Insommmmmmmmnia.

Mooooooon.

For every sleepless night, there is a reason. Tonight, I realized I do not remember how to do long division in my head. I was writing feverishly on my mental chalkboard but the answer to a simple problem would not compute. (It was 0.8, by the way. I used a calculator to figure it out. There was an explanation of why I was trying to determine this, but it is long forgotten).

After the shocking discovery of my lack of math ability, I spiraled into the whirlpool of anxiety. How could I forget to do something so elementary? Has my brain atrophied? Am I having a stroke? Maybe it's encephalitis...

Hell yeah, sentence diagram!

To calm myself down, I pulled out my mental dry-erase board and diagrammed sentences. Every memorable word uttered to me or by me was subject (lolpun) to my inspection. To my great satisfaction, I still am able to compete in this arena. Verbs and adjectives were flying all around in my brain and I was able to capture them and put them neatly on little lines. More than anything, I value order. And colorful pens.

I don't have a point, I'm just rambling. If I were forced to derive a point, I would probably say that my public-school education was not a complete waste of taxpayer funds. At least I know how to do something totally irrelevant to real life.

All of this was determined between the hours of midnight and 1 am. Where did the rest of the time go? I probably thought about pizza at some point, but who knows.

So, now, it's almost 5 am. The birds are chirping (gfy, birds) and soon daylight will start creeping into my room. I decided it would be wise if I began drinking coffee. That way, when it is time to go to work, I will be able to physically function even if I am mentally paralyzed. (Note to self: need more coffee. Almost fell down the stairs trying to get..coffee).

***

....If I am being honest, the real reason I am awake is because my chest hurts like hell. 

/story

Clotcrafts, part 2

The stones I used for these earrings remind me of all things lung. I'm not sure if wearing them would bring me good luck or bad.

Regardless, I'm glad I'm creative again!

Clotcrafts

I made my very own med-alert bracelet but, ironically, it broke.

Navigating a Ship in Rough Waters: The Emotional Impact of Physical Illness

My mental state pictured in one convenient graph

For fun, let's take a look at a parenthetical slice of my life - say, the dates of 05.28.2013 to 06.01.2013, the present day. For many, any given five day period is mundane, but not unpleasant. Beds are slept in, meals are eaten, work is completed, fun is had, etc., etc. Hovering over the baseline of complacency is never a bad place to find oneself.


Prior to lunggunk, I would like to think that I established a pretty nice emotional baseline for myself. After the stress of being in a mental hospital had passed and I had once again become reacquainted with my routine, any point above or below my baseline was not a make-or-break event that would determine the overall climate of my day. If something unpleasant happened, I would brush it from my shoulder like I would a little ladybug who chose the wrong landing pad. If something good happened, I would bask in the happiness that a pleasant experience evokes and then return to the commonplace task with which I was previously engaged.  It was a relief to feel like a normal person again. And then...

....enter stage right (lung), my new best friend and bitterest enemy: BLOODCLOT.

The physical pain I have been experiencing has been documented in my previous posts. Right now, I want to get back to that parenthetical time period referenced above. Let's talk about 05.28.2013, my first day back to work after being off for approximately a week...

Consider the graph above, paying attention first to the baseline. On this particular morning, I awoke feeling indifferent. I groomed as much as necessary, ate my "breakfast" of anticoagulants and psychiatric medications, dressed, and began looking for my ID badge to complete my wardrobe. When I couldn't find it, it induced a state of panic that was disproportionate to the situation. In this game of pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey, a little point can be marked on the graph below the zero degree baseline.

If misplacing a plastic badge can provoke my generalized anxiety enough to produce a panic attack, you, dear reader, can only imagine how a more "serious" event would make me feel like I was mired in quicksand, sinking into a whirlpool of anxiety that would require more than an ativan to free me. This five day period has been full of these moments - my moods have been cycling so rapidly and unpredictably that I am unsure how I will be feeling five minutes from now.

The pulmonary embolism diagnosis was completely out of the blue. I'm sure that my preexisting anxiety problems do not "help" the situation, but this experience has rendered me largely incapable of controlling my emotional responses to both positive and negative stimuli. I am now hyper-aware of my own mortality. Because of this, all of my emotions have become more intense.

My baseline has been re-calibrated. When it was previously complacency/indifference it is now stress/anxiety. I either feel positive stress (excitement, elation, etc.) or negative stress (impotence, incompetence, etc.).

I pine for peace. Indifference used to be odious to me - now I would welcome it with open arms. Eventually, my physical problems will pass and I'm sure I will feel "normal" again. As for now, I have to navigate these rough emotional waves the best I can.

***

When I was a child, there was a chinchilla for sale in a local pet store. A warning sign was placed on his cage imploring the shoppers to not "poke, prod or blow on" the little rodent because, presumably, his moods were unstable. Recently, I have been thinking about this chinchilla and feeling sympathy for him. I hope he found a good home.

Preeeeeeening.

Home of the $5 fade

Sometimes all it takes to feel a bit better is a new haircut. For all of my preening needs, I visit Shady Cuts. Thank you Shady Cuts!

Hopeful Hopelessness

This is actually what I looked like at my desk today.

If I live to be exactly 82 years old, I will have survived 29,951 days. Really, every day does matter but if you consider one day out of almost 30,000, it is pretty inconsequential.

Today was not a Good Day.

Instead of outlining all of the insignificant facts that made this a Bad Day, I will talk about why I have recently been having more Bad Days than Good.

Since I am being exact with my calculations, I lost my husband to suicide 628 days ago (see my earlier post). Since that time, I have navigated the aftermath of his death (planning a funeral, buying an urn, finding ways to honor his memory), changed offices at my job three times, started dating someone, broke up with said someone, was admitted to a mental hospital, and then was diagnosed with a pulmonary embolism.

Through all of these things, I was able to convince myself that life was still "okay." Until the pulmonary embolism.

When Ben died, I believed that my life was over, too. However, by finding ways to honor his memory, I love him more than ever and feel more happiness than sadness when I think of him. I don't need to talk about what an amazing person he was - anyone who knew him is aware of that. Anyone who ever saw us together understands how deep my love was for him. Nothing else needs to be said.

The pulmonary embolism diagnosis literally almost killed me. I am sitting at my computer typing because of sheer luck. Perhaps if the wind was blowing a different way that day, I would not have been so lucky. After being released from the hospital, I care so much less about things that should matter to me: work, relationships, even my own well-being. I suppose facing one's own mortality will elicit such a reaction. However, these feelings are distinctly NOT ME.

It frightens me how little I care. It frightens me that a future that was once bright and full of hope is now a black hole of negative energy. It's almost as if my life stopped that day in the ER when the doctor looked at me with a stony expression and explained that I have a clot in my lung. Being in the hospital was novel but, when I was released, I felt like I was swimming in dark waters without a life preserver.

The lights could have gone out and not come back on.

I plow through and do what is expected of me. I don't enjoy it. Mostly, I feel angered and annoyed. I am not such a fool to believe that anything is beyond hope but hope is just beyond my reach.

Through whatever tears I am unable to hold back, I remind myself that everything is temporary. My mood is temporary, my health problems are temporary, life is temporary. Today was bad, tomorrow may be great. Even my present exasperation cannot prevent me from believing in the future. By nature, I am a positive person. Even if tomorrow is bad, there is the next day. Or the next.

If all else fails, I will blame my anguish on my unexpectedly bad menstrual cycles. Hormones, hormones, hormones, cry, cry, cry.

MENSES! (NSFW and probably boys, too)

What is that cliche about a raincoat and a monsoon?

I can't say I wasn't warned but I am the queen of "it won't happen to me."

Well, it happened. It happened, I was not prepared, and I cried. I cried like a child who bought an ice cream cone and promptly dropped it. And then a dog came along and ate the discarded ice cream and I cried some more.

Life is haaaaarrrrd.

My imagination is very active and I watch an inordinate amount of Investigation Discovery Channel murder shows. When these two elements are combined, any amount of spontaneous bleeding transports me into the middle of an episode of 48 Hours Mystery in which I am the main character. I am the worst person to be on Warfarin.

.......TMI AFTER THE JUMP......

I'm just going to get right to the point. I am a woman. Because I am a woman, I have to deal with the monthly curse*. Typically my period is light and manageable, so much so that I am barely aware that any blood being expelled from my naughtybits. I figured this was the universe's display of kindness after being victimized by circumstance time and time again. This was one house of cards that I never expected to fall.

My menstrual house of cards was blown over in a huge way this morning. I won't get into too many gory details because I do have respect for anyone who is kind enough to read my ramblings. I will say, however, HOLY SHIT and leave it at that.

Every single healthcare provider with whom I have spoken about Warfarin has been very clear: blood thinners will cause VERY HEAVY PERIODS. Because I was too preoccupied with the gunk in my lung, I paid minimal attention to this warning. Let me tell you - today, lunggunk is the last thing on my mind. I am more worried about my ovaries falling out and taking the rest of my reproductive system with them.

Tears and laughter ensued when I realized that there was not one single feminine sanitary product in my house. Oh, the irony!

Anyway, the moral of this story is: ladies, if you are on blood-thinners and the doctors tell you that your menstrual cycle may change, listen to them. And then go to the store and buy every single box of pads that they have on their shelves.

*Other acceptable euphemisms for menstruation:

• Aunt Flo 
• Lady business
• Laying an egg
• Girl flu
• Shark week
• Painting the town red
• The monster
• Monthly troubles
• Ragtime
• Red letter day
• Etc, etc, etc