Two steps forward, one step back…

Now that I have a cheesy Paula Abdul song in your head…

Brutal.   This is all I can come up with to describe this recovery process.   People keep commending me on my mental fortitude, but as I sit here sobbing and trying to type through tears, I’m kind of confused as to what mental fortitude they’re seeing.  I’m scared to get too upset, so it’s muted crying at best.  I let out a little sob, my cat looks at me like I’m a few cards short of a full deck, and then my nose drips a little bit, and I taste the crap in my head, and I get disgusted all over again.   I can’t quite have the complete and total meltdown of which I regularly fantasize.  It’s probably best, seeing as the last thing I need is to get so upset that I overstress my body and have an adrenal crisis.  I was borderline last night.   So nauseous that I couldn’t sleep.  I can’t take anti-nausea meds anymore, and I’m still dealing with this #$()#*$#)*$#)*( CSF leak/rotting fat graft issue, so I’m nauseous 24/7.  Homeopathic remedies do help, but seeing as I can’t take them 24/7, the nausea just comes right back.

The newest little development in my post-Earl life is menopause.  High five!   I’m thirty and going through menopause. It’s awwwweeessssooommmeee.  I totally feel for my mother now.  She tried to describe what it was like and now I know.  For starters, there are lots of cute boys in this world, many of which I am not usually prone to ignore.  I like boys, especially cute boys.  If they have guitars or harmonicas, even better.  But when I don’t even notice them around me?  That’s a problem.  But considering I’m not even four weeks post-having-crap-plucked-out-of-my-brain, that’s not a big issue.  That will come back.  Again, there are too many cute boys in this world to ignore.

However, the hot flashes can go to hell.  Oh my God.  It’s September, and I should be living with my windows up, and fresh air circulating, enjoying the two days of autumn that Tennessee gets each year.  But no.  I’m sweating profusely, running the air conditioning 24/7, and trying not to strip naked and sit in a tub full of ice cubes.  Especially in the middle of the night.  It’s all I can do to try and keep some clothes on.   My dad is my roommate right now, so I’m sure the last thing he needs to see is his 30-year old daughter in all of her glory sweating profusely while going through menopause 20 years too soon.

Whatever hormone is needed to curb hot flashes, I need it immediately.  My mom said something about an herbal remedy. Black cohash or something.  I need an injection.   I am so sorry to all women out there who have already had to deal with menopause.  I officially feel for you. Menopause can go to hell.

The diabetes insipidus hasn’t corrected, either.  I still drink my way through loads and loads of cold, wet things, and I still pee it out all of the time.   I am constantly slugging on something – usually ginger ale since it kind of rights my tummy.  I am a huge fan of Route 44 drinks from Sonic, too, but considering I suck them down in .2 seconds, I feel cheated.  I am really ready for this to correct itself.  Last night I went to Kroger and spent almost $50 on DRINKS.  I bought some yogurt, some egg beaters and a red bell pepper, and the rest was all liquid to curb my insatiable thirst.  It’s insanity.  I have a drinking problem.   Someone please write me a country song about this.   I know there are lots of country songs about drinking problems, but not this kind.

I’ve had some good moments, don’t get me wrong.  I’m still amazed at the support that I have and the friends that I have.  I honestly have no idea what I did to deserve any of you, but I’m glad that I have you.   I feel so close to mentally snapping, and I think the only thing keeping me from going over the deep end are my incredible friends and family.  On the flip side, though, I’m finding out who’s really there and who’s not once again.   The ones that have always been there are still there – amazingly – and I am quite thankful.  But other relationships are being tested, and people I thought wouldn’t break my heart have.  But hey, at least I’m finding out now.   Right?  Again, the tried and true ones are still around, and that’s really all I need to worry about anyway.

I finally got to see Heather.  She came back from Africa and I got to see her and her mom yesterday.  I kind of wanted to cry seeing her (crying now thinking about it) but I kept my emotions in check somehow.  She was my rock the first time around, and not having her attached to my hip this time around has been difficult.  So Heather, since you are reading this, realize I am completely co-dependent upon you and so are my parents.  They are glad to have you back on this side of the world so you can deal with me.  I think I’m going to take a ride in her passenger seat in October and go live on her sofa for a week.   I’m really homesick for her now.   We had a good lunch, though, and even saw some celebrities.  Neither of us are really impressed by celebs, but it was her mom’s first time in Nashville, and she got to see two of them in the same restaurant.  Nashville was pulling out all of the stops.

Anyway, thanks for the phone calls, and emails and texts and tweets and visits.   You really have no idea how much it helps keep me from going insane.  I really hope something changes and changes soon.  I still feel like I’m slipping through the healthcare cracks a little bit, and I fully intend to give my providers a piece of my steroid-enraged mind when I go back for a follow-up visit.  Screw sweet little southern girl . . . I’m pulling out all of the punches and blaming the steroids, since I can’t seem to get off of them anyway.   I am pretty much disgusted at post-surgery follow-up at this point.  It really shouldn’t be so hard.

Thanks, too, for putting up with all of my rants.   As long as I’m ranting, I guess it means I haven’t lost all of my spirit.  So maybe it’s a good thing when I get all bitchy and crazy and ranty.  Rachel is still in there somewhere – under all of this steroid fluff and crazy.   To use one of my favorite British phrases, I feel like I’ve lost my scotch.  Maybe I have, who knows.  If I have, they’ll just give me a pill for it.  I’m getting quite used to fixing things with pills these days.

 

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