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Letters to Mom 029: Worksheet 1 Reflection

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I’m writing to you again because I’m not going to have time to for the next few days. At least, not the type of time I would want to have, where I can sit, alone, uninterrupted or dictated by a time frame.

I can truly sit and write to you, now, in this moment, and so even though I’m still so raw over completing my worksheet, even though I want to quit and call today good, I’m writing to you instead.

Some of my answers bother me. I know I have strengths. Yet I said I don’t because I feel like I don’t. Answering, “learning I can survive your death sucks” also bothers me though with that one I don’t really know why…

I guess the biggest thing I took away from this first worksheet is clarity. I can articulate why your death is so hard for me now. It wasn’t simply because you died. It’s because my life changed and the biggest change is the lack of physical presence.

I guess that might seem obvious to others, but it wasn’t obvious to me. I had never had to explain it in quite that way before, and so the worksheet helped in that regard.

I also knew, for a while now, that my grief was more intense when I was tired and exhausted, but I didn’t know the why behind it. Sitting and diving into that aspect brought a deeper understanding of what I experience in those moments. You always had a special way of giving me a motivational boost when I felt like I had nothing left within me. You helped me power through, dig deep, not quit, not give in. I miss that. I miss your support and encouragement and positive reinforcement.

I feel, at least from this worksheet, that I need to work on emotional expression. Maybe that means I need to put more effort into writing since I know that’s an outlet that helps. Maybe I need to look into other methods of expression so I have more to employ other than writing. I don’t know, but I feel that is an area of extreme deficiency and one I would like to work on.

And yeah… the whole “Your death wasn’t the end of my world,”… I don’t know what to do with that. I’m not even sure what it is I feel when I read those words to myself. Guilt, maybe? Possibly even survivor’s guilt though I wasn’t the one who was sick and going through surgery after surgery.

I think that’s what I want to explore the most in my next counseling session, though “want” is a very relative term. It’s the section of the worksheet that stirs up the most confusion and dissonance within myself, so it’s the area that needs the most clarification. I don’t “want” to dig deep into emotions that suck, but the only way to get better is to do it, so I want to do it… Fucking emotional bullshit… -_-;

I work for the next three days. I won’t have a lot of time or energy to process through a lot of this any further than I have. LPN classes start in a week and a half. By the end of May, I’ll be a nurse. I got my very own stethoscope yesterday when I picked up the last of my books.

I think that would make you smile. Nurse Jen… Who would have thought that me, your child who passed out at the sight of blood, would be in nursing school…

I love you, mom. Thanks for listening to me.

Letters to Mom 028: Worksheet 1

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Hey mom,

It’s been a while since I’ve written anything… I started doing grief worksheets in counsling. I think they’re helping… I don’t know. I feel raw right now. I’ve realized I still have a lot to work on/through in regards to losing you. There are some mentalities that I need to address…

I wanted to post my first worksheet so you can see what I wrote. I love you. Forever and for always.

Understanding My Grief

1: I am having the hardest time adjusting to:

You not being here. Physically here. A presence, a person, I can sit across from. Someone I can introduce people to. You were more than your body, but without your body present, it’s not much different than talking about an imaginary friend. No one in my life will know you now. No one will understand what I lost when you died. If I talk about my spiritual connection with you then people think I’m crazy or unstable or having a “hard time letting go”. It sucks. I know you’re still here but I can’t talk about that with really anyone because no one can understand the connection I have with you so does it even really exist? Is it a coping mechanism inside my head that really means nothing? Is it real? Are you truly still here? I don’t have a way to prove it. There’s nothing quantitative that scientifically shows that I’m not alone; that you really are still a part of my life. It’s just me, alone, being my own cheerleader and telling myself the motivational things I want and need to hear to keep going and fighting and struggling and trying. It sucks. It sucks to feel ridiculed and judged and scared to talk about things that are important to me. You ARE important to me. You’re still a cornerstone of who I am and it feels like I can’t share that with anyone anymore. Our relationship isn’t physical, tangible, viewable anymore. It’s all hippy-dippy spiritual stuff with self-imposed importance. No one understands it, not even myself. It’s new and different and scary and I miss the way things used to be.

2: I feel most triggered when I:

Am tired. More than anything I miss you the most when I don’t get enough sleep. When I’m running on fumes and I feel like my world is going to crush me. That’s when I want to hear your voice the most. That’s when I want to call you and tell you how my day went and what my next days look like. That’s when I want your support the most. It’s not even that you would tell me how to fix my problems. You would just be there. You would listen to me. You would make me feel like everything is and will be ok and that I can handle all of the shit I put myself through. You would make me believe in myself no matter how much I wanted to give up. You always believed in me.

Aside from being tired, I am most triggered when I accomplish something. When I reach a goal or hit a new personal record. When I do something you would be proud of. I feel triggered then. Everyone thinks these things are good things and that I should be happy, and part of me is. But part of me is sad, too, and hurts, and no one understands why, or they think I shouldn’t feel that way because you would be happy for me. It makes me feel invalidated or that my emotions are wrong because other people dance around them or try to sweep them under the rug. I know they’re not easy emotions for other people to deal with, and part of that is a flaw, a shortcoming in society. But it sucks to feel like I have to hide my emotions all the time, or deal with them alone because I “shouldn’t” feel a certain way. I miss you. I still want you to be part of my life. I still want you to be part of my accomplishments and when you can’t be it hurts, deeply, and to feel like I am wrong for hurting sucks.

3: What happens when I feel triggered?

I cry, sometimes. Other times I lay in bed all day and skip out on the social obligations I’ve given myself. Everything takes more energy than it “should”. Doing dishes or laundry, replying to an email… All of those small, simple things that should be easy to complete feel like mountains that I don’t have the fortitude to climb because what’s the point when you’re dead? All of the trivial things in life feel so much more pointless because in the grand scheme of things they don’t matter. I hurt. I’m bleeding out through a wound no one can see. In those moments the only thing I care about is surviving, somehow, to the next day where I can maybe, hopefully, be better enough, recovered, enough to keep going and do more than I did the previous day.

When I’m extremely triggered I scream. Normally this is while I’m driving alone; where I”m safe from other people and their judgement and worry. I scream until my throat is raw and my voice is hoarse and I have nothing left in my body to give. I scream my rage and injustice and injury into the universe even though I know my anguish means nothing to it. Sometimes I hurt so much that I can’t keep it contained within my being. I HAVE to scream or I’ll suffocate under the burden that is your loss. I haven’t done that in a while. I don’t do it as much as I used to. But it still happens and I’ve learned to not deny those moments their time. They help me survive and if they help me survive then hopefully they’re not a bad thing.

4: Who and/or what is providing support during this time?

Ox provides the most support. He’s the one who listens to me. He’s the one who lets me read my writings out loud. He’s the one who holds me and lets me cry. He’s the one who lets me say “I feel alone” even as he’s holding me. I know it has to be hard for him. I can only imagine how it must feel for your significant other to say “I feel alone” when there’s literally no space between you. He lets me break down. He lets me be vulnerable and sad. He helps me take small steps on the days where I feel like I can’t get out of bed. We’ll do something connective, or he’ll simply let me stay in bed next to him. He has never once made me feel bad or weak for being injured and I appreciate that.

5: When I think about the one I lost I immediately feel:

Hurt. I don’t know if there are words to accurately describe what it is I feel, but hurt is the best term I can think of. My chest feels tight. My heart feels like it’s trying to shatter into thousands of pieces. I feel weak, and small, and vulnerable and broken. I feel like I’ll never be able to be the person I was before; carefree and whole. I feel like I’ll never be able to love the way I did before because I’m so aware of how things can change; how the one you love can suddenly no longer be there and the pain that loss can and will cause. I feel scared because I know I’ll experience grief again and I’m not sure how I’ll be able to handle it next time. I don’t know if it will be the situation that wins because I’m already so tired trying to understand and make peace with the grief I feel for you. I feel battle weary when I think of your death. I feel like I lost my companion and no one will ever be able to fill the spot you held in my life quiet the way you filled it.

6: I express my emotions by:

Not. Lawl… Seriously though, I tend to not express my emotions. I acknowledge that I don’t feel ok, but very rarely do I have a proper coping mechanism that lets me deal with those emotions. I sleep a lot. I stay away from people more. I wait until I feel better, but I don’t know of anything that actually helps to make me FEEL better. It’s like ripping open a healing wound. The only thing you can do is wait for it to heal up again. Nothing makes it heal faster. You just have to give it time and wait and hope it doesn’t get infected or worse.

7: I give myself permission to process what I am feeling by:

Being alone and not giving myself shit for it. By crying because for a while I used to get upset at myself for doing that. Screaming. Writing. Thinking. I give myself permission to feel unconditionally. My emotions are not wrong and they are valid regardless of what they are.

8: What strengths do I have from previous experiences that can help me during this time?

I don’t know. I don’t feel that I have strengths. I go day by day hoping that I make it through and that I do well and that I don’t fuck up. I have no plan for what I’m doing with my life. It’s mostly, “This seems like a good idea…” But is it really? I don’t have you to talk to. I don’t have your perspective. I don’t know how you handled Mawmaw and grandaddy dying. I don’t know how you got through it so I don’t know how I’m supposed to get through it. I’m trying so hard. I’m doing what I think is my best, but is it? Could I be doing better? Do you think I’m doing well? I don’t know what to do, mom. I really don’t and I’m sorry.

9: During this process, I have learned that:

I can survive the death of you. I wish I couldn’t. I wish that was the worst thing that could happen to me and that it would kill me and that it would all be over and we could be together again. But here I am, 4 and a half years later, still going, still accomplishing, still having people think that I’m strong and amazing and a mentor and a role model. I’m on anti-depressants because I can’t cope effectively with my life without them. I bury myself in pointless tasks because staying busy keeps me distracted from my grief rather than actually doing anything about it.

I’ve learned a lot of things about myself, about my grief, about other people, especially those in my life. But I think that’s the biggest thing I’ve learned; that your death wasn’t the end of my world, and for me that sucks.

Letters to Mom 027: Gloves

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Mom, I really need to talk to you. Of all of the things I haven’t written to you about, I’m ashamed that I need your insight over gloves.

The thing that pushes me to write and reach out to you isn’t passing my first semester of nursing school. It’s not to let you know that I was diagnosed with cancer, or that I had surgery, or that I’m recovering well enough though I still give myself shit for “not being better”.

No. It’s nothing all that important in the grand scheme of things, but it’s a pivotal point in my life; maybe my career. It might make my life hell for the next forever and though I feel I did the right thing, though I’ve talked to several people who agree I did the right thing, it’s you who I want to say those words.

Fuck my life, mom. Fuck my sense of justice and integrity. I couldn’t just let this go and now I might have ruined everything.

Today as we were leaving work, the RN I was working with took a handful of gloves.

RN: I need to stop for gas on the way home. Have to stay safe out there.

I watched her take the gloves. I didn’t try to stop her. I didn’t say anything about, “You shouldn’t take those.” I did nothing except let it happen.

I was so bothered by it though. We’re in a pandemic and you’re going to take supplies meant to provide care for our patients and use them to pump gas? That’s not right. None of that is right.

I was so conflicted, mom. I still am. I called Ox and I told him what had happened and that I didn’t know what to do. This is the RN who had an issue with me coloring during my downtime at work. Was I bothered simply because I wanted to retaliate?

No… I was bothered because we as employees of our company signed a contract saying we wouldn’t take work supplies for personal use. That’s theft. It doesn’t matter that it was gloves. It could have been anything. A handful of paper towels. Masks. Hand sanitizer. It could have been anything that the company ordered for the clinic.

Our supplies are meant for the clinic, not for you. If you want to use gloves while you pump gas then go buy a box of gloves from the store like every other person who doesn’t work in the health care field has to do. That’s why I go out and buy my own page protectors from Office Depot rather than taking a pack from the stash at work.

Could I? Yes. Do I? No, because I said I wouldn’t.

Ox encouraged me to reach out to my FA. Maybe the RN had spoken to her about taking a few gloves. Maybe there was more to the situation I didn’t know about. That was a valid point. I shouldn’t jump to conclusions.

So I called. I asked if anyone on our team as asked to use work supplies for personal matters.

FA: What do you mean?

Fuuuuuuuck…

So I explained the situation.

FA: No. No one talked to me about that. This is an issue. We can’t have this happening.

There is going to be a message sent to all of us at the clinic in regards to supplies. The RN is going to know it’s me. My FA said she was going to talk to the RN directly as well. I guess that’s already happened since the RN tried to call me. I didn’t answer… most likely not helping my situation… That’s a problem for future me.

I can already hear Future Me bitching…

Present Me: You’re welcome. : D

I work with her Monday, mom. I’m dreading it and it’s only 7 pm. I’ve been off work for three hours and I’m already so ready to not go to work I’ve thought about quitting so I don’t have to be alone with this person.

I talked to dad, asking for his perspective as a manager. I’ve talked to Allison about it, too, since she was a high-level manager for a while.

They both feel I did the right thing for the right reasons. My FA is paid way more than me to take in information like this and to choose the best course of action. I am not responsible for what my FA does with the information. I am not responsible for how my coworker reacts to my FA’s choices.

But I work with her, mom. I might have just fucked everything up. Over gloves…

But it’s not the gloves that are the issue. The core of this whole thing is that taking something that isn’t yours is wrong. She wouldn’t have taken the gloves if she had been working with my FA instead of me, so why was it ok today? If I would have gotten in trouble for it, why would she think she’s above the same expectations? Is it because I’m just a PCT? Because I never say anything? Because I wouldn’t “snitch”?

Is this snitching? We’re in a pandemic and supplies are back-ordered and we don’t know what’s going to happen in the future and you’re taking the supplies we need for our patients. You’re stealing from our patients. We NEED those supplies to ensure we maintain proper infection control during their procedures. What happens if gloves become an issue?

Should the pandemic thing even matter? At the root of it all, you said you wouldn’t take supplies and you did. You lied. You stole.

As employees of the company, we are mandated reporters for stuff like this. If it had been found out that this happened, and I knew about it, and I didn’t do anything or report it, I’m not exempt from consequences. If someone saw me doing something wrong, they are expected, mandated, to report it.

“It’s just gloves.”

That’s what keeps going on inside my head right now, mom. It’s just gloves. I get it. It can seem dumb when you focus on the object rather than the action. It was theft. Blatant. Intentional. As if I didn’t matter; didn’t exist. As if my words wouldn’t invoke reactions and consequences. As if my own moral character didn’t matter.

My life is going to suck at work for the next forever, mom. She’s going to out for blood. Everything I do is going to be wrong. Every break I take. Every time I step off the floor. Everything I do is going to have a flaw in her eyes.

It was the right choice for my peace of mind. It was the wrong choice if I wanted an easy life.

I guess that’s something… There are all sorts of quotes about the “right thing” being hard.

Right now I don’t feel like I have the inner resolve I need to be ok with my choice. I know it was the right one to make; more for myself than anything. Stealing is wrong. I couldn’t not say something regardless of what the item was and be ok with myself.

But actions of reactions. The reaction to my action of informing is that I have made my coworker’s life harder and she, in turn, is going to be resentful and potentially take it out on me by fostering a negative work environment while we’re together.

That is the consequence of the choice I made.

So I guess that’s where my issue comes in; where my resolve falters. This is where the confusion is and so maybe I don’t have the words I want or need to express it right.

Why am I worried about how she’s going to act? She can act however she wants. Am I going to let her attitude change wanting to be at MY clinic? Am I going to let her mess with my own attitude? Am I going to give her power over my emotions? Does she deserve that power?

No. No one does. My emotions are my own. I may not control them, but I exist with them, alongside them, and if I take the time to understand them, sometimes I can persuade them to change and to see another perspective.

I remained true to myself and to my own standards which happen to be in line with the company’s core values and our code of conduct.

I DID do the right thing.

Sometimes the right thing and the hard thing are the same thing.

I don’t know, mom. I don’t think I really figured anything out, but I don’t feel as anxious anymore. I’m not as worried about Monday. I’m not as worried about her life or how I may or may not have messed it up.

Stealing is wrong. It doesn’t matter that it was gloves. It doesn’t matter that it wasn’t a whole box of gloves. Either you’re allowed to take them or you’re not. There isn’t a gray area. There aren’t situational exceptions here. That’s one of the positive things about policies and procedures. They remove the gray, nebulous, opinion-based judgement calls. They make things black and white, for better or for worse. They give us something to use as a standard for ethical and professional behavior.

I know I did the right thing, mom. Now to fight the good fight; the one in my head. I’m not going to back down from my choice to inform. If I did the morally right thing then I have nothing to be ashamed of or regret.

Daily Post 209: Remembering Truths

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It’s been a while since I’ve written. Working last Wednesday sort of threw everything off for the rest of the week. So here I am with about a week’s worth of stuff to catch up on.

I’ve decided to go with duel specking my character with the bard class. I reached out to our DM with a clarifying question.

Me: Quick question for God: If I duel spec as a bard would I have to legit sing?

God: It really depends on the style of music. There’s gonna be some genres I simply won’t allow at the table. But for sure you’re gonna be performing for us in some capacity. Mwahahahahahaha!!! >:3

Me: Excellent >:3

I can’t wait for tonight’s session. It’s going to be great.

That was the majority of Thursday. Figuring out what I wanted to do with my character level and spell wise, remaking my character sheet in a new program Ox found, and figuring out what items I wanted to replace while we were in town.

Class was fine. We started talking about statuses and roles and group dynamics along with classical studies pertaining to an individual’s willingness to conform in group settings.

Friday and Saturday I worked. Neither of those days was awful. I got some studying done during my breaks. Not as much as I would have liked, but some was better than none.

Saturday night Ox and I ended up going out to dinner. We haven’t had a legit date night in a while. And I guess that needs some back story…

We were supposed to run an extra treatment for a patient Saturday afternoon. Friday she had assured me she would be there for her Saturday treatment. I had gotten to work early to ensure we could have her chair ready for her in the afternoon. Even if something happened with another patient, we would be able to get her in since she said she would be there.

I flipped the station for her. I set up the machine and it had just finished testing when the phone to the clinic rang. My RN answered it. Our patient wasn’t coming.

I haven’t been that frustrated and angry in a while. I was so frustrated I was almost in tears.

Me: I need five minutes. I’ll be right back.

I had to leave the floor to regain perspective and my composure.

Irrational Right Brain: I trusted you. I did these things FOR YOU. You said you would be here. I didn’t call and check to see if you were coming because you told me not to worry about it with the craziness of change over. I had to throw those supplies away because you didn’t come when you said you would. I wasted them because I trusted you. I set that machine up FOR YOU. It wasn’t just flipping a station. There was intention behind every action I did to ensure we weren’t behind FOR YOU. And while I understand all of this is my own perspective, at the time it felt like you threw everything I had done, all of my effort and trying, onto the ground and stomped on it.

After I got over the feelings of betrayal the rest of the day was alright. Patients staggered off well enough that there wasn’t a crazy rush at the end of the day. We closed the clinic up. I drove home. Ox gave me a hug.

I was still frustrated. I was still missing mom. He offered for us to go out together for food since there weren’t plans for dinner. I agreed. I changed out of my scrubs into one of his shirts and a pair of shorts. I wanted to drink. It doesn’t happen often, but that’s where I was Saturday night. I wanted to throw all of my responsibilities and caring down onto the ground and say “fuck it” for a few hours of my life, so I did. Ox let me. He drove. He listened to me and he didn’t judge me.

We went to Buffalo Wild Wings. They were busy. I ordered a Long Island Iced Tea. Since I don’t drink often and hadn’t eaten since lunch it didn’t take long for my drink to do its job. I didn’t mind the loudness anymore. Ox and I talked and I didn’t mind talking about the painfulness I felt. I didn’t care about the silent tears running down my face as I talked about mom. I didn’t care what people thought as I got a second drink. Everyone else could fuck themselves if they thought I would feel bad about crying in public.

Once we were done eating, we went out to the parking lot. Ox gave me a cigarette while I continued talking.

Me: I know I sound like an eight-year-old when I say “I want my mom.” But I want my mom. I want her back.

Ox brought me back to the apartment. I came inside and crawled into bed, still hurting but not minding the pain. It’s there for a reason and while it sucks I cherish it.

While I was in bed I began thinking about my inner landscape; the way I view my mind and the different areas I’ve created in it.

There’s my ice cave. The place I spent so much time in while I was growing up and dealing with my parents’ divorce. The place I retreated to when mom died. It’s where I go when there’s nothing I can do about the pain and confusion I feel other than breath. It’s where I wait, still and silent, because the cold makes the pain seem less.

There’s my summer forest full of green and sunlight. My ice cave is at the center of this calm and warm place. There’s a brook, feeding the forest with water. There are birds and a deer with giant antlers; old and wise as he slowly bends down to drink from the brook. He’s my friend and unafraid of being present while I’m there. He lets me watch him living life and being part of the balance.

There’s another area; one I don’t think I’ve ever taken the time to understand. I’ve always been scared of it. I’ve always thought of it as a personal hell. Saturday I took the time to acknowledge it as real.

From now on it will be my Forest of Nightmare. It’s dark here. The darkness of a moonless night. The trees are black and barren. Roots tangle along the ground, gnarled and unseen, waiting to trip me, making my knees and palms bloodied and scraped.

Monsters live here in the nightmare. At least I used to think they were monsters, and I guess that’s what I figured out during my drunken Saturday night.

They’re not really monsters. The concept of monsters is just another perspective that I have control over. These things have always existed. The forest, the creatures living in them, the things the “monsters” represent. They have always been a part of me, a part of life. Sometimes I’m unaware of them until I meet them for the first, terrifying time, but that doesn’t mean they haven’t always been there; always lived, always breathed, waiting for our meeting.

Grief doesn’t have to be a monster. Loneliness doesn’t have to be a monster. Moonless nights in black forests don’t have to be terrifying. It’s my choice to fear these things that have always been a part of who I am. If I want it to change then I need to make different choices.They have just as much of a right to live as anything else. Existing doesn’t make them bad or evil; my perspective does.

So… I’m trying to make different choices and have different perspectives.

Much like in How to Train Your Dragon, where Hiccup finds Toothless. At first, Hiccup thinks Toothless is a vicious killer and something which should be feared. A monster. Over time he comes to understand that’s not what Toothless is. Hiccup is still fearful when he extends his hand out, unsure of what will happen. Toothless pushes his forehead against the outstretched limb, offering friendship, which is really just understanding and acceptance when you boil it down.

So, I’m extending my hand to the monsters I have fought against and run away from. They aren’t monsters. They deserve to exist and to be understood. They deserve to be accepted as they are rather than being feared. This is their home, with me, inside me, and I can either ignore them or take the time to learn to cohabitate with them.

I want to learn to be accepting of myself. I want to learn to not fear my Forest of Nightmare.

That was a pretty heavy psychological endeavor to have Saturday night. As a result, Sunday I spent most of the day sleeping. I woke up and had breakfast at the house. Came back to the apartment and took a nap with the kittens. Woke up and ate. Went back to sleep… No school work like I had been planning. It was sunny outside but also super windy so it was hard to feel like doing anything other than basking in the sunlight. Being away from people was nice. It helped me recover enough for work the next day.

Monday I worked with my FA on the floor. It’s been a while since we’ve worked together. The day itself went smoothly. One of the other techs from our sister clinic came down to learn our machines. She’s super awesome and it was good to spend some time with her.

I went to the house after work. Since it was raid night for Ox we had a cigarette before I came to the apartment. I was supposed to do a bunch of schoolwork but didn’t. Instead, I reread most of my Letters to Mom. That was a sad realization. Through all of my cancer stuff I never once wrote to her. I haven’t told her anything about Jon moving. I didn’t tell her about passing my first semester of nursing school or making the Dean’s List. I haven’t reached out to her in so long…

It gave me more to think about Monday night and so instead of pushing through my mental exhaustion, I opted to sleep instead. If I got a zero on my mid-term exam Tuesday morning I would still pass the class, and since I was showing up to take the test I would make higher than a zero. I know a majority of the content. I don’t have to get 100%. I would be ok with whatever I made because that was the effort I put into my schooling.

Ox came over after raid. We fell asleep together. It was nice and comforting. I woke up Tuesday and had a chill morning before going to class. I feel I did well on my test. The grade still isn’t posted. I’m hoping to get the results later today.

I did errands while I waited to meet with Ox and HiWay Diner. We had an enjoyable lunch before finishing the grocery shopping. I went to the house with him. We had sexy time, though that had a bit of a rough start. I tweaked my back at work Monday morning, so while I desperately wanted the interaction with him, my spine had other ideas.

Me: This is happening, Body. Just fucking enjoy it, damnit.

Body: Oh yeah? Well, take this! And this! And how ’bout this!

Me: I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’ll never do it again! I swear!

Yeah… hard to feel sexy when your spine feels like it’s trying to break itself in half. Ox was kind and understanding and eventually, we found a position that didn’t cause spikes of searing agony to stab at my nervous system. Once we found that it was back to being a mind-melting experience.

That did lead to some heavy conversation afterward, which, again, needs some backstory…

Ox and I have been talking again about finding another female to have some fun with. I’m going to ignore the cries of “Slut!” and “Whore!” because I am fully aware that some/most people won’t agree with my choices, but they’re my choices and this is my life and something between my partner and myself and his opinion is the only opinion that really matters at this point.

I made a few posts on a BDSM site explaining what we were looking for. Through those posts, there was a person who reached out to me. It was a guy, but instead of being the typical, “I know you’re looking for a female, but how about a mmf three-way?” type of message, it was an offer to join his group. It’s centered around sex positivity and is a local group for our area. Since Nebraska can be pretty conservative, it was nice to see something like that existed locally.

I joined the group and sent a message back thanking him for reaching out to me. That’s led to some pretty extensive emailing back and forth. He seems like an interesting person. He at least seems to not mind my novel-length replies and engages in the conversation in equal measure.

We’re both interested in friendship and would like to meet each other in person. Queue emotional roller coaster of Doooooom…

I don’t have friends here in Nebraska. I want friends. Most of my friends tend to be guys. How is Ox going to feel knowing I’ve been talking to a guy on a kink site and now want to meet him in person?

Only one way to find out… Fuuuuuck… my life… >.<;

We had that conversation Sunday night. Ox has some misgivings. We laid down ground rules for what would be ok and no ok as far as meeting. I relayed the information and L (we’ll call him L) and I arranged to meet at a coffee shop across from campus on Thursday after my class.

So that wasn’t as big of a roller coaster as I had been prepared for, but it did lead to additional conversation about additional play partners; specifically about how I still feel it’s unfair for Ox to play with girls while I am not allowed to play with guys, not that I really want to, but it is an imbalance and I don’t do well with imbalances.

I actually got a reply from one chick asking if we were still looking for someone.

My Brain: Totally not done with that roller coaster, btw. K. Thx. Bye. : D

Me: Fuck you, Brain…

So… there was sexy time yesterday. I don’t remember how, but we got back onto the topic of other people. I’m feeling uncomfortable about it, so it’s obvious that something is bothering me but I don’t want to talk about it so I don’t, but Ox knows somethings up, he just doesn’t know what because I won’t talk so he doesn’t know what to do because he doesn’t know what’s going on inside my head…

Arg…

We ended up talking about it.

I’m still insecure about a lot of things regarding my surgery. My new scar. The fact that a stranger cut me open and took part of me away. The fact that I have to be on medication for the rest of forever to be “normal”. The fact that I’m still recovering and not able to do things at the gym I took for granted. The fact that I’m still dojo-less and even if I wasn’t, I wouldn’t be able to train as I have in the past.

So, what happens if we find a chick, and for whatever reason, the situation is extremely stimulating for Ox and she’s able to help him finish easier or faster than I am able to? That would mean the issue is really, truly with me right? I’m not doing something right or I’m not enough. It really is me.

What happens if they hit it off and form a friendship where they want to start hanging out, alone because they’re friends? What if she’s prettier than me? What if she doesn’t have cancer? What if she doesn’t have grief because her parents are still alive? What if she catches feelz for Ox and then we have to contend with all of that? What happens if Ox gets the type of dynamic that I’m not allowed to have because “guys are bad”?

Ox and I have only recently been branching out into the BDSM side of things and so while I am enjoying and grateful for it, it’s still new and tentative. I don’t feel secure in it because I don’t understand why the change is there or if it will last, or really what any of it means for him. Is it only bedroom play or is this the real-life dynamic that I’ve wanted that I convinced myself I couldn’t have because believing I couldn’t have it was easier than constantly pining for it?

What’s our relationship goal? Do we even have one? Where are we headed? How are things going to change once Jon and I are roommates? How are things going to be once I go back to nursing school and no longer have a life for eight months?

There’s so much in flux right now. I don’t want to add another person into the mix when so much is still unclear, unsettled, muddled, muddy, nebulous…

Ox: We don’t have to do this. It’s why I’ve left it up to you. If you don’t want it, that’s ok.

Me: But this is something I agreed to before I moved. Won’t you feel betrayed if I don’t do this?

Ox: No. I love you. I’m with you. And I’m here for you.

It was a hard conversation. Admitting to my “not good” feelings was hard. I was worried about rejection and anger, but like so many other times before, I was given love, kindness, and understanding instead.

At the end of the conversation, Ox hugged me and said we were ok. Originally I had plans to cross-stitch at the house on the bed next to him, but with the looming conversation, it felt less ok to do something like that. I should go to the apartment and hide. I should be emo in bed under the covers and leave this unresolved because it’s easier to not confront it than to work through it.

But no. We worked through it. Together. And at the end, I did go inside and cross-stitch, something I haven’t been doing.

That’s something else I’ve noticed. For the past few weeks, all of the self-care I had been doing post-surgery has fallen to the wayside again, and I wonder if that’s not factoring into the general discord I have been feeling. I haven’t colored for weeks. Yesterday was the first time in a while that I’ve stitched. This is the first writing in roughly a week. There are piles on the kitchen table and dishes in the sink… I’m allowing Life to take over again and that’s not ok.

Today is about cleaning up; catching up. I was supposed to go to counseling, but Ox accidentally took my keys with him to work, so I can’t drive anywhere. Instead, I’m going to stay at the apartment today. Writing has helped me reflect. I’m in the process of meal prepping. As my back allows I’ll pluck away at sweeping and moping and going through my piles. Email, phone calls, school notes, condensing to-do lists… all of it.

Today is about getting back on track and tonight will be an awesome night of D&D.

Things will be ok. Things are ok. I’m my mother’s daughter and I’m a warrior. Those are my truths. I think I needed to be reminded of them.

Daily Post 208: Rambling

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I need this to be more of a ramble post. Just forewarning that my thoughts might jump around way more then they have in my previous posts.

D&D went well last night. I was late because at 7ish yesterday morning I was asked to cover a shift at one of our sister clinics in town. I explained that I had counseling and that I would be able to be to the clinic until 11:30, roughly. That was fine. Their team was grateful for my help.

I got there at the end of change over. Even though it’s a clinic I haven’t been too often, I did well. I was able to rinse the clinic’s loop fine even though I haven’t done that task for at least six months now. Their machines are different, but I was still able to string them and interact with them efficiently. Sort of like riding a bike. I picked it back up like it was yesterday. It brought back memories of when I worked in Orlando since they were the same machines I originally trained on.

It was nice to see the other teammates. The day went smooth, and though I had initially thought yesterday would be more of a “school” day, I was glad I was able to help alleviate the panic of “holy shit, how are we going to find coverage for this person who can’t come in”.

Due to not working on school stuff, I do feel a bit behind in my class now. I have a few chapters I need to read. Tuesday is my mid-term exam. My report is due on the 19th. While none of those tasks are extremely heavy and I feel like I have a good grasp on the content, there is a part of me that feels slightly overwhelmed. Like I’ve allowed myself to procrastinate too much and now I’m not going to do well.

I know all of those feelings are internal. The only things I don’t feel confident in are some of the sociologist’s names. I know all of the studies that have been done, but who did them.

Durkheim studied suicide and was one of the founders of sociology as a social science. Cooly established a model for social development stages. Piaget focused on biological (brain) development which corresponded to Cooly’s social stages. Mead combined Cooly’s and Piaget’s models, creating his own stages of development. Yes, I looked up how to spell Piaget’s name.

There are other sociologists that I’m not so sure about. While there is a part of me who wants to freak out and fall into a pit of despair because how am I supposed to get everything done? There’s another part of me who feels like if I buckle down over the next few days I’ll be fine. I like the feelings of the calm, level-headed side of myself. This is do-able, it’s just going to take a bit of effort and disciple on my part. I would rather surround myself with those feelings and tackle the things I need to do one at a time.

I think Dagger has a matt forming on his side. His fur is sort of rough and calloused feeling. I can’t see anything wrong with the skin and he doesn’t act like he’s in pain when I touch the “weird” spot. I’ve been trying to brush it to see if it is actually a matt but he doesn’t like that very much. I’ve been keeping an eye on it. It hasn’t gotten worse or spread, so there’s that. He’s recovering well from surgery. His fur is starting to grow back on his belly.

The kittens are starting to let me clip their claws by myself. I’ll wait until they’re calm and cuddling with me before trying to clip them. It seems to work. I’ve also made more of an effort to touch their paws without clipping them, so they’re used to them being held and having me extend their claws. It’s not an action associated only with this thing they don’t really care for. It’s part of cuddling and bonding and sometimes I clip them, but not always.

It seems to be helping. It’s easier to clip their claws when they’re not trying to pull away so it goes smoother and faster and this thing they’re not sure about doesn’t take as long to do. Ox helped me a little last night since the kittens were playful, but overall it’s been going better.

Back to D&D… Our characters leveled up. Level 3. Woot woot. I’m thinking about duel specing my character, though I haven’t settled on what class to take in addition to cleric. That’s going to require a bit of research on my part. I also need to look into buying a few items while we’re in town.

I have an assignment that I need to print out for class this morning, but after printing that I think I’ll take the time to figure out a bit of my D&D stuff before going into class today.

I know I just got done writing about how I feel behind and all of that stuff, but I want to take the time to do something for myself, too. I worked yesterday instead of having those six hours to do the things I wanted/needed to do. I want to have my morning so I’m going to give it to myself.

I need to cook my roast still, but that’s warming up to room temperature at the moment before I put it in the oven. It should finish cooking before I need to get ready for class. I can cut it up once I get home. I’m thinking about going to the gym for a little bit.

Several people recently have said it looks like I’m losing weight. I don’t really feel like I am. I’ve been feeling better, yes, but I haven’t noticed a difference in how my clothes are fitting. Maybe that’s me being unobservant. /shrug

Anywho, I didn’t go to the gym on Tuesday. I went to lunch with Ox instead and then did grocery shopping. He also pushed me to the point of crying again, which, yes, I know sounds awful, but it’s not.

This time I cried over it almost being April. April 4th. Four years. Four years since mom died. Four years that I’ve struggled, and fought, and raged, and sobbed, and wondered what’s the point? Why keep going? You’re still not here.

I’ve been thinking more and more about the 4th and how it’s coming and I know it’s going to be another wave of grief that hurts and makes it hard to breathe. I can feel it building inside me. I have a lot of stuff going on in my life at the moment. It’s been easy to not consciously acknowledge this day is coming, but subconsciously I know. Every day as I write the date on my to-do list or on forms at work, I know it’s coming, creeping closer and closer and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. Just like my birthday. Just like mother’s day. These days always come, will always hurt, will always be hard.

As I cried Ox said it will be ok. That we would get through it.

Me: There’s a part of me who doesn’t want it to be ok. I want everyone to hurt as much as I do. I want the world to stop. I want it to be unable to function without my mom in it. I want her death to still mean something.

Crying on Tuesday helped. I still feel the ache in my chest; my invisible wound, but crying and talking about it helped to release some of the tension that had been building up under the surface.

I guess there isn’t a whole lot else to talk about. Counseling went well. I’m thinking about taking American Sign Language during summer if finances allow it.

We talked pretty extensively about school. I explained how I want to be an LPN. I can see myself in that role. I can visualize my days at work. I can see the additional tasks I would take on and how my workflow would change. I WANT those changes and so LPN seems ok.

I don’t want to be an RN. At least not right now. Since I don’t want it, it’s hard to feel motivation to do things associated with moving me towards RN. Taking the sociology class was due to being interested in sociology. It just helped that it was a pre-req for RN. I don’t want to take microbiology, another pre-req for a program I don’t really want to complete.

Maybe that will change, but for right now I want my focus to be on becoming an LPN, taking over a few of the outcomes at our clinic, and moving into a PCT3 position. I WANT those things and so I’m self-motivated to achieve them. I want to get through this phase of my life first and then see where I want to go. I don’t like the idea of being charge nurse. I don’t like the idea of totally giving up my role as a PCT to be an RN because there’s no way I can cover both positions on my own. That’s why there are at least two people on the floor. One RN and one PCT. One person can’t do everything. But I would try to do that. I know I would.

So yeah… maybe, if I’m able to, taking another class because it’s something I want to take, rather take something I feel pressured into doing. I don’t want that. I don’t want to spend money investing in something simply because I feel it’s what other people want me to do.

So yeah… I think I’ll go for now. I feel better for having written. I feel a little clearer inside my head. I’m going to keep plucking away at my day and see where I end up.

Dragon’s Horde 060: New Nostalgia

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During the week my dad stayed with me post-surgery we ended up walking through Walmart a few times. During one of those times we decided to get a puzzle to work on together. My dad and I used to do puzzles all the time before my parents divorced.

As we were talking about what puzzle to get, I mentioned how I’ve put together a handful of 3D crystal puzzles. He had never heard or seen them, so we took a look while we were at the store. Wouldn’t you know… they had a purple dragon puzzle. I couldn’t have asked for something more perfect.

My dad and I spent the next few hours of the afternoon working on it together. It was amazing. I hadn’t realized how much I missed something as simple as sitting with him, working on something, and chatting about nothing important while bitching about pieces not fitting right.

The whole week, but this experience specifically, helped reaffirm something for me. I do have a dad and he does care about and love me. I might not be the 8-year-old girl I once was, but that doesn’t mean I can’t be nostalgic about my past, and hopeful about my future.

I know you won’t read this post, but I want you to know I love you, dad. Thanks for being there for me when mom died. That’s for holding my hand through this terrifying time of having cancer. Thanks for letting me know that I still have a partent and that somewhere, deep inside, it’s ok to still be a kid.

Musing Moment 144: Revelations Not Resolutions

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I find it fitting to be writing this post on this the first day of 2020. I have not made resolutions for this coming year. Instead, I have been fortunate enough to have the time and space to have revelations instead; revelations I want to share.

Revelation One
My life is about to change. Not end.

There was one night, a few weeks back, where it got really dark inside of my head. I was alone in the apartment. It was night time. I was ridiculously tired from work. I hadn’t been sleeping or eating well.

I felt lost. Hopelessly lost. I felt weak and powerless with no way to change or control the things going on in my life. Nothing to look forward to. Just the endless cycle of work and sleep and chores and paying bills.

I don’t think there are really words to accurately describe the battle I felt consuming me from the inside out. A battle I knew I was losing, slowly, surely, day after day after day after agonizing day.

During my battle that particular night, during that moment of darkness, I looked up different ways to overdose. I didn’t want to end my life, but I needed to know what would happen if I did. If it got bad enough for me to follow through, what would I do and how? What would the side effects be like? How long would it take? Would it be painful? If it were found out, what medical interventions would take place?

Through doing that, researching, I realized I didn’t want to kill myself. I didn’t want my story to end, but I wanted, needed, something to change. Death wasn’t want I wanted. At least not death of my self… just of my life; of the things fucking with my life. I wanted all of these outside forces wrecking havoc on me to die; my cancer, my stress, my expectation of myself.

Ox and I ended up having a conversation, I believe it was the next day. He asked how I was doing. It was a different question than the normal, “how are you feeling?” or “how was your day?”

Ox: How are you doing?

Me: Not well.

I said those words with a voice on the verge of breaking as tears rolled down my face because I knew them to be true, but how do you tell the person you love that you were looking up different options for suicide without them freaking out or worrying more or any number of things that could go horribly wrong by being honest? How do you bear your soul and the pain you feel like no one else can understand and elaborate on “not well” without the risk of ruining everything?

The truth is, you don’t. You have to take that risk. You have to be honest, with them, with yourself. You have to trust that you can let go of the fear you’re clutching onto like a life line and that the other person will be there to catch you, hold you, hug you.

When he asked what I meant by not well I said I was afraid to talk about it. I was afraid to explain what was going on inside my head. I was afraid of losing him. I was afraid of losing my job. I was afraid of being put in an institution. I was afraid of fucking it all up further by admitting that I was having these thoughts.

He helped me past that fear and I told him about what I had been looking at on my phone that night as I lay in bed fighting with my self. I told him how I was so tired mentally, emotionally, spiritually, that I didn’t know how to keep going forward; how to keep putting one foot in front of the other and getting out of bed and showering and eating. I didn’t know how to keep doing it but I didn’t know how to make it pause either. I didn’t know how to catch my breath or find my footing or a handgrip to keep it from feeling like I was falling into a never-ending abyss of hopelessness.

We talked for a long time and in the end, I didn’t have any sort of answer or solution, but I felt safer. I had shared what I thought would be something horrific that would lead to alienation and came out the other side of the conversation with a stronger foundation of trust.

I learned that I CAN share dark, unsettling things and that Ox and I will still be ok. That I will be ok. That thoughts and feelings ARE ok, even when they’re as extreme as that.

Sharing those thoughts, admitting to those actions took away the guilt and shame that I had been feeling. The weakness. The loneliness.

A few days later I met with my counselor. We talked about my upcoming surgery, how my dad is going to be here for a week during the procedure. We talked at length about my research into overdosing and my feelings about the events afterward with Ox. We talked about how I felt about actually looking into things like that.

Recently Ox made a comment about a post he saw where another person who had contemplated suicide wrote that he didn’t want his life to end, he wanted his life as he knew it to end. He wanted, needed, it to change.

I feel like that is true for me. I can relate to that statement. I don’t want my story to end. I don’t want to die. I want how I know life now, currently, with all of the internal pain and anguish and sorrow, to end. I want things to be different.

I think on a subconscious level I have been allowing myself to feel victimized. Victimized by Life and the Universe. By my self. By my body.

In the book, Leadership from the Inside Out, it is written that everyone is a leader. Be it the leader of a company, a team, or of your own individual life, we are all leaders.

I have not been acting as a leader. At least I don’t feel like I have. I have been haphazardly jumping from one event, one crisis to another. I have not put much thought behind my days. I have not had clear, defined intentions. No strategy. No goal other than “survive”.

If we want change, then it starts within ourselves. If I want my life as I know it to end, to change and transform, then I am the only one who can take the actions required for those changes to occur.

Revelation Two
I have the power to start a new chapter.

This is my life, and while I may not have control over the events that occur in it, I do have control over my response to those events.

I have cancer. I cannot make that fact untrue. It will always be true. Even once my thyroid is removed, I will still have had cancer. I will be changed, physically, because of that cancer. That cannot be undone. Denying those facts is useless. Being angry about those facts is useless. Denial and anger change nothing. Facts do not care about emotions. They will continue to be true regardless of how you do or do not emotionally respond to them.

So I have a choice. I can continue feeling angry, sad, lost, and scared, or I can accept that this is happening in my life and continue writing my story.

My surgery is in two weeks. These two weeks will be the prequel to my new chapter. Surgery will be a big event in my life. It will be life-changing. I will have to learn how to be comfortable in my skin again, knowing that a stranger has touched things within my own body that were never meant to be touched. I will have to learn to be ok with the knowledge that there is in fact, a part of me missing. I will have to learn that I am not defined by organs.

I will have to learn while some scars, most scars, are invisible, some are very real and cannot be hidden. I will have to learn how to explain why I have such a mark on my neck. I will have to learn to function with and through the sympathetic eye contact from my patients, coworkers, friends, family, and strangers.

This coming year will be a year of learning. Learning how to be me through all of the mental, emotional, and physical adjustments I will need to make. While very little of my everyday routine will need to change, there will need to be changes. That marks a loss of familiarity and that loss is just as real and valid as the loss of an organ.

Post-surgery will be a new chapter in my life not the end of it. I will still be me, but it will be a me that I need to get to know, learn to care for and be empathic and compassionate with.

Revelation Three
I am not who I was.

I keep trying to “find myself”. I keep remembering how I was before mom’s death or before becoming a dialysis technician. I keep comparing myself to what I used to do or how I used to be. I keep looking for my old self and the harder I look and try to get back to “there” the more lost and hopeless I feel.

I don’t know when, where, or how it came to me, but I realized I am no longer that person. I mean… yes… I’m still me, but my life has changed so drastically in the past three in a half years…

How could I be exactly the same? How could I handle situations exactly like I used to?

What a disserved to the person I have become and am becoming to constantly look back to 27-year-old me as my marker for excellence and success and grace through stress.

I have changed and that is why I can no longer find the old me. I am no longer that version of my self. I keep looking for something that doesn’t exist anymore; for something that CAN NEVER exist anymore. And that, too, is not a bad thing. I am myself, will always be myself, but there have been changes and iterations and updates that I, personally, need to acknowledge and accept.

I need to stop looking at my past and realize who and what I am in the present. I need to be aware of everything that I am going through rather than brushing it off or downplaying it or berating myself for not handling it better.

What had berating myself gotten me? Nothing except shame, guilt, and suicidal thoughts.

How is that in any way beneficial to anyone, most of all myself?

It’s not and so I’m done doing it. I’m done disrespecting my current self by searching for something I can never be again.

Revelation Four
I do have a home.

I have been missing mom a lot recently. Well… always, but holidays and my birthday are where the waves of pain seem strongest. Mom was always home. It didn’t matter where she was. Whenever I thought of “home” it was of her. Her smile, her laugh, her eyes, her hugs.

Much like how I can no longer be the me of three and a half years ago, I can no longer have the home I used to have. While I do believe it is ok to miss what was, I feel I should have gratitude and acknowledgment of the things I do have.

As my birthday and Christmas presents this year, Ox’s parents gave me money for the class I will be taking during the spring semester. I’m stepping back from the LPN program due to the surgery, but I will be taking Introduction to Sociology; a prerequisite for the RN program. I mentioned during dinner one night how I wasn’t going to be eligible for financial aid since it is only a 3 credit hour course, but Ox and I had looked at finances and we believed we could afford it.

Ox’s parents signed my cards, “Mom and Dad [last name here]”.

I was so touched. So deeply, profoundly, touched. I am not their daughter. They have no obligation to me what so ever, and yet here they are, helping me with something that is important to me. These people opened their house to me, share their food with me, care for me, and love me.

No, they aren’t my family. No, they cannot replace mom. But that doesn’t mean I can’t love them in return or think of them as Mom and Dad [last name here]. That doesn’t mean I can’t find a new home for the new me in this new chapter of my life.

So that’s where I’m at currently inside my head. I will remember and honor my past but I am no longer going to continue searching for it in my present life.

This will be my Year of Learning. Learning to be present. Learning to be grateful. Learning how to write this first, new, post-surgery chapter of my life.

Musing Moments 140: Pre-Consultation Writing

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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 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.

Daily Post 179: Long But Not So Bad

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I’m doing a bit better than yesterday. I think a majority of that has to do with Ox coming over and cuddling with me for a while.

Work was rough. I forgot my energy drink this morning. Much lame. Change over was crazy since we ended up having to do blood cultures on two people. I survived. I transferred acid, so that’s done. I got some Star Learning stuff done, too. I got to talk to my FA about a few things, so there’s clarity on some topics.

I made it through the day with only 4 cigarettes. Not as good as I would have liked. Not as bad as I thought I would do.

Adventure’s League didn’t happen tonight. I haven’t had a chance to make my character sheet. I didn’t have it in me to be around people after work today. I had to explain to my patients how I made a 92 on my test. I had to stand there and smile and listen to them congratulate me and tell me how my mom would be proud.

Irrational Right Brain: I already drank last night because I hurt so much over the fact that my mom is dead. Can you not bring up the fact that she’s dead while I’m here, at work, trying to emotionally hold my shit together? No? Oh… Well… Totally going to go cry in the bathroom on my break now. Thanks.

It wasn’t a bad day. It was just… a day. Long. Busy. Drainging both physically and emotionally. It was harder than it should have been because of who I was working with. Blarg. She even left before all of the stuff was done at the clinic. That always sucks.

Irrational Right Brain: Trust me… I get that you’re the nurse and that you have a degree that I don’t and that you’re in a different tax bracket, but we’re a team. I want to go home, too. At last empty the bleach buckets or something… You see that I’m still working. I helped you all day. I was here at the clinic setting stuff up before you even walked through the door. I picked up your slack all day. How do you think it’s ok to dip out at the end? Why am I the one left alone at the end of the day to finish everything by myself? Because it’s PCT work? It’s “beneath your pay grade” work? Arg. >.<

Anyway, getting off the bitch train because I really don’t feel like being on it… Things got better once I was able to get a hug from Ox. We cuddled for a while with the kittens. We talked a bit. I started my dinner cooking. We did our Darebee workout. We talked a bit more. Eventually, he went back to the house and I stayed here at the apartment to eat and study and do school stuff.

I’m content with the progress I made tonight. I have a lot to tackle over the weekend, but I think I’ll be ok. I’m completely done with the assignments for my LPNS 1010 class, so there’s nothing in that area looming over me. That’s a nice feeling.

I’m glad that I’m writing tonight. I’m glad I don’t feel like drinking again. I’m glad I work with my FA tomorrow and that even if the day sucks at least she’ll be the one with me. It makes it seem less sucky. I’ll be with a really strong worker and that makes everything seem a little bit easier.

Not much else to talk about at the moment and one of the kittens is yelling at me so I guess I should go for now. It’s almost 9 pm anyway. Bed time for me.

Daily Post 178: First Nursing Test

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I had my first nursing test today. I made a 92. We started talking about coping and stress and learning styles once the test was done.

It was a good class. Better than some of the previous ones.

I stopped at Walmart to do minor shopping while I was out. I managed to go through the whole day and only had half a cigarette twice with Ox. One compared to the five at work yesterday. The headache I had for most of the afternoon I think comes from withdrawals because of that.

I used the Ninja Foodi to cook a brisket tonight. It turned out amazing. Super tender. I have a few containers of leftovers.

I worked on the assignments for unit 2 when I got home. Ox came over and we did one of the Darebee exercises. I cross-stitched after dinner. I’ve made my to-do list. My lunch is packed.

I hurt and I’m lonely and I miss mom and that’s kind of where I’ve been at all day. I wish Ox and I could sleep together. I miss hearing him breath next to me. I miss knowing that he’s there and I’m not alone. I know I’m not but it feels like it right now and that sucks.

Today’s a low day even though good things happened.

It will get better. I need to give myself time for the hurt to fade away.

“Hello, Grief, my ever-present companion. Won’t you sit with me until the thought of standing isn’t quite so painful? We can talk, you and I. I am sure one day we will eventually figure this out, this moving forward thing, but for now, my body and soul ache and I can go no further tonight. Instead, please sit with me within the landscape of my mind, our shoulders touching, and let me mourn for the things I can no longer have. “