Saturday, December 25, 2010
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
A LADY IN WAITING!
I personally can not help but laugh at the nonsensical idea of being told your time is limited and coming to an end, only to be left with nothing but an awful lot of time waiting for it to come. What a hoot!
After my diagnosis, a Social Service worker sympathetically filled out all of the required paperwork for my permanent retirement from work. I did not want it. I wanted to return when I was better but, my Dr.'s said better would not be forthcoming. I knew I was "to sick" to work at that time. I also knew I would never be able to go back into that stress pit called ER. My disease produces an enormous amount of stress hormones in and of itself so, adding anymore stress on top of it literally makes me more physically ill. I have had to take a refresher course in "letting go" since getting this diagnosis.
I am VIRGO which means, I already have an inherently and ridiculously illogical pursuit of perfection and a need to over analyze and control EVERYTHING! This personality trait makes me question everything and believe hardly anything until I "know" it to be true. Even I do not want to rent space in my head on most days! Self can easily be difficult to be around!
Truly, if given a choice I would have preferred it be anywhere other than where this cancer is. It causes a hyper-production of hormones that are necessary for the regulation of vital signs and also has the nerve to encourage (testosterone!) or discourage others (insulin) necessary for normal organ functions. It is those symptoms that are so bothersome and worrisome. It literally makes me a crazy person in stressful situations now. I am in a constant fight or flight mode thanks to them and find it hard to think clearly and rationalize sometimes. One thing I know for sure, being a Virgo and over-pumping hormones are for all practical purposes equally annoying!
I have endured a 10 year run of physical injuries requiring surgical interventions, the loss of my two younger brothers, my job, my income and financial stability but, more than anything, the company and healing benefit of great and loyal friends in your daily life. Out of sight is out of mind sadly. That is not to say I have none, but they are busy and not "forced" into my space on a daily basis now. The special ones that have remained in touch are the ones I love and covet most. They did not drop me like a rock, nor lose their desire to check on me and include me in their lives. It is times like this where you are able to see why for the most part, people we considered friends really are just mere acquaintances. I heard it said you can count your loyal "friends" on one hand, and be blessed to have them. The rest fall by the wayside when you are in a position to think you "need" them the most. Loyalty is one of my most treasured traits I have fostered. I will be your friend until the end of time if I have considered you one at all. I am grateful to know that it is returned in ways I can not even compare to nor compete with in the friends that still reach out and stay in touch during this time in my life. They did not abandon me, forget me or set me aside. What a blessing.
I am sure those ladies know I would go to the ends of Earth to do anything they would ask of me and for that trust and dedication I am so forever grateful. Those are the ones I'll be reaching out for from my new post upstairs! I love them for the people they are and all they have done for me and these wonderful people have done a lot for me.
I get the feeling sometimes that there a few people who are upset, for lack of a better word, that I have not yet passed! It is a weird and uncomfortable feeling to think the buzzards are circling and the only way to convince them you are really sick is to be dead already. I can not and do not try to explain why I am still here, I have no answer for that. Everything has a time and place and I am just assuming I am in the wrong time zone or in the wrong place, not unusual for me! I even sometimes think when I am really feeling ill (changes from minute to minute or day to day) that I am already dead and just to stupid to lie down and be still!
I am no more a patient person than I am 5'9" an 100lbs, blue-eyed or blond haired! I am like an ant when just waiting in line, a foot shifting, breath sighing, what the hell is taking so long kind of person. It is not like I have all minute! So try to imagine the humor in this situation, God knows I do.
Sadly, I have known good people that received a like diagnosis of cancer after mine and are no longer here. It seems they were delivered from their lot in a matter of a few short months. I am going to reach a milestone for survivors of this particular disease in a matter of days now. Only 35% make it to the 3rd anniversary of their diagnosis date. My second anniversary date will be December 26, 2010. Even more remarkable is that, although I am progressing in my disease I am actually feeling less ill now than when I was first diagnosed. Meaning I think that since they have been able to bring about some form of stabilization to my vital signs (not optimal but stable) what I am left with is acceptable for my daily function.
I still have my bad days that can sometimes run on into weeks but, am more grateful for what it isn't than sad for what it is. Not that it would matter. There is really no choice but move through the normal grief stages and try to accept the reality of my current situation. I do not want neither will I, allow myself to dwell in any one of those stages. I think I will most likely avoid bargaining altogether. I hate to shop and look forward to never having to wear a bra again, EVER. I try to avoid anger, I spent a lifetime there before. I do not live near the river of denial and I am no longer so bold as to put on a swimsuit or go swimming in pity so that's out too. I feel safe, loved, and ready for whatever comes whenever it decides to show up. Besides, it is not as though I really have a choice in this matter.
So the lady waits, and waits and waits............
After my diagnosis, a Social Service worker sympathetically filled out all of the required paperwork for my permanent retirement from work. I did not want it. I wanted to return when I was better but, my Dr.'s said better would not be forthcoming. I knew I was "to sick" to work at that time. I also knew I would never be able to go back into that stress pit called ER. My disease produces an enormous amount of stress hormones in and of itself so, adding anymore stress on top of it literally makes me more physically ill. I have had to take a refresher course in "letting go" since getting this diagnosis.
I am VIRGO which means, I already have an inherently and ridiculously illogical pursuit of perfection and a need to over analyze and control EVERYTHING! This personality trait makes me question everything and believe hardly anything until I "know" it to be true. Even I do not want to rent space in my head on most days! Self can easily be difficult to be around!
Truly, if given a choice I would have preferred it be anywhere other than where this cancer is. It causes a hyper-production of hormones that are necessary for the regulation of vital signs and also has the nerve to encourage (testosterone!) or discourage others (insulin) necessary for normal organ functions. It is those symptoms that are so bothersome and worrisome. It literally makes me a crazy person in stressful situations now. I am in a constant fight or flight mode thanks to them and find it hard to think clearly and rationalize sometimes. One thing I know for sure, being a Virgo and over-pumping hormones are for all practical purposes equally annoying!
I have endured a 10 year run of physical injuries requiring surgical interventions, the loss of my two younger brothers, my job, my income and financial stability but, more than anything, the company and healing benefit of great and loyal friends in your daily life. Out of sight is out of mind sadly. That is not to say I have none, but they are busy and not "forced" into my space on a daily basis now. The special ones that have remained in touch are the ones I love and covet most. They did not drop me like a rock, nor lose their desire to check on me and include me in their lives. It is times like this where you are able to see why for the most part, people we considered friends really are just mere acquaintances. I heard it said you can count your loyal "friends" on one hand, and be blessed to have them. The rest fall by the wayside when you are in a position to think you "need" them the most. Loyalty is one of my most treasured traits I have fostered. I will be your friend until the end of time if I have considered you one at all. I am grateful to know that it is returned in ways I can not even compare to nor compete with in the friends that still reach out and stay in touch during this time in my life. They did not abandon me, forget me or set me aside. What a blessing.
I am sure those ladies know I would go to the ends of Earth to do anything they would ask of me and for that trust and dedication I am so forever grateful. Those are the ones I'll be reaching out for from my new post upstairs! I love them for the people they are and all they have done for me and these wonderful people have done a lot for me.
I get the feeling sometimes that there a few people who are upset, for lack of a better word, that I have not yet passed! It is a weird and uncomfortable feeling to think the buzzards are circling and the only way to convince them you are really sick is to be dead already. I can not and do not try to explain why I am still here, I have no answer for that. Everything has a time and place and I am just assuming I am in the wrong time zone or in the wrong place, not unusual for me! I even sometimes think when I am really feeling ill (changes from minute to minute or day to day) that I am already dead and just to stupid to lie down and be still!
I am no more a patient person than I am 5'9" an 100lbs, blue-eyed or blond haired! I am like an ant when just waiting in line, a foot shifting, breath sighing, what the hell is taking so long kind of person. It is not like I have all minute! So try to imagine the humor in this situation, God knows I do.
Sadly, I have known good people that received a like diagnosis of cancer after mine and are no longer here. It seems they were delivered from their lot in a matter of a few short months. I am going to reach a milestone for survivors of this particular disease in a matter of days now. Only 35% make it to the 3rd anniversary of their diagnosis date. My second anniversary date will be December 26, 2010. Even more remarkable is that, although I am progressing in my disease I am actually feeling less ill now than when I was first diagnosed. Meaning I think that since they have been able to bring about some form of stabilization to my vital signs (not optimal but stable) what I am left with is acceptable for my daily function.
I still have my bad days that can sometimes run on into weeks but, am more grateful for what it isn't than sad for what it is. Not that it would matter. There is really no choice but move through the normal grief stages and try to accept the reality of my current situation. I do not want neither will I, allow myself to dwell in any one of those stages. I think I will most likely avoid bargaining altogether. I hate to shop and look forward to never having to wear a bra again, EVER. I try to avoid anger, I spent a lifetime there before. I do not live near the river of denial and I am no longer so bold as to put on a swimsuit or go swimming in pity so that's out too. I feel safe, loved, and ready for whatever comes whenever it decides to show up. Besides, it is not as though I really have a choice in this matter.
So the lady waits, and waits and waits............
Monday, December 20, 2010
THE GENESIS OF MY REPRIEVE AND BENEDICTION!
Coming out of the dark requires that you to allow the light of absolute truth to flood in. If you to are determined to heal, you must stop looking back and stay focused on the possibilities of a future! It is unfortunate and ironic that a diagnosis of "terminal" has a tendency to make you forget that but, more on that later.
I was truly born again now! The girl I spent a lifetime "beating up and tearing down" had finally started to fade away. I felt internally happy, peaceful and encouraged at what my future held. I was coming out of an alcohol addiction brought on after a high school rape (also kept secret) that had become more prevalent over time. Although sobriety was initiated by that 14 day coma, it was a conscious choice now to maintain it. I had wanted to do it many times, I tried many more. I no longer had that urge to drown or suppress, to hide or deny. It even seemed to me that I no longer had that fear that had goverened my behavior up to this point. By the time I composed A Time To Believe...I had found a new focus. I had literally in every sense of the word, been resurrected!
I was never able to establish a healthy relationship with my parents before their deaths and walked on broken glass with my siblings. All of us were fragile. They had their own issues and their perceptions that were vastly different from my own. I was no longer afraid of my future, I was just so very happy to even acknowledge I might have one. One thing I know for sure. Absence of any kind of faith is for me, almost always partnered with a sense hopelessness and fear. Where there is life, there is hope and where there is faith there is no fear.
I hated watching my brothers suffer too. I watched all of my siblings struggle in relationships, with their partners, children and siblings. I watched how the guilt they felt for being unable to ever feel "normal" would be a tool for self-imposed, lifelong separations from their children and a withdrawal from a civilized society at large. Earthbound misfits we all were!
I imagine guilt was never an emotion I supported because I could not see a benefit to allow it. I often thought that my inate ability to refuse to feel guilty came from not having had children myself. I think it often begins innocuous as a loving parental emotion for feeling that you can not do all you would like for your children, or that the demands of just trying to provide can get in the way of their hopes and dreams for their kids by stealing time. With the best intentions, life happens and the best laid plans come undone. They have to be away to provide but, the more the are away the more guilt they tend to feel for it being so. Although it was not ever apparent that my parents suffered such a malady, I know my brothers did. They lacked a model for good choices and strong commitments. A lifetime of bad choices, guilt for what they had done with their life and how it affected their children only encouraged an even deeper withdrawal and sense of isolation. Two of them would unexpectedly pass in their early forty's removing all possibilities of a redemption for themselves. They would be proud to know that their children have become wonderfully beautiful people who share their light with the world. Whatever their issues are for what they have endured, they seem to lack that desperate, self destructive disconnect that dims your inner light. For that, I am eternally grateful.
I believe, in order for you to know where you are headed you must acknowledge that from where you have come from. The poor circumstance becomes life lessons and you learn it is not possible to have one without the other. Self love and self forgiveness become our biggest allies in the war on life's adversities and inner demons alike. True redemption is not possible any other way. You have to accept and expect that you may get hurt again and again but, you can and eventually will reach a level where you are no longer willing to be the tool you use for your own internal suffering.
And so my life really began from here!
I was truly born again now! The girl I spent a lifetime "beating up and tearing down" had finally started to fade away. I felt internally happy, peaceful and encouraged at what my future held. I was coming out of an alcohol addiction brought on after a high school rape (also kept secret) that had become more prevalent over time. Although sobriety was initiated by that 14 day coma, it was a conscious choice now to maintain it. I had wanted to do it many times, I tried many more. I no longer had that urge to drown or suppress, to hide or deny. It even seemed to me that I no longer had that fear that had goverened my behavior up to this point. By the time I composed A Time To Believe...I had found a new focus. I had literally in every sense of the word, been resurrected!
I was never able to establish a healthy relationship with my parents before their deaths and walked on broken glass with my siblings. All of us were fragile. They had their own issues and their perceptions that were vastly different from my own. I was no longer afraid of my future, I was just so very happy to even acknowledge I might have one. One thing I know for sure. Absence of any kind of faith is for me, almost always partnered with a sense hopelessness and fear. Where there is life, there is hope and where there is faith there is no fear.
I hated watching my brothers suffer too. I watched all of my siblings struggle in relationships, with their partners, children and siblings. I watched how the guilt they felt for being unable to ever feel "normal" would be a tool for self-imposed, lifelong separations from their children and a withdrawal from a civilized society at large. Earthbound misfits we all were!
I imagine guilt was never an emotion I supported because I could not see a benefit to allow it. I often thought that my inate ability to refuse to feel guilty came from not having had children myself. I think it often begins innocuous as a loving parental emotion for feeling that you can not do all you would like for your children, or that the demands of just trying to provide can get in the way of their hopes and dreams for their kids by stealing time. With the best intentions, life happens and the best laid plans come undone. They have to be away to provide but, the more the are away the more guilt they tend to feel for it being so. Although it was not ever apparent that my parents suffered such a malady, I know my brothers did. They lacked a model for good choices and strong commitments. A lifetime of bad choices, guilt for what they had done with their life and how it affected their children only encouraged an even deeper withdrawal and sense of isolation. Two of them would unexpectedly pass in their early forty's removing all possibilities of a redemption for themselves. They would be proud to know that their children have become wonderfully beautiful people who share their light with the world. Whatever their issues are for what they have endured, they seem to lack that desperate, self destructive disconnect that dims your inner light. For that, I am eternally grateful.
I believe, in order for you to know where you are headed you must acknowledge that from where you have come from. The poor circumstance becomes life lessons and you learn it is not possible to have one without the other. Self love and self forgiveness become our biggest allies in the war on life's adversities and inner demons alike. True redemption is not possible any other way. You have to accept and expect that you may get hurt again and again but, you can and eventually will reach a level where you are no longer willing to be the tool you use for your own internal suffering.
And so my life really began from here!
Sunday, December 19, 2010
A Time To Believe In Yourself!
I nward now I am looking past the fears that for years laid unknown
C ompelled now to find, a true peace of mind, a place that my heart can call home
A anger no more shall I harbor, for it's sails I am taking all down
N o longer adrift in a sea of despair, no longer a ship run aground
L etting the pain and guilt go free, I'll invite courage to invade that space
O nwards towards freedom I'll soar now, my goal is the wind on my face
V ictory is mine for the taking, for it's me I must challenge to win
E xiting depths I've come to know to reach heights I've never been
M aybe you think that you know me, what I think, how I must feel inside
E xcept you can't possibly know me for it's me I'm best able to hide
N ow with my eyes wide open and my head held up high to all
O ne day at a time I'll be taking, though I may stumble or even fall
W atch as I rise above this, I'm now willing to give it a try
Stand back, give me room, do not doubt me
FOR I'M NOW YEARNING TO LEARN HOW TO FLY!
Patricia E. Scott
copyright
C ompelled now to find, a true peace of mind, a place that my heart can call home
A anger no more shall I harbor, for it's sails I am taking all down
N o longer adrift in a sea of despair, no longer a ship run aground
L etting the pain and guilt go free, I'll invite courage to invade that space
O nwards towards freedom I'll soar now, my goal is the wind on my face
V ictory is mine for the taking, for it's me I must challenge to win
E xiting depths I've come to know to reach heights I've never been
M aybe you think that you know me, what I think, how I must feel inside
E xcept you can't possibly know me for it's me I'm best able to hide
N ow with my eyes wide open and my head held up high to all
O ne day at a time I'll be taking, though I may stumble or even fall
W atch as I rise above this, I'm now willing to give it a try
Stand back, give me room, do not doubt me
FOR I'M NOW YEARNING TO LEARN HOW TO FLY!
Patricia E. Scott
copyright
Saturday, December 18, 2010
AMENDING THE SOIL IN THE GARDEN OF GOOD AND EVIL
I believe we must all walk through fire in our time on Earth to get to the other side!
Some of those fires are small, do no harm and give light and warmth on our dark paths we are traveling while others rage out of control and cause destruction to everything they touch. Some are ignited by others in an attempt to deflect what's really going on around them as they sit back in the darkness and watch the exhausting efforts of others trying to bring them back under control. Some we start and feed ourselves.
I often got tired of hearing people say "there is no instruction book for raising children", "no class to teach what to do". I would sit back at ponder those statements as if there were a challenging puzzle that required deep thought and dedication to understand why that was so. After all, there are so many "bad" parents born to children who did not deserve the torture and neglect wrought onto them by people unable to care about anything but themselves. I used to think that God made a mistake. How could someone be capable of making a whole wide world but be so wrong about my parents and their inability to love and nurture!
One time to many times, I heard another of my family members make that statement to defend an act of violence on his child. It was at that very moment it struck me. There is an instruction booklet for raising children! It is called "CHILDHOOD". God in his infinite wisdom makes you a child first! How better for you to know beyond any doubt what truly hurts a child. What they take and pack and store from their parents bad behaviors and choices. What hurts for a minute but, then lasts for a lifetime in the mind and spirit of a child's heart? There are the things you think will scar them forever and they get over easily and then there are things you think would do no harm that end up doing the most damage! I say again, funny what you hold onto!
Children plant and toil in the dark, rich soil of the gardens of self esteem. They play and delight in a soft garden light filtered in by God's love beams. Plant pretty little rows of hopes and dreams and encourage their gardens to grow. Then they drown their budding babies with a toxic mix from parents that they will never really know.
By seventeen years old..it was clear to me my destiny was set to be miserable, lost and lonely. No one person had the ability to make me feel worthy or likable or special in any sort of way. I could stand in an cavern filled with interesting people and feel as if I was the only one there. Like a uncomfortable piece of furniture neither pretty to look at nor comfortable to utilize. After all, if you are not wanted by the very people that brought you here into this world, why then would anyone else see any value that if your own parents refused to acknowledge it? A twisted but valid perspective.
After years of watching my parents tear into each other with the fierceness of warrior soldiers, it finally came to pass they would divorce. Although my father had not been kind to me for many years ironically, it was me he came to when he found himself alone. I was in beauty school and struggling with my own personal issues but wanted his love so much I took him in. I wanted so desperately for him to like me, need me as I did him. There was a point where one of my brother's said to me "he never liked you before so why now"? Silly rabbit, I knew that but, now in the newly begotten freedom for him from under "her " rule, I was at least willing, no desperate to try.
Everyday at beauty school, I would get a call from him threatening to kill himself. I was so confused! You want to be with me to just kill yourself? Had I not suffered enough of your selfish acts and twisted thinking. I remember thinking after many times of trying to talk him down, I was becoming exhausted at the work and the struggle to keep someone alive so hell bent on not living. I was weak in this department. I had tried it myself many times by now so knew how he must feel inside. It is a desperately dark and lonely place and as much as you do not want to live anymore, you will give anything for someone to give you a reason to stay. Acting out in this way is a definite cry for help but you can not see at the time that there is really nothing anyone can say or do that will make a difference. You are the one that is broken. You know you are losing your will but do not reason it is you that is keeping you there. You find it necessary to try to put that balme on someone else, but you are your own worst enemy. Someone else's fault you are miserable, their fault you are lonely, their fault you do not feel loved. In reality, it is you who has applied your own shackles and then hide the key so that even if they wanted to they can not release you from your own misery.
One particular day, I just snapped when he called the school. I was embarrassed that he would do this to me, put my goals in jeopardy and undermine what little order I had in my life. I did nothing to deserve this madness, I left school to meet him head on. I literally flew home, blind with anger, hurt from his obvious using of me for his act to play out. He was essentially begging me to care for him in a way he had forced me to do without. I met him in his bedroom, drunk and weeping. Gathering all the pills and liquor I could find I threw them on the bed and told him to "DO IT NOW". I was daring him, it takes guts to do this, to take that step that may very well end your life. I prayed that he would and was yet frozen in fear that he might just do it. I was angry at myself that I could not think of anything else to do. I turned around and went back to school. The day was desperately cold and uncomfortable. I was right, he may have been a bully for much of my life but now I could see him as he really was, weak and broken too. I had spent a lifetime afraid of this weak and empty man.
Five months into our roommate trial, I was offered a chance to run. A man I knew was being shipped to Fayetteville N.C. and for whatever reason that seemed like as good a place as any to run to. I had no intentions when we left. I had not thought about hurting myself or ending my life but within 24 hours of arriving and being put up in a hotel room (alone), I took 2 full prescriptions and washed them down with a bottle of scotch while I composed the perfect mudslinging letter to my mother. If I was going to go, I would not go without being heard. I wanted to hurt her as much if not more than she had done to me. By the time I finished the letter, I was already on the verge of passing out. I remember I was afraid to cross the street to mail it, I was afraid of getting hit by a car! I never mailed that letter. Go figure!
By the time I was found, I was in deep trouble. I had successfully taken enough meds to kill me then enhanced it with alcohol. I had laid for hours losing consciousness. Treatment was difficult as they had no idea what was wrong with me at first. I will never know what made that gentle man come back to check on me. I remained in a coma for 30 days. North Carolina did not have laws that allowed for the disconnecting of life support. They called my mother after finding out who I was and where I came from on day 27, and told her to draw up the papers and bring them back with her. She wasted no time and did it that same day, my 30th day! "EEG showed diminishing brain waves" and even if I survived, I would be a "vegetable" they said to her. That was good enough for her, it had to be done. Her flight would leave that evening. My sister, not knowing what to do, took all my young brothers and ended up in a Catholic church. We were not Catholic but, it was the only church open that evening. Spending hours praying for my recovery before mom got on that plane with those papers, she knew there was not much hope.
I am somewhere floating on the ceiling! I am watching from up above. No bright lights or life flashing before my eyes, just floating. I see the nurses, see the room, even hear them talk to me and about me, but I am also still in the bed and appear to be sleeping. It was as clear as anything I had ever witnessed. I floated there for quite some time, felt like hours. Next thing I remember, I am being aroused by those nurses. I can hear my name they are calling me to wake up, time to wake up! And I do!
Within seconds I am surrounded by an entire room of people. Dr.'s and nurses and equipment being brought into the room. There was a flurry of activity all around me. A few days later, I am in an office listening to a Dr.
"Suicide is against the law in this state, punishable with jail time"! What? You save my life to put me in jail? North Carolina was cruel, I thought. He went on to state that I would be returned to my mother, back to California the next day. I was every bit as intact as the day I did that dastardly deed. I will say here there has been a miracle in my life more than once, though I did not, could not see it then.
I left N.C. with the thought that, I would never do this again! First, I obviously was not good at it and secondly, I felt like I "wanted" to live for the first time since I was 12! Although I have no explaination for it, I never did make another attempt to hurt myself. Over time, I learned to face adversity head on, have faith it would be OK and not take it personally. I learned to plant my own garden again, make my own rainbows and water it with forgiveness and love for myself.
I had finally learned how to amend my soil in the Garden of good and evil!
Some of those fires are small, do no harm and give light and warmth on our dark paths we are traveling while others rage out of control and cause destruction to everything they touch. Some are ignited by others in an attempt to deflect what's really going on around them as they sit back in the darkness and watch the exhausting efforts of others trying to bring them back under control. Some we start and feed ourselves.
I often got tired of hearing people say "there is no instruction book for raising children", "no class to teach what to do". I would sit back at ponder those statements as if there were a challenging puzzle that required deep thought and dedication to understand why that was so. After all, there are so many "bad" parents born to children who did not deserve the torture and neglect wrought onto them by people unable to care about anything but themselves. I used to think that God made a mistake. How could someone be capable of making a whole wide world but be so wrong about my parents and their inability to love and nurture!
One time to many times, I heard another of my family members make that statement to defend an act of violence on his child. It was at that very moment it struck me. There is an instruction booklet for raising children! It is called "CHILDHOOD". God in his infinite wisdom makes you a child first! How better for you to know beyond any doubt what truly hurts a child. What they take and pack and store from their parents bad behaviors and choices. What hurts for a minute but, then lasts for a lifetime in the mind and spirit of a child's heart? There are the things you think will scar them forever and they get over easily and then there are things you think would do no harm that end up doing the most damage! I say again, funny what you hold onto!
Children plant and toil in the dark, rich soil of the gardens of self esteem. They play and delight in a soft garden light filtered in by God's love beams. Plant pretty little rows of hopes and dreams and encourage their gardens to grow. Then they drown their budding babies with a toxic mix from parents that they will never really know.
By seventeen years old..it was clear to me my destiny was set to be miserable, lost and lonely. No one person had the ability to make me feel worthy or likable or special in any sort of way. I could stand in an cavern filled with interesting people and feel as if I was the only one there. Like a uncomfortable piece of furniture neither pretty to look at nor comfortable to utilize. After all, if you are not wanted by the very people that brought you here into this world, why then would anyone else see any value that if your own parents refused to acknowledge it? A twisted but valid perspective.
After years of watching my parents tear into each other with the fierceness of warrior soldiers, it finally came to pass they would divorce. Although my father had not been kind to me for many years ironically, it was me he came to when he found himself alone. I was in beauty school and struggling with my own personal issues but wanted his love so much I took him in. I wanted so desperately for him to like me, need me as I did him. There was a point where one of my brother's said to me "he never liked you before so why now"? Silly rabbit, I knew that but, now in the newly begotten freedom for him from under "her " rule, I was at least willing, no desperate to try.
Everyday at beauty school, I would get a call from him threatening to kill himself. I was so confused! You want to be with me to just kill yourself? Had I not suffered enough of your selfish acts and twisted thinking. I remember thinking after many times of trying to talk him down, I was becoming exhausted at the work and the struggle to keep someone alive so hell bent on not living. I was weak in this department. I had tried it myself many times by now so knew how he must feel inside. It is a desperately dark and lonely place and as much as you do not want to live anymore, you will give anything for someone to give you a reason to stay. Acting out in this way is a definite cry for help but you can not see at the time that there is really nothing anyone can say or do that will make a difference. You are the one that is broken. You know you are losing your will but do not reason it is you that is keeping you there. You find it necessary to try to put that balme on someone else, but you are your own worst enemy. Someone else's fault you are miserable, their fault you are lonely, their fault you do not feel loved. In reality, it is you who has applied your own shackles and then hide the key so that even if they wanted to they can not release you from your own misery.
One particular day, I just snapped when he called the school. I was embarrassed that he would do this to me, put my goals in jeopardy and undermine what little order I had in my life. I did nothing to deserve this madness, I left school to meet him head on. I literally flew home, blind with anger, hurt from his obvious using of me for his act to play out. He was essentially begging me to care for him in a way he had forced me to do without. I met him in his bedroom, drunk and weeping. Gathering all the pills and liquor I could find I threw them on the bed and told him to "DO IT NOW". I was daring him, it takes guts to do this, to take that step that may very well end your life. I prayed that he would and was yet frozen in fear that he might just do it. I was angry at myself that I could not think of anything else to do. I turned around and went back to school. The day was desperately cold and uncomfortable. I was right, he may have been a bully for much of my life but now I could see him as he really was, weak and broken too. I had spent a lifetime afraid of this weak and empty man.
Five months into our roommate trial, I was offered a chance to run. A man I knew was being shipped to Fayetteville N.C. and for whatever reason that seemed like as good a place as any to run to. I had no intentions when we left. I had not thought about hurting myself or ending my life but within 24 hours of arriving and being put up in a hotel room (alone), I took 2 full prescriptions and washed them down with a bottle of scotch while I composed the perfect mudslinging letter to my mother. If I was going to go, I would not go without being heard. I wanted to hurt her as much if not more than she had done to me. By the time I finished the letter, I was already on the verge of passing out. I remember I was afraid to cross the street to mail it, I was afraid of getting hit by a car! I never mailed that letter. Go figure!
By the time I was found, I was in deep trouble. I had successfully taken enough meds to kill me then enhanced it with alcohol. I had laid for hours losing consciousness. Treatment was difficult as they had no idea what was wrong with me at first. I will never know what made that gentle man come back to check on me. I remained in a coma for 30 days. North Carolina did not have laws that allowed for the disconnecting of life support. They called my mother after finding out who I was and where I came from on day 27, and told her to draw up the papers and bring them back with her. She wasted no time and did it that same day, my 30th day! "EEG showed diminishing brain waves" and even if I survived, I would be a "vegetable" they said to her. That was good enough for her, it had to be done. Her flight would leave that evening. My sister, not knowing what to do, took all my young brothers and ended up in a Catholic church. We were not Catholic but, it was the only church open that evening. Spending hours praying for my recovery before mom got on that plane with those papers, she knew there was not much hope.
I am somewhere floating on the ceiling! I am watching from up above. No bright lights or life flashing before my eyes, just floating. I see the nurses, see the room, even hear them talk to me and about me, but I am also still in the bed and appear to be sleeping. It was as clear as anything I had ever witnessed. I floated there for quite some time, felt like hours. Next thing I remember, I am being aroused by those nurses. I can hear my name they are calling me to wake up, time to wake up! And I do!
Within seconds I am surrounded by an entire room of people. Dr.'s and nurses and equipment being brought into the room. There was a flurry of activity all around me. A few days later, I am in an office listening to a Dr.
"Suicide is against the law in this state, punishable with jail time"! What? You save my life to put me in jail? North Carolina was cruel, I thought. He went on to state that I would be returned to my mother, back to California the next day. I was every bit as intact as the day I did that dastardly deed. I will say here there has been a miracle in my life more than once, though I did not, could not see it then.
I left N.C. with the thought that, I would never do this again! First, I obviously was not good at it and secondly, I felt like I "wanted" to live for the first time since I was 12! Although I have no explaination for it, I never did make another attempt to hurt myself. Over time, I learned to face adversity head on, have faith it would be OK and not take it personally. I learned to plant my own garden again, make my own rainbows and water it with forgiveness and love for myself.
I had finally learned how to amend my soil in the Garden of good and evil!
Thursday, December 16, 2010
NOW BOARDING FOR CITIES REFLECTION, MEMORY AND THE VALLEY OF DEATH!
For some reason, I always believed that I would flame out like a streaking comet, not stuttering like a death star!
I rarely speak of my past. As with a lot of people that grew up in my generation, as a rule, my story does not stand out so much anyway. No matter what my lot has been, I have known many that would trade history in a heartbeat and out of compassion I would if I could have. Comparing childhood traumas and insinuating extreme hardship was never my forte'. All of my life though, I was always honest enough to say if asked but, there are far to many subjects that I just never wanted to revisit again, ever. My personality has always dictated that I get up, get over it and move forward. One simply must ready oneself for the next blow quickly.
I was born into a family of complete dysfunction and total chaos. From as far back as I can recall there was a "forced" disconnect from the implied norms of those days in my little eyes. TV shows of the time displayed happy little homes, where the children were taught and protected, loved and appreciated, I had real honest and confusing perspectives with the likes of "Leave it to Beaver" and "Father knows best" and "Andy Griffith". I had an alcoholic father, a manipulative, suicidal mother and my only saving grace was my Grandmother. She spent years trying to run interference when it became obvious my mother would sic him on me. We were "a lot alike" and made it clear for that I deserved punishment constantly. I hated her for it.
I never could understand why those TV characters did not suffer the same things I did at my house. No one acted like they did at my house. Why was it so different for them and why are they "happy" all the time, even when they were in "trouble"? Made no sense to me and only served to cement that I was not deserving of that kind of life. I was not loved in that way, if at all by them.
At 5 years old my mother was unfaithful to my father with the young (19) son of a family friends, who was also a "babysitter" for us children and molested my sister and I during that time. Although we were not so versed on exactly what that meant, it was clear we were able to see she did not give my father "that" kind of attention or do "those" things to him. My father was not as unaware as we always thought either. We would come to know violence at his hand early on and it would take up residence in our already unstable home. It would be decades before I came to realize that his violence towards us ironically manifested from a constant and real fear of her taking us away from him, never to be seen again. My mother threatened him of that on a regular basis. She was a masterful manipulator way back then. I kept the molesting secret, Bunny (the son) told me to and my mother was not someone you told your secrets to ever, you would be punished for having any. Funny what you hold onto.
My dad for all intents and purposes was not a "bad" man. It is only while looking back and re-examining these issues during therapy many years later than I could see or admit that. As a child I thought he was evil, period. Truth is he was a hard working, funny and caring man who loved his children and worked hard everyday to provide for us. One who was insidiously and slowly poisoned emotionally, turned to stone by her dastardly deeds and threats. No doubt in my mind now, she literally drove him mad. No doubt in my mind now, he loved her in spite of it all.
My mother joined the what my dad called "the country club set" when I was around 8. She had been a stay at home "mom" up to that point. My father provided her with a very good railroad income but she had other desires and wants and saw working outside as a way to get them I suppose. Truth is, it was her "legitimate" way out of the responsibility of mother to her five children she had borne only to hold onto him but, did not want after we were here. She forced that role to be assumed by my older sister, the oldest of us all but only two years older than myself. My mother grew more and more distant, hateful that we would still "bother" her, needed her, wanted to be in her space. She was always pushing us away, setting us aside and even later asking we not come around her at all. I had never known her to be loving, soothing or caring in any way. The only time she would tell us she loved us was first only as a group, no personal adoration was ever shown, and only during her maniacal moments trying to convince us dad was the evil one. She used everyone of her children to contain and store the poison she used to turn us against him, turn him against us and force us to chose sides and manifest a fear of him. That just made him more angry and more violent.
This same year I remember the arguments were pretty brutal. He had begun to drink regularly. She would seize the opportunity to work on him psychologically. It was a cat and mouse game to her.
One particular day, they had been separated for a week or so at her choosing. He came to pick us up for a daddy day. We had on these beautiful pink and white satin dresses that had twirling skirts. We loved those! Before that day would finish though we would find ourselves locked in the bathroom, crying and scared because we could hear the escalating violence in the kitchen after she told him he would not be spending the day with us after all. My dad picked up a radio and lobbed in the direction of my mother just as we peeked out. It did not hit her but slammed into the linoleum floor causing a huge gash. Making a constant reminder of the incident for us to see forever was the only immediate damage. I can never recall however, not thinking of that incident when I saw that scar. To this day it remains as fresh as if it were only yesterday. We did not know that the violence would became a constant in our lives from that point forward and only escalate to life threatening later on.
My mother withdrew more and more as years flew by. Teased my dad with her tales of the men who desired her, wanted her, that she was stupid for not pursuing "it". Though she was rarely at home now, mom never missed a chance to plunge that knife in forcefully then offer to lick the wounds later. A constant contradiction in terms that woman. Although my mother's actions were basically predictable my father's were not.
One afternoon during another horrible fight of theirs, I was told to go get clothes off the clothesline. I went out and gathered them and there was a jacket of my father's on a hanger. While holding that out to the side to keep from wrinkling or dragging it on the ground, my little tiny dog Mitzy jumped up to play and caught the sleeve with her tooth causing a very tiny four corner tear. I can still recall the immediate fear now having to tell my dad what had happened. I could have pretended it did not happen or that I knew nothing about it. That would most certainly save me from a beating I knew was going to probably get, I told him anyway. The next thing I recall is watching my dad beat my dog to death with a broom while I stood there screaming for her life. They both walked away and allowed her to die without help. I was still only 8 years old. I spent years unable to forget, hearing my dog wail for hours in my head. Unable to understand then, I am now sure that was the incident that dealt the final blow to my little psyche and completely broke my spirit. I loved that dog! How can someone who "loves" you do such a thing to something you love?
By age 12, I was suicidal myself. I had one attempt after another and mental health unit evals for a great deal of my pre-pubescent years. I "was crazy" according to her and now becoming even more burdensome seemingly no longer under her "control". That only served to give her reason to withdraw more. I was an embarrassment to her and that also angered my dad.
By the time I reached Jr high school, it all had was coming to a head. In the 7th grade my mother for the 20th or so time had decided she would leave and take us with her. On this day she had an appointment with an attorney to file for divorce. She had done this many times only to change her mind and go on as if it hadn't ever happened. We were constantly confused, scared and insecure. We clung in the safety of each others company as if we were abandoned little litter-mates. There could only be so much help from the outside. NO ONE knew what was really going on in our house. It was not allowed. We were isolated from friends as we never knew what would happen if we brought them to our house. We knew, it was not safe there.
It was one week before Christmas that year when she saw the attorney. She must have told him what she was doing because he started drinking early and hard. He bought a case of beer put it on his bed, loaded his shotguns and placed locks on all the outside gates to keep anyone from coming in the yard. He then brought large containers of gas into the living-room and laid some flares beside them. The smell was horrible! I recall him standing at the bedroom window facing the street and waiting. My sister was 10 and I realized later, much more aware of what was going on. She bailed out a window and ran to a neighbor for help who called the Sheriff. Within minutes, our house was surrounded by police, everywhere! They all had shotguns aimed at our house and was telling him to come out with his hands up over a loudspeaker. I remember clearly at that time I was as embarrassed as I would finally be scared. All of our friends had gathered outside on our street and were watching this unfold. How would I ever live this down now? Then it became clear the real danger of our situation. Dad was drunk, angry, feeling defeated and threatened. "I will kill her when she shows up and kill all of us too." The house is locked and darkened, the gates prevent an unseen escape attempt and it was the day we would die, thanks to her.
Fortunately, in a moment of clarity my dad told my sister he was "giving up" and walked outside to open the gates. I can not recall what happened then for a few more days, blocked I suppose. The day before Christmas, my mother had visited my dad in the mental health unit where my family seemed to have private rooms held for our bad behaviors. My dad and myself were admitted by my mother on several occasions, it became "normal" for us to go there. I recall she lined us up in front of the Christmas tree and told us kids "your dad wants to come home but it will be your choice." What a responsibility for a child, who wants daddy home but is not wise to what that option would actually mean for us. Of course we wanted him home. Worst choice I have made all of my life I will say. This incident took away any possibility for a truly merry Christmas for all of my life. Though I have tried to pretend for all the years my nieces and nephews were young and around..seemed something always lingered from way back then. Sadly, it still does.
It turned out later that Christmas is when I would receive this diagnosis many years later. Was this God's way of finally releasing me from that painfully torturous memory so long ago, buy giving me something else to remember the day by?
Funny what you hold onto.
I rarely speak of my past. As with a lot of people that grew up in my generation, as a rule, my story does not stand out so much anyway. No matter what my lot has been, I have known many that would trade history in a heartbeat and out of compassion I would if I could have. Comparing childhood traumas and insinuating extreme hardship was never my forte'. All of my life though, I was always honest enough to say if asked but, there are far to many subjects that I just never wanted to revisit again, ever. My personality has always dictated that I get up, get over it and move forward. One simply must ready oneself for the next blow quickly.
I was born into a family of complete dysfunction and total chaos. From as far back as I can recall there was a "forced" disconnect from the implied norms of those days in my little eyes. TV shows of the time displayed happy little homes, where the children were taught and protected, loved and appreciated, I had real honest and confusing perspectives with the likes of "Leave it to Beaver" and "Father knows best" and "Andy Griffith". I had an alcoholic father, a manipulative, suicidal mother and my only saving grace was my Grandmother. She spent years trying to run interference when it became obvious my mother would sic him on me. We were "a lot alike" and made it clear for that I deserved punishment constantly. I hated her for it.
I never could understand why those TV characters did not suffer the same things I did at my house. No one acted like they did at my house. Why was it so different for them and why are they "happy" all the time, even when they were in "trouble"? Made no sense to me and only served to cement that I was not deserving of that kind of life. I was not loved in that way, if at all by them.
At 5 years old my mother was unfaithful to my father with the young (19) son of a family friends, who was also a "babysitter" for us children and molested my sister and I during that time. Although we were not so versed on exactly what that meant, it was clear we were able to see she did not give my father "that" kind of attention or do "those" things to him. My father was not as unaware as we always thought either. We would come to know violence at his hand early on and it would take up residence in our already unstable home. It would be decades before I came to realize that his violence towards us ironically manifested from a constant and real fear of her taking us away from him, never to be seen again. My mother threatened him of that on a regular basis. She was a masterful manipulator way back then. I kept the molesting secret, Bunny (the son) told me to and my mother was not someone you told your secrets to ever, you would be punished for having any. Funny what you hold onto.
My dad for all intents and purposes was not a "bad" man. It is only while looking back and re-examining these issues during therapy many years later than I could see or admit that. As a child I thought he was evil, period. Truth is he was a hard working, funny and caring man who loved his children and worked hard everyday to provide for us. One who was insidiously and slowly poisoned emotionally, turned to stone by her dastardly deeds and threats. No doubt in my mind now, she literally drove him mad. No doubt in my mind now, he loved her in spite of it all.
My mother joined the what my dad called "the country club set" when I was around 8. She had been a stay at home "mom" up to that point. My father provided her with a very good railroad income but she had other desires and wants and saw working outside as a way to get them I suppose. Truth is, it was her "legitimate" way out of the responsibility of mother to her five children she had borne only to hold onto him but, did not want after we were here. She forced that role to be assumed by my older sister, the oldest of us all but only two years older than myself. My mother grew more and more distant, hateful that we would still "bother" her, needed her, wanted to be in her space. She was always pushing us away, setting us aside and even later asking we not come around her at all. I had never known her to be loving, soothing or caring in any way. The only time she would tell us she loved us was first only as a group, no personal adoration was ever shown, and only during her maniacal moments trying to convince us dad was the evil one. She used everyone of her children to contain and store the poison she used to turn us against him, turn him against us and force us to chose sides and manifest a fear of him. That just made him more angry and more violent.
This same year I remember the arguments were pretty brutal. He had begun to drink regularly. She would seize the opportunity to work on him psychologically. It was a cat and mouse game to her.
One particular day, they had been separated for a week or so at her choosing. He came to pick us up for a daddy day. We had on these beautiful pink and white satin dresses that had twirling skirts. We loved those! Before that day would finish though we would find ourselves locked in the bathroom, crying and scared because we could hear the escalating violence in the kitchen after she told him he would not be spending the day with us after all. My dad picked up a radio and lobbed in the direction of my mother just as we peeked out. It did not hit her but slammed into the linoleum floor causing a huge gash. Making a constant reminder of the incident for us to see forever was the only immediate damage. I can never recall however, not thinking of that incident when I saw that scar. To this day it remains as fresh as if it were only yesterday. We did not know that the violence would became a constant in our lives from that point forward and only escalate to life threatening later on.
My mother withdrew more and more as years flew by. Teased my dad with her tales of the men who desired her, wanted her, that she was stupid for not pursuing "it". Though she was rarely at home now, mom never missed a chance to plunge that knife in forcefully then offer to lick the wounds later. A constant contradiction in terms that woman. Although my mother's actions were basically predictable my father's were not.
One afternoon during another horrible fight of theirs, I was told to go get clothes off the clothesline. I went out and gathered them and there was a jacket of my father's on a hanger. While holding that out to the side to keep from wrinkling or dragging it on the ground, my little tiny dog Mitzy jumped up to play and caught the sleeve with her tooth causing a very tiny four corner tear. I can still recall the immediate fear now having to tell my dad what had happened. I could have pretended it did not happen or that I knew nothing about it. That would most certainly save me from a beating I knew was going to probably get, I told him anyway. The next thing I recall is watching my dad beat my dog to death with a broom while I stood there screaming for her life. They both walked away and allowed her to die without help. I was still only 8 years old. I spent years unable to forget, hearing my dog wail for hours in my head. Unable to understand then, I am now sure that was the incident that dealt the final blow to my little psyche and completely broke my spirit. I loved that dog! How can someone who "loves" you do such a thing to something you love?
By age 12, I was suicidal myself. I had one attempt after another and mental health unit evals for a great deal of my pre-pubescent years. I "was crazy" according to her and now becoming even more burdensome seemingly no longer under her "control". That only served to give her reason to withdraw more. I was an embarrassment to her and that also angered my dad.
By the time I reached Jr high school, it all had was coming to a head. In the 7th grade my mother for the 20th or so time had decided she would leave and take us with her. On this day she had an appointment with an attorney to file for divorce. She had done this many times only to change her mind and go on as if it hadn't ever happened. We were constantly confused, scared and insecure. We clung in the safety of each others company as if we were abandoned little litter-mates. There could only be so much help from the outside. NO ONE knew what was really going on in our house. It was not allowed. We were isolated from friends as we never knew what would happen if we brought them to our house. We knew, it was not safe there.
It was one week before Christmas that year when she saw the attorney. She must have told him what she was doing because he started drinking early and hard. He bought a case of beer put it on his bed, loaded his shotguns and placed locks on all the outside gates to keep anyone from coming in the yard. He then brought large containers of gas into the living-room and laid some flares beside them. The smell was horrible! I recall him standing at the bedroom window facing the street and waiting. My sister was 10 and I realized later, much more aware of what was going on. She bailed out a window and ran to a neighbor for help who called the Sheriff. Within minutes, our house was surrounded by police, everywhere! They all had shotguns aimed at our house and was telling him to come out with his hands up over a loudspeaker. I remember clearly at that time I was as embarrassed as I would finally be scared. All of our friends had gathered outside on our street and were watching this unfold. How would I ever live this down now? Then it became clear the real danger of our situation. Dad was drunk, angry, feeling defeated and threatened. "I will kill her when she shows up and kill all of us too." The house is locked and darkened, the gates prevent an unseen escape attempt and it was the day we would die, thanks to her.
Fortunately, in a moment of clarity my dad told my sister he was "giving up" and walked outside to open the gates. I can not recall what happened then for a few more days, blocked I suppose. The day before Christmas, my mother had visited my dad in the mental health unit where my family seemed to have private rooms held for our bad behaviors. My dad and myself were admitted by my mother on several occasions, it became "normal" for us to go there. I recall she lined us up in front of the Christmas tree and told us kids "your dad wants to come home but it will be your choice." What a responsibility for a child, who wants daddy home but is not wise to what that option would actually mean for us. Of course we wanted him home. Worst choice I have made all of my life I will say. This incident took away any possibility for a truly merry Christmas for all of my life. Though I have tried to pretend for all the years my nieces and nephews were young and around..seemed something always lingered from way back then. Sadly, it still does.
It turned out later that Christmas is when I would receive this diagnosis many years later. Was this God's way of finally releasing me from that painfully torturous memory so long ago, buy giving me something else to remember the day by?
Funny what you hold onto.
Monday, December 13, 2010
SOMETHING WICKED THIS WAY COMES
I used to think it would be better to know. During all of my years of caring for others in positions such as this, definitely better to know. I often wondered how they felt when they got the news. Did they recognize the blessing hidden in the tragedy? A real chance to right your wrongs, make amends, ask for forgiveness, connect with those that time and distance had left in your past? More importantly, say your good-byes. Now, as I myself face those same challenges I questioned that stance. There are minutes, hours and even days I think I may have been misguided.
The first days of the New 2008 year have forced me to set aside the last 365. It is a flurry of Dr's, test, exams and I have returned to a job I love in a department I despise. I have few new friends down here in this belly. Few are friendly, many are to busy tearing down or gossiping about co-workers to notice anything else going on around them. Feeling isolated, lonely, sick and unhappy, all at the same time, still I really try not to complain. I asked for the position down there but, I asked God every night to allow me to "go HOME" to Rehab. There were people who liked me, listened to me, noticed me and appreciated me there. But that's all gone now!
My pity parties were exclusive. I rarely invited anyone in. That is not to say I did not complain, I did, loudly. If that department had been managed anything like Rehab it would have been a delightful place to work in spite of the low down dirty muck of the world pouring in through those auto doors. There was hope down there but it manifested in ways like.."I hope she doesn't expect me to do that" or "I hope they don't expect me to help." I had never known this kind of nursing, ours prior to this was a well oiled machine. A Family that pulled together. That brought all of their beautiful threads of care and compassion together that came to weave a magical tapestry we called Rehab. Now that was a family.
Dr. G has now assumed my care. Metanephrines..if ever I hear that word again I'll scream out loud! For that test I had to withdraw from Excedrin, chocolate milk and nicotine for 48 hours!
God, just please take me now!! There were four of those tests. "Positive for cancer markers" he said. Surgery seems to be the quickest fix. Removal of the masses with the knowledge they can return and spread is not what I expected but, I was learning to live in a world of lower expectations. No options really, just an attempt to get vital signs back in order I believe. I am pumping out huge amounts of nor-epinephrine, cortisol, and others. My stress level trying to maintain at work, keep the bills paid, not miss anymore time off work and try to keep it all private down there in that belly, purely inhumane torture! So, to reiterate: mutual feelings of dislike on my job, body parts negotiating contracts behind my back leaving me with something foreign to work with already out of control, still trying to maintain a distance from Mr B. still on his chosen path, and trying to accept that people I do not like have access to my medical records. Stress the gift that keeps on giving!
I was bloated, sick and miserable. The surgery was rather unremarkable. Same day, in and out, done. Fortunately I did not lose much time off work and got many to cover shifts so the boss would not be so excited to counsel me, again. Some feigned interest and concern, a few actually were both. Some I thought don't know what to say. Hell, neither did I. This was the worst Christmas present since the year my dad threatened to kill all of us and set the house on fire. That is how I have remembered Christmas all of my life. I was 8 yrs old. Dread would come every year no matter how merry I tried to make it. Haunting memories a child should not have to carry. I often prayed that I would someday have something better to dwell on at that time of year someday. Finally now, it is so. It does not however, cloud out or erase the old memory. Rather, they crawl into to bed with each other like some incestuous monster. Together, they are stronger than I am presently.
My neck and shoulders have joined the fracas! The pain now shoots all the way down my arm from the shoulder, fingers on my left hand go numb and I type for a living! Once they realized what was going on they stopped ALL steroid use. They were part of the problem with this disease that has "friended" me. All of my chemical messengers are confused, both getting and receiving the wrong signals. They tell some hormones to cut off, slow down. Others are masterfully manipulated to increase and cause me unbelievable discomfort. It is a coupe!
It is clear within months that there is no controlling my vital signs. Blood pressure remained excessively high with diastolic ranges running in the 100 to 120's and over 200 systole. I have excruciating headaches, blurred vision and now diabetes is running amuck too! There is increased enzyme action eating my teeth from the inside, happens with enormous stress they said. I look 13 months pregnant with a huge rotund belly and even the fat clothes are way to small.
Oddly, I am not afraid, angry, disgusted anymore. There is little I can do. They tell me quit smoking, again. I am cracking up on the inside as he lays out that speech, thinking why should I ? Will it give me cancer? I always joked at the insanity of trying to add on at the end when those are the crappy years of life. I am to stupid to see a benefit and to mental to care. I live in my little oblivious world of Muppet's and rice and think all is good in the world. And the days fly by.
I was finally going to get that neck fixed, if the anesthesiologist could be brave. First time is cancelled, she can not control blood pressure or heart rate for any length of time. I have to wait for some stabilization. They switch all my meds and reset that date. I am actually looking forward to "fixing" whatever can be fixed.
The surgery was successful in that I was able to leave the operating table without the assistance of the Medical Examiner. Not so much in that I suffered a severe infection that required another surgery to put in a drain. Man, was that doc mad at me but, I was not done yet. I accidently pulled out that drain before the sun set that night. Blood pooled, blocked my swallowing for months but finally did heal. It is now 6/2008 and things were looking up and now over that elephant in my room.
The first days of the New 2008 year have forced me to set aside the last 365. It is a flurry of Dr's, test, exams and I have returned to a job I love in a department I despise. I have few new friends down here in this belly. Few are friendly, many are to busy tearing down or gossiping about co-workers to notice anything else going on around them. Feeling isolated, lonely, sick and unhappy, all at the same time, still I really try not to complain. I asked for the position down there but, I asked God every night to allow me to "go HOME" to Rehab. There were people who liked me, listened to me, noticed me and appreciated me there. But that's all gone now!
My pity parties were exclusive. I rarely invited anyone in. That is not to say I did not complain, I did, loudly. If that department had been managed anything like Rehab it would have been a delightful place to work in spite of the low down dirty muck of the world pouring in through those auto doors. There was hope down there but it manifested in ways like.."I hope she doesn't expect me to do that" or "I hope they don't expect me to help." I had never known this kind of nursing, ours prior to this was a well oiled machine. A Family that pulled together. That brought all of their beautiful threads of care and compassion together that came to weave a magical tapestry we called Rehab. Now that was a family.
Dr. G has now assumed my care. Metanephrines..if ever I hear that word again I'll scream out loud! For that test I had to withdraw from Excedrin, chocolate milk and nicotine for 48 hours!
God, just please take me now!! There were four of those tests. "Positive for cancer markers" he said. Surgery seems to be the quickest fix. Removal of the masses with the knowledge they can return and spread is not what I expected but, I was learning to live in a world of lower expectations. No options really, just an attempt to get vital signs back in order I believe. I am pumping out huge amounts of nor-epinephrine, cortisol, and others. My stress level trying to maintain at work, keep the bills paid, not miss anymore time off work and try to keep it all private down there in that belly, purely inhumane torture! So, to reiterate: mutual feelings of dislike on my job, body parts negotiating contracts behind my back leaving me with something foreign to work with already out of control, still trying to maintain a distance from Mr B. still on his chosen path, and trying to accept that people I do not like have access to my medical records. Stress the gift that keeps on giving!
I was bloated, sick and miserable. The surgery was rather unremarkable. Same day, in and out, done. Fortunately I did not lose much time off work and got many to cover shifts so the boss would not be so excited to counsel me, again. Some feigned interest and concern, a few actually were both. Some I thought don't know what to say. Hell, neither did I. This was the worst Christmas present since the year my dad threatened to kill all of us and set the house on fire. That is how I have remembered Christmas all of my life. I was 8 yrs old. Dread would come every year no matter how merry I tried to make it. Haunting memories a child should not have to carry. I often prayed that I would someday have something better to dwell on at that time of year someday. Finally now, it is so. It does not however, cloud out or erase the old memory. Rather, they crawl into to bed with each other like some incestuous monster. Together, they are stronger than I am presently.
My neck and shoulders have joined the fracas! The pain now shoots all the way down my arm from the shoulder, fingers on my left hand go numb and I type for a living! Once they realized what was going on they stopped ALL steroid use. They were part of the problem with this disease that has "friended" me. All of my chemical messengers are confused, both getting and receiving the wrong signals. They tell some hormones to cut off, slow down. Others are masterfully manipulated to increase and cause me unbelievable discomfort. It is a coupe!
It is clear within months that there is no controlling my vital signs. Blood pressure remained excessively high with diastolic ranges running in the 100 to 120's and over 200 systole. I have excruciating headaches, blurred vision and now diabetes is running amuck too! There is increased enzyme action eating my teeth from the inside, happens with enormous stress they said. I look 13 months pregnant with a huge rotund belly and even the fat clothes are way to small.
Oddly, I am not afraid, angry, disgusted anymore. There is little I can do. They tell me quit smoking, again. I am cracking up on the inside as he lays out that speech, thinking why should I ? Will it give me cancer? I always joked at the insanity of trying to add on at the end when those are the crappy years of life. I am to stupid to see a benefit and to mental to care. I live in my little oblivious world of Muppet's and rice and think all is good in the world. And the days fly by.
I was finally going to get that neck fixed, if the anesthesiologist could be brave. First time is cancelled, she can not control blood pressure or heart rate for any length of time. I have to wait for some stabilization. They switch all my meds and reset that date. I am actually looking forward to "fixing" whatever can be fixed.
The surgery was successful in that I was able to leave the operating table without the assistance of the Medical Examiner. Not so much in that I suffered a severe infection that required another surgery to put in a drain. Man, was that doc mad at me but, I was not done yet. I accidently pulled out that drain before the sun set that night. Blood pooled, blocked my swallowing for months but finally did heal. It is now 6/2008 and things were looking up and now over that elephant in my room.
NURSE, CAN I HAVE A SHOT OF TEQUILA AND THE PANIC BUTTON PLEASE!
I have been stuck to this uncomfortable bed for almost my entire shift of 12 hours now. I am convinced by this time that the CT has broken and they are now drawing the pictures. Patience is not a recognizable option to my brain. I have spent hours trying to diagnose myself. I am apprehensive, feeling very alone for the first time ever. Alone is what I have been all of my life. A choice I have never regretted. Now, in this cold, noisy, bad news bearing casam, I find I would pay a stranger to sit in that chair at the end of my bed. I am thinking anywhere but here, with anyone but myself.
Dr. G. appears at my bedside. "Patty, afraid I have some bad news. I need to admit you! Complete and total panic. Admit...me? Let me just say that I am not a good patient. For having worked in hospitals for so many years I refuse to stay in one. Ask anyone that knows me. I had surgery a few years back for my knee. I wasn't out of recovery 1 hour before I was calling my sister to come and get me and the nurses upstairs to take me outside for a smoke. One did, Carol I love you for that!
"The CT came back to show masses", masses ? More than one? "You have them on both adrenal glands and "I need to admit you for a workup and consults. The voice in my head screaming cigarette makes his voice go soft. "I am pretty sure you have not that word again, Peochromocytoma". On this day I am 53 years old. Now at the best place in my life to date. I am scrambling, trying to figure out how I can refuse admission and still keep my job. My cat! My house unattended! No smoking! Worst food ever! All perfectly good reasons not to stay. I find myself trying to make a deal with Dr. G. Let me run home, take care of my cat and bring my car home as they get broken into at work. I had no illusions, I am sure he had decided a mental health eval might be a good thing also. He fired back, "insurance will not pay for the care received if I leave against medical advice". I am a danger on the road with my blood-pressure so high. Even the thought of a stroke and hurting someone doesn't seem to matter now. I can't really think anything except what I now know was a "flight" urge. Surprisingly though, I convinced him to let me do it. He pulled the curtain and told me I had 30 minutes. I lived further than 30 minutes away so, I called Mr. B. at his mother's hoping there was enough clarity in him to be of assistance to me for once. I needed him to feed my cat! He did and I appreciated that!
Without warning, Judy and Nora, two nurses from my department pop around the curtain! As happy as I am to see them I am a panic to leave or break down in full on tears. Word spreads fast on the "inside". Somehow they knew I was being admitted. Just seeing them helped. No longer feeling alone, I am just disgusted. I don't want to stay, don't really want to know anymore. In the last five years prior I had lost 2 younger brothers, still in their 40's. They had children, families and I had said out loud more than once I would have gladly gone in their place. Both left us suddenly and without warning. Good-bye privilege revoked. I'll never know what made me come back to that hospital.
I have spent two days being poked, prodded, pumped and measured. I am reaching my breaking point but, still have heard nothing from the docs. Money tab is running and I am missing more work. One of the consult Dr.s' appears to finally present their case. She has known me for awhile and easily recognizes my anxiety is out of control. I get a dose of something that seems to almost immediately take it down a notch. She pulls up a chair and opened my chart. I am screaming on the inside and wonder if she can hear it. "Cancer, both glands, very rare, metanephrines, catecholamines, diabetes, Cushings' syndrome, very low survival rate, you can go home now".
Where is that damn tequila?
Dr. G. appears at my bedside. "Patty, afraid I have some bad news. I need to admit you! Complete and total panic. Admit...me? Let me just say that I am not a good patient. For having worked in hospitals for so many years I refuse to stay in one. Ask anyone that knows me. I had surgery a few years back for my knee. I wasn't out of recovery 1 hour before I was calling my sister to come and get me and the nurses upstairs to take me outside for a smoke. One did, Carol I love you for that!
"The CT came back to show masses", masses ? More than one? "You have them on both adrenal glands and "I need to admit you for a workup and consults. The voice in my head screaming cigarette makes his voice go soft. "I am pretty sure you have not that word again, Peochromocytoma". On this day I am 53 years old. Now at the best place in my life to date. I am scrambling, trying to figure out how I can refuse admission and still keep my job. My cat! My house unattended! No smoking! Worst food ever! All perfectly good reasons not to stay. I find myself trying to make a deal with Dr. G. Let me run home, take care of my cat and bring my car home as they get broken into at work. I had no illusions, I am sure he had decided a mental health eval might be a good thing also. He fired back, "insurance will not pay for the care received if I leave against medical advice". I am a danger on the road with my blood-pressure so high. Even the thought of a stroke and hurting someone doesn't seem to matter now. I can't really think anything except what I now know was a "flight" urge. Surprisingly though, I convinced him to let me do it. He pulled the curtain and told me I had 30 minutes. I lived further than 30 minutes away so, I called Mr. B. at his mother's hoping there was enough clarity in him to be of assistance to me for once. I needed him to feed my cat! He did and I appreciated that!
Without warning, Judy and Nora, two nurses from my department pop around the curtain! As happy as I am to see them I am a panic to leave or break down in full on tears. Word spreads fast on the "inside". Somehow they knew I was being admitted. Just seeing them helped. No longer feeling alone, I am just disgusted. I don't want to stay, don't really want to know anymore. In the last five years prior I had lost 2 younger brothers, still in their 40's. They had children, families and I had said out loud more than once I would have gladly gone in their place. Both left us suddenly and without warning. Good-bye privilege revoked. I'll never know what made me come back to that hospital.
I have spent two days being poked, prodded, pumped and measured. I am reaching my breaking point but, still have heard nothing from the docs. Money tab is running and I am missing more work. One of the consult Dr.s' appears to finally present their case. She has known me for awhile and easily recognizes my anxiety is out of control. I get a dose of something that seems to almost immediately take it down a notch. She pulls up a chair and opened my chart. I am screaming on the inside and wonder if she can hear it. "Cancer, both glands, very rare, metanephrines, catecholamines, diabetes, Cushings' syndrome, very low survival rate, you can go home now".
Where is that damn tequila?
CALLING DR. OBLIVIOUS!
Looking back, I knew something was wrong. I knew instinctively "it" wasn't menopause. I was always aware from a very young age that I was not blessed with a body that ever did anything I ever wanted it to. But this was different. Looking back, I can recall that I was having some symptoms as early as 2005. I had the same wonderful, caring, attentive and interested Dr. ever, for over 20 years. The kind that fixed the problem without strapping you to a lengthy symptom fix. Dr S. didn't believe in keeping you coming in if you had no real reason to. I admired his ethic.
I had lost him as my Dr. in 2005 when he decided to move up in his management of a well known care clinic. I drove all the way to Tukwila to keep seeing him for the longest time. At that time, it was only my "slightly" elevated blood pressure needing monitoring. I had no other symptoms. It became clear with his limited schedule and taking on of less patients, I would have to look for another MD. Enter Dr. Oblivious!
I wish I could say it started out well. It did not. As I said, I found him to be cold, uninterested and hurried. He lacked the "bedside manner" of my last Dr. I always felt as though I was taking up his time, he made it that way. As a matter of fact, Dr. Oblivious was the kind of MD I had come to dislike in an immense way during all the years of exposure to more of them than I could ever count. The kind I would not only NOT recommend but discourage anyone from seeing. A lesson to all who really do not care for your MD..go get another one until you find one that "listens" without regard to time! There is nothing to be gained by the telling of your story to someone unwilling to hear it. All of the symptoms, in some form and duration began to show themselves. But, came and went. I would be fine one day, feeling like I had been rode hard and put away wet the next. Overly tired, extremely anxious, and a nervous bundle of madness seemed to have checked in for the duration. All missed clues. They only worsened over time.
In fairness, I had a lot going on in my life then. For the first time in 17 yrs I decided to date, yes date. I had not been out with a man for all of those years. I spent that time building my career, buying and fixing up a home, assisting my brother and sister with the raising of their children. I loved that time, I was healthy then. I literally worked all the time.
When I met Mr. B...something about him begged me to let him into my space. He was funny, fun to be around, helpful, respectful. At the very least, I thought it would be fun. Turns out...was anything but 6 months into it, though I would not know what was wrong for another 3 months. I had chosen to care about ...wait for it...a heroin addict. I considered myself a great judge of character. I thought I could genuinely identify a liar. Heroin addicts are a different breed of human and I found they are all alike....exactly alike! They seek out people like me. Kind, caring, compassionate. I could not for the longest time cast him out. I felt sorry for him. I knew he was sick, not a bad person...just so very sick. I had an overwhelming need to nurture him, make him better, get him well. He had an overwhelming need to use. One thing I new for sure, what ever his problem was..the answer was not going to come thru that needle. I tell you this because at this time it was an all consuming negative in my life. I remember I used to tell him, HE was making me sick from all of the stress. There was some truth to that.
While on all of the steroids for the constant asthma attacks and neck injury, even I had noticed that increased stress would cause me to spin out of control in my symptoms. I passed out one night on my way to the bathroom. When I came to, I had no idea how long I had actually been there on the floor. I had been having occasional chest pains, disregarded it when it would just go away. I could never find a common thread for any of this stuff except to recognize that it was becoming a regular thing.
It was during the summer of 2006 that it became painfully clear, as a matter of survival it was gonna be me or Mr B. to the grave first. Mr. B. was then forced out. I was under constant attack but could not identify my real enemy. I was becoming miserably anxious. I could not calm my insides down. Everything felt like I was running a marathon all the time. I had taken on the added stress of once more trying to help my sister get her life together. I was becoming restless in a position in a unit that I loved, working with the best team of people I had ever had the pleasure to work with in my whole life! You know, much like those Cheers, Friends and Desperate Housewives cast-mates that come together once in a lifetime? That blend and mesh so well they sustain each other for many years? Like that! And yet I now longed to be anywhere else. I was losing my mind too. Then I chose ER. Correction: had lost my mind! My thinking was...the challenge would be good for me, I would return to school. The reality, the stress level tripled and I continued to literally come undone.
I had lost him as my Dr. in 2005 when he decided to move up in his management of a well known care clinic. I drove all the way to Tukwila to keep seeing him for the longest time. At that time, it was only my "slightly" elevated blood pressure needing monitoring. I had no other symptoms. It became clear with his limited schedule and taking on of less patients, I would have to look for another MD. Enter Dr. Oblivious!
I wish I could say it started out well. It did not. As I said, I found him to be cold, uninterested and hurried. He lacked the "bedside manner" of my last Dr. I always felt as though I was taking up his time, he made it that way. As a matter of fact, Dr. Oblivious was the kind of MD I had come to dislike in an immense way during all the years of exposure to more of them than I could ever count. The kind I would not only NOT recommend but discourage anyone from seeing. A lesson to all who really do not care for your MD..go get another one until you find one that "listens" without regard to time! There is nothing to be gained by the telling of your story to someone unwilling to hear it. All of the symptoms, in some form and duration began to show themselves. But, came and went. I would be fine one day, feeling like I had been rode hard and put away wet the next. Overly tired, extremely anxious, and a nervous bundle of madness seemed to have checked in for the duration. All missed clues. They only worsened over time.
In fairness, I had a lot going on in my life then. For the first time in 17 yrs I decided to date, yes date. I had not been out with a man for all of those years. I spent that time building my career, buying and fixing up a home, assisting my brother and sister with the raising of their children. I loved that time, I was healthy then. I literally worked all the time.
When I met Mr. B...something about him begged me to let him into my space. He was funny, fun to be around, helpful, respectful. At the very least, I thought it would be fun. Turns out...was anything but 6 months into it, though I would not know what was wrong for another 3 months. I had chosen to care about ...wait for it...a heroin addict. I considered myself a great judge of character. I thought I could genuinely identify a liar. Heroin addicts are a different breed of human and I found they are all alike....exactly alike! They seek out people like me. Kind, caring, compassionate. I could not for the longest time cast him out. I felt sorry for him. I knew he was sick, not a bad person...just so very sick. I had an overwhelming need to nurture him, make him better, get him well. He had an overwhelming need to use. One thing I new for sure, what ever his problem was..the answer was not going to come thru that needle. I tell you this because at this time it was an all consuming negative in my life. I remember I used to tell him, HE was making me sick from all of the stress. There was some truth to that.
While on all of the steroids for the constant asthma attacks and neck injury, even I had noticed that increased stress would cause me to spin out of control in my symptoms. I passed out one night on my way to the bathroom. When I came to, I had no idea how long I had actually been there on the floor. I had been having occasional chest pains, disregarded it when it would just go away. I could never find a common thread for any of this stuff except to recognize that it was becoming a regular thing.
It was during the summer of 2006 that it became painfully clear, as a matter of survival it was gonna be me or Mr B. to the grave first. Mr. B. was then forced out. I was under constant attack but could not identify my real enemy. I was becoming miserably anxious. I could not calm my insides down. Everything felt like I was running a marathon all the time. I had taken on the added stress of once more trying to help my sister get her life together. I was becoming restless in a position in a unit that I loved, working with the best team of people I had ever had the pleasure to work with in my whole life! You know, much like those Cheers, Friends and Desperate Housewives cast-mates that come together once in a lifetime? That blend and mesh so well they sustain each other for many years? Like that! And yet I now longed to be anywhere else. I was losing my mind too. Then I chose ER. Correction: had lost my mind! My thinking was...the challenge would be good for me, I would return to school. The reality, the stress level tripled and I continued to literally come undone.
AND SO IT BEGINS...
I was so frustrated with my Dr.:
I had been ill for some time actually. For well over 3 years I suffered with what he called "menopause symptoms. Profuse sweating day & night, rapid heart rate, exacerbated asthma attacks and dangerously high blood pressure uncontrolled with medicines! All missed clues. What a price to pay for having not had children! My Dr. was kind enough to inform me that the symptoms would not only be worse for not having had children but,would start earlier and last longer for the same reason. Also, I would also be "more susceptible for cervical cancer as a final there you go.
I never cared for him, he seemed pre-occupied and hurried when I saw him. I really had no reason to doubt his expertise until he started asking me things like," why are you so hyper, why are you talking so fast, why are you so anxious?" My responses at first were "I don't know" that finally turned to "isn't that what I pay you for, to find that out"? Our Dr. patient relationship was running off the tracks now after three years of this stuff. I believe I became a nuisance to him and he became an idiot to me. Looking back now, if ever there was a time I could be "rescued" from this disease it was during that time of my obvious declining health and his obvious and persistent lack of interest.
I was a unit secretary in ER at this time. I had worked in medical all of my adult life for over 30 yrs. I provided loving care to those who's time here was drawing to it's end. I dedicated myself to making their transition as comfortable as possible. I prided myself providing comfort to families struggling with a diagnosis they neither wanted nor believed through all the stages that finally level out with an acceptance of what would inevitably be. My heart would ache for the one leaving as equally for the ones left behind. When you are the survivor, it was my belief, then you are left with a multitude of the what-if's, might have beens, should uv, could uv, would uv's that invade your thoughts for a lifetime. You never stop thinking of or missing the ones gone to soon. Worse I think, when sudden death revokes all possibilities of saying your good-byes.
One more time I became ill while working, as had happened countless times in the past now. My supervisors would force me off the floor and into the unit because my blood pressure would be so high they had a hard time figuring out why I had not "stroked out". I was a "risk" to work, but was constantly chastised for missing work. At my job you can only be sick 6 days a year. How ridiculous is that in a field where we are exposed to EVERYTHING CONSTANTLY? I never could figure out how you control illness to six days a year! That would require some pre-planning I thought, as I had been "sick" now for years, no longer measured in days at all.
As an important footnote, I had been injured on my job during this same time in 7/07. While putting paper away, I somehow herniated 2 disks in my neck. Not open to surgery at that time and time loss from work, I chose to participate in a steroid program that would possibly offer enough relief to keep me working. For over a year it worked. and I found relief. I was now noticing however, that this treatment and steroids for my breathing were causing me extreme anxiety, difficulty concentrating and an overall general malaise. I was "shaking" on the inside so horribly that I was sure you could visibly see it on the outside. Missed clues. I remember begging for Valium, to ease some of the anxiety. You would have thought I was asking for his bank card access codes! My request was denied.
I was now also being reprimanded for my attendance. Even though I showed up for work, started to work and was pulled off the floor by supervisors, bottom line was..if you don't "fix it" we will. I had been there nearing six years. Dedicated to my work and the people I supported in my capacity. I remember being offended by my supervisor's lack of concern when it clearly was presented that I was paying many Dr's good money to find the problem without success. If I could have fixed it, wished myself well surely she knows I would have done it just to avoid her! I really to this day have no idea of what she expected me to do but, she made it painfully clear as an employee of her department, illness was simply unacceptable and dealt with harshly! Go figure.
The day had been so much like any other that it almost would have never stood out. Laying in that cold exam room, waiting to see an MD one more time, to be sent home sick one more time, with an elusive diagnosis one more time! My stress over the matter was spiraling to new heights and I even remember thinking I actually get worse when it does. A missed clue.
The waiting was eternal. Waiting for blood draw, lab results, an MD. I remember thinking I should get to move along a little faster just because I was one of them, knowing full well triage dictates that I crawl along in my care just as anyone else that still had a beating heart. There would be no special treatment or a skip to the front of the line. Six hours later, one of the MD's I actually worked beside came on shift. He noticed me in that room waiting to be seen yet again. Dr. G. poked his head inside and asked what was up. Not only was I surprised at his interest but also at his questioning. Rarely do they concern themselves with a patient not their own but, he seemed genuinely concerned. Dr. G. wondered off and I thought that was it..he was concerned because I would not be his secretary tonight! He would be left to deal with someone unfamiliar in our protocol and his "ways".
ER is the belly of the beast. We either rack em' and stack em'(admit)or treat em' and street em'(send home) at a steady rate of 500 plus patients per 12 hour shift. It can be a very cold and uncaring place most times. No room for warm and fuzzy feelings down there. Clogged with the "regular" drug seekers, homeless, battered, bruised and mentally ill. Most lacking resources, addresses and family. Nurses and Dr's become distant and cold from the repetition of it all. Some even become down right mean and condecending. I was fortunate on this day that I knew who "they" were and would not be seen by any of "them" that night. God in his mercy knew that would not work for me or them.
About an hour later, Dr. G. pops back behind my curtain. "Patty, I want to admit you, "I think you have Pheochromocytoma". Stunned at the length of the word first, I remember thinking, 30 yrs in medical and I had NEVER heard that word. Never even seen it written somewhere. I listened as best I could. Although I had elevated enzymes that indicated that I may be having a heart attack, I had other symptoms that were worrisome for him after looking at my history. "I have watched you go through a revolving door of admissions here and still you are no better", "we have to find out what this is". One second of immediate relief (someone cares enough to look a little deeper, finally), that was quickly followed by an impending sense of doom. Then I remember thinking that on the up side, I will no longer be "viewed in the nude by co-workers anymore" and that thought provided me with an immediate humorous sense of relief! For I am sure it was a psychological detriment for all of us involved. You rarely have the opportunity to have "friends and co-workers" examine you nude and fondle you in such an intimate way. I always tried to reserve that for the "you show me yours and I'll show you mine" opportunities I sign up for, not forced into. In ER there was no reciprocation to ease my personal suffering!
"I am sending you for a CT and will come back to discuss it when resulted" Dr. G. said. I agreed. If there was anything clear to me then, it was that if they didn't find something I was going to lose my job before I got better. More waiting. My thoughts started racing. Trying to pull all of the symptoms I had noticed together to relay to him. I had at one time or another told them all to my Dr. but they went unnoticed or not utilized. I agreed to a medical record request for his scrutiny. I was now enormously relieved someone was looking and I now more focused on what they might find for just looking. I told myself it would be something simple, overlooked, unnoticed. Turns out I was only right on two of those counts, overlooked and unnoticed. Not so simple.
More waiting!
I had been ill for some time actually. For well over 3 years I suffered with what he called "menopause symptoms. Profuse sweating day & night, rapid heart rate, exacerbated asthma attacks and dangerously high blood pressure uncontrolled with medicines! All missed clues. What a price to pay for having not had children! My Dr. was kind enough to inform me that the symptoms would not only be worse for not having had children but,would start earlier and last longer for the same reason. Also, I would also be "more susceptible for cervical cancer as a final there you go.
I never cared for him, he seemed pre-occupied and hurried when I saw him. I really had no reason to doubt his expertise until he started asking me things like," why are you so hyper, why are you talking so fast, why are you so anxious?" My responses at first were "I don't know" that finally turned to "isn't that what I pay you for, to find that out"? Our Dr. patient relationship was running off the tracks now after three years of this stuff. I believe I became a nuisance to him and he became an idiot to me. Looking back now, if ever there was a time I could be "rescued" from this disease it was during that time of my obvious declining health and his obvious and persistent lack of interest.
I was a unit secretary in ER at this time. I had worked in medical all of my adult life for over 30 yrs. I provided loving care to those who's time here was drawing to it's end. I dedicated myself to making their transition as comfortable as possible. I prided myself providing comfort to families struggling with a diagnosis they neither wanted nor believed through all the stages that finally level out with an acceptance of what would inevitably be. My heart would ache for the one leaving as equally for the ones left behind. When you are the survivor, it was my belief, then you are left with a multitude of the what-if's, might have beens, should uv, could uv, would uv's that invade your thoughts for a lifetime. You never stop thinking of or missing the ones gone to soon. Worse I think, when sudden death revokes all possibilities of saying your good-byes.
One more time I became ill while working, as had happened countless times in the past now. My supervisors would force me off the floor and into the unit because my blood pressure would be so high they had a hard time figuring out why I had not "stroked out". I was a "risk" to work, but was constantly chastised for missing work. At my job you can only be sick 6 days a year. How ridiculous is that in a field where we are exposed to EVERYTHING CONSTANTLY? I never could figure out how you control illness to six days a year! That would require some pre-planning I thought, as I had been "sick" now for years, no longer measured in days at all.
As an important footnote, I had been injured on my job during this same time in 7/07. While putting paper away, I somehow herniated 2 disks in my neck. Not open to surgery at that time and time loss from work, I chose to participate in a steroid program that would possibly offer enough relief to keep me working. For over a year it worked. and I found relief. I was now noticing however, that this treatment and steroids for my breathing were causing me extreme anxiety, difficulty concentrating and an overall general malaise. I was "shaking" on the inside so horribly that I was sure you could visibly see it on the outside. Missed clues. I remember begging for Valium, to ease some of the anxiety. You would have thought I was asking for his bank card access codes! My request was denied.
I was now also being reprimanded for my attendance. Even though I showed up for work, started to work and was pulled off the floor by supervisors, bottom line was..if you don't "fix it" we will. I had been there nearing six years. Dedicated to my work and the people I supported in my capacity. I remember being offended by my supervisor's lack of concern when it clearly was presented that I was paying many Dr's good money to find the problem without success. If I could have fixed it, wished myself well surely she knows I would have done it just to avoid her! I really to this day have no idea of what she expected me to do but, she made it painfully clear as an employee of her department, illness was simply unacceptable and dealt with harshly! Go figure.
The day had been so much like any other that it almost would have never stood out. Laying in that cold exam room, waiting to see an MD one more time, to be sent home sick one more time, with an elusive diagnosis one more time! My stress over the matter was spiraling to new heights and I even remember thinking I actually get worse when it does. A missed clue.
The waiting was eternal. Waiting for blood draw, lab results, an MD. I remember thinking I should get to move along a little faster just because I was one of them, knowing full well triage dictates that I crawl along in my care just as anyone else that still had a beating heart. There would be no special treatment or a skip to the front of the line. Six hours later, one of the MD's I actually worked beside came on shift. He noticed me in that room waiting to be seen yet again. Dr. G. poked his head inside and asked what was up. Not only was I surprised at his interest but also at his questioning. Rarely do they concern themselves with a patient not their own but, he seemed genuinely concerned. Dr. G. wondered off and I thought that was it..he was concerned because I would not be his secretary tonight! He would be left to deal with someone unfamiliar in our protocol and his "ways".
ER is the belly of the beast. We either rack em' and stack em'(admit)or treat em' and street em'(send home) at a steady rate of 500 plus patients per 12 hour shift. It can be a very cold and uncaring place most times. No room for warm and fuzzy feelings down there. Clogged with the "regular" drug seekers, homeless, battered, bruised and mentally ill. Most lacking resources, addresses and family. Nurses and Dr's become distant and cold from the repetition of it all. Some even become down right mean and condecending. I was fortunate on this day that I knew who "they" were and would not be seen by any of "them" that night. God in his mercy knew that would not work for me or them.
About an hour later, Dr. G. pops back behind my curtain. "Patty, I want to admit you, "I think you have Pheochromocytoma". Stunned at the length of the word first, I remember thinking, 30 yrs in medical and I had NEVER heard that word. Never even seen it written somewhere. I listened as best I could. Although I had elevated enzymes that indicated that I may be having a heart attack, I had other symptoms that were worrisome for him after looking at my history. "I have watched you go through a revolving door of admissions here and still you are no better", "we have to find out what this is". One second of immediate relief (someone cares enough to look a little deeper, finally), that was quickly followed by an impending sense of doom. Then I remember thinking that on the up side, I will no longer be "viewed in the nude by co-workers anymore" and that thought provided me with an immediate humorous sense of relief! For I am sure it was a psychological detriment for all of us involved. You rarely have the opportunity to have "friends and co-workers" examine you nude and fondle you in such an intimate way. I always tried to reserve that for the "you show me yours and I'll show you mine" opportunities I sign up for, not forced into. In ER there was no reciprocation to ease my personal suffering!
"I am sending you for a CT and will come back to discuss it when resulted" Dr. G. said. I agreed. If there was anything clear to me then, it was that if they didn't find something I was going to lose my job before I got better. More waiting. My thoughts started racing. Trying to pull all of the symptoms I had noticed together to relay to him. I had at one time or another told them all to my Dr. but they went unnoticed or not utilized. I agreed to a medical record request for his scrutiny. I was now enormously relieved someone was looking and I now more focused on what they might find for just looking. I told myself it would be something simple, overlooked, unnoticed. Turns out I was only right on two of those counts, overlooked and unnoticed. Not so simple.
More waiting!
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