Walking in mud today
I had an appointment today with the behavioral psychologist. I didn’t want to leave my house as I had a bowel accident soon after waking up. I lost control and was feeling shitty, no pun intended. I felt really down and anxious. I left when I had to, remembering that I had to go the opposite way I go for my medical and therapy appointments. My mother needed something mailed so I decided to take the block to the main street rather than walk to the end of my street to cross it. I felt like I was walking in mud the whole time. My legs felt so damn heavy I didn’t think I was ever going to reach my destination. I wasn’t short of breath or anything. I just was so damn tired. To get to this appointment involved a lot of walking and by the time I reached the psychologist’s office building, my right ankle was tender and tired. The appointment went well. I have one more appointment with him and that will be our closing one. I won’t have to see him again after that. My feet will be glad.
I came home and basically collapsed. I was hungry so I had the peanut butter and jelly sandwich I had taken out of the freezer. It was the Smuckers kind that was all ready made. I like them because they are already made and I don’t have to stand to make a sandwich. I then went up to my room and tried the past several hours to think of something to write. I had the title, which usually is my stopping point. I was thinking of the blog since I was walking in mud but sort of lost my words once I wrote it out. I had some things I wanted to tell my neurosurgeon but I forgot those, too. His nurse practitioner had called me before my appointment with the psychologist and told me losing my bowels was more evidence I had a tethered cord. But she wasn’t worried about it. Fuck. I have to suffer another five fucking weeks? I don’t want to be incontinent with my damn bowels. I want to ask the neurosurgeon if waiting is a good idea. I can’t imagine that as my nerve damage is getting worse that waiting five fricken weeks is a wise decision. I hope the doc reads the message and not the unit secretary or that NP I spoke to today. These nerves are fragile and I just feel like if I have to wait, I am not going to get function back. I really don’t want to cath and be in diapers the rest of my life. I will end up killing myself if this happens.