disappointment and worry, the hematologist appears to be "of a certain vintage," and might very well be the Dr. F., in hematology. 

Next appointment I set up was cardiology. I had an appointment on the books for January 8th, but now that this recent diagnosis popped up, I don't want to be trucking into NYC for all the follow ups etc. So I asked my existing cardiologist if I should come in for that appointment and schedule the TTE which was mentioned during my last visit, or should I just go see the cardiologist in the same group as the primary care and the hematologist. My cardiologist said everything with my heart is fine and stable and I can wait until February to see the new cardiologist local to me.

I looped my orthopedic surgeon in on everything, and he seemed perplexed by it all, despite the fact even a preliminary search online shows that patients post-op from joint replacement have like a 10-20% risk of developing a clot. I am not sure what to think of this, but he did state how I did not mention the leg cramps. I said I thought the cramps started after last visit (July--5 months ago), but I know for a fact I mentioned a dull ache deep in my groin.

Hindsight is always 20/20, and of course, I was raised not to feel my feelings, so it has been quite the process for me to even know what I am feeling now, but early on, I was literally in shock this was happening and worried about a stroke lurking in the shadows. However, in hindsight I do remember having horrible leg cramps, but they were a rarity, and usually only happened when I spent an entire day in NYC walking about 10,000 foot steps in between and after appointments. I'd come home and think it was just my electrolytes out of whack and I'd eat a banana or drink some coconut water and the cramps would dissipate. How was I supposed to know that I was in danger?

Hematology in March and cardiology in February notwithstanding, the first appointment with a specialist is tomorrow, when I see both, my primary care doctor first thing in the morning, and then I see the vascular specialist. I am hoping the latter will have some answers for me, but from what I can determine from what I've read, and while I don't know if I'll be on the Eliquis for the rest of my life, at a minimum I will be on it for 3-6 months. 

Now regarding the title of this post, the brighter side, if there is a bright side to having a DVT--I remembered that my grandmother had a stroke and fell down a flight of stairs, and roughly my age (+/-) when this happened. So, my dvt could have been or had a worse outcome. But I'm still in pain and worried every day that I'll have another horrible painful cramp, and worried about a stroke, and what all this ultimately means for the quality and length of my life.