But I don’t want to talk about the physical pain. I don’t want to talk about the marks on my breast from the permanent marker. The lumps my doctor found. The weekend to think about what they mean and quickly educate myself on all things Boob. The appointment. Rushing around beforehand at work like everything is OK. They ask me such nonsensical things.
“Don’t you know where I am going today?”
“Don’t you know what my body feels like?”
“Don’t you know I don’t give a fuck about the commas or periods in the cell in the excel spreadsheet that no one will see and can’t you see it’s so inconsequential compared to our greater work at hand, in the office and outside of it?”
Swirling in my frazzled skull.
Then she rubbed the gel into my breast. I asked her if it was a boy or a girl, she said Twins. We both laughed, she said “You really think I never heard that one before…”
Her voice drifted off as I thought about other things, but I don’t know what. I was there for the ultrasound, it was happening, but somehow I was able to drift off into a place of peace. I could almost hear ocean waves in the distance, feel a warm beach day on my skin.
The doctor came in. They inspected the screen and told me the lumps were just the texture of my breast.
Everyone had told me I would be waiting days to hear from someone about the results of the ultrasound. A lot of what I read indicated to me there was a very small percentage these little bumps could be cancer, if they were even bad bumps. But in my research I had learned there are also good bumps.
However, the human hand can generally not distinguish the good from the bad through skin. Even if WebMD says with authority that THIS is what bad feels like there is always a caveat that says “but sometimes good ones that feel smooth and round are actually devil’s spawn here to eat your insides out with Cancer mites.”
No, it doesn’t say that on WebMD but imagine if hackers got in there one day and wreaked havoc.
What If all the bad sad stressed information was taken off of that site for one day. What if people could let their brain rest easy.
I wish it was the simple. Some people don’t have health insurance and WebMD’s fear propaganda is the best thing they have for medical advice. Others have such awful symptoms that even taking down the website wouldn’t stop their pain.
I stopped taking all advil and tylenol several weeks ago. Almost every doctor tries to push it on me. No. Last year a doctor told me to take one of them once every day for a couple weeks. I did, and I had the WORST stomach pain of my life. If my body gets bad now, I try to stretch, bath, rest, BREATHE, lay down, move, exercise– taking a pill is not a substitute for those things.
But how can one focus when the pain is trying to claw its way through my body, My back is killing me. My left side of my body is killing me.
But good news, guys, they said no more Fibromyalgia. At least that’s what one doctor said, the one I trust. But that doesn’t help me until they look into my nerves. “What do you mean nerve study? I’ve got more nerve than…”
and she remembered she was never good at finishing those sentences.
I want to type more but it is bedtime.
I am still working full-time, which means I need to sleep. The good news at this exact moment is I can go cuddle with my emotional support animal (yes seriously, and without him, I probably wouldn’t have made it this far since
- fibromyalgia diagnosis
- move out
- witnessed thing I have to testify for in court
- losing my job overnight thanks to FTC
- traveling to Portland and Los Angeles
- single life – men suck still [update soon]
- new job
- insanity at new job
- new and worsening symptoms
) end of that parenthetical thought.
That’s from August 2018 to now. So it’s no wonder why my body says
“FUCK YOU world”
and my heart says
“I’m doing alright”
and my brain says
“Let’s go learn some new shit!”
My heart and brain are good. My body is — well you know. I’ve already told you so many times. But the thing is, this is one of the few places I can go and say it a couple of times. I can’t where I live, she doesn’t want to hear it. I can’t at work, I don’t want to be seen as a complainer. Work is able-ist. I can’t vent with most friends, because they don’t know how to handle it or I don’t know how to give it to them.
I’ve got a few places to go, like rooms of recovery, but right now I needed to vent. And this is my place. My fort. My treehouse.
Maybe by writing this, someone else who suffers from mental illness and addiction, like me, and who also has chronic pain, like current me, can learn there is a way to handle this triple threat to our lives in a sane, sober, and graceful way.
I’m not always graceful. Sometimes my ego gets in the way, like last week at work. Sometimes I am at a lost for words with complicated family dynamics, or I have too many words because I react and engage with their drama or emotion too fast. Sometimes my managers reveal how little they know about what is going on at our job and it scares me that a $100m project is in the hands of such incompetence.
I can ALWAYS hit the Pause button. I am learning that in Al Anon. It’s a slow motherfucking process. Slower than the darkness of solitary confinement where time moves but doesn’t. Like a raindrop that fights gravity and slows itself down because losing its form is death.
The rain outside is soothing. A hot tea and invigorating foot-rub sounds amazing right now.
But instead I am going straight to bed after my many pills [bedtime pills, not reference to intention to overdose]. Many of my pills are vitamins. Very few are for mental illness. Not that it matters or is your business. But I get a lot of shit and ignorance from family and friends. Judgement. They never knew someone like me before I came into their life, so they only have me to compare me to. Bipolar, anxiety, PMDD, alcoholic, codependent. I think I have a few other titles/labels/diagnoses but that’s all I can think of right now.
Okay. Nothing “drop mic” worthy but at least I put “pen to paper.” Feels good. Maybe next time I’ll write up some of that steamy erotica I’ve been saving for a rainier day…