I don't even know where to begin. I feel like I'm watching someone else's life unfold in 10 different directions. Things used to be so manageable even when the stress level was completely maxed out. Now, I don't know which way to go first. Ever see one of those gizmos on the spokes of a child's bike? Those colorful little beads on the spokes that go out from the center as the bike goes faster, then rise and fall away from the center the slower the bike goes? To say I am at a crossroads would be an understatement. That would imply there are only 4 directions to choose from. I feel like those beads on the tire going up and down and to and from the center on all those spokes. Just along for the ride.
Thursday night, my 9 year-old daughter told me she wanted to make one of those glass bottle trees. She mentioned we would be able to finish one pretty fast because of all the beer daddy drinks. She says, "Dad drinks 4 to 6 beers like every night. He starts when he walks in the door before you get home. He says he does that because he is under a lot of stress, but there are pills for stress, right mom? It's not a good idea to drink all that, is it mom?" Talk about being speechless. A few weeks ago, she made a comment that we can only go somewhere for dinner after work if mommy drives because daddy's had beers already, and how she gets mad if mommy doesn't feel like driving daddy around. It's about an hour's drive each way to and from work. I don't always feel like getting right behind the wheel again, especially to play designated driver. The second half of this incident is even more interesting.
I get a phone call at work on Saturday afternoon from my husband. He asks me why I told our daughter that daddy drinks because he's stressed and that's not good. She told him mommy said there's pills for stress and drinking that much is not good. Their conversation happened when the two of them went to dinner on Friday night while I stayed home and rested. Forgot to mention I had to go back into surgury on Monday, but that's another story. So I'm sitting at work, listening to my husband retell the conversation and I'm correcting him telling him about the conversation daughter and I had the previous night. About a week before this, daughter asked me if I'd ever divorce daddy. Of course I say no, but now everything is falling into place. Daughter is worried and anxious, and is trying to fix everything before it falls apart. First of all, this is a huge sign that we need help. Secondly, as I sit at my desk, I'm realizing I have to have a serious conversation with my husband about his alcohol intake. I'm realizing this is going to get ugly. Honestly, a large part of my anxiety the day he had to pick me up from work came from the strong possibility that he may not have been able to come get me because he had already started drinking. Thankfully, he hadn't.
I trust him, but I can't rely on him. Some would say these are one in the same, but I disagree. For as long as I can remember, I have been the emotional rock. I have always been the consistancy in the craziness. I've always been able to compartmentalize things rationally and realistically...until now. What happens when the rock begins to crumble? What happens when I'm the one who has to raise the white flag? I used to be able to cry. I can't anymore. I just push everything away into the back of my mind, which isn't any healthier than him using alcohol to combat stress and anxiety. I'm fooling myself if I think I can do this for much longer. The problem is, I am a great caregiver. Not so great in the care receiving department. Husband is not so great at the caregiving, but great at receiving it, main reason why I had to go back to surgery. Either way, it's screwed up.
A coworker of mine was talking about anxious people, and how they project their anxiety onto others, that others are the problem and not them. He mentioned several key elements that really got my attention. I'm basically married to anxiety. Calm, cool, collected, even-keeled me is married to the exact opposite. It was shortly after this conversation that my husband called with the above details. After the phone call from husband, I found myself standing there in my office, staring out the window trying my best to stave off a panic attack, wishing for just that moment to be somewhere else, anywhere but where I was, and have to do anything other than what I had to when I got home that night. It's Sunday afternoon as I type this. We have yet to finish the conversation that started yesterday evening. One would not find me so even-keeled as of late. I don't even recognize myself.
Sunday, September 16, 2012
Saturday, September 1, 2012
Now What?
In recovering from surgery, I was blindsided by something I never expected. My surgery went as expected without any complications. I was actually very surprised at how well everything went and how little pain I felt. No, it wasn't pain that caused me to wake up in a panic a few times throughout that night in the hospital. I was having flashbacks. Every nauseating second of what seemed so real shook me physically and mentally. I had already been having similar nightmares since my ER trip.
Almost 5 years ago, an aggressive custody battle over my sons began. My ex-husband tried every trick in the book to gain custody. He regularly called children's services in two states over the course of the battle. They consistently found nothing, but it began to wear on me. Being called out of class to do random drug tests really didn't help either. My boys wanted to live with their dad. I couldn't tell them all the reasons why I knew without a doubt that this was not a good idea at all. My boys began to resent me and my husband. They became angry. Counseling was not cutting it. They were adamant they wanted to live with their dad. So, here I had two children old enough to tell the court their wishes, constant visits from the state, and some court appearances regarding various complaints and/or grievances from my ex (child support adjustments and other demands). I did the hardest thing I have ever done in my life. I let my boys go live with their dad. It crushed me. I literally felt my heart break. Why would I do such a crazy thing? Why would a mother still living and breathing let her children go? Ever read The Wisdom of Solomon? My faith in God was the only thing that kept me going. This whole mess took place while I was finishing up in nursing school by the way. How I did not need matresses for wallpaper, I don't know. This was also the same timeframe that the nightmares first started.
Towards the end of the marriage, he would not take no for an answer. The last 6 months of 1999 were complete Hell on earth. Because I relented, I didn't think it was rape. Because I gave in out of desperation, I didn't think it was rape. Because there were occasions during that time where it was consensual, I was very confused and doubted what I knew was really going on. He would repeatedly poke me in the back right between my shoulder blades with his index finger saying, "I'm not letting you go to sleep until you give me some." Other times he would grope me. I would push his hands away and tell him to stop. He didn't listen or care. He kept on. After he was served with divorce papers on my birthday in 2000, he called to arrange visitation with the boys. During the conversation, one of his comments were,"You know I never raped you." What do you say to something like that? I quickly changed the subject. In hindsight, why would he feel the need to make such a comment unless he knew exactly what he was doing?
Now, back to the days leading up to letting my boys go in 2008. The stress of everything came out in my dreams. Nightmares of those last 6 months repeated themselves on a regular basis. I finally went to a women's place that offered crisis counseling. I met with a counselor and asked her if what had happened was rape or not. I already knew the answer and felt quite stupid for even asking, but was alone in my deduction until that day. She said, "Yes, that is absolutely rape." I broke down into a pile of emotion. I sobbed as she sat right next to me holding my hand. I couldn't speak, only sob. Her silence was comforting and strong. She knew exactly what to do, which was just be there. After some time in her office, I gathered myself enough to talk a little more. I never went back. All I needed was validation and confirmation. I could handle the rest, and I did for a few years...until August 11th.
As I mentioned, the flashbacks after surgery were a total shock, but considering the previous trauma mixed with the location and type of surgery I had, I am not at all surprised at the ensueing events. I felt amazing right after my surgery. Almost zero anxiety. The twinges were almost nonexistent by then. It all changed overnight. I'm right back where I started, but I know it will be ok. It's a minor setback. I know I need help. I'm not a fool. Kind of like that saying, "A lawyer who represents himself has a fool for a client." Similarly, "A nurse who manages her own mental health has a fool for a patient." Yeah, I just made that up. Now, the search begins. I know Prolonged Exposure Therapy is what I need. I know what to expect. I just need to find someone especially great at what they do because I'm picky like that.
As a side note, my boys still live with their dad. We are closer now than we ever would've been had they stayed with me. They love my husband and call him "Dad". By the time they realized "what a tool" their dad really was (their words not mine), they had already forged tight friendships and wanted to finish high school there. They asked me, "Mom, why didn't you tell us what a jerk dad was?" I responded with that not being something a parent should do. I had hoped that the relationship with his sons would be healthy. All the boys learned was the classic story of what it's like to be a pawn in a game. It's sad. It's not what I would ever wish for anyone, even out of spite. My boys even appologized for wanting to live with their dad. When they come here for summer and school breaks, they see things differently. With a swelling heart full of pride, I told them, "Well, that's just one appology I can't accept." I never had to make one disparaging remark about the situation. They got it, all by themselves.
Almost 5 years ago, an aggressive custody battle over my sons began. My ex-husband tried every trick in the book to gain custody. He regularly called children's services in two states over the course of the battle. They consistently found nothing, but it began to wear on me. Being called out of class to do random drug tests really didn't help either. My boys wanted to live with their dad. I couldn't tell them all the reasons why I knew without a doubt that this was not a good idea at all. My boys began to resent me and my husband. They became angry. Counseling was not cutting it. They were adamant they wanted to live with their dad. So, here I had two children old enough to tell the court their wishes, constant visits from the state, and some court appearances regarding various complaints and/or grievances from my ex (child support adjustments and other demands). I did the hardest thing I have ever done in my life. I let my boys go live with their dad. It crushed me. I literally felt my heart break. Why would I do such a crazy thing? Why would a mother still living and breathing let her children go? Ever read The Wisdom of Solomon? My faith in God was the only thing that kept me going. This whole mess took place while I was finishing up in nursing school by the way. How I did not need matresses for wallpaper, I don't know. This was also the same timeframe that the nightmares first started.
Towards the end of the marriage, he would not take no for an answer. The last 6 months of 1999 were complete Hell on earth. Because I relented, I didn't think it was rape. Because I gave in out of desperation, I didn't think it was rape. Because there were occasions during that time where it was consensual, I was very confused and doubted what I knew was really going on. He would repeatedly poke me in the back right between my shoulder blades with his index finger saying, "I'm not letting you go to sleep until you give me some." Other times he would grope me. I would push his hands away and tell him to stop. He didn't listen or care. He kept on. After he was served with divorce papers on my birthday in 2000, he called to arrange visitation with the boys. During the conversation, one of his comments were,"You know I never raped you." What do you say to something like that? I quickly changed the subject. In hindsight, why would he feel the need to make such a comment unless he knew exactly what he was doing?
Now, back to the days leading up to letting my boys go in 2008. The stress of everything came out in my dreams. Nightmares of those last 6 months repeated themselves on a regular basis. I finally went to a women's place that offered crisis counseling. I met with a counselor and asked her if what had happened was rape or not. I already knew the answer and felt quite stupid for even asking, but was alone in my deduction until that day. She said, "Yes, that is absolutely rape." I broke down into a pile of emotion. I sobbed as she sat right next to me holding my hand. I couldn't speak, only sob. Her silence was comforting and strong. She knew exactly what to do, which was just be there. After some time in her office, I gathered myself enough to talk a little more. I never went back. All I needed was validation and confirmation. I could handle the rest, and I did for a few years...until August 11th.
As I mentioned, the flashbacks after surgery were a total shock, but considering the previous trauma mixed with the location and type of surgery I had, I am not at all surprised at the ensueing events. I felt amazing right after my surgery. Almost zero anxiety. The twinges were almost nonexistent by then. It all changed overnight. I'm right back where I started, but I know it will be ok. It's a minor setback. I know I need help. I'm not a fool. Kind of like that saying, "A lawyer who represents himself has a fool for a client." Similarly, "A nurse who manages her own mental health has a fool for a patient." Yeah, I just made that up. Now, the search begins. I know Prolonged Exposure Therapy is what I need. I know what to expect. I just need to find someone especially great at what they do because I'm picky like that.
As a side note, my boys still live with their dad. We are closer now than we ever would've been had they stayed with me. They love my husband and call him "Dad". By the time they realized "what a tool" their dad really was (their words not mine), they had already forged tight friendships and wanted to finish high school there. They asked me, "Mom, why didn't you tell us what a jerk dad was?" I responded with that not being something a parent should do. I had hoped that the relationship with his sons would be healthy. All the boys learned was the classic story of what it's like to be a pawn in a game. It's sad. It's not what I would ever wish for anyone, even out of spite. My boys even appologized for wanting to live with their dad. When they come here for summer and school breaks, they see things differently. With a swelling heart full of pride, I told them, "Well, that's just one appology I can't accept." I never had to make one disparaging remark about the situation. They got it, all by themselves.
Wednesday, August 22, 2012
"This one time...in surgery..."
Surgery is tomorrow. Total hysterectomy. Mostly excited, but completely neurotic! Having never been under general anesthesia is really messing with my head. My doctor is excellent, family is around, and kiddos are covered. The only thing left to do now is try to stay busy. The hardest part is the constant twinges of panic. I haven't had another full-blown episode since the ER, and I'm hoping not to, but with tomorrow looming over me like that really big space ship over the White House on Independence Day just doesn't help the situation.
What does help the situation are conversations like the one I had with my cousin. He and I are of like minds in that we have a twisted, cynical, and dark sense of humor. I guess it's understandable since he was born on Halloween and I was born on the 13th (like that really has anything to do with anything). I posted a comment on FB regarding the complete disregard of some people when they feel the urge to share surgical horror stories with you when they hear you're going under the knife. "Oh, make sure they don't leave anything inside you! My Aunt Gertrude walked around with a pair of scissors in her stomach for months!" Yeah, I'll keep that in mind as I'm doing my best to avoid the drafts that my inadequate hospital gown is providing. "Oh, you should write notes to the doctor on your body so they don't make mistakes." Now that idea does sound interesting. But of course it would have my twist on things. I've thought about starting a tic-tac-toe game with a sharpie and see who won when I wake up. As I was saying, what does help are conversations like this:
Cousin: "Surgery? Nothing serious I hope. I didn't want to ask in the open forum and if you don't want to tell me that's fine. But it's natural for me to be worried about my cousin, and the closest thing to a sister I had growing up."
Me: "Nothing serious. Hysterectomy. Tired of being anemic. And thank you for your message. It touched my heart! I'm mostly looking forward to the outcome. No pun intended. Just terrified about the unknown, and what I do know."
Cousin: "You know... millions of people go through surgery every year... Statistically speaking, you are 100% sure to have an incision somewhere on your body.
That's all you can count on from a 100% perspective. The rest of it... the odds are statistically in your favor a great deal. Knowing you, you trust the doctor..."
Me: "Doesn't help I was taken to the ER just over a week ago with exhaustion and fainting at work and at ER. Had a nice little panic attack on top of it. Needless to say, I'm a bit more ramped up than I guess I normally would be. I trust the doctor very much."
Cousin: "Just let everyone know that this is your time to recuperate. So everyone has to take care of everything... buy a bell, tell kiddos and husband that when you ring the bell you expect a response within 30 seconds."
Me: "Hahaha! Burining the candle at both ends is what got me into the mess last week. Not going to happen this time even if it means staying at my mother-in-law's!"
Cousin: "I say milk it for all it's worth. That's what we men folk do when we get sick (in case you never noticed). You aren't getting sick, you are going to have inside parts removed through an incision. That's gotta count for at least two weeks of total servitude."
Me: "Sounds like a plan!"
Cousin: "Excellent... I gotta get back to work. I won't say I will be praying for you, because we both know that would be disingenuous on my part. So how about I will be having positive feelings for you, and I am sure everything will be fine."
Me: "Thank you. I appreciate both your candor and your thoughts. Love you."
Cousin: "Love you too."
And that's how it's supposed to go folks! I have enough of my own twisted sarcasm to get me through this life. Keep your "This one time, in surgery..." stories to yourself the next time someone you know is going under the spotlight. Better yet, start a blog.
What does help the situation are conversations like the one I had with my cousin. He and I are of like minds in that we have a twisted, cynical, and dark sense of humor. I guess it's understandable since he was born on Halloween and I was born on the 13th (like that really has anything to do with anything). I posted a comment on FB regarding the complete disregard of some people when they feel the urge to share surgical horror stories with you when they hear you're going under the knife. "Oh, make sure they don't leave anything inside you! My Aunt Gertrude walked around with a pair of scissors in her stomach for months!" Yeah, I'll keep that in mind as I'm doing my best to avoid the drafts that my inadequate hospital gown is providing. "Oh, you should write notes to the doctor on your body so they don't make mistakes." Now that idea does sound interesting. But of course it would have my twist on things. I've thought about starting a tic-tac-toe game with a sharpie and see who won when I wake up. As I was saying, what does help are conversations like this:
Cousin: "Surgery? Nothing serious I hope. I didn't want to ask in the open forum and if you don't want to tell me that's fine. But it's natural for me to be worried about my cousin, and the closest thing to a sister I had growing up."
Me: "Nothing serious. Hysterectomy. Tired of being anemic. And thank you for your message. It touched my heart! I'm mostly looking forward to the outcome. No pun intended. Just terrified about the unknown, and what I do know."
Cousin: "You know... millions of people go through surgery every year... Statistically speaking, you are 100% sure to have an incision somewhere on your body.
That's all you can count on from a 100% perspective. The rest of it... the odds are statistically in your favor a great deal. Knowing you, you trust the doctor..."
Me: "Doesn't help I was taken to the ER just over a week ago with exhaustion and fainting at work and at ER. Had a nice little panic attack on top of it. Needless to say, I'm a bit more ramped up than I guess I normally would be. I trust the doctor very much."
Cousin: "Just let everyone know that this is your time to recuperate. So everyone has to take care of everything... buy a bell, tell kiddos and husband that when you ring the bell you expect a response within 30 seconds."
Me: "Hahaha! Burining the candle at both ends is what got me into the mess last week. Not going to happen this time even if it means staying at my mother-in-law's!"
Cousin: "I say milk it for all it's worth. That's what we men folk do when we get sick (in case you never noticed). You aren't getting sick, you are going to have inside parts removed through an incision. That's gotta count for at least two weeks of total servitude."
Me: "Sounds like a plan!"
Cousin: "Excellent... I gotta get back to work. I won't say I will be praying for you, because we both know that would be disingenuous on my part. So how about I will be having positive feelings for you, and I am sure everything will be fine."
Me: "Thank you. I appreciate both your candor and your thoughts. Love you."
Cousin: "Love you too."
And that's how it's supposed to go folks! I have enough of my own twisted sarcasm to get me through this life. Keep your "This one time, in surgery..." stories to yourself the next time someone you know is going under the spotlight. Better yet, start a blog.
Sunday, August 19, 2012
Annonymous Venting
Yesterday was tough. Going in to work on Monday and Tuesday were a challenge. As the week continued, it got easier. But yesterday was tough and took a lot just to get through the day. Saturdays are different than weekdays because I work with the receptionist and the child psychiatrist. No one else is in the building. Monday through Friday, the building is full of staff and patients (i.e. plenty of distraction). So, I had sort of a double dose trigger effect within one week. Not fun. Avoidance and numbing myself is what got me into this mess, so it just makes sense to face it...twice.
An acute stress reaction apparently comes with a little fallout. Wherever you are when things become too much and your body reacts with a panic attack, that location along with everything associated with it becomes a trigger. You get that thought in your mind of, "This is where it all happened." Your logical mind knows it's ok, but your emotional mind fights every step. This all makes sense to me because yesterday provided the same environment, hence the difficulty I had. I am comforted by the fact that I've been down this road before. I went through the same process 13 years ago during an ugly divorce, only then it didn't have a name and I didn't understand. 13 years ago, the Acute Stress Disorder progressed into PTSD. The difference this time is the 'knowledge variable'. Now, I'm both empowered and crippled by this knowledge. I am empowered because I know the prognosis is good. I am crippled because I know what I need to do to get there. I am familiar with the emotional terrain ahead of me (which explains the good cry I had about an hour ago). I know if I continue to stay numb, it only prolongs healing. Aye, there's the rub.
For as long as I can remember, I've been thinking, asking why (my poor mother), assessing, and evaluating. When I became a nurse, my mom said I had found the perfect occupation because I would always get to ask why. In nursing, we are not simply taught to do a task. We are also charged with knowing the rationale behind the task (the 'why'). In addition to this logical aspect, I am also a positive and compassionate person. I am 50% Spock and 50% Pollyanna. This combination usually bodes well for me, but sometimes becomes my undoing. For example, I know I probably could use some therapy. I got great therapy last time. It was quite helpful and beneficial. The problem is, I know the pathophysiology. I know my triggers. I know what I need to do to fix it. At the risk of sounding totally narcissistic and condescending, I'm not sure what I would get out of any therapy this time. Then again, you never see the same movie twice.
Actually, it all makes sense to me as to why I am putting all my baggage out here in cyberspace. At first, I just had an urge to put my thoughts down. Then, as I thought about it (Spock moment), I realized that as I am typing, my thoughts and emotions are becoming words. In order for me to formulate sentences and paragraphs with these words, I am processing everything. As I see my thoughts and feelings unfold on the screen in front of me, they become separated from me in the same way you would take the trash out. Better out than in. So why put all this stuff in a public place for anyone to come across? Why not just have a journal on my laptop and stop there? Because to me, it's not really out if it stays hidden. In a way, I'm telling everyone, but no one in particular...annonymous venting if you will.
An acute stress reaction apparently comes with a little fallout. Wherever you are when things become too much and your body reacts with a panic attack, that location along with everything associated with it becomes a trigger. You get that thought in your mind of, "This is where it all happened." Your logical mind knows it's ok, but your emotional mind fights every step. This all makes sense to me because yesterday provided the same environment, hence the difficulty I had. I am comforted by the fact that I've been down this road before. I went through the same process 13 years ago during an ugly divorce, only then it didn't have a name and I didn't understand. 13 years ago, the Acute Stress Disorder progressed into PTSD. The difference this time is the 'knowledge variable'. Now, I'm both empowered and crippled by this knowledge. I am empowered because I know the prognosis is good. I am crippled because I know what I need to do to get there. I am familiar with the emotional terrain ahead of me (which explains the good cry I had about an hour ago). I know if I continue to stay numb, it only prolongs healing. Aye, there's the rub.
For as long as I can remember, I've been thinking, asking why (my poor mother), assessing, and evaluating. When I became a nurse, my mom said I had found the perfect occupation because I would always get to ask why. In nursing, we are not simply taught to do a task. We are also charged with knowing the rationale behind the task (the 'why'). In addition to this logical aspect, I am also a positive and compassionate person. I am 50% Spock and 50% Pollyanna. This combination usually bodes well for me, but sometimes becomes my undoing. For example, I know I probably could use some therapy. I got great therapy last time. It was quite helpful and beneficial. The problem is, I know the pathophysiology. I know my triggers. I know what I need to do to fix it. At the risk of sounding totally narcissistic and condescending, I'm not sure what I would get out of any therapy this time. Then again, you never see the same movie twice.
Actually, it all makes sense to me as to why I am putting all my baggage out here in cyberspace. At first, I just had an urge to put my thoughts down. Then, as I thought about it (Spock moment), I realized that as I am typing, my thoughts and emotions are becoming words. In order for me to formulate sentences and paragraphs with these words, I am processing everything. As I see my thoughts and feelings unfold on the screen in front of me, they become separated from me in the same way you would take the trash out. Better out than in. So why put all this stuff in a public place for anyone to come across? Why not just have a journal on my laptop and stop there? Because to me, it's not really out if it stays hidden. In a way, I'm telling everyone, but no one in particular...annonymous venting if you will.
Wednesday, August 15, 2012
I don't have time to get sick!
Nurses do not make good patients, at least this one doesn't. I don't have time to get sick! Of course I realize even nurses get sick. I'm surprised we don't get sick more often than we do. I love my job. It's emotionally exhausting, rewarding, and challenging. As a mental health nurse, I see patients all the time who are battling their illness every day. So, why is it when the nurse comes face to face with some of the same demons herself, she goes into total and complete denial? A few days ago, I was humbled by what I thought I was immune to; stress, exhaustion, and life in general.
I've been told I have 3 full-time jobs: Family, Work, and School. While this is true, people do this every day right? People burn the candle at both ends and are constantly holding said candle with just their thumb and index finger in a feeble attempt to avoid getting burned. Well, it seems I ran out of wax on Saturday August 11th, 2012 and ended up in the emergency room. How did this happen? How is it I did not follow my own advice? Why was I not getting enough sleep? Why did I not get more 'me' time? Why did I not ask for help when I needed it? Why? Because I'm stubborn. Because I'm hurting. Because I'm human.
Considering my previous post's content, I should understand why the added factors were just too much to take. The straw that broke the camel's back was the news that my husband may not have a job which he left a previous one for. Something came up from almost 20 years ago during his background check. He took a banner from a concert he was attending and got arrested for it. Worse things have happened right? It wasn't the arrest that put his new job in jeopardy, it was the omission of said arrest that spoke questionably about his character. I got this news on Friday night. He was given the chance to write a letter explaining the situation, but no guarantee if he was even being considered for the job anymore. He wrote an amazing letter. Then, the waiting began. So many questions came up, one being "What are we going to do about the mortgage application?" Oh yeah, we are also going through the process of applying for a mortgage.
So, I went in to work the next day with no sleep (less than usual) and a heavy mind and heart. Typically, I leave everything at the door both on my way in and on my way out. Home stays outside and waits in the car for me. Work stays at my desk and eagerly awaits my return. At least I thought this is how I was managing everything. Boy was I wrong. Already more exhausted than usual, I got through a large chunk of my work day. Once the last patient left and things began to slow down, I started feeling pretty bad. I told myself the same thing I always tell myself, "Self, just push through it." That worked for about 5 minutes. I began to feel dizzy and weak. It didn't take much for me to realize this was not going to go away. I sat down for a minute to avoid fainting. I started to feel worse. Dizziness, nausea, and weakness took control. My blood pressure was 154/103. Not good. I thought if I just rest for a few minutes, I will still be able to drive home. I kept telling myself, "Self, you'll be ok in a minute. You'll be ok." Nope. Wrong. I had to call my husband to come and get me. My only other option was an ambulance ride. Call EMS for a nurse in trouble? No way. Not me. Before we even got out of the parking lot, I told my husband to take me to the emergency room.
What I thought was extremely low hemoglobin (oh yeah, I'm also anemic) turned out to be exhaustion laced with a healthy dose of anxiety. See what happens when the illusion of having control of a situation goes completely out the window? Upon arrival at the ER, as I'm signing in, everything gets fuzzy. I don't remember too much after that until I'm in a bed with an IV, on a heart monitor, and doing my best to answer questions. Labs are being drawn, chest x-ray done, 12-lead EKG done, Zofran IV push (thank you for that), and more questions. While waiting for the first round of labs to come back, the chest pressure starts. I push the call button for my nurse, who has the same name as me. Ironic? Hmm. Knowing that chest pressure is not even an adverse or rare side effect of Zofran, I just double check with my nurse. Nope, chest pressure definitely not a side effect of Zofran. Dang it. Then there's no other reason other than shear anxiety. Great. The psych nurse is having a panic attack. I am offered 'something for anxiety'. I decline because I'm stubborn and stupid like that. In the mean time, my monitor is making quite a fuss what with alarms and notifications and all while I'm trying to wrap my head around the anxiety. I'm offered nitro and baby aspirin to try to get my blood pressure under control. I take my doctor up on this. It worked, but I hope to never need nitro again.
After 5 hours in the ER, everything came back normal. The most shocking result was my hemoglobin. It was 11! Still below normal but high for me. This meant only one thing. I had to slow down. Can't blame this on my iron. There is no question as to what was really the problem. The nurse has been humbled by her own issues. Now what? This means I won't graduate with my BSN in October as planned. I will have to spread out my classes and graduate in December instead. I'm ok with that. My husband found out last night that he will be able to take the job after all. Wonderful! Everything else will just have to wait a little longer, like the laundry, the floors, the dust on the TV. Now if this control freak nurse can just get her husband to wear his CPAP....
I've been told I have 3 full-time jobs: Family, Work, and School. While this is true, people do this every day right? People burn the candle at both ends and are constantly holding said candle with just their thumb and index finger in a feeble attempt to avoid getting burned. Well, it seems I ran out of wax on Saturday August 11th, 2012 and ended up in the emergency room. How did this happen? How is it I did not follow my own advice? Why was I not getting enough sleep? Why did I not get more 'me' time? Why did I not ask for help when I needed it? Why? Because I'm stubborn. Because I'm hurting. Because I'm human.
Considering my previous post's content, I should understand why the added factors were just too much to take. The straw that broke the camel's back was the news that my husband may not have a job which he left a previous one for. Something came up from almost 20 years ago during his background check. He took a banner from a concert he was attending and got arrested for it. Worse things have happened right? It wasn't the arrest that put his new job in jeopardy, it was the omission of said arrest that spoke questionably about his character. I got this news on Friday night. He was given the chance to write a letter explaining the situation, but no guarantee if he was even being considered for the job anymore. He wrote an amazing letter. Then, the waiting began. So many questions came up, one being "What are we going to do about the mortgage application?" Oh yeah, we are also going through the process of applying for a mortgage.
So, I went in to work the next day with no sleep (less than usual) and a heavy mind and heart. Typically, I leave everything at the door both on my way in and on my way out. Home stays outside and waits in the car for me. Work stays at my desk and eagerly awaits my return. At least I thought this is how I was managing everything. Boy was I wrong. Already more exhausted than usual, I got through a large chunk of my work day. Once the last patient left and things began to slow down, I started feeling pretty bad. I told myself the same thing I always tell myself, "Self, just push through it." That worked for about 5 minutes. I began to feel dizzy and weak. It didn't take much for me to realize this was not going to go away. I sat down for a minute to avoid fainting. I started to feel worse. Dizziness, nausea, and weakness took control. My blood pressure was 154/103. Not good. I thought if I just rest for a few minutes, I will still be able to drive home. I kept telling myself, "Self, you'll be ok in a minute. You'll be ok." Nope. Wrong. I had to call my husband to come and get me. My only other option was an ambulance ride. Call EMS for a nurse in trouble? No way. Not me. Before we even got out of the parking lot, I told my husband to take me to the emergency room.
What I thought was extremely low hemoglobin (oh yeah, I'm also anemic) turned out to be exhaustion laced with a healthy dose of anxiety. See what happens when the illusion of having control of a situation goes completely out the window? Upon arrival at the ER, as I'm signing in, everything gets fuzzy. I don't remember too much after that until I'm in a bed with an IV, on a heart monitor, and doing my best to answer questions. Labs are being drawn, chest x-ray done, 12-lead EKG done, Zofran IV push (thank you for that), and more questions. While waiting for the first round of labs to come back, the chest pressure starts. I push the call button for my nurse, who has the same name as me. Ironic? Hmm. Knowing that chest pressure is not even an adverse or rare side effect of Zofran, I just double check with my nurse. Nope, chest pressure definitely not a side effect of Zofran. Dang it. Then there's no other reason other than shear anxiety. Great. The psych nurse is having a panic attack. I am offered 'something for anxiety'. I decline because I'm stubborn and stupid like that. In the mean time, my monitor is making quite a fuss what with alarms and notifications and all while I'm trying to wrap my head around the anxiety. I'm offered nitro and baby aspirin to try to get my blood pressure under control. I take my doctor up on this. It worked, but I hope to never need nitro again.
After 5 hours in the ER, everything came back normal. The most shocking result was my hemoglobin. It was 11! Still below normal but high for me. This meant only one thing. I had to slow down. Can't blame this on my iron. There is no question as to what was really the problem. The nurse has been humbled by her own issues. Now what? This means I won't graduate with my BSN in October as planned. I will have to spread out my classes and graduate in December instead. I'm ok with that. My husband found out last night that he will be able to take the job after all. Wonderful! Everything else will just have to wait a little longer, like the laundry, the floors, the dust on the TV. Now if this control freak nurse can just get her husband to wear his CPAP....
Sunday, July 29, 2012
Slow Motion
Watching someone's health deteriorate naturally is well, natural. Watching someone gradually decline over time due to resignation is frustrating as hell. Watching this happen to your husband is beyond words. I listen to him struggle for oxygen every night in between snores and pauses. I look at his exhausted frame every day. He has sleep apnea, high cholesterol, and is creeping up in weight every day. Some nights I hear him cough and choke with acid reflux. As a nurse, I know he is at high risk for heart attack, stroke, sudden death, and esophogeal cancer. On top of all of this, he has Generalized Anxiety Disorder. He is a very intelligent man, but a tortured soul. He worries a lot about a lot of things. His mind never shuts off. He is often agitated, irritable, and just plain grumpy. In almost 11 years of marriage, I never knew until a few months ago how loud he could yell.
Before I go any farther, I need to clarify despite his mental and physical state, he has always put his family first, is always thinking of ways to make us happy, and has one of the biggest hearts I know. He has an amazing sense of humor and a sharp wit. He's the hardest person to get a gift for, but always gives the most thoughtful ones. He is a talented debator and could sell anything to anyone. I love our conversations the most. Early on in our marriage, he said being able to talk to each other will outlast just about any other aspect of our lives together. It is one of the main reasons he knew I was 'the one'. I have always disliked the saying, "You complete me." People should be complete as individuals first. My husband and I prefer the saying, "You compliment me."
So, with the added insight as to the kind of man my husband is, the futility of the situation is indescribable. He takes Zoloft for the anxiety. I have gingerly discussed the possibility of perhaps a temporary dose increase to get beyond the anxiety surrounding the use of his CPAP. The idea of having the mask on his face is too much for him. A device that is designed to help him breathe terrifies him. He knows his apprehension is unrealistic and baseless, but this scenario defines and sums up the beast that is anxiety. Did I mention his alcohol intake has increased as well? Another sign the Zoloft is not at a therapeutic dose.
I have also been not-so-gingerly in my delivery regarding his health. His father died in 2009 from complications of a massive heart attack 12 years prior. This heart attack led to Congestive Heart Failure, exacerbated his Diabetes, and stripped him of his independence. The last 2 years of his life were the hardest on my mother-in-law. Fortunately, she was able to telecommute and stay home with him. In my most recent conversation with my husband, I made it clear I would not be able to do the same for him. I would have to work to support the family and most likely take on a part-time job to augment the full-time one I already have. I told him his mother has cared for his father AND his grandfather until their deaths 2 years apart. I told him it would be unfair to his mother for her to have to take care of her young son as well. My husband has the mindset that he is going to have "the big one" and be gone at age 40. That's only 3 years away. I reminded him even if he does have "the big one", there is no guarantee it will kill him. In his mind, he honestly thinks he will be gone by 40.
Is he pushing me in my career to get that Masters Degree and start earning ARNP pay versus going the MD route so he can take comfort in the fact that I will be able to support myself and the children? Does he want to see a return in my educational investments sooner rather than later? He denies the first question, but admits the second. For someone so intelligent and stubborn as my husband, I cannot for the life of me understand the focused and seemingly intentional direction he is heading. I feel like I am having one of those dreams where I try to scream but nothing comes out.
Before I go any farther, I need to clarify despite his mental and physical state, he has always put his family first, is always thinking of ways to make us happy, and has one of the biggest hearts I know. He has an amazing sense of humor and a sharp wit. He's the hardest person to get a gift for, but always gives the most thoughtful ones. He is a talented debator and could sell anything to anyone. I love our conversations the most. Early on in our marriage, he said being able to talk to each other will outlast just about any other aspect of our lives together. It is one of the main reasons he knew I was 'the one'. I have always disliked the saying, "You complete me." People should be complete as individuals first. My husband and I prefer the saying, "You compliment me."
So, with the added insight as to the kind of man my husband is, the futility of the situation is indescribable. He takes Zoloft for the anxiety. I have gingerly discussed the possibility of perhaps a temporary dose increase to get beyond the anxiety surrounding the use of his CPAP. The idea of having the mask on his face is too much for him. A device that is designed to help him breathe terrifies him. He knows his apprehension is unrealistic and baseless, but this scenario defines and sums up the beast that is anxiety. Did I mention his alcohol intake has increased as well? Another sign the Zoloft is not at a therapeutic dose.
I have also been not-so-gingerly in my delivery regarding his health. His father died in 2009 from complications of a massive heart attack 12 years prior. This heart attack led to Congestive Heart Failure, exacerbated his Diabetes, and stripped him of his independence. The last 2 years of his life were the hardest on my mother-in-law. Fortunately, she was able to telecommute and stay home with him. In my most recent conversation with my husband, I made it clear I would not be able to do the same for him. I would have to work to support the family and most likely take on a part-time job to augment the full-time one I already have. I told him his mother has cared for his father AND his grandfather until their deaths 2 years apart. I told him it would be unfair to his mother for her to have to take care of her young son as well. My husband has the mindset that he is going to have "the big one" and be gone at age 40. That's only 3 years away. I reminded him even if he does have "the big one", there is no guarantee it will kill him. In his mind, he honestly thinks he will be gone by 40.
Is he pushing me in my career to get that Masters Degree and start earning ARNP pay versus going the MD route so he can take comfort in the fact that I will be able to support myself and the children? Does he want to see a return in my educational investments sooner rather than later? He denies the first question, but admits the second. For someone so intelligent and stubborn as my husband, I cannot for the life of me understand the focused and seemingly intentional direction he is heading. I feel like I am having one of those dreams where I try to scream but nothing comes out.
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