FLASH….AHHHHHHHH

This is bullshit. Utter bullshit. I would like to speak to a lawyer.

Warning: I’m about to get a bit TMI. Turn back now if you need to.

As we all know, (or should, at least,) when women reach a certain age, things tend to get a bit…odd. Maybe a little unbalanced. Maybe even a touch unpleasant. At least, that’s what I thought. That’s what I was taught in every biology class. Even the polite older ladies in my life hinted that changes would one day come and they might not be the best. So, you know, a genteel decline in certain biological processes would happen. Fine. I expected it, even welcomed it, because what are these changes but the eventuality of being a human woman. That is what I was told.

But no one, and I mean no one, told me that things can go beyond that and enter the world of coocoo-banana pants-awful. That is where I am right now.

If you had asked me at any point during my life between age 12 and a maybe earlier this year, I would have told you that I sometimes had it rough. Oh, I didn’t feel good. Oh, I had some cramps. Oh, I was a little weepy for no reason. You know, the same thing most women go through*. But if you had ever told me that I would get to a point where I would gladly lie in bed with a heating pad on my abdomen and Midol coursing through my bloodstream at almost toxic levels, I would have told you to shut your whore mouth because you were a liar. 

Guess what though…I’d take that heating pad/Midol combo in five seconds at this point if it meant I could just feel normal a couple of days later, because it has been a LONG time since I felt anything close to normal.

I mean, the emotional toll is one thing. What sort of biological joke is it to wake up one day and think...huh, why does no one love me? Why do I feel useless? Why have I done nothing with my life? Why don't I want to do anything? I have all of these hobbies, but none of them bring me joy anymore, so I keep buying supplies in hopes I want to do them, but they just pile up on different surfaces because I can't bring myself to do any of them. Why do I feel like crying all of the damn time? Why do I make other people miserable because my stupid brain, already riddled with OCD and abandonment issues, makes me question whether or not the people who DO stay around me even want to be there? So when I question that, they get mad. I didn't used to be like that! Even in my most PMS-iest of days, the worst I ever wanted to do was beat someone with a loaf of French bread, but now I'll have spells where I feel like the most alone person who has ever aloned? Like I am a void in the shape of a person.

The mental toll?  Let's add all of those things I just mentioned and then make it so I can't think of words in the middle of an actual conversation. So not only do I feel awful, I can't use my own dang words to express how I feel. There used to be certain words like "refrigerator" and "filing cabinet" that I couldn't think of on a regular basis for some reason. Now it's words like "shoe" and "headache" and probably a whole dictionary worth of other ones that I can't think of right this second! Imagine having a conversation and the person you're speaking to just goes blank. I fucking BUFFER when I'm talking to someone! It's so embarrassing! I also have zero motivation to do anything. I have to bribe myself to get out of bed by telling myself that I can get right back into bed after coming home from work. Nothing sounds interesting, but when something DOES sound interesting, it isn't interesting enough to make me want to do it. Sometimes I just go to bed because that's the only thing that sounds good. But then I wake up a thousand times during the night with the most God-awful thoughts running through my head. It's like someone shaking me awake just so I can think of every bad thing I've ever done. It's so exhausting, but not exhausting enough to put me to sleep apparently. When I'm not mentally doom scrolling, my brain is fuzzy and sticky, like it's full of gum someone dropped on the carpet.

Now, I get it. All of that sounds like depression, and maybe that could be part of it, but I've been depressed to the point of being medicated for it before, and this somehow feels different. This feels mean. Like something out in the universe doesn't like me and has put my voodoo doll in a shoebox filled with mud and buried me in the backyard but left just enough of a gap in it so I can see the outside world. Maybe I am being cursed by a very vindictive and very inexperienced witch, and I don't like it.

But even with all of those things, the physical toll is by far the worst damn thing I'm dealing with at the moment! I am always, always, always tired. Always. I'm jumpy to the point where doing normal things feels terrifying. I'm hungry and then not hungry, and then hungry again but the only thing that sounds good to eat is junk food (which I shouldn't eat, but do) and then that makes me feel awful. My body is doing all the stupid things that happened before, except for the important thing that usually marked the end of the unpleasantness. Don't worry, I'm not going to get any more graphic than that. I've gained weight in places that I've never gained weight before! I literally gained 10 pounds in 40 days, and that shouldn't even be possible for me. My skin is being weird. How do I have super dry skin, and still have breakouts?  How do I end up with random chin hairs? Why do I look like all the color in my face and hair is just draining away? I had to dye my hair! I hate dying my hair!!  But if I didn't, it looked like I was turning invisible!  Also, I'm starting to look my age! Do you know how odd that is for me? I've never looked my age before! It's body horror every time I look into the mirror!  

But the thing I hate the most?  The hot flashes. The Mother. Fucking. Hot. Flashes.

I hate being hot. Being hot makes me violent. I live in the south, so I know what being hot feels like, but this is something else. This is something sinister. I will be sitting in my chair, or lying in the bed, and a tactical nuke goes off in my chest and melts my face off. THE CALL IS COMING FROM INSIDE THE HOUSE. I get hot, then I get cold, then I'm sweaty, then I have to take off my clothes so that I don't burst into flames. A no pants day now and again is fine, but that should be because I want to and not because every cell in my body is going through fission. All of this happens with no warning, at work, in the car, at home, in bed. I will try to power through it, but I literally feel like I'm on fire. I have told my GP about it, and she told me what to take OTC for it, and I did, but it doesn't work anymore. You know that volcano lady on the movie Moana? I am her. I am melting and full of lava and anger and I hate every second of it. I've even managed to be cold and hot at the same time, which makes my brain short circuit. I have to sleep with ice packs! This is not a thing that should happen!!!!! To top it off, the one doctor that I had that could properly address the situation freaking RETIRED and then I had to find another one and couldn't get an appointment until March! For the love of God and all his angels.

So right now I'm a big, mopey, lumpy, sizzling hot (and not in a good way) person who feels like an alien has invaded my body and didn't read the owner's manual before taking it for a test drive. 

But other than that, I'm fine!

Hope things are going well with you! :)

*I know every woman is different. Some have issues, some don't. I'm generalizing here.

RANDOM ACTS OF BLOGGING

Hello.

How are you? 

This is just proof of life, and to let you that nothing interesting is going on right now. Unfortunately.

I work, I eat, I sleep, and I shop for things. Mostly things to eat, hehe!

Let's see... 

1) I went to a wedding, which was nice and sweet. The bride and groom are young and in love and will eventually have a million babies. I didn't know how many instrumental Taylor Swift songs existed until the reception. I wore a blue and white dress and my matching blue Converse high tops and I danced with the groom's grandmother! She was super cool.

2) I don't wear uncomfortable shoes anymore! If I have to dress up, I just wear my glitter Converse or my fake Doc. Marten's. If I really, really have to be a grown up, I have a pair of black flats. Heels can go straight back to hell where they belong.

3) I have almost completed the Tennessee Whisky Trail, which means I've been to about 20 distilleries, and have about 10-15 more to go. I've learned that I don't really like bourbon or whisky, but I get a game piece every time I visit one of these places and I'm determined to collect them all! Doing a shot at each place is a small price to pay to reach a goal, I think.

4) Geez, sorry, I really don't have a lot going on. I wish I did. I wish I had something exciting to tell you, but mainly I wanted to let you know I was still alive (as of this writing, at least) and kicking.

Hopefully I'll have something fun to tell you again soon.

Hope you're doing well.

THE ABSOLUTE GALL

As you know, I had weight loss surgery in December of 2021. It wasn't a particularly radical one or anything, having my stomach size reduced by 80% notwithstanding, but I chose to have the kind I did because of the low instances of recurring, unpleasant side effects. At most I lost about 90 pounds, then put a few back on (feck), but other than that the whole process has been fairly uneventful.  

However, there was one possible side effect that I was warned about from the beginning, and it was that my gallbladder might go bad. I didn't know what they meant, medically, by "going bad" but at my periodic appointments with the surgeon, I was told that if I had any problems with it to call them right away.  "Sure thing" I thought! "How will I know if it's going bad?" I also thought. Turns out it's fairly easy to know. 

Thankfully, I didn't get into a situation where I was being rushed into the emergency room or anything like that, but when the twinges began in earnest, I got an appointment. They sent me to have an ultrasound, and a hida scan, which is where I was injected with radioactive tracer and parked under something that looked like a time machine and left for an hour and a half. When it was done, I was asked by Austin, the radiologist who looked like he was still in high school but who has a 4 year old, if I had any issues. There was a minor twinge, I said. Tell your doctor, he said. So, I did.

Apparently, if you feel anything at all during the hida scan, that means you probably have trouble. You can live with the trouble and let it get worse, or you can have the gall bladder taken out. I opted to have it taken out so that I didn't have to feel like whoever it is who has my voodoo doll (I know who it is!) was constantly sticking a pin into my side. What I didn't realize was that the doctor was going to want to do it the next day. He had a graduation to go to over the weekend, after all, and didn't want to miss it. 

I was weirdly ok with that, because I didn't have time to get nervous about anything, and so the next morning I went to the surgery center and had that sucker ripped out. It wasn't a bad surgery, it didn't take a long time, and the worst part was the CO2 gas that they inflated by abdomen with hurting like a MFKR afterwards. Steve gave me my phone while I was still pretty high from the anesthesia, and I answered some texts, so it was fun reading those later. One of my friends sent me some funny memes that made me laugh, and that hurt, but otherwise, I went home just a couple of hours later.

The doctor told me that some people are up fixing dinner later the day of the surgery, and some of them "complain for the next six weeks" and I was determined to be the former. I did fix dinner that night, although I didn't eat it. Dude, my side HURT. It felt like I'd been shot by a harpoon. Also, he said I had a rogue gallstone lodged in an organ or tube or something that would need a second procedure to remove and had me set up for that. However, the second doc had me get an MRI the next day, which didn't show anything concerning, and that procedure was cancelled, thank goodness. The description of that second procedure sounded 100 times worse than the surgery I'd just had, so thank you MRI gods! The surgery was on a Wednesday, and I did take one day off of work, and then had the weekend. I went to a soccer game that Saturday, which was really stupid because I felt like I was being stabbed, but by Monday I was more or less ok. It still hurt and I was so very tired, but I was ok. No one at work would let me do anything, though. I'm not supposed to lift anything heavy or do anything strenuous until my follow up appointment. Even the CEO basically took something out of my hands and did it for me when she saw me about to do something she didn't think I should have. I've realized that I don't like people doing work I should be doing, and I'm not at all good at asking for help, so I'm glad these people are looking out for me.  

I was in quite a bit of pain for about a week, and then I laughed and something in my side popped and then didn't hurt as much. I don't know if that's good or bad, but at least I didn't have to take pain meds after that! The worst part, post-surgery, is learning what I can and can't eat anymore. Some things do nothing; other things feel like lava racing through my body. I hear that gets better. Maybe? God, I hope so.

Now for my next trick, I have to go see a cardiologist. During my ultrasound, they found I have slight pericardial effusion, or fluid around my heart. Thankfully it isn't that bad, but it was suggested that I get it looked at to make sure. Part of me wants to not find out about it, but the rational side knows I need to. So, I'm going to have to get the courage to call that guy. I will. One day. Maybe. 

So that's the most exciting thing that's happened to me in about a year. I hope whatever is going on with you is better than that and doesn't require any incisions!

UPDATE

Hello. 

It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?

I didn’t feel like writing here for a long time. In fact, I almost shuttered the whole thing. Something stopped me, though.

Things got bad. Very bad. Maybe the worst they’ve ever been for me so far, and to be honest, I wasn’t sure I’d survive it. But I did. Granted, I’m a bit battle scarred, but still here.

The divorce didn’t happen. I genuinely thought it would. I was terrified. I told people. I started making plans and trying to figure out what I was going to do, but ultimately, we didn’t do it. It hasn’t been easy, and things are still a bit raw in spots, but we came out on the other side.

I was too afraid to say anything just in case. I still am, a little. But I decided that maybe someone might want to know.

Lots of things have changed in the past year. I’ve lost people who meant the world to me, and I’ve had to learn to adjust, but I’m ok for now.

Things are still strange, but I’m grateful for what I have. We’ll see what happens.

I hope you’re well, too.