Daily Post 197: Being Told You Were Right

Oh, man. Talk about a productive day of evil, mastermind planing.

It started with waking up. Ox wasn’t with me, but I had been prepared for the potential of him not coming over. It was a slow morning. A pre-school morning.

I plucked around on the computer for a bit. I renewed my domain name for my CG website. I haven’t done anything with it since I resigned from Full Sail but I don’t want to let it go either. It was $35 for another two years. Not bad as far as expenses go and with my state refund I wasn’t cutting into the grocery bill.

I also went onto Amazon. I love using green and orange highlighters. I use them for the flashcards I make for school. I use them to mark my progress on cross stitch patterns. Most recently I’ve started using them to mark what I have accomplished on my to-do lists rather than scratching through them with my pen or pencil. Seeing color on the page makes something in my brain happy.

Well… the shitty thing about having a specific color highlighter you want to use is if you run out and need to buy more you typically have to buy a whole pack with a bunch of other colors that are going to collect dust for forever. A quick search on Amazon revealed that I can buy packs of an individual color, other than yellow.

Best. Day. Ever.

I also looked into the whole Amazon Prime thing for students since I’m a student and all. I can use it for six months free. Guess what’s an Amazon Prime item?

Yep. That’s right. My spiffy highlighters of awesomeness. So in two days, I’ll have two 12 packs of happiness tucked away with the rest of my office/computer supplies.

While I was on the site I also ordered a bottle of the leave-in conditioner I like using for my hair. The places here in Nebraska never have it in stock. Is ordering online really destroying “in-store” retail when they never have what I’m looking for?

I decided to splurge a little bit more by buying a box of Pop Corners. I didn’t even know those were a thing until I got a care package in the mail from one of my friends. It was a box full of goodies, mostly high protein stuff for recovery after surgery, but the Pop Corners were a treat. The Sweet Kettle Corn flavor has crack cocaine in it. That’s the only explanation for why they’re so ridiculously good. Since I had gone through the supply from my friend I decided to feed my addiction by seeing what Amazon had to offer.

There was a 28 count box for $15.

Me: Bought!

That item wasn’t a Prime item, but I was ok with waiting.

I did dishes and spent some time with the kittens. By then I didn’t have time to go to the gym before class, which I was ok with. I could go afterward and be fine with my day.

I showered and got ready to leave. I stopped at Walgreens to pick up the refill for my Synthroid. While I was there I ended up talking to my boss on the phone. We talked about how the patient schedule would be changing. It’s nice to know what I’ll be walking into on Friday and Saturday. It was also nice being able to talk to her. Recently I’ve only been able to see her briefly on Fridays.

Class was interesting. We continued the discussion from last Thursday; is it possible for humans to pursue peace or is violence ingrained into our DNA? Is our behavior nature or a product of our culture? Very interesting discussion.

I left class feeling good. Ox was still at work when I called him. We agreed to meet at Hi-Way Diner for lunch. I got a cup of coffee while I waited for him and began typing up my notes. He arrived, petting my head to pull me out of the bubble of solitude I had created for myself with my headphones and music.

Ox: Did I scare you?

Me: No. I don’t think there are many people who would randomly come up and start petting me.

We ordered our food and ate as we talked about the new virus that was discovered in Brazil. More interesting stuff. I didn’t know viruses could replicate, transcribe, or translate DNA. Science is pretty cool.

After eating Ox went to make his car payment while I went to pick up more wet cat food. I haven’t had to buy as much since I’ve been splitting a can between the kittens rather than giving them each a whole can. I still had a few cans left, but it wouldn’t have lasted until next Tuesday so I figured I would get more while I was in the area.

Ox and I met back up at GNC for the energy drinks we like. Sadly they didn’t have any of the Sour Apple Reign for Ox. We got two cases of Bang instead. I carried both of them out to the car. It’s the first time since surgery I’ve carried two at once. The last time I had gone I had to make two trips to the car since I could only lift one case at a time. It sucked.

Not this time though. : D

Ox called me a brat while I did it. I mean… I can understand his viewpoint. Here he is, a macho guy carrying nothing walking next to a chick who’s lugging around two cases worth of energy drinks. This was a victory moment for me though, damnit. I can finally lift normal shit that I took for granted pre-surgery. Let me have my moment!

From GNC we went to Costco. We got gas for the cars. Inside we picked up St. Louis ribs since Papa Ox has been mentioning that he would enjoy having those for dinner one night. I picked up two roasts for future meal prep. We got two containers of cottage cheese; one for the house and one for me.

Ox convinced me to get a bag of dark chocolate covered pretzels. The deal was he had to take the rest of the candy from my care packages. I can’t have all of that chocolate sitting around the apartment. Dark chocolate covered pretzels are a weakness for me. Sooo good. >.<;

While we were walking to check out I noticed a box… a box of Pop Corners. The same box, in fact, that I had just spent $15 dollars on… for only $6.

I couldn’t get my phone out fast enough. XD

Me: Cancel order! Cancel order! Cancel order!

Amazon: Your message has been sent to the seller. Please note that your order may not be canceled.

Me: Fuck my life.

Ox: Well, at least we know for next time.

I put the box of Pop Corners in the cart, hoping that my order would, in fact, be canceled. If not… well… at least I hadn’t paid more than I did.

We checked out. As we were standing next to the cars I got an email notification saying the order was canceled. Woooooo! Even better best day ever!

Ox and I talked for a while, which needs a bit of backstory… as I was leaving the diner, I had gotten a few messages from Jon.

Jon: I called SCC. I spoke to the LPN Director.

Then nothing. Silence. No continuation of his story. No explanation. Just suspense.

My Brain: What the did you talk to her about? What did you ask her? I need details.

I called him and basically said those exact things. That he wasn’t allowed to leave me in suspense like that and to spit it out.

Jon: I thought you were grocery shopping and would talk to me later.

Me: Yeah. That was before you messaged me. I need details so spill it.

Jon: Well, you were right…

So, basically, he called the college I’m going to and talked to the LPN Director. You know… the director I met due to my training at the gym with her husband. The person I spoke with in regards to my cancer diagnosis and seeing what my options with school were. Yeah… that director…

My brother explained who he was and she said she remembered me. Warm fuzzy feelings. : 3

My brother also explained his situation and how he was thinking about moving to Nebraska and wanted to know more about the program and the chances of his credits transferring.

He told me that he had called a handful of schools. Some out in Vegas near Jason. Some in other locations he was thinking about. So far Nebraska seems like the best option for him. I don’t know all of the details from his conversation with the director, but Jon likes the information he got in regards to the college and how the school handles the nursing programs.

That led to a fairly long conversation ending with Jon saying he was going to talk to a few other people and get their perspectives and that we would talk more later. I told him I was proud of him. Not because he was thinking about moving to Nebraska specifically, but because he did research and got more information. He saw that he really does have other options and that some of those options are actually viable.

By making phone calls he showed himself that he’s not stuck in a hopeless situation. It takes effort and courage to call a stranger and spill your soul, admitting that your life currently sucks, and to ask if there’s anything they can do to help.

My Brain: Don’t mind me. I’ll just be over here, being a super proud older sister. >.> /high fives self

So yeah, after shopping at Costco, Ox and I talked pretty extensively about how he felt about the potential for Jon moving here to Nebraska. I wanted to hear his perspective.

Ox’s biggest concern would be if Jon and I ended up moving to Beatrice, which is about a 40-minute drive from the house. Ox and I wouldn’t be able to see each other as much. I would be much closer to school and work. I would be extremely close to my dojo as well. IN some ways it would make the 8 months of school easier. On the other hand, I don’t like the idea of being 40-ish minutes away from dinner or a cigarette or a hug.

Ox had a few other concerns. Never seeing me because I’m spending all my time with my brother. Jon not wanting him over at our residence because he hates Ox on principle… things like that.

They are all valid points. I like to think that I wouldn’t let my love for my brother compromise my relationship with Ox.

Ox and I also talked about potential employment for Jon. He’s a CNA and while he currently works at a hospital in Daytona, he wouldn’t be able to work at a hospital here in Lincoln. The hospitals here have phased out CNAs and LPNs. Jon doesn’t want to work in a long-term care facility…

Ox: Has he thought about working for your company?

That led to another conversation with Jon.

Me: Have you ever thought about being a dialysis technician?

Jon: I mean… I’ve never done it but I’m willing to give it a shot. The clinics here said they couldn’t hire me because of my school schedule.

Me: The clinics here are super understanding when it comes to school. And the company has paid training. They’ll teach you everything you need to know.

So… yeah… that led to another really long conversation. At the end of that one, I told Jon that I would call my boss and talk to her and see what information I could get for him.

I called my boss… again… XD

I explained the situation and how my brother was considering moving here to Nebraska. I explained his work history and how he wasn’t very interested in going back into long-term care. Were there needs in any of our sister clinics?

There are. There are three open positions. With his years of experience as a CNA my FA’s “gut feeling” is that he would be able to get more than base pay. It’s not guaranteed and she didn’t give me a number, but with how much more exposure he has, I would be surprised if he was offered base pay.

Even if he is offered that, it’s more than what he’s currently making.

So long story, long… he’s going to apply and he’s thinking about coming out to see Nebraska during his spring break in school, which would be around March 9th to the 13th.

I want this to work. I want this to work so freaking bad. Jon is going to do a bit more research on his end, but I think he’s finally seeing how much better this situation could legitimately be.

So that was the majority of my afternoon. I went to the gym and biked for 38 minutes. I made it to gear 14. I most likely pushed a bit too much. I went to Walmart afterward and could tell my neck wasn’t happy with me. It didn’t really hurt, but I could tell there were “not happy with you” feelings there.

I got the last bit of groceries needed for my meal prep. I also stocked up on chicken thighs and no-tatoes while I had the money to do so. After that, I went to the apartment and put all of my things away.

I went to the house. One of the pieces of mail was my Cigna paperwork regarding my surgery. I’ve been waiting for this piece of mail to come. I’ve been dreading it; knowing it would appear one day to tell me how financially fucked I am.

My surgery cost $29,942.62. My insurance covered 82% of it. I owe $4,945.88.

Out of nearly $30,000 I only have to pay roughly $5,000.

I guess I really can’t bitch a whole lot. That’s still a lot of money, but the hospital is willing to work with me. I can make payments and not be completely fucked. And compared to what it could have been, that’s really not a lot. I think that’s more than fair. I think 82% makes having insurance worth it. So, not exactly the best of news, but much better than what I was expecting.

We decided to cook the ribs we had bought earlier for dinner. I put them in the InstaPot, showing Mama Ox how easy it was to cook them. Ox and I had mindblowing sexy time while dinner cooked itself. Maybe that’s kind of trashy of me, but if it is, I’m ok with it. I mean… not only did I kickass in school, I also did all my errands, went to the gym, and got my brother to admit that I was right. Fuck yeah, I’m a sexy, productive, bad-ass bitch. Who wouldn’t want this? /flex

We ate dinner and it was super tasty, and that was about it for the night. Papa Ox mentioned that Venus was visible tonight and sure enough you can see it in the west. That’s pretty cool.

Ox got roped into running dungeons on WoW so I decided to come over to the apartment to write and be with the kittens. I might cross-stitch for a bit. Maybe color. Not sure yet. Still sort of in awe of how everything has gone down today.

Maybe this is the Universe apologizing for giving me cancer.

Universe: Hey. I know things have been sort of shitty, so here’s some good stuff to make up for it.

God. I hope this all works out. I really, truly do.

Daily Post 191: Pre-D&D

Not 100% proof read. My bad.
Didn’t want to be late for D&D <3

The past few days have been eventful and productive.

Monday went well. Work was decent. Nothing overly exciting happened. I used timers on my phone to work in time to color instead of taking as many smoke breaks. It seemed to work well and something I will continue trying to do.

Monday night went well. I wrote and posted. I did dishes. Ox came over once he was at a stopping point with WoW. I cooked us dinner before we started plucking away at our D&D characters. Dinner wasn’t anything fancy. Just some burger patties. I added mushrooms and onions with pepper jack cheese to mine. Tasty and filling.

This is the first foray into character creation that Ox and I have done by ourselves. When I’ve made characters before I’ve always had someone more experienced guiding me through the process. From a psychological aspect, I can make a fairly solid personality and backstory for a character, but figuring out stats and proficiencies, and traits, and spells or abilities and items, and alignment, and, and, and, and…

It can get daunting pretty fast when you look at the entire task rather than breaking it down into smaller, manageable pieces. It didn’t help that with the D&D Beyond website, my class isn’t listed because it’s not a “standard” class. Of course, cat people wouldn’t be standard… bastards…

Around 10 pm I was tired enough to call it quits. Ox stayed up significantly later, until close to 1 am, working on both our characters. Not only did he figure his out, he also went into the “homebrew” section and created a race specifically for my character that we could use with the D&D Beyond system.

That’s what I woke up to Tuesday morning. I sat down at my laptop to begin typing up my notes for my sociology class and got distracted by investigating the D&D pages left open on my browser. I can’t put into words how touched I was. He took the time to create something specifically for me. It was something I didn’t have to worry about figuring out anymore. It was already done. At least for the most part. All of the information was in there. I dinked around with it for a bit and was able to fine-tune things so modifiers showed up in the right spots and such. But a majority of the leg work had already been done and that was an amazing gift.

I spend about 30 minutes absorbed in D&D stuff. Eventually, I began working on my notes. I showered and got ready for class. I packed up my things then headed into town. I stopped at Walgreens for a refill of my Zoloft. There wasn’t a copay this time, so that was another nice surprise.

I went to school. I got there early so I kept typing up my notes. The class wasn’t all that awesome. We mostly talked about how to properly cite sources in APA format. We talked about “success in college”. That was mildly interesting since we delved into studies and statistics and research. It wasn’t just “take my word for it” BS, but rather scientifically verified things.

Interestingly enough, standardized testing isn’t a very good indicator of success in college. I liked seeing that, actually. For a while, I’ve felt that tests aren’t a true measure of a person’s ability. They’re only one aspect of a much more complex situation.

Towards the end, we starting talking about critical thinking skills, which again, was interesting, but overall I felt like I didn’t gain a lot of information or insight from this particular class session.

After class, I went to Hi-Way Diner. I finished up with most of my notes; formatting the text and such. That helped fill the time while I waited for Ox to get there from work. We ate. I looked at my finances. I’m pretty tight on money right now but I think we’ll be ok.

We went to Costco for water since I’ve been going through it like crazy. I’ve been running warm recently. I’ve been leaving the heat off and opening the window in the bedroom at night so it feels cool enough to let me sleep. I haven’t had a fever, so I have that going in my favor.

I didn’t have a lot of energy for most of Tuesday. Staying up late was the main reason I think. Eating lunch didn’t help give me energy, so once we were done with Costco I was pretty much done with everything. All I wanted was to go home and take a nap.

Ox stopped at the gas station near home and got me a small carton of heavy cream since I needed that for one of my meals. He carried the water into the apartment for me, too, because he’s awesome like that. Once he left I crawled under my weighted blanket and slept for roughly three hours. I woke up feeling better and able to continue plucking away at the to-do I had created in the morning.

I cooked both my meals. I tried making the creamy chicken pasta again. Instead of zoodles, I used cauliflower rice. It’s good, but still a little on the bland side. I’m not sure what would help spice it up. Maybe a tablespoon of Italian seasoning or something along those lines. The recipe has a very soft, subtle flavor and I like my food to be bolder.

I went over to the house around 5:30. Ox and I kept working on our D&D characters. We had dinner with his parents. Steaks with side-salad. No complaints.

I think it was around 9:30 or 10 that we wrapped things up with the characters. I emailed our sheets to the DM so he could have them for Wednesday evening. Ox and I trekked back to the apartment and went to bed together.

He woke up this morning for work. I stayed in bed, once again foregoing the 5:30 am class I had thought I was interested in.

I started my day around 7:30. I had breakfast then went to sit down at my laptop only to realize I had left my backpack at the house. That had me trudging out into the snow that wasn’t supposed to have been falling, to the car, driving to the house, picking up my backpack as Papa Ox snickered at me, driving back to the apartment, to finally begin the day as I had intended. Sans breakfast though since I had foolishly heated up a container of chicken then left it unattended with the kittens… Yeah… totally didn’t get to eat half of my breakfast because of that.

I went through my “in” pile since that’s been building up. I paid all of the medical bills I’ve received so far using my HSA account. That thing has been a life saver. I don’t know what I would be doing without it since I’ve paid almost 1k in medical expenses so far.

I put the laundry away since I had washed and dried it last night while I was at the house. I cleaned the litter box. I washed dishes. I typed up the last bit of my notes, so I’m caught up in that regard. I printed out the D&D sheets for Ox and I to use tonight. That had me fighting with the printer for a while and I still didn’t get it 100% right. I really do dislike this printer. >.<; It should not have taken half the effort it did to print those sheets.

I eventually showered and got dressed. I packed for the gym so I could bike after I was done at school. I drove into town. The roads weren’t bad, but they weren’t perfect either. The snow was starting to stick and certain spots were slick. There was an accident right where I needed to turn to get into the college. That had me running a little late, but at least it looked like a fender bender rather than anything super bad.

Counseling went well. We talked pretty extensively about my past week and my feelings regarding it. I talked about how I’ve been productive and writing more, using my to-do lists as a way to keep myself on track and to remember everything I was able to get accomplished.

We talked about how I felt like at least part of it was coming from the medications. Part of the productivity might be the Synthroid. Having energy after work is unheard of for me, not that I’m necessarily complaining. Just noting that it’s not “normal” for me. The energy hasn’t been interfering with my sleep. I’m able to go to bed at decent times and sleep deeply enough to feel resting, so there’s that. More energy, but not so much more that it’s fucking with my life.

I mentioned how I think sleeping well is factoring into my new found “ok” feeling. I get restorative deep sleep and I think the weighted blanket has something to do with that. I also think having slower, less crazy days factors into that. Taking time for self-care is also affecting things I believe.

The Zoloft may be keeping my depression in check, which I said was a bit disheartening, however, knowing how hard last winter was for me, I’m not ready to try discontinuing it. Maybe it’s the crutch I need while I rebuild all of the habits that help me be ok on my own.

I mentioned how I was going to wait until the weather started warming up and the days were sunnier; most likely towards the end of March. Spring-ish. That’s when I want to see about backing off of the Zoloft. Right now I would rather keep doing well and feeling well about my days than going back to feeling sad and tired all the time.

We talked about my Wellness Assessment at the gym and my workout on Sunday. We talked about my feelings regarding my new baseline and my plans in regards to the gym. I mentioned how at first I had put on my schedule to go to classes early in the morning, but at the moment that wasn’t working for me. I enjoy my mornings at the apartment too much to want to give them up. I like being about to have a slow start to the morning, enjoying my breakfast, doing chores, making my to-do list, actually sleeping until I’m ready to wake up…

I don’t want to give that up just to take a class at 5:30 in the morning that I’m physically not able to complete. I know I can’t do an hour’s worth of cardio yet. I’m not recovered enough for that. It seems to be working better to go to the gym on my own and to do what I want for as long as I want and to be happy and content with that.

We also talked about the upcoming D&D meet this evening, how Ox and facilitated a lot of it, and how in general, he and I are doing really well. We’ve been doing more things together. Intentionally interacting rather than mutually ignoring each other while we’re in the room together. Not that I mind moments like that. I enjoy cross-stitching next to him on the bed while he plays WoW. Honestly, I do. But if that’s the only interaction we have, it can lead to feeling disconnected.

By doing more things together, I can enjoy the times we’re together in solitude and I can enjoy my actual alone time because I have these other moments of connectedness. It’s all about balance and I think we’re finding a better one for us now that things are settling down.

So yeah. Counseling was a good session. We’re going to continue to monitor how the coming week goes and check back in, a bit more indepth, about my feelings regarding the medication issues.

After counseling, Ox sent me a picture of my car, showing that he was in the school parking lot. I went out and had a cigarette with him. I still had to figure out my references for the report assignment in my class, so I didn’t want to leave campus yet. I did want to take advantage of his surprise visit though and see him for a few minutes while I could.

It was a nice transition from counseling to school tasks. I got a hug which almost always makes things better.

He drove me back up to the front of the school so I didn’t have to track back through the snow to get there. I set up camp in one of the booths across from the cafeteria and plucked away at finding decent sources for my paper. I found 7 that I’m thinking about using. I only have to turn in four for the assignment tomorrow. Every extra source I use is extra points. I would rather have too many sources and not use all of them then realize I don’t have enough information to answer all of the questions in the paper.

So yeah, that took about two hours to shift through. I filled out the sheet with all of my reference information that’s’ due for class tomorrow. I’m content with the progress I made in the realm of school for today, so I’m done with that area of my life for the moment.

I went to the gym again. I biked for 30 minutes this time. Got to 5.64 miles and made it to gear six, which is one higher than Sunday. I started to feel my incision, which is where I decided to back off, do a bit of a cool down, then call it quits for today.

I did better than last time, so it was a good workout in my book. I actually worked up a sweat this time. It felt good. I’m happy with my effort.

And now I’m back at the apartment, writing, before taking another shower and heading out to D&D like the nerd I am. I’m looking forward to it. I think we’re all going to be chipping in for pizza. I hope it’s a good night. I’ll let you know how it goes tomorrow. : 3

Daily Post 190: That Old Feeling

So I’m almost caught up on writing, and this is where I’m going to be able to write much more in-depth about what has been doing on during my weeks. Why? Because I have pages in my notebook covered in green highlighter marks from all of the stuff I’ve been able to accomplish. Go me. : D

I left off with having a good day at work last Monday and hoping that’s how my days would continue to go as my incision healed more.

Tuesday was a school day. Before I made it to school I did a bunch of chores around the apartment. I went to Walmart to buy a handheld vacuum because sweeping up cat litter on hardwood floors sucks. I went and got gas for the car. I stopped at Starbucks for a breakfast sandwich since I had time to do that. I still made it to school early enough to cross-stitch a bit.

That’s something I’ve been doing recently. I’ve been carrying my projects with me so I have something to do in the odd bits of time that I find myself waiting around. Coloring mandalas is another thing I’ve been doing. I keep my book, color pencils, and sharpener in the same bag as my cross-stitch project and I tote it around with me like a slightly crazy lady. I’m ok with it.

School was good. I got to talk to my instructor about what happened the previous Thursday. That whole being told class was canceled only to be marked absent because class was, in fact, not canceled…

Before class had a chance to start, the woman who had told me to go home came in and explained she had gotten the room wrong. I got her contact information and gave it to my instructor. I was given credit for the day I missed along with all of the handouts I missed from the library. Overall I didn’t miss much. Just the tour. No real class content to worry about. I didn’t withdraw from the class. My instructor was super understanding and laughed with me when I said I had figured the start of the semester would be rough due to the surgery. I hadn’t expected it to be THIS rough. XD

So everything is as it should be in the realm of school.

I made an appointment to get my taxes done. That was scheduled for Wednesday evening.

I called Jon about halfway through the day almost in tears. I told him that nothing was wrong. Honestly. Everything was going well and that’s what bothered me. I hadn’t felt this ok, this productive, this able to do things, in so long that I didn’t know how to feel about feeling the way I felt.

It felt like how I used to be pre-mom-death. Where I could think about going out and running errands and actually do those things and feel good about it and not be exhausted from it. We talked about my wariness over this new “old” feeling.

That evening, Ox and I met a couple at the Hi-Way Diner. The wife had posted about wanting to start a D&D group. Ox replied and chatted with her a bit and so there we were Tuesday evening, meeting to see what could work and if we all even got along well enough to want to play a campaign together.

It was a really nice evening and I’m glad we met with them. The game plan is to start playing next Wednesday afternoon. I’m looking forward to it. Ox and I still need to make our characters but that’s one of the things on tonight’s to-do list. :3

Eventually, the day came to a close. By the end of it I had a page full of completed tasks with a page already made for the next day.

Wednesday morning started on the low side emotionally speaking, but after I got up and started moving around things turned around. I completed my meal prep. I packed clothes for the gym since I had a Wellness Assessment schedule at the YMCA after my counseling session. After some more chores, I headed into town.

We talked pretty extensively about my feelings regarding my new productivity during counseling. We also talked about Mama Ox and my relationship with her for a while. Though I care about Mama Ox deeply, I know I keep her at arm’s length emotionally. I don’t want to be super close to her. I don’t want her to be my confidant. I don’t want her to replace mom and there are certain “mom things” that I’m not ok with her doing or being for me. My counselor thinks it’s good that I have that level of awareness about myself and my emotions.

After counseling, I went to the gym. I most likely pushed way too hard. I did step-ups for three minutes. By the end of the first minute, I was winded. By the end of the second minute, my chest was getting tight around my incision. By the end of three minutes, I realized that intense cardio was most likely a bad idea and that I should have stopped sooner.

I did 25 pushups. Again, most likely not my smartest idea of the day. The last 10 weren’t pretty. And when I mean they weren’t pretty, I mean they were probably the saddest pushups you’ve ever seen ever.

The crunches didn’t bother me as much. Maybe there were endorphins involved at that point. Who knows?

The trainer’s advice was to basically take things slow and low. If I lift weights don’t do anything heavy. If I do cardio, don’t push too much. He didn’t tell me anything I didn’t already know, but we talked about some things that I could do and how I could slowly eek the intensity up as I felt comfortable with it. The assessment gave me a baseline for my numbers. It also let me know where I was endurance wise which is sad. My endurance is Level: Sad at the moment.

I ended up mailing the cross-stitch I made for Allison’s daughter to her. I donated stuff to Goodwill. I stopped at Walmart again. This time for windshield washer fluid. I made it to my tax appointment. Ox drove us since I don’t like getting into the parking lot. I’m getting close to 2k back this year. That sounds like a lot until you take away the $700 I owe Allison for covering my surgery deposit. I also have to use $250 to renew my CCHT license for work. That will be reimbursed but I still have to pay for it upfront. I also wanted to get the car looked at and tuned up while I have the finances to do it.

So yeah… A lot of my money is already spoken for. That’s Life I guess. I should have known better than to think I could actually pay my car off with my tax return. : /

Thursday. Another school day. The morning started with my morning routine. Breakfast. Meds. Coffee. Random chores. School prep. I stopped at Walmart for conditioner… I’m starting to see a trend in my writing…

School went well. I went to GNC and Office Max after school to kill some time before meeting Ox for lunch. We’ve been going to the Hi-Way Diner a lot. I’m enjoying the food. There’s just something about their Steak Philly omelet that warms a part of my soul.

We ended up going home after after eating. More chores. Cross-stitching, then sleep for work the next day.

Friday. A workday. The morning started off well. I paid bills when I went on my morning break. I worked with my FA that day so it was a pretty smooth day. I completed all of my assigned computer training. That was the big “work” accomplishment for the day.

After work I went to Walmart…. again… but this time it was for my rent check and that was it. I couldn’t get that until I got paid so yeah… that’s my defense and I’m sticking to it. I don’t need Walmart intervention. YOU need Walmart intervention. >.>

After making sure I could pay rent and not get evicted, I came back to the apartment. Ox had the kids but he came over for a little bit. He helped me clip Saber’s nails and replaced one of the light bulbs in the kitchen for me. Yay for having life hostages who do things for you.

I read the second chapter for my Sociology class. I finished coloring a mandala page I had started a few days back. It was fun. I enjoyed spending the time working on it and I like how it came out for the most part. I would do things a little differently if I could, but since I can’t, I’m ok with it. I’ll make better choices on the ones I do in the future.

It was weird having energy after working all day. I got a lot done after work, including going out into public and interacting with people. That was pretty unheard of pre-surgery.

Saturday was another good day. Work went well. I got to cannulate a new fistula and it was perfect. So good. And yes I know that sounds weird, but when you’re in the dialysis field or any sort of profession where you have to put a needle in someone’s vein you can’t help but swoon a little when you get an amazing stick. It totally made my day to have such a clean and perfect stick on a new fistula that is maturing exactly as it should be. Sooooo good.

After work, I came home and did more chores. I took my chapter 2 test and got a 100 on it. I figured out what classes at the gym I could make before school and counseling. I meal planned for the coming week and made a grocery list. I replied to messages. I cross-stitched. All sorts of stuff got done with the knowledge that Sunday was a day off. Not only a day off but also forecast to be 60 degrees and sunny.

Sunday. Omg. All of the green marks on my page. Morning routine. Check. Breakfast at the house with the family. Check. Run errands. Check. Write and post. Check. Work on school stuff. Cross-stitch. Meal prep. Finish coloring a section on my new mandala. Call in a refill for my Zoloft. Go to the gym and workout. Color a little with Lil’ Ox. Have dinner with the family.

All checks.

I even tried a new recipe from the cookbook my older brother and sister-in-law got me for Christmas. Keto Ninja Foodi Cookbook. It has a lot of interesting ideas. I made a creamy chicken pasta with it. I think it turned out well even though I didn’t have enough heavy cream for it and used too much chicken broth. I’m going to try making it again, correctly this time, and see if it turns out even better.

So yeah… Sunday was pretty amazing. I got so much done. I enjoyed the sunlight so much. I wore shorts and flip-flops. I biked for 20 minutes while I was at the gym. I didn’t break any speed records and the highest gear I made it to was 5. I normally start at 10. So much sad still, but hey, I did it. I went there. I did something. Fuck yeah. Take that, Cancer. Fuck you, you fucking son of a bitch. I’m a badass.

And so with that, I’m caught up to today. I’ll save that for another writing, though.

I’ve been so much more productive this past week. I’ve felt better. More me. More with it. More like the me I kept looking for but was never able to find. I don’t know where this change is stemming from.

Is it because I no longer have a lump of cancer in my throat? Is it the Zoloft? Is it the high-ish dosage of Synthroid I’m on? Is it the week off of work that I had? Is it all the self-care stuff I’ve been doing?

I know it’s not a change in my perspective. I haven’t had a revelation. No puzzle piece has clicked into place. So all of these feelings and energy and productivity are coming from something else. I wish I knew what it was. I wish I could say it’s me, but I feel like if it’s from the medication then it’s not truly me. It’s like I’m faking it; cheating it.

On the flip side, it’s really nice to not be tired and sad all the time. It’s nice to not feel like crying at the thought of having to go out to the store; to not be overwhelmed by it because it’s such an impossibly large task.

I’m still cautious of this feeling, but I’m allowing myself to ride the tide of ok-ness for as long as it lasts. I want my days to continue to be full of green marks from all the things I was able to do. I like these feelings. I like feeling like me.

Daily Post 189: Post-Op and Work

I still have a ways to go to catch up on everything that’s happened post-surgery.

I left off last with dropping my dad off at the airport. I went to school. I turned in the makeup work for the previous Thursday. I got all of the other information I missed. Nothing overly exciting or special. I still had the dressing over my incision so I was pretty self-conscious about being out in public.

Later in the day, I had my post-op appointment. I got to see the surgeon again. He explained that the pathology had come back. Cancer cells were found in my lymph nodes so he recommended that I receive a radioactive iodine treatment.

That wasn’t the news I was hoping to hear. I wanted to be told that this chapter in my life was over. Cancer had lost the war. I could move on with figuring out my new normal. Surgery was supposed to have prevented me from needing additional things. But no. Now I had to call my brothers and tell them it wasn’t over. I was going to have to go back to work and tell that to my coworkers. To my patients.

I still have cancer.

The PA took the dressing off my incision. She said it looked really good. I don’t have a lot of experience with incisions so I wouldn’t know. When we left the office I stopped at one of the restrooms so I could see it. It was the first time I had seen it. The first time looking at my new reflection.

Ox held me while I cried in front of the elevators. While I verbally vomited all of my anger and frustration. We were supposed to be done. How am I supposed to afford a three-day hospital stay and everything that is going to go along with this next step?

He said we would figure it out and he continued to hold me until I was ok enough to leave, going back out into the world to do things.

We stopped at the hospital while we were there. I got to deliver the thank you cards I had written for the team that took care of me. It felt good. I hope the cards got to everyone.

Wednesday I had counseling. I got to explain how the week with my dad went. I got to talk about my feelings regarding my post-op appointment. I don’t think a lot of anything else happened that day.

Thursday was another school day. The weather was pretty crappy so I left early, getting to school at 8 am for my 9:30 class. Around 9:15 a woman came in and asked me and the other student who was present if we were the Intro to Sociology class. I said yes, we were.

Woman: Due to the weather your instructor won’t be able to be here today. Your class is canceled.

Sort of sucked to have driven all the way into town for nothing, but hey… I didn’t have class. I called Ox and asked him if he wanted me to pick up anything from the store before going home. He said no and told me to drive safely.

I made it back to the apartment. I don’t remember what I did… Maybe I was cross-stitching or doing random odds and ends. Either way… imagine my surprise when I get a notification from my Canvas app telling me that I was marked absent from school…

Fuuuuucccckkk…. my life…

I sent a message to the instructor explaining how I had been told class was canceled. Had there been a miscommunication? I left it at that, mildly contemplating if I should just go ahead and withdraw from the course. I mean… was it really worth all of the stress when I had so many other things still going on in my life?

I decided to wait on making a decision until I heard back from my instructor. If I was penalized for believing a school official’s word then I would peace out in a heartbeat. Fuck that shit. I have better things to do with my time. I stayed pretty aggravated over the issue for a while since I never got a reply to my message.

Friday was my first day back at work. It was pretty brutal even though the day itself was smooth in comparison to most of my “normal” days. I still got tired easily. I had to sit down a lot. I thought about saying that I wasn’t ready to come back to work yet and that we needed to find coverage for my Saturday shift.

I didn’t, though. Not sure if that was smart or not, but I went to work Saturday. It went better. Still a little under the weather, but I made it through and I was proud of myself for it.

Ox and I were supposed to go into town Sunday but we ended up staying at home instead. I was grateful to not go anywhere. I was tired. Most likely from work taking so much out of me. Sunday ended up being a day of recovery since I had work again Monday.

Monday went well. Better than my first two days back. Even my RN mentioned how I was on point and kept jumping from one thing to the next to the next. In my defense, things just happened to be spaced out that once I was pretty much done with one event I was able to move seamlessly to the next thing. It’s not like I was trying to work extra hard or fast or anything. There happened to be a flow and I stayed with it. I didn’t feel overly tired. I didn’t have to take as many breaks to sit down and catch my breath. It was a good day and it made me hopeful that my days would continue getting better as my incision healed.

So that’s another week caught up on. I’m sure I’m leaving out details here and there, but those are the major points from that week. Mostly that I found out the Cancer Saga isn’t over, becoming acquainted with my new self, and going back to work.

Daily Post 188: First Week Post-Surgery

There’s a lot to write about. A lot to process through. A lot to be grateful for. A lot still on the horizon.

I suppose I should start from where I left off last. It was before surgery. I was able to get the $700 needed for the deposit I was blindsided by. Work went well. My patients were extremely supportive during my last days at work.

Tuesday I went to my first day of class. Introduction to Sociology. I was able to talk to the instructor after class. It was nice to have a face to go with the voice I had heard over the phone earlier the week before. We talked about the day I would be missing. She gave me the makeup work. She wished me well during surgery.

After class, I went to the airport and picked up my dad. It was good to see him. We stopped at Arby’s on the way back to my apartment for lunch. We chatted for a bit. He got to meet the kittens. He got to meet Ox. That evening we went out for dinner at Brewsky’s. They have pretty good wings. My FA and her family showed up.

It was a thing I tried to work out with most of my co-workers; my “Cancer Eviction Party.” Not many people showed up but when you work the crazy hours we do I was sort of expecting that. It ended up being pretty awesome regardless. My FA is an extremely important person in my life. She is one of the biggest advocates for my development in the company. I know it may seem childish but I’m glad she was able to meet my dad. He spent a really long time talking to her and it seemed like she genuinely enjoyed the conversation. There were lots of jokes and laughing and shared stories. It was exactly how I wanted to spend my last night before my surgery; with good people having good food and a good time.

I had my last cigarette with Ox before driving back to the apartment. My dad camped out in the living room on my air mattress while I slept with the kittens in my room. I woke up early. I didn’t eat. I had a bit of chicken broth to drink, but that was it. We got to the hospital around 10 am. I got checked in and was shown to my pre-surgery room. I had to take my piercings out. I had to wipe down with antimicrobial wipes. I had to wear a hospital gown. I had to wait a really long time. I had to answer a bunch of questions. I had to give them the paperwork for my living will so it could be in my medical record.

The surgeon came in and talked to me. I think he could tell I was scared. Remarkablely, he was extremely kind to me. There was something different about his eyes. Something different in his voice. Something about the way he held himself said, “It’s ok to be scared. I’ve got you.”

Eventually, 30 minutes past when my surgery was supposed to start, I was wheeled down the hall to the surgery room. I was ok going into the room. The staff helped me transfer over onto the surgery table. They started putting EKG electrodes on me. They were talking to me, to each other. I was told to rest my head just so on the pillow.

I could feel the tears running from the corners of my eyes. I didn’t want to be there. I didn’t want to be doing this. I didn’t want to have surgery. I didn’t want to be in the hospital. I didn’t want to have cancer.

The tears kept coming as everyone moved around getting things ready. It was harder to breathe. To keep it even and normal. Harder and harder to not cry. They put the mask over my face saying it was just oxygen. But I knew it wouldn’t stay just oxygen. I knew they were going to put me to sleep with no way to promise that I would wake up. I started crying as someone stroked my forehead saying that I was doing really well.

No, I’m not. No, I’m not. I’m not doing well. Please don’t do this.

That was the last thing I remember.

After that, I was waking up with two nurses in my room. I don’t remember the beginning of the conversation but I remember saying that I knew mom was still dead and breaking down because it hurt so much all over again. I woke up and she still wasn’t going to be there.

Somehow we got onto the subject of my kittens, most likely because they didn’t want me crying so hard with my incision being so fresh. Ox and Dad weren’t in the room yet. I could hear Ox’s keys as he walked, though. I knew he was close. I remember looking out the hospital room doorway and seeing him and reaching for him. I needed him near me. I need him to touch me. I needed him to be real.

Me: I woke up.

I remember saying that. I remember explaining that I remembered mom was dead and crying again. I remember my younger brother talking to me on the phone and saying it was good to hear my voice. I was still pretty out of it. I felt sick; nauseous. I didn’t eat anything for another four hours. I drank a lot of water during the moments I was awake enough to do so. I was able to walk to the restroom by myself on my first try. That was important to me. I don’t know why, but I needed to prove to myself that I could.

Dad stayed with me through the night. Around midnight I had half a bowl of oatmeal. My throat was extremely sore from being intabated which apparently they had to do that twice to me. The seal broke on the first one.

Around four in the morning, I had a small container of applesauce. I was still nauseous feeling and the thought of anything more solid than that wasn’t appealing. I had a few cups of chicken broth throughout the night as well. I was extremely dehydrated after the surgery.

I ended up having a pain pill as well. 5mcg of hydrocodone with 375 mcg I believe of acetaminophen. It wasn’t enough to make me one with the Universe or anything, but it took the sharpness of the pain down to a dull ache that I could work with.

I had a drain in my neck. Not sure if that’s really important in the grand scheme of the story, but I feel I should mention it.

My RN for the evening was amazing. Shelby. She was so kind and quiet. She’s the type of nurse I want to be.

In the morning I had blood drawn to check my calcium levels. I was kept until noon because of the drain. The PA thought it was still draining a bit much for her to be ok with me leaving in the morning. My dad and I played a few games of cribbage to kill the time. Breakfast was brought up. Two pancakes, one piece of sausage and a single strawberry. I ate it all which I was proud of.

Eventually, I was rounded on again. The drain was doing fine. The PA removed it which totally sucked. God did it fucking suck. Thankfully it was over quick. My morning nurse went over my discharge instructions, talked about incision care, and follow-up steps once I was at home. Kristen. She’s another nurse I want to be like.

I asked for all of the names of people who helped take care of me while I was in my post-surgery room so I could write thank you cards. Kristen got me the list.

I walked all the way to the lobby of the hospital. I didn’t think I was trying to be a badass. I didn’t think it would be a hard thing to do. I was beyond grateful to sit and wait for Ox to pull up with the car. I was so tired from walking the relatively short distance.

Once I was in the car, holding the vase of flowers from Allison’s mom, my dad drove to the Chinese place where Ox and I like going. I got an order of the seafood soup with a side of fried rice and the three of us ate lunch before going to pick up my medications. I got my Synthroid as well as 15 more pain pills. I also got a container of peppermint Tums since I had to take four tablets a day to make sure my calcium didn’t drop post-surgery.

I was exhausted after lunch and going into Walgreens. Dad drove me home and I went to sleep for I don’t know how long. I think we went out to dinner for food but I don’t remember where if we did.

I don’t remember breakfast the next morning. I do know we went to Walmart and got a 3D crystal puzzle. It was the purple dragon on. Dad and I put it together, well… together. It was nice. We did a few more games of cribbage, too. I was still taking a pain pill every six hours. All of my body hurt. My neck, my shoulders, my abs. Laying down in bed sucked more than getting out of it.

Oh! Ox got me a purple weighted blanked which arrived just in time for me to use at home. I believe it was delivered Thursday.

Anywho. It wasn’t until Saturday morning that I started feeling ok pain wise. I had another pill that morning before we drove into town to have breakfast with Ox, the kids, and his parents. Which reminds me… I had breakfast with dad at Greenfields on Friday. Saturday was Village Inn.

It was a good breakfast. It was nice for dad to meet Ox’s family. There was more good conversation and overall I think it went well. I worked on my make up assignment for school. I napped. We went to Brewsky’s for dinner and tried out the Mettle Grill for lunch. All of it was good.

I talked to a lot of people through Facebook and phone calls in between the days. Everyone wanted to know how I was doing. Dad and I were able to have some really deep and important conversations while he was with me. He got to explain his actions and choices after the diveroce. I got to explain how it felt as a young girl and that I realized as an adult that some of the things he said and did weren’t meant the way I took them.

I got to tell my dad, in person, that despite all of the times he wasn’t there for marching band competitions or graduation speeches, that when I needed him to be there for me, he was, and that I would always be grateful for him. We both took a lot of steps to mend our relationship. There were a lot of tears but they were healing tears. Painful tears but at the same time good tears. They were tears that needed to happen. To be shared and shed.

We talked about mom a lot. He explained what he remembered about the situation when mom had her surgery.

My dad isn’t much of a cat person, but he did go onto Amazon and buy a laser toy for them since we were having so much fun tormenting them with a handheld laser pointer. It’s a tower with a rotating top that shines a laser on the floor. It spins around, moving the laser randomly. The cats have yet to conquer the red dot of doom.

Monday night Ox, dad, and I had dinner again. Dad told Ox that he was extremely pleased that I had Ox in my corner. He told Ox to take care of me. Dad thinks I’m doing well. He thinks I’m where I need to be surrounded by people who care deeply about me and my wellbeing. He thinks I’m headed in the right direction with my life and that all I need is time. He thinks I’ll get to where I want to be. It was validating to hear him say those words. That he was and is proud of me.

It meant a lot that he liked Ox as well; that he thinks Ox is a good person.

The whole week was amazingly nice. I didn’t have a lot of alone time. I didn’t have a cigarette the entire time my dad was here. I had breakfast with him at a diner I really like. We drove to the airport and said our goodbyes. I had my post-surgery appointment later in the day and I promised to keep him posted on how it went.

I didn’t cry when he left. It didn’t feel like a goodbye. More like an “I’ll see you later.” It was nice. It felt like I still have a parent and like I’m not an orphan.

I went to class after the airport. It was a good class. We talked about shootings, and game violence and suicide. Pretty deep and heavy topics and how different cultures respond differently to different things and what could be some cultural underlying issues to social problems. Very thought-provoking discussions.

And I guess for now that’s where I’ll leave this writing. There’s a lot more to catch up on, but this was my first week post-surgery. Quiet, slow, full of recovery and kindness and empathy. Full of love and family and connectedness. Full of my dad becoming part of my life again and seeing a glimpse of my world and being proud of the tiny corner I’ve eeked out for myself here in the middle of nowhere.

Daily Post 187: 30 Minute Roller Coaster

So… I’m still not the best at posting daily. I’m ok with that. Giving myself credit for making the effort.

The rest of Wednesday was a pretty good day. I went to counseling. We talked a lot about the upcoming surgery and my feelings regarding it. My biggest fear is not waking up.

We talked about how I told Lil’ Ox and Ornery Ox about my surgery. The next time they seem me I’ll have the incision on my neck. I didn’t want them to feel betrayed by not being told what is going on. I wanted them to be prepared to see a mark on my neck.

We talked about my feelings regarding my dad coming out. We talked about my upcoming sociology class.

All sorts of stuff… good stuff mostly. I didn’t cry this time. Go me!

After counseling, since our meetings are on campus, I went and picked up my books for my class. That was $180. Fuck my life… Mama Ox gave me $130 to help cover it. The last bit of birthday and Christmas since she wanted to help. Really it was more of an unspoken, “I’m going to help you and your going to accept it and I’m a mom and there’s nothing you can do to stop me because I have that special mom glare that I’ll use on you if you try to not accept my help” sort of situation.

After getting my books, I walked around the school until I found the room where my class will be held. I feel better knowing where to go next Tuesday rather than hoping I don’t get completely lost and end up being late. Nope. I know exactly where I want to park and what sidewalks to take and all that jazz. I’m actually really looking forward to Tuesday morning.

I sent a message to the instructor asking her to call me when she had time. I said I had some medical things going on the first week of class I wanted to let her know about and felt it would be best discussed on the phone rather than through an email. I was able to talk to her later in the say, so she knows what’s going on. She let me know what things I could do to get a head since I won’t be able to do much Wednesday and will be missing class on Thursday.

After I was done gallivanting around the campus, I met with Ox for lunch. We have been going to a new sports bar. Well… new to us. It’s been around for a while. They have good wings. I like going there. The server isn’t super friendly, but I’ll let it slide since their food is on point

While we were waiting for our food, I got a phone call from the hospital. They needed to get more information from me and wanted to walk me through what check-in would be like the day of the surgery. They told me where I needed to park, what entrance to take, what I needed to do the night before; fun stuff like that.

After eating, Ox and I went and did some errands. We got a case of Bang for me and a case of Reign Sour Apple for him. That stuff is amazing by the way.

We hopped across the street to PetSmart to get wet cat food for the kittens. I got two cases so I won’t have to worry about going out next week for it after the surgery. From there we went to Costco. I got gas for my car along with some grocery stuff. More stocking up for the coming week where I most likely won’t want to do much.

We finally went home after that. I was tired. It felt like one of the fullest days I’ve had in a while. Ox and I napped a bit. There was failed sexy time but that wasn’t the soul-crushing experience it normally feels like. It makes me wonder if the Zoloft is already starting to do stuff.

I slept alone last night at the apartment. It took a little bit to fall asleep, but I slept deeply the whole night. I woke up early and thought about writing, but I had left my backpack in the car and didn’t feel like going out to get it, to come back in, to go back out again for work, so instead I cuddled with the kittens and had a relaxing morning before getting ready.

Ox and I had a cigarette together. I was tired, but who isn’t at 3 AM? I felt ok about going to work. I got even better when I realized I was working with my FA today. Work went smoothly. No complaints. We got lunch from Taco John’s and I didn’t even feel bad about eating carbs. I haven’t been eating much lately so when I have a full meal I’m actually sort of proud of myself. It’s not just half a protein bar or a yogurt with a cheese stick. I had a whole burrito. Go me!

It wasn’t until after work that my day turned into the roller coaster of doom. Not even exaggerating.

I had a missed call that I returned. It was from my surgeon’s office. They wanted to let me know that they had gotten in touch with my insurance. Since my deductible hasn’t been met for this year, 2020, I will need to put a $700 deposit down by noon on Tuesday before they will do my surgery.

Me: … Ok…

I literally didn’t know what else to say.

Not once in any of the phone calls or appointments or emails has ANYONE said ANYTHING about even the potential of me having to pay something upfront before having this procedure done.

I don’t have $100 to put towards it let alone $700.

What the fuck? And I only have five days to figure it out.

Again… WHAT THE FUCK?

I knew my deductible wouldn’t be met, but everything has been billed to me afterward. I have a payment plan with the hospital. Who the hell has $700 that they can just blow for a deposit on a surgery?

I, for sure, am not one of those fortunate people.

So… yeah… I got off the phone with that chick, still in shock. I called Ox after about three minutes of staring off into the distance, not knowing what to do with my life because what am I suppose to do if I can’t somehow find $700 to cover this deposit? I’ve already taken time off of work. My dad already bought his plane tickets. How the fuck do they suddenly pull this?

Them: We won’t touch you until you give us $700 even though we told you the surgery was approved and you’ve already taken all these steps to have it.
Me: Fuck you guys.

After my three minutes of mental floundering, I called and told Ox about the conversation. I told him I was going to reach out to people and see if they would be willing to help. If I asked 7 people for 100 each, no single person would be completely screwed and I wouldn’t have to die. Seemed like a plan. Beg for money because I’m not financially stable enough to save my own life. Thanks, Universe. Fuck you, too.

I ended up talking to Allison; my friend from high school. The person I was the maid of honor for. Someone I think of as a sister, but who I also do not understand. I don’t feel I deserve the best friend status she gives me, and yet I have it.

I called her and explained that I was a mess at the moment because of a phone call I had not even 10 minutes previous. I explained about the deposit and asked if I could borrow $100 and I would pay her back with my tax money when it came in.

Her: Of course. Is that all you need, though?
Me: No. I don’t have any of it.
Her: Well, why don’t I give you all of it and then you don’t have to worry about it anymore.

Queue me breaking down into tears of gratitude because I do not deserve this level of kindness in my life.

She asked what would be the best way to send the money. I couldn’t think with all of the 180s my life was doing at the moment. I said I didn’t know.

Her: Do you have a PayPal account?
Me: Yes.
Her: If you send me your information I can transfer the money to you.

We talked a bit more. I drove home. I set up my laptop and figured out the PayPal thing. My life isn’t falling apart. I can still have the surgery. And I have some pretty awesome people in my life.

I’ll never complain about how I had to wear a dress at her wedding ever again. Ever. I would wear a dress every day for the rest of my life if that’s what she wanted me to do. Instead, all she asked is that I take care of myself and send her the address of the hospital so her mom could send me flowers.

For now, I’m going to go over to the house and cross-stitch and relax before going to bed. I have work tomorrow. I work with the nurse I really like. I need to come up with names for the two nurses so I can write about them without it getting confusing… Problem for a different day…

Point being, I’m looking forward to tomorrow. I’m actually able to think about days in advance and not feel overwhelmed by them. I can think about them, plan them, envision them. It’s a good feeling. I haven’t been able to do that for a while.

Not looking forward to waking up at 2:30, but I am looking forward to working with this particular coworker.

And with that, I’m done. Crisis averted. All is well. At least as well as it can be with cancer and a shitty health care system.

Daily Post 185: Post Pre-Op

I had my pre-op appointment today. I’ve smoked way too many cigarettes between then and writing this. I can tell because my body is pissed at me. Fuck you, body. That’s what you get for having cancer.

I suppose to some people that type of humor isn’t appropriate, but it’s getting me through my day, so there’s that.

My surgery is cleared. I had some blood work done before leaving so they can check for anemia and such. I spent the majority of my forty-five-minute appointment crying. It started with my primary physician coming in and asking how I was doing.

Seriously. Fuck that question. >.<

I mean… I appreciate it. I truly do, but if you want to open the floodgates of my emotional reality, that’s how you do it.

I told her about my diagnosis. I finally got to tell her thank you. Because of her care, we were able to find out about my cancer and to take the needed steps to remove it. I told her how the past month or so has been hard and getting progressively harder as the surgery date gets closer. I told her about the night I looked up overdosing, how I’ve been going to counseling, how Ox and I have had more open communication.

I told her about my nightmares and fatigue and how silly, stupid, “normal” things feel overwhelming. Crushing. I told her how I understood this wasn’t a forever type of situation but how everything post-surgery felt so nebulous and far away and unknown and that post-surgery is where I feel like I will struggle even more.

She asked if I was opposed to taking something for depression and anxiety. My reply was I felt like taking medication would be treating symptoms rather than addressing the root cause of the issues.

She understood my perspective. She also countered with relating mental and emotional health to a viral cold. When you have a cold there really isn’t anything you can take to make things “better”. You have to let the body work itself out. You can take decongestants, or Tylenol to lower a fever, but nothing is going to make the cold go away faster. The meds help you function for those 10 or so days where you feel like crap.

They help you sleep at night. They help you breathe easier. They help keep the sinus pressure bearable so you can still go to work even though you most likely shouldn’t but bills are a thing and so off to work you go to infect all your coworkers…

She thinks it would be a good idea for me to start taking Zoloft. It would be one of the lowest doses. 25mg. One tablet every day. It will take about three weeks for it to build up to a consistent level in my system.

It won’t be a miracle pill. It won’t make me bright and sunny and happy. It won’t make unicorns gallop under colorful rainbows with pots of gold at the end. In theory, it WILL help me think clearer and calmer. It will help keep me from having as many super-low days.

There’s a whole list of side-effects that it could have; one of them being worsening suicidal thoughts not to mention the lowered blood pressure leading to dizziness and falling down. Let me tell you how much it would suck to fall down while I’m trying to cannulate a patient…

So… I now have a choice…

I can keep going as I am, struggling and feeling like I’m not doing well and that I’m constantly falling into a hopeless pit of despair. Or… I could try taking a medication that may or may not make things worse.

I’ve talked to Ox pretty extensively about it. He’s hesitant for me to start taking Zoloft when I’m about to begin taking Synthroid after the surgery. I share those concerns. I feel like it will be hard to tell which medication is doing or not doing what.

I spoke with my FA pretty extensively about the situation, too. She thinks it would be good to try it.

Both Ox and my FA agreed to be a safety net for me. If they begin seeing behavior that “isn’t me” they will let me know. They also agreed to check in with me to see how I’m doing emotionally. A lot of that will hinge of me being honest about how I’m feeling, something I’m not always the best at…

Both Ox and FA agree that beginning to write daily again could help gauge emotional stability and track emotional changes. It would allow me to reflect on myself and to be aware of how the medication may or may not be affecting my thoughts.

I think going back to my daily to-do lists would also be beneficial. I don’t have to make endless pages of tasks, but I could give myself one or two things to start with. That’s it. Just those two things. It could help give some sort of structure and stability to my day and give myself a visual representation of what my day was like. This day I got all of this done. This day was harder but I got these things done. This day was fantastic and I got all of this done. My to-do lists would let me track my energy a bit easier, a bit clearer, than what I might get from purely writing.

I’m scared to try this medication. I’m scared of surgery. I’m scared of the unknown. On the flip side, I do think I have a strong support system full of people who care about me and who will look out for me.

Ox and I agreed we will give it one week; one week to see if things get worse. If they do, I stop. If not, we give it one more week. If it gets worse, I stop. If not, one more week and so on and so on.

The one-week method seems doable. It gives me a clear, defined timeline to track and measure for improvement or decline, not just in mental and emotional status, but general health. Am I having GI issues, drowsiness, insomnia, panic attacks, or any of the other number of potential side-effects, and if I am, do the pros, if there are any, outweigh the cons?

So yeah… One week. I will give it one week.

I will write a quick note each morning about how I feel, emotionally as well as physically. How did I sleep? How do I feel about the coming day? Is my stomach upset? Do I have an appetite or no?

When I get home I’ll write another note. How did the day go? How did I do physically, emotionally? How do I feel about sleeping and waking up for the next day?

So, today, at 2:30 PM, I am taking my first pill, my first dose, of Zoloft. It is one week and 12 hours before my surgery. I have an army of supporting people who love me. I WILL survive this situation.

This begins my one week. I’m nervous yet at the same time desperate enough to try this method. Other’s can only help so much. I know I would benefit from help internally, if just until things settle down and normalize to the new normal that will be my life post-surgery.

This isn’t for forever. This is for right now. We don’t look down on people taking a pain med when they have broken bones. This is my first step towards not looking down on myself for taking a medication for my mental health.

I love you, self. Forever and for always, I’m here for you and we’ll get through this together.

Musing Moment 142: Better Than Good

I still don’t have a date for my surgery. By the time I got a chance to call Friday afternoon the office was already closed for the day because of course, it makes sense to close at 11:30 on Fridays…

Blarg.

Work has been going well. It’s been helping to keep me grounded, if just barely. It helps to keep things feeling “normal”. I still go to work. Days are still mildly crazy. I still see all of my patients. I still have cancer and I still save lives.

Ox and I tried having a date night last night. I wanted to go out. I wanted to get wings without having to drive halfway across town to a location that was nowhere near any of the other things we had been hoping to do; grocery shopping and such.

We found a place online that seemed promising. The service sucked. My food was not up to my standards of wing-ness. Though, to be fair to them… I have pretty high standards. Overall I wasn’t impressed and felt like it was a waste of the money we spent. We had to wait so long for the food and then the bill that by the time we left I was too tired to want to do the shopping. We went home instead. I slept at the house rather than going back to the apartment to be with the kittens.

It was nice, sleeping next to Ox. I so rarely get to do that now. I didn’t spend the night alone, trapped in my own darkness. I woke up next to someone I care about.

Despite feeling like the money spent on date night was a waste, it was nice to be out. It was nice to try to have a date night even though I have cancer. It was nice to feel normal and not defined by something no one can see. No one around us knew. I could pretend to be a normal person. I cling to the things that make me feel normal right now; that let me pretend that all of this isn’t going on. I can pretend that I’m not waiting for a call about surgery. I can pretend that I’m scared.

I’m just a normal person with a normal life and things will be ok. I don’t think pretending all of this isn’t going on is healthy, but I also don’t know how to confront or contend with all of the emotions going on so I don’t know what to do.

I know a lot of it is still a rat’s nest inside of my head. I’m not defined by my organs or lack of them. I’m not defined by sickness or lack of it. I’m not defined by my resolve or when it wavers. Strength isn’t defined by a lack of tears or the absence of fear.

I know all of these things and yet I can’t fight the evil voice which isn’t so little anymore. It has strength and power which gives it size. It’s not little whisperings which I can tell to go fuck themselves.

“Good girls don’t get cancer.”

That’s one of the things it says to me, stated like a fact, full of confidence and conviction. It doesn’t have to yell those words at me. You don’t have to yell when you know you’re right. That’s the type of voice it uses right now. It knows it’s right and that I can’t do anything to change it.

I don’t know how to fight Evil Voice right now because there’s a part of me who agrees with it. Trust me, I know it’s fucked up to have that type of mentality. I didn’t ask for cancer. I didn’t actively do anything to get it. But saying, “It’s not my fault,” isn’t enough to fight Evil Voice. I can’t say, “Good girls get cancer,” because that’s untrue. “Good girls fight cancer” doesn’t work because I don’t feel like having surgery is really fighting… I don’t know what to say to fight back as so I’m left feeling like I’m losing another part of myself that I didn’t know was such a part of my identity.

The whole “good girl” thing comes from the bdsm aspect of my life which may or may not be appropriate to write about, but fuck it, this is my writing and this is where my brain is at. When Ox called me a good girl during sex the other day I completely lost it. I was furious at him for calling me a good girl. Furious to the point of tears and breaking down in anguish because I’m no longer what I was; what I should be. I’m not a good girl anymore. How could he say that to me when I’m not deserving of that phrase.

Good girls don’t get cancer.

All of this sucks.

Who am I? Who do I want to be? What defines me?

Where do you start with questions like that?

I guess, first and foremost I’m a sister. To my brothers and my half-sisters. I’m there for them. I’m still a daughter to my mother and father. I am a partner to Ox. I don’t feel like I’m a very good partner at the moment. I feel like I take a lot of energy from him. I cry a lot. I talk about stupid things like zombie apocalypses and last wills and how I feel unworthy. He says he doesn’t mind but if I’m tired of myself then I don’t understand how other people wouldn’t be tired of me, too.

He says I’m still “His good girl,” which helps, though I don’t know why. Maybe because it takes away my perspective. His view of good and my view of good can be different. My having cancer doesn’t change his view so his view of “good” is still valid and allowed while my view of “good” needs to be more definitively defined so as to combat Evil Voice.

When I talked to my instructor she said as caregivers, most of the time it’s easier for us to give care than to receive it. I feel like there’s a lot of truth in that statement. I don’t want to be a burden to people around me. I can’t be the happy and optimistic me I normally am and I know that bothers people. They want to help. They want to do something, but there’s nothing for them to really do other than let me try to swim through the tidal wave of feelings when they come.

Most of the time I’m so tired of feeling that I feel nothing and there’s a part of me wondering if that’s the cancer fucking with my thyroid or if that’s legitimately how I feel. And there’s still yet another part of me who wonders if it even matters where the emotions come from or why they’re there. The end result is the same regardless of the source. Maybe it’s the fact that it is winter. Or the holidays. Or that it’s a day that ends in “y”. Who knows.

There is this pervasive feeling of… something. I’m tired of figuring stuff out. I’m tired of caring. I’m tired of trying. I’m tired of fighting. I’m tired of explaining. I’m tired of people. I’m tired of feeling like I’m not good enough. I’m tired of defending my self-worth against myself because I’m the only one saying that I failed.

I’m a failure. I’m a fuck up. I’m too much. I’m too little.

No, I’m not, damnit. Fuck you, Brain.

You know what? Yeah. That’s exactly it. That phrase right there is the thing I didn’t know I needed to say. Fuck you, Brain. Fuck you and all your thoughts and emotions. Just… fuck you.

Angry. I guess that’s what a lot of it is at the moment. Anger and frustration and helplessness because none of this is in my control. Fuck you, Universe and all your trials and “adventures”. I’m tired of you. I’m tired of your games. I’m tired of proving myself.

I’m angry that now I finally have the insight to want to talk to mom about things she went through that I can’t. Fuck you. Fuck you for putting me in this position after taking her away from me.

Fuck you for making me think that I am going to owe this doctor my life and be in his debt. Fuck you for the mentalities you fostered in me. Fuck you for making me an INFJ who’s constantly aware and considerate and understanding of others but completely unable to provide or apply the same understanding to myself.

I’m always in a different category simply because I’m me and I’m sick of it. Fuck you. I’m no different. Ok? I’m the same. I’m a fucking human, too, just like every other person on this fucking planet. I’m a human even if I don’t have my thyroid. I’m a human even if I have cancer. I’m a fucking human, too, and I’m allowed to be angry and frustrated and tired and not ok.

I’m allowed those things. I’m allowed to feel those things.

You can’t take that away from me, Universe. I’m still human. No matter what you do to me, no matter what you take away from me, I will always be human. I will always be my mother’s daughter. I will always be my brothers’ sister.

I think that’s a step in the right direction. I feel better for having found it at least. I’m human. Cancer can’t fucking change that.

Yeah. That’s right. Fuck you, Kevin. You can’t change me; the real me. The human me was human before you and will still be human after you, you son of a bitch. Fuck you for fucking with my life. I won’t let you make me think that I’m less than awesome. I won’t let you tap me out. I won’t let you win because you don’t deserve to win.

So what if I’m not a good girl anymore. Maybe you’re right, Evil Voice. Maybe I’m not a good girl anymore. Maybe I’m an awesome girl now. You want to play this fucking game? Fine. I’ll destroy you, Evil Voice. I’ll crush you with every fiber of my being. I’ve fought too hard to get to where I am for you to hurt me like you used to.

I don’t need to be “good” anymore, Evil Voice. I’m better than simply “good”. So go ahead. Keep your stupid word, you selfish bastard. I’m graduating, up-grading, transforming, evolving.

Thank you for pushing me to this point, Evil Voice. Thank you for making me realize I’m better than good.

Musing Moment 141: Post-Consultation

This is the first day where I have the space, the silence, to really sit down and have a talk with myself about recent events.

So self… How are you? And no, “I’m fine,” isn’t an ok answer between us. I’m here for you. I will always be here for you and I need you to be honest with me; with us.

How are you feeling about having cancer?

Having cancer isn’t really the thing that bothers me. The thought of having surgery bothers me. The thought of my life depending on a daily medication bothers me. What happens if there’s a zombie apocalypse? A nuclear bomb? What happens if I’m kidnapped or taken hostage and I’m denied access to my medication? What happens if I can no longer obtain it?

Having my thyroid removed will keep me alive. I get it. There’s something inside my body that while yes, it is slow-growing, doesn’t spread, blah blah blah… it’s still trying to kill me and will succeed if I don’t remove it. I accept that. I have to have surgery in order to stay alive. But after surgery, the only reason I can keep living a “normal” life is because I live in a place, in a time, where I can give my body the thing it will no longer be able to create on its own.

So what happens if that changes? What happens if the time and place no longer work the way they currently do and I’m left without what I need to live?

Ox and I have an understanding. I called him on my lunch break at work on Friday. We talked about this. I know for a lot of people it may seem silly, stupid, to entertain such far-fetched ideas; things that will “never” happen. But I need to know. If.. IF… they did happen, what would we do?

I told him that I needed him to promise me, if this became a legitimate issue that he would take me out, or if he couldn’t do it himself, to let me do it myself.

Of course, I was in tears as I made him promise me.

If I have no control over my need for this medication, then I want to have the control to at least not suffer if I’ll never be able to get it again. I need the people in my life to understand not only is this the type of issues I’m having to contend with and reconcile within myself, I need them to understand that these are my wishes, while I’m still of sound mind and body.

Me: Don’t let me suffer.

I’ve talked to Jon and he’s agreed to be who I name in my living will, because there are no guarantees in life. This surgery is safe and very rarely are there complications… more blah blah blah blah…

Mom was about to be discharged to go to rehab when she had a pumonary emolism, ok? Don’t give me your bullshit about everythings going to be fine and I don’t need to worry about things like that.

Yeah… I fucking do because unless you can show me my contract where it says I’ll have no complications and go on to live a full life and die many, many years later, then you can’t tell me this isn’t something I need to worry about. You’re not the one literally having your throat cut open by a stranger who’s an asshole and didn’t even have time to answer your questions.

I want to have things in place just in case there’s a complication after surgery. That way the people I love aren’t left not knowing what to do because we never talked about the real shit that mattered. I’ve already started looking into a last will and who would get the hope chest my grandfather made for me and mom’s china hutch and china set and my cross stitch stuff or my magic cards. I’ve already asked Ox what would happen to the kittens if I were to die because I need to know they’ll be ok.

That’s the type of shit I’m having to think about while my patients ask me how my Thanksgiving was.

Me: Do collectors get to take their due out of the life insurance I’ve left for my brothers? Oh, yeah… Thanksgiving was nice. Not a lot happened…

Except everything happened. I was diagnosed with cancer and have had to have non-stop conversations with countless people about it and I still don’t have a surgery date because my insurance has to “approve” my surgery.

What the actual fuck?

Are you saying it’s possible to be denied a life-saving operation? Should this be something I actually put energy into worrying about because it’s a thing? I need approval for a medical procedure when I’ve paid thousands of dollars on health insurance from when I first started working until now? Thousands of dollars that I’ve never actually used for anything other than yearly checkups?

No wonder so many people have fucking issues with our health system. I’ve done more than my part and yet I need “approval”?

Go fuck yourselves.

I’m having to think about things like, “if I were to die should I be buried or cremated? If I’m buried, where should I be buried so the people who would want to visit my grave can do so without having to spend thousands of dollars to do it? If I die somewhere far away from my burial site, how expensive would it be to send my body to the burial location? Is that even a thing? If so do I have to be imbalmed to do it?”

God. So many fucking questions. And I have a group project I haven’t even really touched for school this coming week. Not to mention all of the reading for this unit that I haven’t done. Not going to feel bad about prioritizing reassuring family and friends that I’m not dying as I prepare for the possibility of my death over reading nursing school BS assignments that haven’t helped me score better on the tests because your tests are BS to begin with. Arg… >.<

There’s so much going on inside of my head that I don’t even know where to begin.

Does having surgery make you less of a cancer survivor? I mean… It’s not like I’m fighting it. I’m not going through chemo. I’m not having to do a lot of stuff that most people diagnosed with cancer have to go through. I have this surgery. It’s removed. I go about my life… That’s not heroic. That’s not really “fighting”, is it? I’m having someone else cut me open. They’re doing all the work and I’m hoping they do it well enough to not fuck up.

That seems sort of like a cheap way of fighting cancer. Not cheap as in “not expensive”. But cheap as in, “I’m not having to face the same hardships as others”, so does my experience really count? Would I really be a cancer survivor?

So that brings into question, how do I feel about mom? She had cancer. The same cancer, in fact. Do I think of her as a cancer survivor?

Honestly, I never really thought about it. I knew she had thyroid cancer at some point; before I was born. I knew she had surgery. I knew she took medication. But I never talked to her about it. I never questioned it. She was mom. She was awesome. I didn’t think to talk to her about it. I didn’t think to explore that experience, that side of her. And now that I’m facing it myself, there’s no way to go back and have those conversations.

There was this whole side of her that I never knew anything about and I’ll never know it because I never thought to ask.

I do think of her as a survivor. I do think of her as a badass; even more badass now since I’m facing something she went through. So if I think of her that way, why am I different? Why wouldn’t I think of myself in the same way, the same light, as someone who went through literally the same thing I’m going through?

That’s not fair. That’s not logically. What is it about me that makes me unworthy of the same mentality? Why am I put into a different box of “non-survivor” status?

I don’t have an answer for that. At least not yet. But I know it’s there so that’s at least a step in the right direction.

The surgeon himself is a jerk. I had to dig out my surprised face for that one… He came into the room and didn’t even know what I was there for. He “believed” I was there for thyroid issues… yeah, because the last time I checked cancer is sort of an issue… He didn’t know if I should have a partial removal or a full removal… Well… based on the information from my endocrinologist, there’s a questionable nodule less than a centimeter big in my left lobe, so her recommendation was for a full removal instead of a partial… You know, taking out everything since you’ll already have to take out the right side. It would be better to have a baseline of ok rather than a baseline of “what’s this weird shit over here going to do later down the road,” sort of a thing…

It felt like I was doing his job for him because he knew nothing about my case.

He gave me his sales pitch, telling me how experienced he was and how post-surgery would go then stood to leave. I mentioned that I still had questions, not mentioning that it was four pages worth of questions since some of them had already been covered.

Surgeon: Well, I’m already 30 minutes late for a surgery so I really can’t stay.

Fuck you, dude. If your nurse practitioner wasn’t amazing I would be looking for someone else to cut me open. Actually, I dislike you so much I almost would rather die of cancer than let you save me. Seriously. I came to this appointment because you were supposed to have time for me and to know my case, which apparently you couldn’t do either of those things.

I flipped him off when he closed the door, leaving me and Ox alone in the room, waiting, as he flagged down his NP to come clean up his mess.

The NP is amazing, though, and literally the only reason I’m staying with this particular surgeon. One of my coworkers knows of him. She used to work at the same hospital. She said even the other doctors think he’s an asshole, which is saying something. If other doctors, who are assholes, think you’re an asshole, then you must be a special type of special.

But yeah, his NP is fantastic. She was so kind and compassionate. She understood when I explained the situation about mom and how at the moment I felt relatively fine but that pre-surgery would most likely be extremely hard for me. She assured me she would be in the surgery room with me, helping the surgeon, and that she could even be with me pre-surgery if it would help. Knowing she’ll be there makes it seem more doable. I won’t be alone. I’ll know someone. She said she would most likely be the person checking on me post-surgery as well since they’ll have to keep me overnight to make sure there aren’t complications. She even answered all the questions I had in my notebook, never indicating that any of them were stupid or silly. Even my question about “Will it being winter affect my recovery?” was answered with kindness and compassion and an informative response; which depression is a big worry about surgeries in winter, in case you were wondering.

If I’m unconscious for the whole time I’m around Mr. Asshole and conscious for all the other times with the NP, then I think I’ll be ok.

The NP actually had a thyroidectomy herself… when she was 20… Holy fuck? You had just graduated high school and were told you had cancer? What the actual fuck, Universe? I want to talk more to her and hear her perspective. How did you feel being told that young that you had cancer? How do you feel now? Do you feel like a cancer survivor? Do you ever feel vulnerable or less than or unworthy because you’re missing part of yourself?

Jon, Jason, and my dad have wanted to know if I want them there. I’m not sure yet. I’m hoping to have the surgery between the 18th of December and the 9th of January. There’s a part of me who’s hoping for the 20th of December so I can avoid all of the birthday stuff…

Me: Sorry guys, I would love to have a party… but, you know… cancer… so I can’t… Maybe next year, though. Love you. Bye. : D

Oh, and trust me… I’ve been making a ton of cancer jokes. I mean… if my choices are crying about it or making extremely inapproiate jokes about it… I’m totally going to joke and laugh.

I want to have the surgery before my winter break from school ends. Though, I still don’t know what I want to do with school yet. I haven’t told my instructors since it’s been holiday break.

At the moment I’m inclined to tell my family, “No. Don’t come”. It’s the holidays. Traveling is going to be a nightmare and ridiculously expensive for something that is a borderline outpatient surgery. I mean… everyone keeps making it sound like, “You’re sick. You go to the doctor. They make you better. You go home.” Why would I have people waste time and money to be there for something when in two to three days I’ll be back at work? Shouldn’t I be able to handle that alone without having to drag everyone through that emotional and financial expense?

It’s confusing. My friend Allison, who just had a baby not even two weeks ago, talked to me a bit about that part of the situation. Which, you want to talk about raining on someone’s parade…?

Me: Congratulations! By the way, I have cancer. How was childbirth?

She said that maybe Jason, Jon, and my dad WANT to be there. That it would make them feel better TO be there, rather than being home, by themselves, no knowing what’s going on. Not being able to see me before or after surgery.

She has a point. It’s not fair of me to make decisions for them. They’re adults. They can decide if seeing me in a hospital is something they can or cannot handle. It’s not my place to say if it is or isn’t. It’s not my place to take the choice away from them.

I won’t know until early this coming week when surgery will be. I have to make it through at least another day of work, maybe a day of school, with not knowing. What if it ends up being Christmas week when it’s my turn to work Sunday at the clinic since New Tech covered this past Sunday for the Thanksgiving holiday? What if I’m unable to cover my three days at the clinic?

Even though I’ve been told by my boss, who has also gone through something similar with her thyroid, not to worry about work, I’m me and I’m going to fucking worry, ok? Telling me not to worry is like telling me not to breathe. Let me get right on that…

I worry about my team. I love my team and this is going to affect them just as much as Ox or anyone else in my life. Maybe more so since I spend so much time working beside them.

It is going to take a bit of time to figure out the dosage of medication I’m supposed to be on. There’s math and stuff to help figure out a “right” dose but that’s more of a starting point rather than a miracle number. Every person is different and every person responds differently. We won’t know until about six weeks post-surgery if their numbers are working. If they aren’t, does the dose need to be increased or decreased? After the adjustment is made it will be another six weeks before lab work and be redone to see if the dosage is better or worse. Finding the right dosage is going to be a process, a long one, and during this time because the thyroid controls your metabolism and energy levels, my moods are going to be all over the place.

If my dosage is too low, I’ll be tired and fatigued, and not the kind that coffee and a shit ton of caffeine will help with. I will be physically, bone-achingly tired because my body can’t process energy the way it’s supposed to. If my dose is too high, I basically feel like I’m on speed, unable to sleep or focus. Unable to stop or sit still. Not all that awful aside from the health complications that go along with not sleeping and the potential heart arrhythmias… At least the apartment will be clean when I die? That’s a bright side, right?

So I’m supposed to go six to 12 weeks of potential “wtf” inside my body that I have absolutely no control over while going to nursing school three days a week and working another three at the clinic and only have Sunday off, ever, to do the rest of the shit that needs to happen in my life, like paying bills and laundry, food shopping and cooking, followup appointments, vet visits, mental and emotional breakdowns…

Yeah, all of life gets regulated to a single day next semester. How am I supposed to be successful at anything with everything I have going on?

I don’t have an answer for that either, at least not yet.

I want to talk to the head of the LPN program to see what my options are as far as school is concerned. I’ve already taken out loans for the program. What happens if I stop? Does the school refund the money? It’s not like I’m, “Naw. I’m not feeling this whole nursing thing. I’m going to go be couch potato instead.” I literally have cancer and I don’t want to have to worry about school assignments while I’m trying to be mentally and emotionally ok because I’m really not mentally and emotionally ok right now.

Can I sit out this coming semester? Maybe take a prerequisite for the RN program like Microbiology? Something online so I don’t have to worry about traveling anywhere on my days off from work but still something moving me in a forward direction and keeping me “active”? Could I hop back into the LPN program but do it full-time instead of part-time? I mean… I was already having to look at cutting back my time at work anyway since the part-time program meets Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays. If I’m having to cut back at work anyway, why not get it done faster? If I can’t reenter the program full-time can I wait until the next occurrence of the part-time program? Would I have to redo the first semester even if I pass it? Would I have to pay for anything if I step back for a little while or would you guys hold onto the money I already gave you? How does all of this work? Am I fucked and I have to do next semester even though in any other situation I’m sure this would be a “qualifying life event”?

Why are all of these systems so fucking broken? Why are half of my worries even fucking worries? I’m worried about not dying and who will take care of my cats if I do. I shouldn’t have to worry about approval for the surgery and how fucked am I if I don’t keep trucking along at school.

And yet, here I am, having to figure all of it out because that’s how our systems work. I have to have approval to live.

I still need to cook meals for the week. I still haven’t put my clothes away from this past Monday. I haven’t touched schoolwork in a week, which luckily, it’s been the holiday break so there wasn’t really anything major to worry about. Still… I was hoping to use this week to get ahead for the final exam. Totally did not go how I thought it would and I can’t bring myself to care. I’ll figure it out somehow, just like I’m having to figure everything else out.

For now, I’m going to go and cook since I’m hungry and after that, I’m going to cross stitch because fuck it. It’s my only day off. The only day I haven’t had to call people and tell them, “Hey, funny story… I promise it’s really not that bad, but really I’m trying to convince myself of that, too, so hopefully, you believe me because I don’t have any energy left to convince myself.”

All of my problems and questions will still be there, waiting for me, regardless if I cross-stitch or not, so I’m going to because I want to feel like I did at least one thing for myself this whole week.

Fuck you, Cancer Kevin. You’re an asshole.

Musing Moments 140: Pre-Consultation Writing

At the moment I’m trying to keep up with my life and figure out my emotions so please bear with me. It’s going to take some time and effort to sort through everything, and it begins with these initial writings.

Written Wednesday, November 27th.

The past few weeks/months have been a bit of a ride, medically speaking. And in true “Jen” fashion, I haven’t been keeping up with writing or checking in with myself, so this is going to be a huge “catch up” post in a relatively short amount of time since I have to leave soon for an appointment.

It started with my yearly checkup for work insurance purposes. My primary care physician thought my thyroid was swollen. She ordered lab work to be done and said even if my levels came back fine, because of my family’s history with thyroid issues, she would like for me to have an ultrasound on my thyroid done.

That took me to an endocrinologist who ordered yet more lab work and got me set up for an ultrasound at one of the hospitals here in Lincoln. I went to the ultrasound alone. In hindsight, that most likely wasn’t the smartest option. At the time I wasn’t worried about it. It was a non-invasive procedure. Nothing to worry about, right?

Wrong. Very, very wrong.

Being in a hospital again, laying down on a table and having medical staff doing things to me brought back all sorts of emotions from when mom was in the hospital. It didn’t matter that it was three years later. It didn’t matter that it was me and not her. It didn’t matter that it was a non-invasive procedure or even that the two hospitals were totally different and that it was a billion degrees outside in Vegas all those years ago while here it was borderline snowing.

None of those facts, none of that information, mattered. All of the hurt and loss and loneliness and vulnerability simmered at the edges of my mind as I checked in for my appointment and only grew the longer I was there, the further my procedure went.

I held my emotional shit together long enough to make it back to the car and to call Ox before completely breaking down. I sobbed into the phone for I don’t know how long, terrified. I was terrified of having to go back to the hospital. I was terrified of having to be ok enough to drive home. I was terrified of losing everything that I had fought for in the three years since mom died. And as stupid as it sounds, I was terrified of losing mom again. I was terrified of being alone and facing all of these intangible things by myself because how do you fight things you can’t see or touch or feel?

I was scared and hurt and alone and the only thing I could do was cry alone in my car, clinging to my phone as if Ox were my life support getting me through the overwhelming crush of my emotional tidal wave.

Eventually, after listening to his voice and talking and lots of crying, I was ok enough to drive home. The only thing there was for me to do at the point was wait to be called with the results of the ultrasound.

The results came back early the next week. There was a nodule on the right side of my thyroid. Since we didn’t know what it was they wanted me to schedule a biopsy. You know… because poking at random, unknown things inside your body with needles is a great idea… said no one ever.

I had the biopsy. I still feel like I got punched in the throat. Ox was there with me for that procedure and I faired better emotionally, most likely because he was there to help keep me grounded and outside of my head.

I got a call Monday evening from my endocrinologist herself. She took the time to call me personally, after hours, to deliver the results of said biopsy.

The nodule is positive for cancer.

Yeah…

You read that sentence correctly.

I have thyroid cancer.

I was blindsided by her statement. I wasn’t expecting cancer. Maybe a benign tumor because my T levels kept coming back fine… but cancer? Fucking cancer…?

Do you realize what this means for me?

Do you realize that I now have to call my brothers and tell them I have cancer only three and a half years after mom died? Do you realize how many people I have to inform, personally, because this isn’t something that I can make a post about on Facebook?

Me: “Hey guys! Just wanted to let you know I have cancer. Oh! And here’s a picture of a cat. K. Bye. : D”

I know mom had thyroid cancer before I was born and was able to take daily medication and still live an extremely full life. I know logically that as far as bad news goes, getting thyroid cancer is pretty much the best bad news you can get.

That hasn’t stopped me from having nightmares about it. That hasn’t stopped any of the emotional reactions that I’ve had. That hasn’t changed the fact that I realized, finally, why I can’t fight that evil voice in my head when it starts giving me shit and telling me that I’m a failure.

I know I’m not a failure. I doing well in nursing school. I’m doing well at work. I’m still making ends meet, if just bearly, financially. But when it started saying “You’re a failure,” shortly after having to schedule the biopsy, I couldn’t figure out why it felt true. I know it’s not true, so why does it feel that way?

I realized it’s because unconsciously one of my biggest goals since mom died has been to be healthy enough, stable enough, for my brothers to not have to worry about me. Looking at it objectively, that’s a fairly unrealistic goal. Regardless of it being realistic or not, it was my goal and I failed to achieve it, since now I have cancer and all of this medical shit on the horizon, and so I’m a failure.

Right now, I’m waiting to go into town with Ox to have my consultation with the surgeon. I’m waiting to figure out where and when I will have part of my body removed. I’m waiting to tell everyone in my life what the next steps will be and when.

I’m waiting.

I’m not good at waiting and underneath everything else I have going on in my life is the fact that even though we did everything right with mom, even though we followed all the steps the way we were told, we still lost.

I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to meet with the surgeon. I don’t want to have surgery. I don’t want to have to figure all of this out and how to pay for it and how to not fuck up shit at work and put more stress on my team.

I don’t want to do this.

Not only do I not want to do this. I don’t want to do it alone. Last night while I was alone for a little bit I started crying as I laid in bed with the kittens. I started talking to mom. I told her I missed her and that I wanted to come home and be with her. I know she went through this exact thing, but I never got to talk to her about it. I don’t know what she felt or experienced. I don’t know what post-surgery was like for her. I never thought of mom as a cancer survivor, but she was. Was she scared when she found out? Did she cry? Did she feel alone? Did she struggle with wondering if she would be less human after the surgery because part of her was missing?

I want her to hold me and to tell me it will be ok.

I know it will be. It will be as ok as it can be, at least. Ox will be there. My dad offered to be there. So many people have been supportive and understanding. Apparently, a lot of people in my life think I’m a badass and that I’ll kick Kevin’s ass. I was told to name my cancer to make it more real, more tangible, then referring to it as “thyroid cancer”.

Sorry for any Kevin’s out there who may take offense to me using your name. It was a random name thrown out there by Mother Earth and so it has stuck.

I don’t feel like a badass. I feel scared and vulnerable and alone all over again and all I can think of is how I’m going to look so much like mom, in a hospital gown, in a hospital bed, completely out of it from the anesthetics… I can’t have my brothers there. I can’t put them through that again. I wasn’t supposed to put them through this. I was supposed to be ok.

I want to say I can’t do this. I want to give up and tell Life that it wins and this joke isn’t funny and I’m ready to go home and not play this shitty game.

I’ve been freaking out over the next semester of nursing school since the third week of this semester. How am I supposed to go through a surgery that’s going to fuck with my hormone levels and leave me tired and still go to school three days a week and work full time and still figure out laundry and dishes and meals and bills… I just want to say fuck it to everything.

I want to hide away under the blankets in my darkened room with the kittens and pretend that the bad things don’t exist and they can’t get me and I’m not hurting the people I love the most.

I don’t want to do this, but I have to. I have to try to be ok because I have too much debt to die now. I have too many people who care about me to not have this surgery. I have too many conversations I want to have with people I love. Too many goals at work that I haven’t reached yet. Too many things Ox and I haven’t done.

I don’t want to do this but I’m going to because fuck Kevin. He doesn’t get to control my life. Fuck you, Kevin. Fuck you and the horse you rode in on. I’m angry at you for making me drag everyone in my life through this. This isn’t fair. Three years isn’t long enough. We aren’t recovered enough to go through this all over again. Fuck you, you inconsiderate asshole.

At the same time, thank you. Thank you for not being terminal. Thank you for being treatable. Thank you for not spreading or destroying my entire life. You’re an asshole and I’m still angry at you, but thank you for not being worse than what you are.

Please be with me, mom. Please don’t let me go through this without you. I love you. I miss you. I need you. Please help me, mom. Please be here with me so I can do this.

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	Sammi on 002: Fuck Depression
	Warrior Freya on 002: Fuck Depression
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Not 100% proof read. My bad. Didn’t want to be late for D&D <3

Not 100% proof read. My bad.
Didn’t want to be late for D&D <3