The First of November 2020

The first of November 2020

I have four birthdays to celebrate today. Three are friends and one is a family member. It is the beginning of birthday month. I always dread it and this year, I am dreading it more so because my aunt is no longer alive. Every time I think of her death, I am panged with grief and heartache. I talked to my sister about celebrating her birthday and we agreed to go by the cemetery where she is buried.

I shaved and showered today and it came at a price. My foot bones acted up and I am still hurting hours later. I took a pain med because I had to. I am close to crying the pain is so bad. I had to shower because I smelled so bad. It has been more than a week since I last showered. I had taken an Ativan so my back didn’t cramp up so bad. It did anyway but resting helped ease it. I wished the hot water helped but it didn’t. It did help some of the tension in my neck and shoulders. I found that soothing.

I did my meds for the week. I almost forgot to do them. I usually do them around 2pm every Sunday but I wasn’t in the mood this week as I was just getting up. I figure I would do them before I wrote my blog for the day and I did. Now one less thing to worry about. Twitter is annoying me with me vote stuff. One of the historians I follow was talking about past elections and I can’t stand it. The next few days are going to be rough. Between Covid and election talk, I am stressed out. I only leave my house if I have to. I have not even left my room long enough to empty my recycles and trash. I have to do this this week because my AC needs to come out before the weather gets colder. I would have had it removed today but it is raining again.

I need to find my heating pad. I want to see if maybe using that on my back will help the cramps/spasms. I sent a message to my surgeon about what to do. Hopefully I will get an answer by Tues. If not I will call and see what he recommends. I have had it with all these cramps and nothing but rest helping.

I see my therapist tomorrow. I am kind of nervous about it. I don’t know what to talk about. I have been racking my brain about things to talk about but nothing comes to mind. I have an anniversary of when I went into the hospital back in 1994 coming up later this week. I always remember it because I wanted to die on Nov 5th. I really wanted to die that year. I was in one of the worst depressions of my life. It started in August and didn’t end till maybe June of 1995. It was a long depression. I had started college about two weeks after I got discharged from the hospital. I made the Dean’s list that semester. It was the only time I made it. Self-doubt nearly destroyed me after that. I felt like I was just not good enough.

Writing Something is better than nothing

Writing Something is better than nothing

I woke up with my med alarm ringing. I didn’t know what the noise was but I wanted it to stop. It was ringing for a good ten minutes before I finally became coherent enough to shut it off. I took my meds and then went to the bathroom. I did my business then brushed my teeth. I needed caffeine if I was going to have therapy in an hour. I made a cup of tea as half and half seems to be a rare commodity these days. I need it for coffee but seeing as I didn’t have it, I made tea. It was strong and full bodied so I enjoyed my cup.

Therapy was a disaster. I didn’t feel like talking. It was too early in the fucking morning and I guess my therapist finally clued in that this time was not a good time to chat. We changed it for a later time next week on Tues. Just as well as I am not liking these virtual visits. It is so hard to think of something to say. I felt like pulling out my notebook that jotted down some stuff but wasn’t sure if she would approve. Frankly I just wanted to get back to bed. I didn’t care about anything else. I told her about the need to lay flat and that I have a leak. This recovery is taking its own sweet time. I don’t like it. It is too slow for my tastes. So naturally I got a headache today. Luckily, Tylenol took care of it. I was running a low grade temp last night that had me very worried. It didn’t go above 99.6 and ibuprofen took care of it. I have not been running anything close to 98 degrees right now. I am glad. I still feel like shit and if I do anything that requires effort, my heart rate goes nuts.

Last night my nephew was worried as I was so out of breath after I took my shower. It took me a while for me to catch my breath. My heart rate was bananas. I made up a container of water and then I made a container of Gatorade. I haven’t made one today. I should as I haven’t been drinking that much today. I will make a container when my sister leaves my house. I don’t feel like talking to her right now. I just am not in a talkative mood.

I am debating on contacting my therapist for another session this week. I feel like I should make amends to my non-talkative mood this morning. Part of me feels like she is mad at me but I know that isn’t true. I wonder if my therapist is sick of me. I always seem to go back and forth. Like I want to move forward but I rather do it two steps back to make sure I have room to fall. I’ve always done this with every therapist I’ve had. She is the first one in nearly twenty years to challenge me on my thoughts. She wants me to get better. The question is, do I want to?

walking in the mud today

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.

Saturday blog 08022020

Saturday Blog 08022020

I didn’t get much sleep last night. I went to bed around 5 and then woke up around 0845 to pee and I have been up since. I got my haircut but I have yet to make my dirty gravy that I want to make. This is in preparation of my upcoming surgery. I want to have some gravy so that I can make some quick meals when I need them. I plan on making some burritos but I got to get bags that are freezer quality. I have to buy the bags my next pay period.

I was telling a writing friend about the trouble I am having with this essay I’ve been working with. She said to start over. That isn’t a bad idea. Or I could just cut out the parts that are gloomy. But I feel that if I am able to write what keeps me here then the bad stuff will be minimized and counteracted. Not sure if that is the right word or not but works for now.

I am so damn tired. I wanted to take another shower as I had my haircut but I am hurting too much. Ankle and foot are smarting big time and I know standing for 10 minutes isn’t going to help matters. I really don’t want another painsomnia episode. I also had some delicious mac and cheese my sister made. I know that is making me tired as well. I hope I can sleep at a decent hour and not wake up in the middle of the night to pee. That is the sucky part of having a bladder that is dysfunctional. I hate that I am having to empty every couple of hours because I get the urge to go. I am not sure if this is “overactive” or not. My uro wants me to be on a medicine to calm the bladder so that it isn’t crazy but I still found myself going every 2-3 hours which drives me crazy. I am going to talk to her about it when I see her on Wed. I just hope the appointment doesn’t go longer than planned because I rescheduled my psychopharm appointment to an earlier time that day. The uro nearly always runs late. But she is thorough so it is definitely worth waiting. But if it comes to an hour late and I still haven’t been seen, I am rescheduling because I don’t want to miss my psychopharm appointment.

I just got an inkling to call my father as I haven’t heard from him in a while. He has been dead nearly four years now. I miss him, something I never thought would happen. I was not happy with him at all. He abused me so severely I am still in therapy for it. The new therapist hasn’t heard his tales. I will bring it up sometime during next session. I am sure she will “love” him.