I used to blog, almost religiously for years. I found it to be a wonderful outlet to deal with life's stresses. Somehow, and I'm not really sure how or why, I fell off the bandwagon. I think I'll blame it on MySpace..and then I'll pass the blame on to Facebook. It seems logical to me, anyhow.
I'm not blogging this time because of marital problems or difficult children, though that's not to say these issues no longer exist, they just aren't currently the main issue in my life. Right now, I'm in a panic. But I think perhaps before I explain more of "why", I need to step back a few years, to fill in some gaps for my former readers.
In 2006, I started having severe panic attacks. They sort of came on out of the blue. I literally thought I was dying. I remember one time, it was around Christmas, and I had a house full of people. I was sitting on the couch and the house was loud, I'm sure we were drinking, it was the holidays after all. All I know is everything went from loud and clear to blurred and shaky and when I tried to stand up, my heart felt like it was beating a million miles per hour, and I felt like I was going to black out, or fall, or perhaps even die. I wasn't drunk. I'm sure I had indulged in a few adult beverages, but by no means was I drunk. It was one of the scariest moments of my life up until that point.
After that landmark night, they just kept coming (the panic attacks). They would wake me from a dead sleep. I couldn't cope with them, I couldn't be around people, or my kids. I would run into my bedroom and scream and cry, because I was so terrified I was dying. I had absolutely no control of my thoughts or my fears, there was no rationality.
There were multiple doctors appointments and I sincerely thought I was losing my mind and was going to have to be committed. My doctor, after numerous appointments for chest pains, palpitations, headaches, and generalized fear/anxiety, finally gave me a diagnosis and pulled me out of work for 12 weeks. "Panic Disorder".
I was having marital issues and work issues and behavioral issues with one of my kids and it would seem that the stress got the best of me. This is how my conscience decided to deal with it all.
After 6 months, multiple prescriptions for sedatives and SSRI's that caused horrid side effects, agoraphobia, loss of career and financial ruin, they finally tapered off.
Let's fast forward a little bit, to early 2008. Sure there is more to the story between 2007 and 2008, but it's sort of irrelevant to what is currently causing my mind to race.
After my bout with Panic Disorder, I felt like an absolute nut case. I felt like every time I went to the doctor for something, that it (to the medical staff and physician) seemed irrelevant and that I was wasting their time. It didn't seem to matter what my actual complaint was, every time I left with a diagnosis of panic disorder or generalized anxiety disorder. They never could find any reason for the chest pains, palpitations or anything. I was still having panic attacks, but I learned how to gain some control over them, but at some point along the route in gaining control over the attacks themselves, I became a hypochondriac and tried to find a reason for them. After all, I was reasonably healthy, mostly happy, and I had my family. So I couldn't figure out why this was happening to me.
So my distrust of doctors kept me out of the office for a little bit, because I felt like they thought I was nuts and wasting their time. I should have just switched doctors at that point, but I really liked my doctor, or rather, I trusted her.
At some point, I realized, even though I'd been to the doctors office quite a bit over a year, I hadn't actually had a physical in quite some time. So I scheduled one. And for the first time I can recall, she palpated my thyroid. She felt that it was enlarged, so she ordered an ultrasound. I had some blood work done, everything was normal in that respect. The ultrasound, however, was not. I had multiple nodules, one which was quite large on one side and a smaller one on the other side. This lead to a referral to an endocrinologist at a large hospital. It took quite a bit of time to get into this endocrinologist, I want to say several weeks, and by now, I'm freaking out that I'm dying, I have cancer, so forth. I remember going to the endocrinologist appointment, my dad went with me, because at the time, I was having marital problems. I was afraid to go alone, however. I wasn't sure what this guy was going to tell me and I needed someone there with me. He reviewed the ultrasound and decided it would be best to biopsy my thyroid. And as we're leaving the room he said something to the effect of "well if it is cancer, it's the cancer you want to get." I was very upset by those words, but I didn't say anything, and just walked to the checkout area with my dad to schedule my biopsy. One of the issues of having services done at a large hospital is that it takes awhile to get anything done, because so many other people are doing the same exact thing. I had to wait about 3 weeks or so for my biopsy appointment.
My mom, husband and oldest daughter went with me. I was scared to death. I knew how the procedure worked, and it wasn't the procedure itself that worried me, it was the outcome. The procedure itself wasn't a lot of fun, but it wasn't awful, either (until the medical assistant tried to cover my eyes..which I wasn't having..). I had to wait several days for the results. I drove myself absolutely crazy waiting for those results, I was so afraid that I had cancer and I didn't know how I would be able to cope with that on top of everything else that was currently going on in my life.
After the day that the endocrinologist promised to call back with my results came and went, I became more panicked. I was one of those obnoxious callers to the doctors office who wouldn't settle for a call back. After all, my life was sort of at a stand still, and I just wanted to be able to breathe again. I finally got a hold of him, and his words were something like magic. Benign. We will just continue to monitor every 6 months with ultrasound, and one year in the office.
So I went on with my life. My marriage all but collapsed after those results and there was an ugly separation and it resulted in my filing for divorce. There was a new job, and I was just trying to pick up the pieces of my life somehow. I'm thankful that I had my mom around to help me during this time. Her and I haven't always had the best relationship, but when I needed her the most, she was there. At some point during all of this, life became very dark, and grey, and I was having trouble completing even the most basic tasks- like laundry, cooking dinner for my kids. The days just blended together and time slowly passed, and I wasn't accomplishing much. A friend of mine stepped in and sort of threatened to take me kicking and screaming for help. I know I was a pretty difficult person to deal with at that time, but she was right, I needed help and somehow I finally gave in and got it.
When I first saw the therapist, I was diagnosed with severe clinical depression. Although I wasn't crying much, I wasn't functioning at all. I wasn't sleeping, and she told me she was amazed that I wasn't hospitalized at this point. I told her of my Panic Disorder bout and my stubbornness to take medication. We made a deal that if I wasn't feeling better in a month, after weekly appointments for CBT (Cognitive Behavioral Therapy), then I would see the Psychiatrist and discuss medication.
Four weeks and four appointments later, and I was still having dinner at my moms, still in a funk, still having panic attacks and hardly able to pull myself out of bed in the morning. It's not a moment in my life that I am proud of, to say the least. At least I showered on a regular basis, but I wasn't really there. I was just a shell.
I did some research on different medications and I came prepared to my psychiatrist appointment. He gave me exactly what I wanted, but I was too afraid to take it. I remember very clearly arguing with my friend at Walgreens over getting the prescription filled and then over actually taking it. I'm pretty sure she may have called me an idiot in nicer words. I started taking the pills the next day, at work. I figured, hey I work in a Doctor's office, if I'm going to have some crazy allergic reaction or side effect, better it be here than at home! So I took it, and I sort of felt like a space cadet for the first few days. Little by little, with the help of these magical pills, I started gaining control of my life again.
I was able to focus again and take care of my kids again and do basic household chores again. Somehow I neglected paying my rent for several months. I couldn't tell you to this day where that money went, but I am grateful that we had an understanding landlord who didn't throw the girls and I out on our asses. With my new found mental clarity, I realized my soon-to-be ex husband was in a lot of trouble, and I realized how upset my children were without him in their lives. Things were a bit crazy between him and I, and I had a lawyer, and a restraining order and it was just downright ugly and unnecessary. I have a lot of regrets from that time, and I can't take any of it back. I thought I was doing what was best, but I was refusing to accept any responsibility for anything that had occurred.
Moving forward. After several months of not seeing their dad, he came and visited. I let him spend the night with the girls, and there was just so much pain between us. The divorce was due to be finalized in about three weeks. I'm still not sure to this day what caused the change of heart. But I'm glad it happened. He moved home, I stopped communicating with my lawyer and missed our court date, we worked out some issues, we made some life changes, and things were good.
A month later, we went to one of the best concerts I've ever been to, City and Colour. Sometime right around then, I got pregnant. A few weeks later, we found out I was expecting, and I was shocked, excited, shocked, amazed, and shocked. I excitedly made doctors appointments and started looking at baby names and watching all those birthing shows on Discovery Health and TLC. But I just couldn't shake this feeling from my gut that something was wrong. A week or so after we found out, I started experiencing all the classic symptoms of a miscarriage. I remember going to the midwife, the same one who delivered my second child, and she seemed so cold and callous. I'd never had a miscarriage before, and I was scared and upset and didn't know what to do. She didn't check me or anything, just asked me to describe what was occurring with my body, gave me a specimen jar and a brown paper bag with instructions to "collect" any tissue, and sent me home with some motrin, a lot of questions, a lab slip, and ultrasound appointment and a broken heart.
I had to get my HcG levels monitored so they could determine if the miscarriage was "complete". Since no actual tissue had passed, there was concern. My HcG levels were around 50 and since I was supposed to be around 6 or 7 weeks along, the OB resident following my case explained to me that in a normal, healthy pregnancy, my HcG level should be a lot higher than that. I had my ultrasound, which confirmed there was nothing in my uterus. A second set of HcG levels were taken, and they weren't dropping, just slowly increasing. The OB resident at that time began to expect an ectopic pregnancy. Another ultrasound was done, and they still couldn't find anything anywhere in my pelvis. At this point I was officially diagnosed as having an ectopic pregnancy and told to go to the emergency room to meet with the on-call OB resident for an injection of Methotrexate. The nurses came in with full chemo garb on, injected me, and left. I went home and continued to have my HcG levels monitored twice a week. Two weeks later, when they still hadn't dropped as quickly as the doctors anticipated, I was told I'd need a second Methotrexate injection. So off I went back to the emergency room, and had labs drawn. After my lab results came back, I was told that the first injection had caused my liver enzymes to elevate, and that they weren't comfortable doing a second injection at this time and was sent home to wait and see. I told the doctors anything further would have to wait, because I was going to Las Vegas in two weeks. The whole process of resolving the ectopic pregnancy took several weeks, about 6 total from the time I knew I had lost the baby until my HcG levels were back to zero. Because of the Methotrexate, I was told I had to wait 3 months to get pregnant again. I dealt with this whole experience without the help of family, because I was afraid of their reaction. I never told any of them, what was going on (with the exception of course of my husband). I'm glad I was still taking my magical SNRI pills too, as it allowed me to ride out the whole experience in a numbed state of mind, instead of being devastated as I would have been if I wasn't being overloaded with seratonin and norepinephrine.
Wouldn't you know though, 3 months later, I conceived. I immediately called the OB clinic and asked to have labs drawn. I didn't want to get my hopes up. They drew labs 4 times over two weeks. My HcG was increasing as it was supposed to and I was hardly able to contain my excitement. Things were pretty uneventful for awhile...
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