Visual history of 364 years ago...

Barf.

Yeah, it's not great. It's like I have a kneecap above my ankle. That's my tibia.

Post relocation xray before surgery on 4/28/19.

Tina from work visited me that night and brought me a balloon.

Early morning before surgery. Pretty.

Post surgery splint.

Fancy hardware.

I'm like a robot now!

GAH.

Groooooossssss.

New splint!

A basket, a Dino Grabber and coloring books from the Tongen family!

Sorry, I need to take this call.

Love. So much love.

Before hard cast.

Eww, David.

Hard cast!

Just in time for my 44th birthday!

Frankenankle!

A Farewell to Ovaries

It's a curious thing when I start to blog again. I feel like I should be outside, Camel Turkish Gold in hand, listening to NIN. Magically transported back to a time when "selfie" wasn't actually a word. God, I fucking hate that word, yet I use it because there is really no other way to explain "It's a picture of me and possibly other people but I take about six versions and then use about eight filters to make it appear I have longer eyelashes and an even skin tone."

Haven't been 'round these here blogger parts for close to three years. Sometimes when you have sooo much to say in your head, it's just easier to say nothing at all. NOTHING AT ALL. You worry that it sounds like you're whining or begging for attention. I think there's a certain loneliness that comes in your middle 40s. I know I loved turning 40. It really does feel like the new 20, but so much better. I called it the Era of Giving Zero Fucks.

I don't know who created this. If I knew, I would give endless credits because it is the best.

Suddenly I just didn't care about allll the little bullshit that tripped me up in my 30s. Was I still not down to that size I wanted? Was I still lacking a BA? Did I still feel like Dustin married down when he married me? ZERO FUCKS at FORTY. It was the movie "I Feel Pretty" and instead of hitting my head during spin class (like I'd ever go to spin class), I aged one year.

I walked around like I WAS down to that size. I found a new career and didn't care that I lacked that BA. I felt like Dustin - who I always feel lucky to have in my life - was equally lucky to have me in his life.

At some point there was a shift. It was subtle, not constant. Little moments that felt like dread falling over me like the mist that falls over you in the produce section when you're comparing heads of lettuce. No reason for suddenly feeling terrified, feeling like you were homesick, feeling like that little twinge of pain in your back was one of those heart attack symptoms that are common only for women, and telling someone would make you look nuts, but ignoring it all but guarantees a cardiac event is happening, and you were the ONE woman who didn't report it, who didn't ask for help.

I have some concerns, is what I'm saying.

I tried to connect the feelings to something. Where was I at? What had I eaten? What happened an hour before? What time of year was it? Was I wearing pants or shorts? Was the moon in the 7th house of Venus? It all felt very random, until it didn't. Thanks, calendars!


About a year and some change ago I noticed that it was vaguely around the same time each month. Never the same day, never the same issue. One month it's anxiety, one month it's depression. One month I think it's depression causing the anxiety. But it's always about five days before my "lady time."  (I'm nearly 44 and and I can't just say what it is. Nor can I allow myself to say things like "Aunt Flo" because that's just horrifying and weird.)

It's been nearly 2 years ago to the day that one of my closest and most A+ friends messaged me about how she started marking hers on her calendar, like to warn herself in advance and I realized "OHMYGOD IT IS NOT JUST ME LOSING MY MIND."

So for a while I know to expect that, every 20-25 days, I'm not going to feel great. So I'm going to try walking. I'm going to try coloring. I'm going to download app after app after app. I'm going to start a Facebook group, find a therapist, change meds, tweak meds again and again and again. And I'm tired of it. Nothing works and I'm throwing EVERYTHING I can at it. It's now around 7-10 days a month where I don't feel like I'm at one end or the other of the "Losing My Mind" spectrum, where it's physically painful to even think about leaving the house or I'm 100% sure (even though rationally I know I'm 100% not) that I'm having a heart attack.

And guess what? I'm done. I'm FUCKING DONE, kids. It's all going.

Several years back, my paternal aunt (cancer survivor) had testing done and was positive for BRCA1. My paternal grandmother (2x breast cancer survivor, 1x ovarian cancer survivor) wasn't tested as that was before the days of tests, but my four sisters and I decided to all be tested. I decided before getting the results that, if they were positive, I would have it all removed - breasts, ovaries, the works - bc it would likely save my life. BRCA1 was negative, so I didn't think much about it after that.

I'm looking at this the same way. Will throwing myself into immediate menopause be brutal? Absolutely. Without a doubt. Will immediate menopause be easier to deal with than 6-8 more years of what is happening now? Absolutely. Without a doubt. Menopause is a transition. This garbage here? Feeling endless and quite honestly, life threatening in terms of how I can function on a daily basis.

The votes are in from my various providers, and four out of four medical/psychological professionals agree that this is the best move.

My ovaries gave me the best things ever. One of those best things just made a hilarious face at me from behind the screen of her iPad, and I wish I had snapped a photo to show you all. But these little things inside of me are making me LOSE MY SHIT way too often. So friends, do what you've gotta do to get to where you need to be. Ovaries treating you like royalty? Awesome! Keep them around as long as you can and you can gracefully transition into that phase as nature intended. Are they roughing you up, causing you grief, making you crazy? Evict those bitches so you can get back to giving zero fucks.

Midlife crisis, seasonal change and other causes of crisis.

It's an interesting moment when you realize, "Hey, I know what this is. This is a mid-life crisis." It's like all these factors are combining into a white-knuckling, grinding-of-teeth perfect storm.

Or maybe it's that fall is beginning. I love fall. I love the smell of decaying leaves all around, the school supplies — "bouquets of freshly sharpened pencils." However fall brings with it some sort of memory that I don't remember. Out of nowhere there is a pit in my stomach and it feels like my heart is breaking. I don't fight it off, that's just an exercise in futility. I accept that, for a couple of weeks out of each year, my brain goes into fight-or-flight mode at a higher level than usual. My BPD switch is easier to flip and if I start crying, I may not stop.

I'm grateful for movie theaters and other distractions that release this feeling of an anvil on my chest. I work hard to stay mindful, to soak up and enjoy every hilarious thing my children say and do, and hope they can't read my eyes and see what is happening behind my surface grin.

I now realize that exercise -- in addition to being something I should do for a variety of important reasons -- is as necessary to my mental state as my Lexapro. I'm officially making a schedule for workouts and sticking to it. Two weeks of exercise (about 3-4 days a week) keep my anxiety at bay. I get "too busy" with life and after 7 days, I'm a fucking mess. Total fucking mess.

I over analyze every goddamn heartbeat (was that too fast? too slow? to close to the previous one?), every ache and pain (my throat feels funny, am I getting sick again?), every weak feeling (do I have a heart condition? is this a stroke coming?). Want to know what anxiety is? It's knowing full damn well that nothing is wrong, but constantly being reminded by your brain that something COULD be wrong. And if that's the case, your brain will not let you think of anything else. Your brain will not let you focus on the grocery list or the sink of dishes that are not washed or how much time you are wasting, worrying. You picture the worst happening. You picture yourself collapsing, the older of the two children in the house grabbing the phone and calling 9-1-1 (you have a landline specifically for them to use in an emergency). You worry about your youngest, who has just endured a year of crippling anxiety and what this will lead to. You worry you won't be there to lead her through her next bout of crippling anxiety.

And all this happens before breakfast.

Chapters ending, chapters beginning

Tomorrow is a big day. Saturday is a bigger day. I sort of have this "calm before the storm" feeling in my chest. It's the last day of kindergarten for Oskar. It's the last day of HIGH SCHOOL for Abbey.

Last. Day. HIGH SCHOOL.

*head spinning*

On one hand it feels exactly like what it is -- 12 long years of school wrapping up. On the other hand it's like I've blinked and suddenly Abbey the kindergartner turned into Abbey the high school graduate. 

It's a victory in so many ways. The significance is more than just a high school degree. It has taken so, so much work on her part -- and on the part of so many amazing individuals -- to get her here. The level of importance of this event is not lost on me.

There were days where I didn't know if we'd get to this spot, and really, I didn't think I cared; my main focus was "keep her alive and functioning." And we all did that -- with a lot of work and a lot of meds and a lot of tears and questions and answers that led to more questions.

And had she not graduated "on time" it would have been fine, but I knew that's what she really wanted. She didn't want schizophrenia to own her, and luckily we have such a substantial network of support and resources, it doesn't.

Am I nervous for the future? Of course I am. But for every ounce of anxiety and apprehension I have about the future, I have a pound of pride and an immeasurable amount of love.

I've got my work cut out for me ...

I doubt myself constantly, and I don't think I hide that. Or maybe I do. I give the appearance of someone very together, but it's in the quiet moments that, as long as I know my loved ones are ok, it's safe for me to step away and quietly fall to pieces.

Tonight was one of those night where I was just annoyed. The middle child was mad I suggested he brush his teeth (gasp! No!)  after shoving 10 Mike-n-Ike's into his mouth at once. As he squished the sugary matter up through the front of his teeth, all I could see was tiny, tasty little pieces wedging their way into the crevices of his teeth.

He stomps to the bathroom.

Moments later he returns. Jaw clenched, he says, "Go in the bathroom, I have a present for you."

I look at Dustin. I look at Olive. I'm hoping there's not a pile of poop on the floor.

I start to follow him and Olive joins me.

"Um Olive? Let me go first," I say, on the off chance that, yes, it is poop.

Mr. Middle Child had squeezed the better part of his toothpaste into the sink. A pile of shiny, thick, sticky, blue TMNT substance.

I look at him, and I can't tell if he's trying to make me laugh or make me pissed off. I'm pretty sure it was the latter, and I responded accordingly.

I'm not even sure why it made me so sad. Probably just bc I thought the age that someone can deliberately plan a "gift" with the intention of being an ass isn't until at least 9. 

I make no promises ...

... that I will make daily posts. Especially when it's late at night and my posts are being made by typing on my phone with my thumb.

But I'm stepping back into the blogging room. How very 2006 of me!

A quick synopsis of where I am in life:

My oldest child is less than one month from high school graduation. My middle child just turned 6, and my youngest is 3-1/2. I'm home during the days and work 4-5 nights a week at a fantastic kid-gear resale shop. I turn 39 in about an hour. 

And my youngest is STILL AWAKE. Right now. 10:50pm. I suspect she is wearing me down to complete weakness so I don't argue when she asks for a Monster High doll tomorrow. I will simply nod my head and hope to god the doll will distract her enough to allow me a nap.

I started an additional blog a whole ago, I need my daughter's permission to divulge the address, bc it's dealing with an issue that is hers. I think it's worth sharing.

Can anyone bring me a Dr. Pepper? I'm parched. And lazy.

So my blog is back. Again. Maybe.

it's been a long time since i've visited this neighborhood ...

almost a year. holy cow. and in that spirit i want to start blogging again. yeah, i've said it before, i know, but i may as well give it a try again. i also had a blog at a different site that i've been updating on the downlow as it discusses stuff revolving around my daughter. that blog host is evaporating into thin air, so i'll be moving those posts here and will update from this spot.

stay tuned.