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Falling Up

What do you do when your world, not just the world in your head that runs constantly, but the world that is your life starts falling up? I have been in this cycle for a year, although I propose that some of these aspects have been falling up over the years of my life.

Almost a year ago to the day, I had a hysterectomy. While it was difficult, there weren’t any major physical changes after. I went through some emotional questioning of who was I without these specific body parts that felt like they led my life. I worked through that rather quickly but before I could really take a breath, Ken spoke of having difficulty with his eyes. It was still October. What occurred from then through Christmas Day were blood tests, heart tests and then the brain MRI.

The tumor on his pituitary gland was sitting on his optic nerve, and, luckily, we were told that this type of tumor is basically always benign, but that he would not be able to have it removed through his nose like many can because the tumor was too big. Brain surgery was not something we had thought about or planned on, but there wasn’t a choice. From the end of December through now, I threw myself into him. I watched him, I tried to engage him in conversation about the surgery, not simply the mechanics of it, but how he felt. His response was always the same as he would say, “Of course I’m scared and anxious, but we have an amazing doctor and everything will be okay.” I finally realized that I had to stop asking that question because I needed to allow him to cope in whatever way he needed to to get through that day. But I still watched.

Because I am always genuine and real in what I communicate to people, these are the thoughts that I had if something went terribly wrong during or right after the surgery. Gratefully, my therapist brought me out of this rabbit hole quickly.

How do I help our 16 year-old get through what would be the worst thing that could possibly happen to them in their life? How would I get through that? How would we live without him? Where would we live? Would I have enough money to take care of us? How would I be able to be a mom and a dad at the same time?

There were only a couple of nights where I sobbed quietly, lying in bed next to him while he slept, while in complete panic mode. As dark as these thoughts were, how could anyone not have them when brain surgery is involved?

Somehow, the three of us got through this terrifying surgery, difficult recovery and its aftermath, but since March 20th, the day of the surgery, my life has been entirely about him, and for a specific time, it truly needed to be. My love for him felt like it was oozing out of my skin because I couldn’t take the experience away from him, the pain or anything else about it so I did everything else. I did the tasks and for the first six weeks it was 18 hour days, day after day, which started early, in order to bring Kit to school and would then go from there, and I would never be ready to go to sleep at a good time because the only time I had to myself was at night and I needed it. Things eased after that, but I have not been able to go to sleep at a better time as of yet. There are definitely other reasons for it at this point, but it certainly heightened during that time.

And then, shortly after our one vacation a year, on the Connecticut shore, which, as usual, was absolutely fantastic, I noticed my stomach was not feeling great and I was getting quite bloated. And, as I am always quite open, the constipation began, as did the doctor visits: primary care, gastroenterologists, colorectal surgeon and all said the same thing which was to take MiraLAX and figure out how I can finally have a colonoscopy as I have had three failed preparations (never actually making it to the actual procedure). These were most likely due to the medications I take and their need for food and I do not have the capacity to drink the amount of fluid that is necessary the night before. That journey began about 4 to 5 years ago, and all I want is to have it done as I have a grandparent on both sides of my family who had colon cancer.

I know that going into instant menopause and hormone changes can cause constipation, but I didn’t know how that could be connected given the amount of time that had gone by and only one doctor questioned that by asking me if I thought it had to do with my hysterectomy, which was obviously quite strange as the patient should be asking the doctor for the answer to that question. At this minute, magnesium oxide seems to be helping a little bit, but I do need more time on it. The frustration is quite real. I felt some validation, though, about a possible link to my instant menopause when I ran into a friend who also had a hysterectomy two weeks after I did and started experiencing the same constipation symptoms in July. We compared notes and I updated her after my colorectal appointment. I, at least, feel like I am not alone in that.

While I am in research mode about having a colonoscopy with a completely different prep, I can’t find anyone to help me and I don’t understand why as there is absolutely no way in the world that I am the only one who cannot do these particular preparations. I found colon hydrotherapy and actually the first hospital in the country to use it, Danbury Hospital, in the state where I live, doesn’t use that anymore and it’s seen as highly questionable in terms of a proper colonoscopy preparation. Of course, the NIH article I read, which was published two years ago, said differently in their study, but I cannot locate a doctor who allows it, as of yet. The search continues.

At the same time, about two months ago my back pain became quite worse. The bulging disc at L4 (lumbar region) which we have been aware of for the past four years was acting up and the arthritis and my joints were also not behaving. My pain management doc gave me some steroid trigger injections, which usually provided some relief, but they did not. The past month, things have been deteriorating quite quickly where I can’t stand in one place, even with my expensive comfortable sneakers on, for more than five minutes without a lot of pain. My several mile walks each day are now slower in pace, otherwise, if I walk at my usual pace, which is fast, I start to feel the pain. My MRI that I had a few weeks ago showed everything had become much worse since my last MRI a year ago in August. There are joint issues that involve a pinched nerve, in addition to the bulging disc, and the arthritis has grown. There is some fluid between joints and a cyst has developed as well.

And now it’s time for surgery. Another fusion directly above the first. I only have 2 weeks more until I see my surgeon after waiting the past five weeks, hoping that someone would cancel and I could get in, although knowing that would not happen with this very well-known and well thought of surgeon. I want this surgery done as soon as possible to hopefully ease my pain, but also because I need to be functional while looking at colleges with my 11th grader, especially as the next months pass by and that process becomes more involved. I did call to ask about scheduling, which will depend on various factors but that he is booking in November, which surprised me, as I was afraid I would be told some time in the winter. I will continue to wait for that appointment because I don’t have a choice and continue to manage my pain the best I am able.

There has been too much this past year for my family and it continues almost in this fluid fashion, like water running nonstop. We have been through a lot, have become stronger through it, but there is no way I can say it has been easy. While I try to find myself again after so much time with me “being” just about Ken, there are other things to contend with which makes this search for myself more trying. I’d like to turn that water off.

My therapist always works with me to look at the positives in my life as I can have a hard time with that, even knowing all of the good that is right in front of me. With all of the unbelievable difficulty and unimaginable things that I have endured this past year, I am grateful for my husband, my absolute love, and I am grateful for our amazing Kit, whose ongoing growth and maturity blows me away. I am so grateful that my 85 year-old mother will still go on and on when we talk on the phone after I tell her several times that I have to go. And I am grateful for my relationship with her and grateful to have such good memories of my father, even as I sob, at times, missing him so much. I have two older brothers who are crazy and successful and smart, only because they married and gave me two more amazing siblings and I am, of course, grateful for my niece and my nephews and my in-laws and countless friends that go back to my childhood and overnight camp and college and beyond. Maybe I am the luckiest person on the planet and perhaps I should think of myself that way.

All of these hardships that we call life make me stronger every day even when I’m having a panic attack and crying because I get through it, either myself or with the help of others, and I’m only able to do that because of my strength. All of these things have been falling, but not down, they have been falling up, as if they began by touching my toes, worked their way up to my stomach and then to my heart, which then led to my brain. Those are for the hard things but so easily match the good that is falling up, like our beach vacation and putting my toes in the vast ocean, the water washing over them as I slowly walk into the water where it hits my stomach and while it feels so good, there is still a shock of cold, but I keep walking in, and it hits my heart, in the warmest way, and everything I’m sensing comes from my brain and it’s the best feeling.

This will continue to be a struggle for me, to notice and think of all of these positives, but I will keep trying my best. I do know all of the good I have in my life is vast, like the ocean, and this good I am so grateful for, falls up.

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My Hysterectomy

I have had hormonal issues and period issues since day one, back in November of 1985. Too heavy, severe cramps, terrible acne. It wasn’t until my 20s that I tried oral birth control, too many versions, doses, etc. which all made me sick. Then it was the patch and the ring and I was done with all of it.

Hypothyroidism. Fantastic. Something else to add on.

Then, fibroids (growths of various size) on my uterus…a lot of fibroids on my uterus. A major surgery (myomectomy), 4 days in the hospital and living with my parents for the 4 week recovery at the age of 32 wasn’t my first choice of things to do in 2006, especially when I had just met my future husband, Ken, and didn’t want to scare him away.

Marriage with the hope of children. My doctor, a gynecologist and endocrinologist, who I had been seeing for a couple of years (hypothyroidism diagnosis, fibroid diagnosis and surgeon), made it clear I would probably have difficulty becoming pregnant on my own. We tried for only 2 months and he began with clomid, a widely used medication to help with egg production. My lower abdomen blew up and I was in much pain. From there, we began injections and trying and injections and trying. I never became too frustrated because I knew it would work. It had to work. I was going to be mom. I wanted to be a mom more than anything.

After 12 months of too many injections, hormones everywhere, IVF was scheduled. It was planned out so logically, scientifically, but for someone with OCD (obsessive compulsive disorder), it was perfect and made me feel comforted by its order. The day of the embryo transfer, I was excited and ready. The embryo was transferred and then the doctor started a timer on the wall at 10 minutes and instructed me to be lying still until the timer ended and I could get up, dress and we could leave. When the 10 minutes were up, I didn’t move. Ken told me we were done and I could get dressed but I told him I wasn’t moving. I don’t remember if I only thought this in my head or if I said it, but I was not going anywhere for 14 days until the blood test. He agreed to 5 more minutes but then I’d have to get up and he reminded me that the doctor did know what he was doing.

POSITIVE…PLUS. I was not shocked as I had just thrown up. I don’t know what exactly I thought. It felt as if I had some special power that knew it would work, that the first IVF would work. And how lucky we were that after an 8 1/2 month pregnancy, not always comfortable, survived with zofran (anti-nausea medication), painful sciatica, bruised ribs – while baby found a small space to hang out in, it produced this screaming, bluish, pink, purple and red little being that made me smile and become emotionally still as my OB held her over the sheet during my c-section (which was planned after my uterus was punctured during my myomectomy, just to be on the safe side).

I don’t know if it was luck, science, God, or all of the above that allowed Ken and I this most incredible privilege to be parents. The blessing of a child is something I have never taken for granted in the 15 and a half years that my “baby” has been on this earth. The hard days, the days when the eye rolls were/are too frequent, on both of our parts, never gets in the way of knowing I was given a gift, a real miracle. My amazing child came out as non-binary at age 11 and understands the world in such an interesting way and, as a result, I learn daily from them (pronoun). I started telling them when they were little that, “daddy and I were looking and looking for you and it was taking so long, but then you found us.” That’s what it’s been like since that first time I threw up.

Our child was a true gift and as time went on, my desire for another baby, a sibling for our child, was very strong. We had 4 embryos left and over a 10 month period, we transferred one at a time, the first three not attaching and the last not even surviving its thaw.

Now what? I was 39 and Ken was 41 and I knew we were done and there would not be another baby, no sibling. What happened next framed the biggest change in my life, the life of Ken, our toddler and our family and friends. With hormones raging and incredible grief, I became depressed which quickly grew to a severe state of depression, treatment resistant depression. Four psychiatric hospitalizations, more medication trials, 55 ECT (electroconvulsive therapy) treatments, over 100 TMS (transcranial magnetic stimulation) treatments, 6 ketamine infusions – until an older medication was tried and worked, keeping me out of the depths of hell and much more even. The depression began, most likely after the 3rd failed attempt and came to a better place just less than 4 years later.

My life as a professional social worker, working full time, while loving my work, was over. I was different, I was changed. My threshold for too many things had diminished and I was not able to work full time and definitely not in a professional role. I was not functioning at the same level as before we tried the last 4 embryos. My body betrayed me, which led my brain to betray me and my life dramatically changed.

Unfortunately, my pelvic pain, small fibroids and heavy periods simply continued in a consistent manner. In 2021, my left ovary needed to be removed as it wasn’t showing much movement and I asked about a complete hysterectomy since I was 46 and had had enough problems, but my doctor convinced me that the one ovary left would still provide estrogen to help with heart and bone health and a full hysterectomy wasn’t exactly warranted. I was okay with that, hoping the removal of the ovary would help the other issues.

Not much actually changed. More small fibroids on my uterus, cysts, more pelvic pain and weird periods. I also had had 2 psychiatrists tell me that menopause could really help my mood (bipolar disorder), whenever that would be, which gave me real hope.

I was well into perimenopause and was done with the heavy periods and cramping. Tests were done and fibroids had grown and there’s no magic test to give a date of when menopause will come. My surgeon who took out my ovary was too booked but she referred me to an OB-GYN whom she trained and thought highly of. I met her, instantly liked her, she listened, took her time and understood the medical reasons but also the psychological reasons for wanting a hysterectomy.

Only weeks later, I was having my wish come true. I decided not to keep my right ovary, which is what is suggested due to the issues of heart and bone health, but I figured with my luck, there would be a problem in 2 years that would require surgery. I didn’t want to deal with it, especially having surgery to remove the left ovary in 2021 and a back fusion surgery in 2023. Apparently, the right ovary was in tough shape anyway.

After 2 weeks, I started a very low dose of estrogen, via a patch, but after 2 days developed terrible headaches and dizziness, so my doctor said I could cut the patch in half, but take a few days off first before deciding if I wanted to continue with the estrogen. Knowing the health benefits after putting my body in immediate menopause, I took a few days, cut a patch in half and put it on. It’s only been 48 hours and no headaches, just a bit of dizziness… and I’m bleeding. My doctor explained that it is most likely bleeding from the stitches put in after taking everything out, internally, which is part of its healing. I am still a bit anxious. Will this all ever stop?

I feel different…I went into the hospital on Monday, October 6th, in the morning, with parts intact and I left that night with parts gone. I don’t feel less of a woman without them. They put me through hell, yet, at the same time, they gave me the greatest gift, my love, the one who taught me how loving someone so much can feel exhilarating in mind, spirit and body. How do I reconcile that? I feel different. Two weeks ago I wondered if people I walked by looked at me and immediately thought, “she looks ‘different,’” as if they would simply know. A bit paranoid, perhaps, but I didn’t have the words to describe this feeling “different” and the truth is, I still don’t. Hopefully, words will come.

My mood hasn’t been great with the ups and downs of the estrogen, but other things are going on at the same time, just normal life stuff that can feel stressful. I didn’t realize until last week, how great my hope is that at some point, the hysterectomy will truly help calm my moods and ease my daily fight with bipolar disorder. I’m now feeling more hopeless, that my doctors were wrong and even if I end up needing to stop the estrogen, which has never been my friend, that nothing will change. I am scared. There’s so much in life I can control, but double or quadruple that for all of the things I can’t, this being one of them. I want a more moderate mood to feel better, to be in the moment better, to continue my work in therapy better. My hopes are now worries.

My experience is still in process. My reasons for having a hysterectomy are real and I am glad I had it done because it was necessary. My history, everything that led up to having the surgery is mine. Not everyone knows or understands how a woman’s hormones can be destructive, that these parts of our bodies can wreak havoc that is not merely physical, but psychological. I suffered too much but I want others to understand how positively powerful our bodies are, women’s bodies. We have the power in us to do so many things, which is miraculous, yet, at the same time, it can bring us to our knees, begging for less physical pain, less blood, less irritability, less sadness. My life was unimaginably changed because of my hormones, uterus and ovaries and I will learn a new life without them.

I took control when I finally could. The recovery continues, in more ways than one. Day by day. Today, exactly four weeks to the day. My hysterectomy. My mind. My body. My experience. My life.

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One Day

Wednesday, October 2, 2024

I started wearing a heart monitor for 14-30 days for heart palpitations and dizziness but symptoms dramatically decreased during the two weeks it took to receive the monitor in the mail. Of course, though, life is funny, and this morning, not even 24 hours into wearing it, I had several palpitations over a course of over an hour. I recorded each one on my “phone looking” recorder. 

What happened today? Why today? Anxiety and caffeine are two of my theories of causes of the palpitations. Today, when I told my therapist I’ve been afraid to go to sleep the past few nights, she immediately said it was because of my dad. She asked if I thought I would die as a reason for my fear and I immediately said I didn’t. My dad died of a heart attack (stroke), suddenly, not even 9 months ago. Of course, I connected that to me wearing a heart monitor but, consciously, paid no real thought to it.

I then realized it was October and I opened PJ Library’s site (PJ Library sends free high-quality Jewish children’s books to families every month. The program was created by the nonprofit Harold Grinspoon Foundation (HGF) in keeping with its mission to help people connect to Jewish values, traditions, and culture while building vibrant Jewish communities). I clicked on this month’s books to see my dad’s as the first book on the page. I knew it would be sent out to 35,000 PJ Library children of the appropriate age this month, but to see it, it felt bittersweet. I felt incredibly proud and sad.

Getting ready to go to friends’ for dinner tonight to welcome the new year (Rosh Hashanah), I was hit, emotionally, smacked down. We were about to leave and I began to cry (I had already cried in the shower), saying I needed a minute. Kit said they were going to sit outside and Ken took me in his arms and I said how I missed my dad so much and I sobbed…loudly, expelling my intense emotional pain that I have never allowed to be truly felt or released in the past 9 months. I sobbed, hearing myself make sounds of complete pain from the inner depths of my being. I held onto Ken, sobbing into his chest, holding onto him as he held me. It was as if I had begun to mourn, just 9 months later, even though I know that’s not accurate.

We got to our friends and I knew I looked terrible and I forgot that someone would be there who attended the K-8 school in Brookline, MA where my dad was the school librarian for over 30 years. He told me how he liked my dad and had good memories of him. I forgot he’d be there and felt as if I couldn’t take one more connection, one more thought, while the sticky part of the heart monitor irritated my skin.

I didn’t get the call that I would each year, with both my mother and father wishing us a happy new year, or a “gut yor,” (Yiddish). I didn’t get to hear everything my dad ate and enjoyed. I didn’t get to remind him how he used to come look for us outside of the sanctuary when we were teens and preferred to be with our friends, while he preferred for us to be in the sanctuary!

I’m exhausted. I’m sad. I’m still in shock. I have Ken and Kit who were there for me on a very difficult day. I thank my dad, too, though, for being there with me, in some unexplainable form, as I know he helped give me some strength to move, step by step, as slow as it was. 

Shanah Tova, Dad. I miss you, love you, and you are with me, even as time passes into a new year. 

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