"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.

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.

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....