As I lay here in bed, snuggled up in a robe that feel's like a hug from a cumulus cloud, I can't help but think what a difference a week makes. Let me start by saying I came home from a very long workday to a new robe, slippers, and matching eye mask from the world's best boyfriend. It's hard not to get a case of the warm fuzzies from that. I am wrapped in happiness right now, which feels a little hypocritical since I spent the bulk of last week in a funk so deep I thought I might never know joy again.
Last week brought a number of trials and I felt like a miserable failure more and more as each hour passed. I studied my tail off for a series of finals that can only be described as pure hell. Walking out of final after final feeling like I screwed the pooch did a number on my self-esteem and once again I wanted to throw in the towel on the Dr. thing. I felt as though nothing I could do would ever be enough. Then, after finishing exams and deciding that although my work life is unfulfilling, at least I have been given the opportunity to make decent money and not have to worry about finances for awhile. Cut to four hours later, when I am told that budget cuts have reduced my weekly billable hours to 30. More and more kept happening, hour by hour, that made it feel like I was being drop kicked by life, not to mention all this stress was making my IC symptoms go postal.
Despite all my positivity based posts, and attempts at keeping the faith, last week felt like I might never see sunshine again. I was heartbroken in all aspects of my life, so when my mother suggested that I would get through this, and it was just the dark before the dawn, I felt like firing back with negativity, but I was simply too drained. So I took her word for it, and tried to keep my despair from swallowing me whole.
I woke up Friday morning to a tear and mascara stained pillow to the realization that all of these issues I'm facing are yet again out of my control. I can't retake exams, or negotiate for more hours with a state agency that is hanging on by a thread, and there are people making choices that I can't change. Ugh, here it is again. I can't change anything, I can only change how it affects me. Seriously, this blog is becoming less about IC and more about learning how to change my attitude everyday. Sorry y'all.
However, I learned a new lesson about controlling my reactions this time. Normally, I would feel like my plummet into temporary depression was a failure, but, you know, I think I needed it. We can't keep it together all the time. I needed to be a little heartbroken for a little while. I needed to grieve the loss of my expectations for school, work, personal life, because once I did that I was more able to accept new realities. Most amazingly, as soon as I started to let go of my expectations, life threw me a few bones. As unhappy as I was last week, I am equivocally happy this one. It's hard not to be happy in a new robe. What a difference a week makes.
Monday, December 12, 2011
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
Saturday, December 3, 2011
Pinterest and Pissypower
I've noticed lately that I have ceased to have independent thoughts of my own; I just see photos and phrases that I like on Pinterest and re-post them. Anyone else having this problem? Anyone else waiting an eternity for the coveted Pinterest "invitation"? I think they should start kicking off some of the super zealous country fried moms on there and start giving out passwords to simple souls like myself who just want to steal ideas on how to turn paper mache water balloons into candle holders.
Speaking of stealing things from Pinterest, I came across this quote today and I really liked it. Granted, I could do without the shabby not-so-chic butterfly background and the interesting attempt at typography, but the message is the same no matter how you try to dress it up. "At any given moment you have the power to say this is not how the story is going to end." Now, I'm not saying we should flog every dead horse into the ground, but I like the idea that I have the power to say "when", or to have a say in how a story is going to play out.
As most of you have probably gathered from my previous posts, I have been traveling down the road toward medical school for over two years now. This road trip has about two more years on it before I reach my destination, and there have been a lot of times I've wanted to take detours or turn around or just stop where I am and set up shop. If I had realized my own capacity or had a little more faith in my ability to decide my future, I probably would already be a medical student, having followed through in college. Life is a series of hurdles however, and most of the time struggling is more character-building than just achieving your goals flat out (at least that's what I'm going to tell myself when I see classmates of mine already graduating medical school). In college I gave up and thought, "well this just isn't who I'm supposed to be" and I told myself that having the maturity to let it go was the real success. In some situations it is, but I was selling myself so short I think I almost missed out on my spot in the world. The amazing thing is, years later it hit me that even though I had shut that door, a window was open and I had to make the choice whether or not to close it. It literally is never too late (unless you're in your 90's, in which case, it's time to let go). It's never over, til YOU say it's over.
I also like this quote because it makes me appreciate the situations in which we have no say in the outcome, just how we deal with it. There are a lot of things out of my control in life and before IC came along I couldn't come to terms with that. Let's be real, I'm still working on fighting my inner control freak, as J will attest. At least I am aware now. Finding out that I would have IC forever made me think about how long forever would be if I let this become my defining characteristic. I can't change the physical effects of IC, but I can control the effect it has on my dignity, my personality and my character. This IC story is going to have new chapters throughout my life but I get to be in charge of if and how it changes me. IC may have power over my body, but I have the power to say how I want this story to go, and no one can control that, but me.
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
Friday, November 25, 2011
Piss happens.
Well, it's been quite awhile since I have written about IC, the original topic of this blog, so I suppose I should sneak one in every now and then, right? If you are a reader of this blog for reasons other than IC, you may want to skip this one as it is probably TMI.
It's been two months since I underwent hydrodistension, which is a "surgery" used to diagnose IC. When they fill the bladder with water so that it stretches, a normal bladder wall will remain pink and smooth, however an IC bladder looks like it has the measles. Even coming out of anesthesia, and having no idea what the inside of a bladder should look like, I knew as soon as I saw my pictures that something was amiss at the Circle K. Hydrodistension is also performed as often as every six months as a therapeutic tool (if you have one of those insurance companies that cares about you...wonder what that's like!). For reasons unknown, stretching the bladder like a water balloon gives most people with IC a few months of pain relief. So far, the shooting pains in my urethra, which I mistook for passing kidney stones, have not returned. THANK GOD. Alas, some of the stranger symptoms of IC have returned. Each person with IC experiences their own range of symptoms. Mine include urinating as often as six times an hour (seriously, yesterday I went right before getting in the shower, and had to go as soon as I got out again), and always feeling like my bladder is full, but rarely being able to empty it completely. I will be honest in saying I'm not in pain as much as discomfort. It's like having an itch I can't scratch or a joint I can't pop. Some days I forget I have IC and others I am very aware.
There is something new going on however, that I am apprehensive about sharing, perhaps because I will have to admit it might be a real problem in my future, or maybe just because it is both embarrassing and personal. I haven't told anyone this, not even J (who knows way too much about my bathroom escapades), but as the blog gods are my witnesses, I said that I would be open and honest about my IC, so here it is.
Yesterday I almost peed my damn pants. Not in the "I can't hold it anymore" sense, but the "what the hell? Did a drop just come out!?" sense. I felt as though whatever muscle keeps you from letting go was about to let go on it's own and I tried to hold it until I made it to the bathroom. Unsurprisingly, I wasn't able to go. At least five times a day the full bladder sensation sends me sprinting to the bathroom on a fool's errand. This feeling of almost losing control out of nowhere was new though. It was the first time since being diagnosed and coming to terms with IC that I got angry and scared and bitter and pathetic. It was the first time I really hated my body for betraying me. I'm 25 and I swear to God if I start pissing myself....I mean I was the kid who never wet the bed (right, Mom?). I was the one at parties who could hold it and let the girl who looked close to tears go in front of me. Hell, I once held it for a ten hour bus ride in Ghana because the only place to go was on the side of the road and I thought it would be rude to go on some poor family's coffee plants. I am not the girl who pees herself!
It's low moments like these, and I know there are going to be a lot more, that make me wonder if this is Karma. This has to be punishment for something bad I've done, mean things I've said, committing the seven deadly sins, right? Then it dawns on me, "how self-absorbed is that?" Just the thought that there is a cosmic force out there keeping tabs on all my wrong doings, and paying me back by making me piss my pants, is so hilariously self-centered. I'm sure the Karmic forces have their hands full with Kim Jong-il and Charles Taylor and the Kardashians (just kidding.....kind of). The truth of the matter is that piss happens. My bladder didn't stop doing it's job because I've been bad, and it's not going to get better because I'm good. It is what it is, the future will be what it will be, and even though I may not always see the silver lining, I just have to accept it. For now, I'm going to stick the whole "I almost peed my pants like a 5 year old" thing in the denial file and cross that bridge when I get to it. Hopefully in no less than 60 years.
It's been two months since I underwent hydrodistension, which is a "surgery" used to diagnose IC. When they fill the bladder with water so that it stretches, a normal bladder wall will remain pink and smooth, however an IC bladder looks like it has the measles. Even coming out of anesthesia, and having no idea what the inside of a bladder should look like, I knew as soon as I saw my pictures that something was amiss at the Circle K. Hydrodistension is also performed as often as every six months as a therapeutic tool (if you have one of those insurance companies that cares about you...wonder what that's like!). For reasons unknown, stretching the bladder like a water balloon gives most people with IC a few months of pain relief. So far, the shooting pains in my urethra, which I mistook for passing kidney stones, have not returned. THANK GOD. Alas, some of the stranger symptoms of IC have returned. Each person with IC experiences their own range of symptoms. Mine include urinating as often as six times an hour (seriously, yesterday I went right before getting in the shower, and had to go as soon as I got out again), and always feeling like my bladder is full, but rarely being able to empty it completely. I will be honest in saying I'm not in pain as much as discomfort. It's like having an itch I can't scratch or a joint I can't pop. Some days I forget I have IC and others I am very aware.
There is something new going on however, that I am apprehensive about sharing, perhaps because I will have to admit it might be a real problem in my future, or maybe just because it is both embarrassing and personal. I haven't told anyone this, not even J (who knows way too much about my bathroom escapades), but as the blog gods are my witnesses, I said that I would be open and honest about my IC, so here it is.
Yesterday I almost peed my damn pants. Not in the "I can't hold it anymore" sense, but the "what the hell? Did a drop just come out!?" sense. I felt as though whatever muscle keeps you from letting go was about to let go on it's own and I tried to hold it until I made it to the bathroom. Unsurprisingly, I wasn't able to go. At least five times a day the full bladder sensation sends me sprinting to the bathroom on a fool's errand. This feeling of almost losing control out of nowhere was new though. It was the first time since being diagnosed and coming to terms with IC that I got angry and scared and bitter and pathetic. It was the first time I really hated my body for betraying me. I'm 25 and I swear to God if I start pissing myself....I mean I was the kid who never wet the bed (right, Mom?). I was the one at parties who could hold it and let the girl who looked close to tears go in front of me. Hell, I once held it for a ten hour bus ride in Ghana because the only place to go was on the side of the road and I thought it would be rude to go on some poor family's coffee plants. I am not the girl who pees herself!
It's low moments like these, and I know there are going to be a lot more, that make me wonder if this is Karma. This has to be punishment for something bad I've done, mean things I've said, committing the seven deadly sins, right? Then it dawns on me, "how self-absorbed is that?" Just the thought that there is a cosmic force out there keeping tabs on all my wrong doings, and paying me back by making me piss my pants, is so hilariously self-centered. I'm sure the Karmic forces have their hands full with Kim Jong-il and Charles Taylor and the Kardashians (just kidding.....kind of). The truth of the matter is that piss happens. My bladder didn't stop doing it's job because I've been bad, and it's not going to get better because I'm good. It is what it is, the future will be what it will be, and even though I may not always see the silver lining, I just have to accept it. For now, I'm going to stick the whole "I almost peed my pants like a 5 year old" thing in the denial file and cross that bridge when I get to it. Hopefully in no less than 60 years.
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
Happy Thanksgiving, Y'all
I'm not going to lie, I woke up this morning in the Bitter Barn. As I logged onto facebook I was inundated by hundreds of messages about people traveling home to see their families, craving their mom's cooking, etc. I don't get to spend Thanksgiving with my family because I have an evil teacher who is requiring me to stay in class until 9:30 p.m. tonight, with the threat of failing if we miss. This isn't much of an inconvenience to the 99% of students whose families live in the New Orleans area, but the 1% like me are pretty offended. Someone suggested that I merely "talk to the teacher and explain that my family lives 6 hours away". Nice suggestion, if she were a hooker with a heart of gold, but this is the teacher who gave me a zero for the day while I was in surgery. I've come to the conclusion that the idea that everyone is inherently good and kind is, well, crap. Some people just aren't kind and a semester spent with this woman has made me convinced of this.
Ok, now I need to make a list of gratitudes before I dive into a full-blown pity party:
1) Although I don't get to spend this day with them, my family is healthy. We received news that an acquaintance of J's, who was in a terrible accident with his wife and two young children a few weeks ago, was taken off life support yesterday, and his wife is still fighting for her life. There are things SO much worse than missing my second Thanksgiving in a row. In fact, I feel a little petty now as I imagine how this family will feel tomorrow.
2) I get to spend the day with the love of my life. Miraculously, the ship scheduled for tomorrow decided not to come to port until Friday, so I get to spend tomorrow with my other family; J and our pets :)
3) I get an extra day to study....and boy do I need it!
4) Thanksgiving is the day that J has deemed officially acceptable to deck the halls, so I finally get to add a little sparkle to our home, which invariably will put me in a good mood while I prepare to survive the last two weeks of school.
Happy Thanksgiving, everyone! I hope you get to spend your day with the ones you love!
Ok, now I need to make a list of gratitudes before I dive into a full-blown pity party:
1) Although I don't get to spend this day with them, my family is healthy. We received news that an acquaintance of J's, who was in a terrible accident with his wife and two young children a few weeks ago, was taken off life support yesterday, and his wife is still fighting for her life. There are things SO much worse than missing my second Thanksgiving in a row. In fact, I feel a little petty now as I imagine how this family will feel tomorrow.
2) I get to spend the day with the love of my life. Miraculously, the ship scheduled for tomorrow decided not to come to port until Friday, so I get to spend tomorrow with my other family; J and our pets :)
3) I get an extra day to study....and boy do I need it!
4) Thanksgiving is the day that J has deemed officially acceptable to deck the halls, so I finally get to add a little sparkle to our home, which invariably will put me in a good mood while I prepare to survive the last two weeks of school.
Happy Thanksgiving, everyone! I hope you get to spend your day with the ones you love!
Monday, November 14, 2011
Happiness is overrated.
I haven't written in quite some time, partly because life has been busy, but mostly because I haven't felt inspired by anything lately. Nothing too terrible or too wonderful has happened to thrust me into a blogging flurry. In fact, my life has felt consistently in a rut lately. Wanting to avoid writing a bitter diatribe, I just haven't written at all. Today however, in an attempt to procrastinate from studying, I came across an article on the Nobel Prize winning journalistic marvel that is People.com that got me thinking. I know, the articles that get me thinking should probably be from the New York Times or CNN, but let's face it, mindless time-wasting celebrity fodder is just easier to stomach these days than following sex abuse scandals and watching our economy fall apart. The article was written about an interview that Brad Pitt had with Australian TV. Normally I'm not too interested in what's going on with the Jolie-Pitt's and their multi-cultural child army, but like I said, I'm procrastinating. When asked if he was happy in life his response really hit home for me.
"I think happiness is overrated, truthfully. I do," he says. "I think sometimes you're happy, sometimes you're not. There's too much pressure to be happy. I don't know. I don't really give a shit. I know I will be at times and I know I won't be at times. Satisfied, at peace, those would be goals for myself."
Holy crap! Anyone else feel a huge sigh of relief over those words? I know I did. Lately, I haven't been happy. Maybe it's hormones, not enough vitamin D, the fact that my IC symptoms are really obnoxious, or just the fact that I don't like school and I don't like my job. I have spent more than a few nights lying awake trying to put my thumb on my general apathy for life lately. J and I are experiencing a rut. Is it that? Am I unhappy in my relationship? When I think about a life without him in it I get truly sad, so whatever is making me unhappy has to do with nobody else but me. There are a lot of things contributing to it and sometimes when I'm in a valley it feels like I need drastic changes to get me on top of a hill instead. Then that snowballs into over-dramatism about the state of my life, which just isn't a good color on me.
I had never considered that the idea of constant happiness IS overrated. Just because I'm not happy now doesn't mean that I don't have an amazing life full of blessings and a lot of happiness ahead of me. Now that I think about it, who wants to be happy all the time? It would be like living life as a chocolate lab puppy....annoying as shit. As cliche as it sounds, maybe the valleys are necessary to make us fight for the hills, and appreciate the view when we're up there. I just need to stop over-analyzing my life and stop trying to force happiness into every nook and cranny. Hell, I will probably be happy the second I stop trying to be so damn happy.
Philosopher Pitt has it right. The goals of being satisfied and at peace with yourself (and I'm going to add in being aware of your blessings) are enough for the times when perhaps unconfined joy isn't necessarily overwhelming your soul. I'm really grateful that my penchant for vapid celebrity news paid off today because I'm pretty sure that the top of the next hill is right around the corner and I don't want to miss the view by always trying to go higher. I'm fine just getting through this rut, appreciating it for what it is, and looking forward to what's next.
"I think happiness is overrated, truthfully. I do," he says. "I think sometimes you're happy, sometimes you're not. There's too much pressure to be happy. I don't know. I don't really give a shit. I know I will be at times and I know I won't be at times. Satisfied, at peace, those would be goals for myself."
Holy crap! Anyone else feel a huge sigh of relief over those words? I know I did. Lately, I haven't been happy. Maybe it's hormones, not enough vitamin D, the fact that my IC symptoms are really obnoxious, or just the fact that I don't like school and I don't like my job. I have spent more than a few nights lying awake trying to put my thumb on my general apathy for life lately. J and I are experiencing a rut. Is it that? Am I unhappy in my relationship? When I think about a life without him in it I get truly sad, so whatever is making me unhappy has to do with nobody else but me. There are a lot of things contributing to it and sometimes when I'm in a valley it feels like I need drastic changes to get me on top of a hill instead. Then that snowballs into over-dramatism about the state of my life, which just isn't a good color on me.
I had never considered that the idea of constant happiness IS overrated. Just because I'm not happy now doesn't mean that I don't have an amazing life full of blessings and a lot of happiness ahead of me. Now that I think about it, who wants to be happy all the time? It would be like living life as a chocolate lab puppy....annoying as shit. As cliche as it sounds, maybe the valleys are necessary to make us fight for the hills, and appreciate the view when we're up there. I just need to stop over-analyzing my life and stop trying to force happiness into every nook and cranny. Hell, I will probably be happy the second I stop trying to be so damn happy.
Philosopher Pitt has it right. The goals of being satisfied and at peace with yourself (and I'm going to add in being aware of your blessings) are enough for the times when perhaps unconfined joy isn't necessarily overwhelming your soul. I'm really grateful that my penchant for vapid celebrity news paid off today because I'm pretty sure that the top of the next hill is right around the corner and I don't want to miss the view by always trying to go higher. I'm fine just getting through this rut, appreciating it for what it is, and looking forward to what's next.
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
Hahahahahaha!
This morning I stepped on our notoriously inaccurate scale, just to see ballpark where I am weight-wise. I ran 2 miles yesterday then walked another 3 with J and Roux, so obviously I must have lost like 15 lbs right?! Oh, it's so sad how my hopeful thinking works sometimes. Well, I stepped on and ping! the scale flew past my usual weight, saying that in the last two weeks I have gained over 60 lbs. Hahahahahahahahaha. Seriously, scale? You think I'm going to buy into your evil trickery? Our scale is like a live-in used car salesman. I did the math on how many calories I would have to have consumed over the last two weeks to validate this super-reliable scale's assertions. 3,500 calories consumed or shed is equivalent to a pound gained or lost, so I would have to have eaten an extra 210,000 calories in the last two weeks to gain 60 pounds. That's a lot of halloween candy.
Sometimes I think life throws me a bone and gives me a little chuckle every now and then to keep things light and to remind me not to take myself too seriously. I have a long day of mind-numbing schoolwork ahead of me, and I've been sleeping like a mother with a newborn lately because my bladder wakes me up every couple of hours, but I started this morning off with a laugh. If you ask me, that is the best way to start a day.
Sometimes I think life throws me a bone and gives me a little chuckle every now and then to keep things light and to remind me not to take myself too seriously. I have a long day of mind-numbing schoolwork ahead of me, and I've been sleeping like a mother with a newborn lately because my bladder wakes me up every couple of hours, but I started this morning off with a laugh. If you ask me, that is the best way to start a day.
Monday, October 31, 2011
Failure Dwelling
On Saturday, J and I hosted a Halloween party at our house. I spent way too much time and money creating a Hedwig costume, and to my amazement J went along with the plan by dressing up as Harry Potter without complaint. I absolutely love Halloween, probably because it elicits some of my favorite childhood memories. I have no unhappy memories of Halloween as a child (which I can't say about other holidays), so it probably became one of my favorite days for that reason.
However this year, unfortunately, I created a bad memory all by myself, without anyone's help. A friend from high school whom I haven't seen in about 7 years happened to be in town and stopped by the party right around the time it was winding down. We started catching up about people we know in common and I ended up making a snarky comment that, although it was true, would have been better left in my own head. The friend, as it ended up, was still rather close to the person I made the comment about and although I am sure they have not thought of it since, my actions haunted me for the rest of the weekend.
What upsets me most is that I gave the wrong impression of who I really am now. I am not actively a hurtful or shallow person, but that is what I sounded like. I have come too far from the horrible days of high school, always being talked about by the girls in my class, to have acted like them the first chance I got. I am not that person and I realized in that moment that the things we say and the way we portray ourselves cannot be taken back. More than anything I wish I could remove the foot from my mouth.
I spent the next day tortured by my comment, feeling disgusted with myself. After talking to the true compass that is my mother, I realized that I can't and won't always say and do the right things, and to wallow in self-loathing won't make me any better a person. Later that day, while watching my totally un-guilty pleasure The Biggest Loser, I heard one of the trainers pep-talking a contestant that had an incessant need to please and act perfectly, which inevitably lead to a snowball effect of feeling like a failure. "People are terrified to mess up or fail because they think they have to be perfect to be loved. Failure is what teaches us to be better people. Failure makes us more lovable, not less." (I'm paraphrasing my homegirl Jillian Michaels. Off topic, Biggest Loser just isn't the same this season without her.) That comment really had an impact on me. For so much of my life my self-worth has been measured by how much or how little I mess up, stick my foot in my mouth, or fail at being the person I really want to be. Hurting someone's feelings or realizing I've embarrassed myself by saying something I shouldn't have stays with me. I can easily recall plenty of times that I've said something inappropriate or hurtful, and my heart will race and my cheeks will flush, even if it was years ago. Even worse, in true Southern form, I constantly have to fight the urge to apologize for every word I've said and opinions I've voiced. My college roommate and best friend Rachel once told me if I didn't stop apologizing for everything she was going to give me the silent treatment. If my family had a "cuss jar" for every gratuitous "I'm sorry" we would have enough savings to vaccinate a small island or invest in one of those drive-though zoos.
These times that we say or do the wrong thing are inevitable, but I think how we choose to rebound from them is the real measure of failure or success. If I continue to dwell on how I missed the mark on representing myself, I will really fail, because I will be wasting the best of me, stagnating in the past. The best course of action in this scenario is to be mindful of how my open-mouth-insert-foot moment made me feel, and I can try not to replicate it. I also can't let all the fun memories I made that night be overshadowed by the one low point. I had so much fun with our friends and the night was a success and the true pity would be if I didn't let that be the thing I remember.
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
Bravery
One year ago yesterday I received a call that changed my life. My mother called me in the middle of the afternoon to say that she couldn't talk but that she wanted me to know she was driving my father to rehab. I didn't get any other details; all I knew was the thing that I had prayed for every day since I was old enough to understand what rehab is, was actually happening. Yet all I could feel when I heard those words was horrible sadness. I couldn't stop thinking about the fact that my Dad was about to be dropped off at a rehab center, stripped of all his belongings and humiliated. I knew enough to know that this center was no Malibu Promises, where he would receive spa treatments as an incentive not to drink. This place was a different kind of "come to Jesus". All I could imagine was that it must feel like being booked into jail, for an unknown sentence. I felt overwhelmed with guilt for praying for this and an urge to protect him from pain (all those good emotions that are products of an alcoholic childhood) and I couldn't handle it. Mixed in with my pity for what he was about to endure was skepticism and the fear of becoming hopeful that this would work. What a roller coaster of emotions are attached to loving a substance-dependent person.
One year, one day, and a lot of pain and growth for everyone later, my dad is a year sober and we have never been so close. If you would have told me a year ago that I would have a family that I could trust, a family with a sober father, I would have been really hurt and offended by your optimism. To be honest, the fear that one sip of vodka could take all this away in an instant is constant, but I can't waste the happiness that he has given us by constantly wondering if this is the calm before the storm, or just a cruel taste of what life can be like when my dad is sober.
Although my fears are valid, and are unlikely to cease, I can't determine the future, and more importantly, I can't prevent him from drinking. To dwell on the fear of loss would also be a discredit to the amazing amount of work he has done and he is continuing to do. Instead, I would rather try to emulate his bravery. He woke up every day for three months, away from his family, work, all comforts and had to spend it facing the reality and magnitude of his disease. He admitted it to work, to friends, to the entire family, to anyone and everyone, without shame. To me, there is nothing more honorable than admitting you need help and actually finding and utilizing it. I have spent the better part of my life trying to make my father proud and now I am full of pride in him.
When I think about my family, bravery is what comes to mind. My sister is never afraid to stand up for what she thinks it right, keeps going for what she wants, and she has no qualms about herself. No matter how much I beg her to grow out her hair or joke about her refusal to learn how to apply eyeliner, she is steadfast in who she is, and I respect that about her. Knowing who you are and being proud of it is a special kind of bravery that few people have, and I am lucky to have an example of how to really be your own person.
It would take a whole day to write all the ways my mother is brave. If I think about it for too long I'll get misty eyed and it would be pretty embarrassing to start crying in physics class (that's right, I'm not paying attention...again). She has stood with my dad for over thirty years and has never stopped fighting for our family to survive. After raising two kids and giving all her energy and time to others, she was brave enough to find her passion in art, and started giving back to herself the attention she has given others for so long. She and I share the same fear of failing at our passions, having put ourselves out there and invested out hearts, but she never lets her fear conquer her. My mom is the person who taught me that the only way we can ever fail is by never trying.
Bravery has many forms, but when I reflect on what it means for my family, I think that it isn't about being fearless, but rather doing what is hard despite fear. I hope that I can live up to the example set by my family. Tonight, looking back on the year we've had and the blessings that have resulted from bravery, my cup runneth over, and I couldn't be more grateful.
One year, one day, and a lot of pain and growth for everyone later, my dad is a year sober and we have never been so close. If you would have told me a year ago that I would have a family that I could trust, a family with a sober father, I would have been really hurt and offended by your optimism. To be honest, the fear that one sip of vodka could take all this away in an instant is constant, but I can't waste the happiness that he has given us by constantly wondering if this is the calm before the storm, or just a cruel taste of what life can be like when my dad is sober.
Although my fears are valid, and are unlikely to cease, I can't determine the future, and more importantly, I can't prevent him from drinking. To dwell on the fear of loss would also be a discredit to the amazing amount of work he has done and he is continuing to do. Instead, I would rather try to emulate his bravery. He woke up every day for three months, away from his family, work, all comforts and had to spend it facing the reality and magnitude of his disease. He admitted it to work, to friends, to the entire family, to anyone and everyone, without shame. To me, there is nothing more honorable than admitting you need help and actually finding and utilizing it. I have spent the better part of my life trying to make my father proud and now I am full of pride in him.
When I think about my family, bravery is what comes to mind. My sister is never afraid to stand up for what she thinks it right, keeps going for what she wants, and she has no qualms about herself. No matter how much I beg her to grow out her hair or joke about her refusal to learn how to apply eyeliner, she is steadfast in who she is, and I respect that about her. Knowing who you are and being proud of it is a special kind of bravery that few people have, and I am lucky to have an example of how to really be your own person.
It would take a whole day to write all the ways my mother is brave. If I think about it for too long I'll get misty eyed and it would be pretty embarrassing to start crying in physics class (that's right, I'm not paying attention...again). She has stood with my dad for over thirty years and has never stopped fighting for our family to survive. After raising two kids and giving all her energy and time to others, she was brave enough to find her passion in art, and started giving back to herself the attention she has given others for so long. She and I share the same fear of failing at our passions, having put ourselves out there and invested out hearts, but she never lets her fear conquer her. My mom is the person who taught me that the only way we can ever fail is by never trying.
Bravery has many forms, but when I reflect on what it means for my family, I think that it isn't about being fearless, but rather doing what is hard despite fear. I hope that I can live up to the example set by my family. Tonight, looking back on the year we've had and the blessings that have resulted from bravery, my cup runneth over, and I couldn't be more grateful.
Sunday, October 23, 2011
Little victories!
I did it! I ran my first 5K yesterday in 40 mins and 9 sec, which is pretty slow, but, holy moses, I did it! I have to say it was one of the coolest experiences I've ever had. Thousands of people turned out for the Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure and it was moving to see how many men, women and children were there to celebrate breast cancer survivors and remember those they have lost to the fight. I knew that adrenaline would be pumping through me, but I had no idea how exhilarating it would be to run in a sea of pink. There were so many people dressed in tutus and capes and costumes, keeping it light and joyous. I ran the race next to a U.S. Army soldier who wore full combat fatigues, with a pink helmet and a fake pink uzi (his loaded backpack slowed him down to my snail's pace). Just watching him fight through it motivated me to keep moving.
There were so many moments while running that I desperately wanted to stop but I couldn't stop thinking about how I would feel if my mom, sister, or friends had breast cancer. I thought about the people I know, and friends of friends, battling this disease, and everywhere I looked around me, people had the names of their loved ones pinned to their backs, and I just kept going. It was emotional and moving and so enjoyable to be out there on a beautiful day, running with strangers, all of us fighting for the same thing.
Around 1.5 miles my IC symptoms really kicked in, but I just kept telling myself that there were women with actual cancer running, and if they can do it, my bitchy bladder can do it too!
I am so grateful and pretty proud of how I lived my life this week. I didn't let the mountain of schoolwork I had to do send me into a panic spiral and I tried to put my huge exam into perspective. Trying to actively control my stress really helped keep my IC symptoms under control and I like to think that I achieved my goal of not lashing out against those I love when things get tough.
Managing my schedule day by day and attempting not to think more than a week or two ahead is helping to keep me in the present. We have to find ways to make our lives manageable because there will always be a million things we need to do and personally, I don't want to wake up in 50 years and realize I merely "made it through" my life. By living day to day, handling things one by one and trying not to let everything snowball, is really giving me the ability to enjoy life more than I previously had. I hope I can keep it up!
Monday, October 17, 2011
Too bad I hate yoga...
Have you ever had a week where literally everything in your life is coming to a head? That is this week for me. I have so much I need to do at work, time intensive assignments and quizzes in every class, the second of three huge tests in a class that tells medical schools whether or not they should take me, and let's not forget that my "I can only run one mile without ralphing" self signed up to run a 5K, which I should really be training for! On top of that, after a few weeks of blessed relief, some of my IC symptoms are returning. Now, that sounds like the classic recipe for a major Anna meltdown if you ask me. However, this week a meltdown would just be an epic waste of time.
I feel like this is going to be a true test of the changes I am trying to make in my attitude and the way I live my life. I don't just want to get through it without killing someone, I want to succeed at managing my stress. That means I am going to have to make every moment count and have purpose. I need to prioritize, keep a cool head and be extra careful not to turn into Medusa when, inevitably, something doesn't go how I need it to. I have to set aside my graduate degree in procrastination and face work that I don't want to do head on. Through all of this, and most importantly, I want to remain kind to my friends, family and J, and remember that the universe doesn't revolve around my world.
This being said, I need to stop writing and get to work! At least Aggie likes to keep me company while I study, although her side-eye tells me she is "sooo over" biochemistry too.
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
It all comes out in the wash.
My apologies again for such time between posts. I know you guys are just waiting for each new post like it's Santa that's coming! At least the reason for my absence is a good one; my sister is in town and we have been having so much fun, I haven't had time to write, (or anything to complain about enough to try to find the positive in the negative). I find that I am inspired to write when something goes wrong in my life, and then when I am able to put it in perspective I feel like that is worth sharing.
Tonight I sat in physics class (the least favorite part of my week) feeling mutinous against my professor. A problem has come up with the online homework interface we use and instead of doing her part and finding out how to fix it, her response to me was that I should contact the company and let her know what they say. Sure, no problem, there is nothing I love more than paying a small fortune for a class to do your job, and I have bundles of free time! So, yeah, I felt a touch bitter and that quickly escalated into fear and panic that I will fail this class due to unfair grading and a giant conspiracy to ruin my future as a physician (insert a seriously overdramatic damsel in distress moment here).
I decided to take a deep breath, face the inevitable and log on to our class website to check my grades. At this point I am still planning my impassioned speech to the dean about the unfairness of this class. I give really good principled speeches in my head. To my great surprise the test that I thought would ruin me has magically turned into a 95 due to a seriously generous curve. As I came down from my damsel's tower, (and off my soap box in the dean's office) I started to feel a little bit ashamed of my overreaction. I just let myself get so bent out of shape over something that is not that big of a deal. Even if I get a few bad homework grades and my frustration continues, chances are things will all even out. Physics probably won't kill me. Probably.
The more I overreact, the more I have noticed a bit of a trend going on in my life that can be summed up as, everything comes out in the wash. What I mean is that eventually, everything tends to even out. Whether it's class, work, housework, family, life in general, the good things and the bad things at least attempt to cancel each other out. As a science student you would think I would have noticed the correlation between chemical systems' tendency to maintain equilibrium and life's tendency to give us some semblance of balance. That's not to say that often it feels as though life has delivered more than we can handle, but is it possible that maybe we could handle it all a little better if we reminded ourselves that we can?
I tend to spiral into panic when things are out of my control, as those who love me know all too well, especially when the situation is particularly unfair. Whoever said that life isn't fair was right, but that doesn't mean I like it. I forget in these moments to stop and remember that, as my mom says, nothing is forever. Maybe things won't be fair or get better tomorrow, but I truly believe that the universe doesn't allow us to suffer or spiral or strain forever. Eventually something or someone will show up on the scene to restore equilibrium. The key is to get our heads out of our asses long enough to see what's arrived. You can't ever see the light at the end of the tunnel if you are facing the wall, and don't I know it. I think I've spent the better part of my life staring at that wall, as if some sort of life coach hieroglyphs are going to appear. It usually takes someone like my mom or J to yell at me from the end of the tunnel, to make a change.
This is easier said than done to those out there who are really hurting, really feeling overwhelmed by their current situations. I've been there; I'm practically paying rent there, and trust me, trying to convince yourself at that moment to believe the lyrics of an Annie song is next to impossible. But if nothing else, when I've stopped sobbing pathetically and I let myself be reminded that nothing is forever, it feels better to believe that maybe tomorrow things will even out, and maybe even surprise me with greatness.
Tonight I sat in physics class (the least favorite part of my week) feeling mutinous against my professor. A problem has come up with the online homework interface we use and instead of doing her part and finding out how to fix it, her response to me was that I should contact the company and let her know what they say. Sure, no problem, there is nothing I love more than paying a small fortune for a class to do your job, and I have bundles of free time! So, yeah, I felt a touch bitter and that quickly escalated into fear and panic that I will fail this class due to unfair grading and a giant conspiracy to ruin my future as a physician (insert a seriously overdramatic damsel in distress moment here).
I decided to take a deep breath, face the inevitable and log on to our class website to check my grades. At this point I am still planning my impassioned speech to the dean about the unfairness of this class. I give really good principled speeches in my head. To my great surprise the test that I thought would ruin me has magically turned into a 95 due to a seriously generous curve. As I came down from my damsel's tower, (and off my soap box in the dean's office) I started to feel a little bit ashamed of my overreaction. I just let myself get so bent out of shape over something that is not that big of a deal. Even if I get a few bad homework grades and my frustration continues, chances are things will all even out. Physics probably won't kill me. Probably.
The more I overreact, the more I have noticed a bit of a trend going on in my life that can be summed up as, everything comes out in the wash. What I mean is that eventually, everything tends to even out. Whether it's class, work, housework, family, life in general, the good things and the bad things at least attempt to cancel each other out. As a science student you would think I would have noticed the correlation between chemical systems' tendency to maintain equilibrium and life's tendency to give us some semblance of balance. That's not to say that often it feels as though life has delivered more than we can handle, but is it possible that maybe we could handle it all a little better if we reminded ourselves that we can?
I tend to spiral into panic when things are out of my control, as those who love me know all too well, especially when the situation is particularly unfair. Whoever said that life isn't fair was right, but that doesn't mean I like it. I forget in these moments to stop and remember that, as my mom says, nothing is forever. Maybe things won't be fair or get better tomorrow, but I truly believe that the universe doesn't allow us to suffer or spiral or strain forever. Eventually something or someone will show up on the scene to restore equilibrium. The key is to get our heads out of our asses long enough to see what's arrived. You can't ever see the light at the end of the tunnel if you are facing the wall, and don't I know it. I think I've spent the better part of my life staring at that wall, as if some sort of life coach hieroglyphs are going to appear. It usually takes someone like my mom or J to yell at me from the end of the tunnel, to make a change.
This is easier said than done to those out there who are really hurting, really feeling overwhelmed by their current situations. I've been there; I'm practically paying rent there, and trust me, trying to convince yourself at that moment to believe the lyrics of an Annie song is next to impossible. But if nothing else, when I've stopped sobbing pathetically and I let myself be reminded that nothing is forever, it feels better to believe that maybe tomorrow things will even out, and maybe even surprise me with greatness.
Thursday, October 6, 2011
Living your truth.
Yesterday the world lost not only a visionary in Steve Jobs, but a decent human being who understood what it means to really live. I don't claim to be an expert in the teachings of Mr. Jobs but it is hard to find argument in one of his quotes: "Your time is limited, don't waste it living someone else's life." Could this possibly be the answer to the age old question, what is the meaning of life? I think what Mr. Jobs meant, in part, is that the meaning of life is to live your own truth. Not just having the career you dream of, or the partner who completes you, but really navigating life via your own compass. For me, living the life that is mine means attempting to make my actions mirror what I believe is good and true. I fail so often but maybe the journey is the real goal. I think Mr. Jobs understood that success isn't measured in dollars, grades, prestige or how many Twitter followers you have but rather the legacy of actions you leave behind you. I hope that when my time comes I can go in peace knowing that I lived my life, my truth and, like a good girl scout, left the campsite cleaner than I found it.
It is horrifying to me that he was forced by his body to leave a family and a world he had such an impact on, so young. At the risk of sounding pathetically trite, I am so damn sick of cancer. Breast cancer, pancreatic cancer, skin cancer, colon cancer. Every expletive I know but have the maturity not to type (shit, who are we fooling?) comes to mind. The good news is I feel like the tides are turning and the rest of the world is really getting fed up too. Stand Up to Cancer and other foundations are kicking ass, stem cell research is booming, in other countries at least, and people everywhere with cancer are deciding to live as hard as they can, as long as they can. The attitude is changing from devastation to determination, cancer fighters are getting scrappy and I love it. Even as I am watching TV, a Warriors in Pink commercial is on!
I don't have cancer, by the grace of God my family is healthy, but so many people I know and love are fighting like champions. The least I can do is support them, so I am doing the unthinkable, putting my words to action and getting off my lard ass to run in the Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure. I literally can't wait to get out there and be moved by the survivors, the families and the thousands of men, women and children who are coming together to say, "We've had it!". I am so excited to be a part of it and I hope that I can make all you women proud by finishing!
It is horrifying to me that he was forced by his body to leave a family and a world he had such an impact on, so young. At the risk of sounding pathetically trite, I am so damn sick of cancer. Breast cancer, pancreatic cancer, skin cancer, colon cancer. Every expletive I know but have the maturity not to type (shit, who are we fooling?) comes to mind. The good news is I feel like the tides are turning and the rest of the world is really getting fed up too. Stand Up to Cancer and other foundations are kicking ass, stem cell research is booming, in other countries at least, and people everywhere with cancer are deciding to live as hard as they can, as long as they can. The attitude is changing from devastation to determination, cancer fighters are getting scrappy and I love it. Even as I am watching TV, a Warriors in Pink commercial is on!
I don't have cancer, by the grace of God my family is healthy, but so many people I know and love are fighting like champions. The least I can do is support them, so I am doing the unthinkable, putting my words to action and getting off my lard ass to run in the Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure. I literally can't wait to get out there and be moved by the survivors, the families and the thousands of men, women and children who are coming together to say, "We've had it!". I am so excited to be a part of it and I hope that I can make all you women proud by finishing!
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
To feel or not to feel...
My apologies to my loyal followers, (all five of you), for my lack of posts. The day before yesterday was spent marathon studying from 6 a.m. to 6 p.m. then being brutally assaulted by a mental minefield of an exam. When I got home the only thought I could form was, "Must make face meet pillow." Then last night as I was about to start writing I was hit with a very strange mini-bout of what seemed like food poisoning. For whatever reason the blog-gods did not want me posting, but today is a new day!
I wrote almost an entire post this morning about a negative interaction I had with someone yesterday, and in a move that can only mean growth, I deleted it. Yesterday is over and today is my last day of school before a two day reprieve and my sister coming in for a visit! Our relationship has changed so much over the past year. We used to be so at odds, so hurtful to one another, and now I can't remember the last time something hateful was said. I am so very grateful that we are becoming closer, and even more grateful that on her one week of vacation she wants to come see me. My biggest sisterly faux-pas recently is that I very carelessly scheduled a class during Survivor, when we are supposed to have a standing date of texting one another about 100 times per episode. Mom, you may hate reality TV, but it has brought your girls closer!
I am especially grateful for my health this morning. Particularly because whatever bug had ahold of me last night has departed, but generally because all day yesterday I received news of friends of friends who are suffering so greatly. I think it is important for me, as one of the 3 million women in America with IC, to remember that I have the right to whatever emotions come up about my diagnosis, but I have the responsibility to put my struggles in perspective. I do not have cancer, diabetes, Crohn's, etc. that affect the people that I know and love. I have a pissy little problem, but I have my health.
Lately, I have not been in much pain, which is a wonderful side effect of the cystoscopy I had. They said I could go without pain for three months as a result. This however has led to a struggle lately to find what to write about, because I am wondering if writing about something that isn't affecting my life the way others are suffering is petty and trivial. Is writing about my journey with a disease that hasn't dramatically affected my quality of life selfish? I don't know. This may sound absurd, but it is almost as if I feel guilty for being well right now, or like I need to actually be suffering to have the right to be writing a blog about this disease. Does anyone else feel like they don't have the right to be vocal when they are having "a good day"? Has our society dictated that with all the suffering out there, we can only emote when things are shitty?
It seems to me that there is a thin line between gratitude and guilt, and we Southern women have worn that line permanently into the ground. There will always be someone who is suffering much more than us, but I don't think that means we have to feel guilty for trying to process our own lives as they come at us, day by day. We have to find the protected space in between gratitude and guilt, so that we can come to terms with our own tribulations while keeping the trials of others in our thoughts, prayers, or whatever else allows us to feel empathy. I really just want what I express in this space to be about knowing you are not alone in your struggles, whether you are sick or not.
I wrote almost an entire post this morning about a negative interaction I had with someone yesterday, and in a move that can only mean growth, I deleted it. Yesterday is over and today is my last day of school before a two day reprieve and my sister coming in for a visit! Our relationship has changed so much over the past year. We used to be so at odds, so hurtful to one another, and now I can't remember the last time something hateful was said. I am so very grateful that we are becoming closer, and even more grateful that on her one week of vacation she wants to come see me. My biggest sisterly faux-pas recently is that I very carelessly scheduled a class during Survivor, when we are supposed to have a standing date of texting one another about 100 times per episode. Mom, you may hate reality TV, but it has brought your girls closer!
I am especially grateful for my health this morning. Particularly because whatever bug had ahold of me last night has departed, but generally because all day yesterday I received news of friends of friends who are suffering so greatly. I think it is important for me, as one of the 3 million women in America with IC, to remember that I have the right to whatever emotions come up about my diagnosis, but I have the responsibility to put my struggles in perspective. I do not have cancer, diabetes, Crohn's, etc. that affect the people that I know and love. I have a pissy little problem, but I have my health.
Lately, I have not been in much pain, which is a wonderful side effect of the cystoscopy I had. They said I could go without pain for three months as a result. This however has led to a struggle lately to find what to write about, because I am wondering if writing about something that isn't affecting my life the way others are suffering is petty and trivial. Is writing about my journey with a disease that hasn't dramatically affected my quality of life selfish? I don't know. This may sound absurd, but it is almost as if I feel guilty for being well right now, or like I need to actually be suffering to have the right to be writing a blog about this disease. Does anyone else feel like they don't have the right to be vocal when they are having "a good day"? Has our society dictated that with all the suffering out there, we can only emote when things are shitty?
It seems to me that there is a thin line between gratitude and guilt, and we Southern women have worn that line permanently into the ground. There will always be someone who is suffering much more than us, but I don't think that means we have to feel guilty for trying to process our own lives as they come at us, day by day. We have to find the protected space in between gratitude and guilt, so that we can come to terms with our own tribulations while keeping the trials of others in our thoughts, prayers, or whatever else allows us to feel empathy. I really just want what I express in this space to be about knowing you are not alone in your struggles, whether you are sick or not.
Sunday, October 2, 2011
Letting what you give be good enough.
I have to start this post by stating that I am exhausted tonight. Nothing about today felt humorous or super enlightening. Today was just one of those days without enough hours. It's hard on days like these to be satisfied with what you gave. I began beating myself up mentally about an hour ago about not accomplishing everything I should have today, but I was able to stop my running brain, slow down, and be proud of what I did do.
What I am proud of today is that I conquered the mountain of excuses I have built for myself, stopped everything I was doing and I went for a good run. I have always been one of those people that sort of thinks that if God meant for us to run he would have given us four legs and a spine parallel to the ground. I also silently judge (i.e. die of jealousy) my beautiful friends that run everyday like it's a sport. Oh, it is a sport. Shit. I hate running for a number of reasons, mostly because I'm awful at it, but the real reason I let myself get out of it daily is that I really loathe the pain of a bouncing bladder and I am terrified of getting miles from home with nowhere to pee. One of the joys of IC is that you always feel like your bladder is going to explode. About a month ago I had to sprint into the bathroom of the local grocery store that is, I kid you not, less than 500 yards from my house. I only made it three minutes into my run without feeling like I might burst. As soon as I got another 500 yards, it hit again and I had to turn around. Guess I should have known right then that something in the milk wasn't clean, huh? So, I have given myself a legitimate excuse not to run, jump or do anything that makes me want to pee. I have let myself become apathetic, docile and totally miserable with my cottage-cheese ass. So today after realizing I could balance my computer on my super toned buddha belly, I got my head in the right space and I ran as far as I could before the "Oh shit, get me to a bathroom!" set in. To my surprise I made it a mile without stopping, and better yet I made it the mile back home without hauling ass into the grocery store. I even took Roux for a walk afterward. To most people that's nothing, but for me it's big. So today, I am accepting that short workout as a job well done. Tomorrow I will try again, and that is all I can ask from myself.
Never being satisfied with what you accomplish is a dangerous path to walk down, and chances are you will end up on that path alone, because it is exhausting being around someone who is never satisfied. All too often I let myself fall into that trap, beating myself up for not being on top of my game all the time, or not rising to the occasions I should have. Let's be honest, most of the time we are hard on ourselves because we are afraid of facing the disappointment of others. But come on, no one is on top of their game all the time and more often than not we are going to fall short of our own expectations and those of everyone else. Enter, Miami Heat. All I can really do is try not to give less than my best effort, and be satisfied with what that is, and be proud of what I've got.
What I am proud of today is that I conquered the mountain of excuses I have built for myself, stopped everything I was doing and I went for a good run. I have always been one of those people that sort of thinks that if God meant for us to run he would have given us four legs and a spine parallel to the ground. I also silently judge (i.e. die of jealousy) my beautiful friends that run everyday like it's a sport. Oh, it is a sport. Shit. I hate running for a number of reasons, mostly because I'm awful at it, but the real reason I let myself get out of it daily is that I really loathe the pain of a bouncing bladder and I am terrified of getting miles from home with nowhere to pee. One of the joys of IC is that you always feel like your bladder is going to explode. About a month ago I had to sprint into the bathroom of the local grocery store that is, I kid you not, less than 500 yards from my house. I only made it three minutes into my run without feeling like I might burst. As soon as I got another 500 yards, it hit again and I had to turn around. Guess I should have known right then that something in the milk wasn't clean, huh? So, I have given myself a legitimate excuse not to run, jump or do anything that makes me want to pee. I have let myself become apathetic, docile and totally miserable with my cottage-cheese ass. So today after realizing I could balance my computer on my super toned buddha belly, I got my head in the right space and I ran as far as I could before the "Oh shit, get me to a bathroom!" set in. To my surprise I made it a mile without stopping, and better yet I made it the mile back home without hauling ass into the grocery store. I even took Roux for a walk afterward. To most people that's nothing, but for me it's big. So today, I am accepting that short workout as a job well done. Tomorrow I will try again, and that is all I can ask from myself.
Never being satisfied with what you accomplish is a dangerous path to walk down, and chances are you will end up on that path alone, because it is exhausting being around someone who is never satisfied. All too often I let myself fall into that trap, beating myself up for not being on top of my game all the time, or not rising to the occasions I should have. Let's be honest, most of the time we are hard on ourselves because we are afraid of facing the disappointment of others. But come on, no one is on top of their game all the time and more often than not we are going to fall short of our own expectations and those of everyone else. Enter, Miami Heat. All I can really do is try not to give less than my best effort, and be satisfied with what that is, and be proud of what I've got.
Saturday, October 1, 2011
Kissing Negative Nancy goodbye (sorry to the Nancy's out there, the silent victims of alliteration).
Today marked the beginning of the one week a year of nice weather in New Orleans. A cool breeze is blowing and the humidity decided to take a sick day for once. It's saturday and I feel like I should be out pretending to exercise or letting my dog Roux know what outside looks like. Instead, I am stuck to a desk studying my least favorite subject in the world: physics. I have a major exam on Monday and so far this week I have let this whole "recovering from anesthesia" thing be a perfect excuse not to study. So here I am, window open, breeze blowing in, pouting because I have to study instead of enjoying the outdoors.
This is a prime example of my tendency to be a pissypants. Lately I've been ruminating on the changes I am going to have to make in my attitude in general, let alone my attitude about IC, in order not to become a miserable cow. I, like so many, have a tendency to complain...a lot. I have known this about myself for years. In fact it's the one thing I hate most about other people (obviously because I hate it most about myself - thanks freshman psych!). With this new diagnosis of IC, which implies a lot of future discomfort, it is going to be dangerously easy to slip on down that bitch slope. It's an actual reason to complain, and if you are a complainer like me and have an actual reason to complain...hold on to your hat. It won't even take effort to find something to whine about.
The thing is though, I don't want that to be me. I don't want to be one of those people that everyone hates to be around. I want to become a person who elevates the mood of those I surround, not send everyone on their way thinking, "Man, she's obnoxious." The first step is admitting you have a problem. So here it is, I am a whiny biatch. Now that I've admitted it and realized that I have been handed Grade A fodder for my grumpiness, I need to work extra hard to be aware of my attitude.
So yeah, it sucks that I'm not sitting outside at my favorite bring your pup bar, sipping a pint, but you know what sucks even more? The fact that most women around the world don't have the privilege of schooling, bettering themselves and actually achieving their dreams. So today I am completely grateful that I am stuck inside studying physics. I am especially grateful that IC may have been the wake up call I needed to change my attitude about everything.
Friday, September 30, 2011
The long and winding road...
According to the Mayo Clinic the average lapse between onset of IC and diagnosis is four years. Four years!? That's college. Looking back I wonder, "How long have I had this?". For the past two years I have been in and out of doctor's offices and emergency rooms. I have kidney stones and a history of UTI's (urinary tract infections), which are typically the conditions that mask the fact that IC could be the real problem. I have been on every antibiotic known to man, and yet every other week or so it felt like I was developing a new UTI. It really started to put a strain on my life, not to mention my relationship with J. I felt dirty, infected, contaminated. How are you supposed to be emotionally connected to your partner, when you are keeping them at a distance because you think you're gross?
About a month ago I was home in Texas for labor day, with my family and J. My mom, sister and I had spent the morning chatting and enjoying the first good weather Texas had had all year, while my dad took J golfing. As we sat by the pool sipping spritzers (how waspy is that picture?) I started to feel the all too familiar pain in my lower back and pelvis that I had come to associate with kidney infections. Are you kidding me, body? I am having such a good time. Don't do this to me now! I was on 3000 mg of antibiotics at the time, for various infections, including yet another UTI. Between all the medications prescribed to me by my family physician and urologist, I was taking ten different medications and over 25 pills a day. This took a serious toll on my physical and mental health. A few days prior to my trip to Texas I had a serious meltdown. We're talking can't stop crying, raccoon mascara, snot bubbles, HOT MESS meltdown. No 25 year old who isn't living with cancer should be on that many prescription drugs! I was carrying around a pharmacy in my purse, probably setting myself up for a mugging by a drug lord. And the irony of it all is that I would soon find out that they had nothing to do with the real problem.
I excused myself upstairs to lay down and hopefully work through the pain. Then, I felt a new pain that I had never felt before. It felt as though my urethra was being torn in two. The pain was so unbelievable I couldn't stop vomiting. I spent the rest of that trip and the weeks after in excruciating pain, thinking that I was passing kidney stones. Imagine my surprise when my x-rays revealed I definitely wasn't. This is when my doctor brought up the term IC. She described it as an overactive bladder. I thought, "Ok, well I do pee all the time, but what about all the pain?" She gave me pamphlets about IC that I'm pretty sure I threw away as soon as I got home. This was just one more thing they could use to prescribe another pill. I was definitely in the Bitter Barn. In the past two years, doctors have suspected I have a number of conditions. I have been tested for celiac disease, lupus, MS, every STD there is (that's a fun one to explain to parents), and the kicker...I was told I have diabetes. I DON'T. The past two years have been a roller coaster of diagnoses, antibiotics, specialists and more blood tests than I can count. To top off this fun sundae with a cherry, I have horrible insurance, so this journey has not been a cheap one. I am so lucky to have parents who support me and don't rub it in when I have to make the dreaded "help" phone call. But not everyone has that support, so how much worse is this process of misdiagnosis for others?
Another thing that really burns my cookies when I think about it, is that the Dr. who diagnosed me with IC is the third urologist I have seen in two years. The first was a total jerk who made me feel dirty and infectious and the second performed a surgery to remove my kidney stones, but didn't find anything else wrong with me. I have been bounced around from doctor to doctor and it is so frustrating. I wonder how many people out there are dealing with this pain, probably keeping it to themselves because it is so embarrassing to talk about, or have had a doctor make them feel like a hypochondriac or an untouchable? As a pre-med student why had I never heard about IC? So many why's are taking up space in my brain right now.
I have spent two years feeling sick and tired of being sick and tired. I have felt like a hypochondriac and I have lost the joyous person I once was. I have wondered at least once a week when J is going to get fed up with all my health drama, or when he will start thinking it's all in my head. I know my friends and family are sick of hearing about it. Finally knowing what is wrong, even though it sucks being diagnosed with IC, is such a relief because I feel vindicated. Something IS wrong. I think the hardest part of being sick, for anyone, is not knowing what is wrong, not being able to voice your pain, and not being able to find relief because how can you fix something that you don't know is broken?
To everyone out there, diagnosed or not, if you know in your heart you are sick, that something is wrong, don't give up. Keep fighting until you find out what is wrong. Don't let your doctor bulldoze you. Don't take no for an answer. Don't let naysayers make you feel ridiculous. We have to be our own advocates, because no one else can feel what's wrong. It took me two years to find out, and for the first time I feel like I have my life back and that I'm in the control seat again. I want everyone to feel that too.
About a month ago I was home in Texas for labor day, with my family and J. My mom, sister and I had spent the morning chatting and enjoying the first good weather Texas had had all year, while my dad took J golfing. As we sat by the pool sipping spritzers (how waspy is that picture?) I started to feel the all too familiar pain in my lower back and pelvis that I had come to associate with kidney infections. Are you kidding me, body? I am having such a good time. Don't do this to me now! I was on 3000 mg of antibiotics at the time, for various infections, including yet another UTI. Between all the medications prescribed to me by my family physician and urologist, I was taking ten different medications and over 25 pills a day. This took a serious toll on my physical and mental health. A few days prior to my trip to Texas I had a serious meltdown. We're talking can't stop crying, raccoon mascara, snot bubbles, HOT MESS meltdown. No 25 year old who isn't living with cancer should be on that many prescription drugs! I was carrying around a pharmacy in my purse, probably setting myself up for a mugging by a drug lord. And the irony of it all is that I would soon find out that they had nothing to do with the real problem.
I excused myself upstairs to lay down and hopefully work through the pain. Then, I felt a new pain that I had never felt before. It felt as though my urethra was being torn in two. The pain was so unbelievable I couldn't stop vomiting. I spent the rest of that trip and the weeks after in excruciating pain, thinking that I was passing kidney stones. Imagine my surprise when my x-rays revealed I definitely wasn't. This is when my doctor brought up the term IC. She described it as an overactive bladder. I thought, "Ok, well I do pee all the time, but what about all the pain?" She gave me pamphlets about IC that I'm pretty sure I threw away as soon as I got home. This was just one more thing they could use to prescribe another pill. I was definitely in the Bitter Barn. In the past two years, doctors have suspected I have a number of conditions. I have been tested for celiac disease, lupus, MS, every STD there is (that's a fun one to explain to parents), and the kicker...I was told I have diabetes. I DON'T. The past two years have been a roller coaster of diagnoses, antibiotics, specialists and more blood tests than I can count. To top off this fun sundae with a cherry, I have horrible insurance, so this journey has not been a cheap one. I am so lucky to have parents who support me and don't rub it in when I have to make the dreaded "help" phone call. But not everyone has that support, so how much worse is this process of misdiagnosis for others?
Another thing that really burns my cookies when I think about it, is that the Dr. who diagnosed me with IC is the third urologist I have seen in two years. The first was a total jerk who made me feel dirty and infectious and the second performed a surgery to remove my kidney stones, but didn't find anything else wrong with me. I have been bounced around from doctor to doctor and it is so frustrating. I wonder how many people out there are dealing with this pain, probably keeping it to themselves because it is so embarrassing to talk about, or have had a doctor make them feel like a hypochondriac or an untouchable? As a pre-med student why had I never heard about IC? So many why's are taking up space in my brain right now.
I have spent two years feeling sick and tired of being sick and tired. I have felt like a hypochondriac and I have lost the joyous person I once was. I have wondered at least once a week when J is going to get fed up with all my health drama, or when he will start thinking it's all in my head. I know my friends and family are sick of hearing about it. Finally knowing what is wrong, even though it sucks being diagnosed with IC, is such a relief because I feel vindicated. Something IS wrong. I think the hardest part of being sick, for anyone, is not knowing what is wrong, not being able to voice your pain, and not being able to find relief because how can you fix something that you don't know is broken?
To everyone out there, diagnosed or not, if you know in your heart you are sick, that something is wrong, don't give up. Keep fighting until you find out what is wrong. Don't let your doctor bulldoze you. Don't take no for an answer. Don't let naysayers make you feel ridiculous. We have to be our own advocates, because no one else can feel what's wrong. It took me two years to find out, and for the first time I feel like I have my life back and that I'm in the control seat again. I want everyone to feel that too.
Thursday, September 29, 2011
Pissypants Unite!
After sharing my first blog yesterday I received an overwhelming outpouring of support and love. Every time I woke up last night for the dreaded post-op pee, I would have another email, another message on facebook, another text supporting me. It was impossible to feel sorry for myself with such good feedback. I have to admit I was terrified to put all my personal business out there, but when I received messages from people I haven't spoken to in years telling me they are IC sufferers as well I knew that sharing all this was the right choice.
There is something great to be said about being part of a community that understands your struggles, whether they are medical, emotional or spiritual. As I did more research last night I kept running into the same cookie cutter descriptions about what IC is, but to my astonishment a lot of the major "support" sites would only let you be a member with a monetary donation. Anyone else insulted?! IC has already cost us so much, why should we pay to receive a newsletter, magazine, or join a forum? Yes, the money goes to research and that's wonderful, but right now I still have sticker shock from having to cover 15% of my surgery and the endless co-pays that came with the long and winding road to diagnosis. I know I haven't totally tapped the IC support system out there; after all, this is only day two for me and I am still flying high on the magic carpet ride called vicodin. So for now, I will continue to share my story while I search out all the support I know I will find.
Thank you to everyone who has shared their story and words of encouragement with me. Anyone have stories they would like to share about the long journey to diagnosis? Even if your condition isn't IC, we all know what it feels like to struggle to find out what is wrong with our health, and the toll it can take on our sanity! Thanks for reading and I look forward to learning and sharing more.
There is something great to be said about being part of a community that understands your struggles, whether they are medical, emotional or spiritual. As I did more research last night I kept running into the same cookie cutter descriptions about what IC is, but to my astonishment a lot of the major "support" sites would only let you be a member with a monetary donation. Anyone else insulted?! IC has already cost us so much, why should we pay to receive a newsletter, magazine, or join a forum? Yes, the money goes to research and that's wonderful, but right now I still have sticker shock from having to cover 15% of my surgery and the endless co-pays that came with the long and winding road to diagnosis. I know I haven't totally tapped the IC support system out there; after all, this is only day two for me and I am still flying high on the magic carpet ride called vicodin. So for now, I will continue to share my story while I search out all the support I know I will find.
Thank you to everyone who has shared their story and words of encouragement with me. Anyone have stories they would like to share about the long journey to diagnosis? Even if your condition isn't IC, we all know what it feels like to struggle to find out what is wrong with our health, and the toll it can take on our sanity! Thanks for reading and I look forward to learning and sharing more.
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
How to throw a fabulously glamorous pity party!
First, think about your decor. Hospital chic is the look you're going for. Taupe walls, beds with toddler safety rails, a ridiculously high-mounted television and plenty of beeping machinery are sure to set the mood for this year's see and be seen pity party. Make sure you have the right outfit, of course. My personal favorite is soft, tie-back loungewear and don't forget, nothing feels more glamorous than going commando. Menu, you ask? Sprite and saltines, graham crackers if you're feeling fancy. The right guest list will include plenty of nurses, a family member or two and don't forget those doctors! Now, with just the right cocktail of general anesthesia and painkillers you are set to throw yourself the best pity party ever!
At least, that's how mine went.
Today I was diagnosed with interstitial cystitis. Now, if you're about to go google that shit, stop right there. And whatever you do, DON'T read the Wikipedia page! Boy will you get an eyeful of "You've got to be fucking joking." Before you can even get down to what interstitial cystitis (IC for short, because let's be real, I type like a 3rd grader and that's going to get really old, really fast) is you will see words like "debilitating", "severe", "disabling" and phrases like "quality of life resembles that of chronic cancer pain." Thanks, Wiki, because I wasn't worried enough.
IC is a disease of the bladder which causes chronic pain and a whole host of urinary troubles. From the little bit of info I've gotten from my doctors and reading material, they aren't really sure what causes it or what the pathology really is. There is no cure and it gets worse as time goes on. Awesome possum. The more I search, the more I find out how little information is out there because, similar to infertility and other deeply personal health issues, there's not a lot of dialogue happening. Even if I'm only talking to myself, I am determined to keep the conversation going. I've never been super graceful at the silent sufferer thing.
Now, let me preface this by saying, as far as I can tell, my IC is only mild to moderate at the moment, even though it will likely get worse as time goes on. I know that there are people out there who are suffering a hell of a lot more than me and in no way will I be making light of that suffering. I will, however be busting the balls of my own situation because honestly, when I read ANY of the literature out there on IC, I want to curl up in the fetal position and stuff my face with cookie dough. Finding some humor in this situation is the only way I can keep from crying right now, so that's my current treatment plan.
Now back to this fabulous pity party of mine. As everyone knows, there is always someone who shows up at your party who was not invited. For me, this morning, it was the lovely lady sitting next to me in pre-op. She must have overheard J and me talking about my doctor because she was a patient of hers as well. She asked if I had IC and I told her that today they were performing the procedure to determine whether I have it or not. She proceeded to scoot closer to me and I genuinely thought she was going to grab my hand. She said, almost with tears in her eyes, that she has had IC for 10 years and begins to tell me in great detail of her pain and suffering and that she will pray that I don't have to go through her ordeal. In most situations, when strangers start telling me about personal details of their life I am an empathetic listener and I can easily interject with "Oh my"s and "Bless your heart"s. In this moment however, I was frozen, struck by the pain in her face as she told me about the daily struggle of trying to make people understand what it means to live with IC and the chronic pain it delivers. I think my pity party started a little ahead of schedule, right then and there.
So, cut to the recovery room, where I am severely doped up. In walks my doctor with a series of pictures and the words, "It's definitely IC. We'll meet in a week to talk about treatment options." And that's it. There I am, alone, confused, listening to the nurses talk about Amish people who are using "studs" for sperm donors because they are becoming inbred (I wish I was joking). I laid there, one giant crocodile tear rolling down my cheek, trying not to start my pity party without any guests. As soon as they wheeled me into the room with J and he said, "So did she tell you?" I started bawling. I thought about the woman in pre-op who has this surgery every six months just to relieve the pain. I thought about all the things I was going to miss out on because I would be stuck in the bathroom. I thought WOE. IS. ME.
Now here is the most important part of a fantastic pity party....it has to end sometime. Right now, sure, I'm in a decent amount of discomfort and a little bit of pain, but a lot of sufferers of IC are disabled, so in comparison I'm doing cartwheels. I can wallow, stew and ruin the other parts of my life that are simply overflowing with awesome, or I can live the life I want, just to spite my bitchy bladder. It will probably get worse one day, but today is now and as major as the pity party was, it's time to move on with life. IC will just have to be a part of it.
The purpose of this blog is to vent whatever feelings I am having, good or bad, and to provide a forum for people like me. Today is the first day of my life with IC and I would love to get feedback, tips and tricks, venting and anything else from those with or without IC, urethral syndrome, prostatitis, etc. Thanks for reading!
At least, that's how mine went.
Today I was diagnosed with interstitial cystitis. Now, if you're about to go google that shit, stop right there. And whatever you do, DON'T read the Wikipedia page! Boy will you get an eyeful of "You've got to be fucking joking." Before you can even get down to what interstitial cystitis (IC for short, because let's be real, I type like a 3rd grader and that's going to get really old, really fast) is you will see words like "debilitating", "severe", "disabling" and phrases like "quality of life resembles that of chronic cancer pain." Thanks, Wiki, because I wasn't worried enough.
IC is a disease of the bladder which causes chronic pain and a whole host of urinary troubles. From the little bit of info I've gotten from my doctors and reading material, they aren't really sure what causes it or what the pathology really is. There is no cure and it gets worse as time goes on. Awesome possum. The more I search, the more I find out how little information is out there because, similar to infertility and other deeply personal health issues, there's not a lot of dialogue happening. Even if I'm only talking to myself, I am determined to keep the conversation going. I've never been super graceful at the silent sufferer thing.
Now, let me preface this by saying, as far as I can tell, my IC is only mild to moderate at the moment, even though it will likely get worse as time goes on. I know that there are people out there who are suffering a hell of a lot more than me and in no way will I be making light of that suffering. I will, however be busting the balls of my own situation because honestly, when I read ANY of the literature out there on IC, I want to curl up in the fetal position and stuff my face with cookie dough. Finding some humor in this situation is the only way I can keep from crying right now, so that's my current treatment plan.
Now back to this fabulous pity party of mine. As everyone knows, there is always someone who shows up at your party who was not invited. For me, this morning, it was the lovely lady sitting next to me in pre-op. She must have overheard J and me talking about my doctor because she was a patient of hers as well. She asked if I had IC and I told her that today they were performing the procedure to determine whether I have it or not. She proceeded to scoot closer to me and I genuinely thought she was going to grab my hand. She said, almost with tears in her eyes, that she has had IC for 10 years and begins to tell me in great detail of her pain and suffering and that she will pray that I don't have to go through her ordeal. In most situations, when strangers start telling me about personal details of their life I am an empathetic listener and I can easily interject with "Oh my"s and "Bless your heart"s. In this moment however, I was frozen, struck by the pain in her face as she told me about the daily struggle of trying to make people understand what it means to live with IC and the chronic pain it delivers. I think my pity party started a little ahead of schedule, right then and there.
So, cut to the recovery room, where I am severely doped up. In walks my doctor with a series of pictures and the words, "It's definitely IC. We'll meet in a week to talk about treatment options." And that's it. There I am, alone, confused, listening to the nurses talk about Amish people who are using "studs" for sperm donors because they are becoming inbred (I wish I was joking). I laid there, one giant crocodile tear rolling down my cheek, trying not to start my pity party without any guests. As soon as they wheeled me into the room with J and he said, "So did she tell you?" I started bawling. I thought about the woman in pre-op who has this surgery every six months just to relieve the pain. I thought about all the things I was going to miss out on because I would be stuck in the bathroom. I thought WOE. IS. ME.
Now here is the most important part of a fantastic pity party....it has to end sometime. Right now, sure, I'm in a decent amount of discomfort and a little bit of pain, but a lot of sufferers of IC are disabled, so in comparison I'm doing cartwheels. I can wallow, stew and ruin the other parts of my life that are simply overflowing with awesome, or I can live the life I want, just to spite my bitchy bladder. It will probably get worse one day, but today is now and as major as the pity party was, it's time to move on with life. IC will just have to be a part of it.
The purpose of this blog is to vent whatever feelings I am having, good or bad, and to provide a forum for people like me. Today is the first day of my life with IC and I would love to get feedback, tips and tricks, venting and anything else from those with or without IC, urethral syndrome, prostatitis, etc. Thanks for reading!
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