I bawled on my drive home from work today...
Try as I might to fight it, the tears came, for so many reasons. Tears of happiness, as I felt so amazingly blessed and humbled by the love I received from both friends and strangers today. Tears of sorrow and frustration at the sinking realization that my aches and other symptoms today were more than just random deja vu. Nevertheless, tears. It's awful. The older I get, the more emotional I become. Seriously, I do not recall signing up for this gig.
Today I worked a 10 hour shift in the ER. I have always had the ER in my blood, but more so now that I am "sick". I used to stress easily, tire quickly, think the grass was greener every where I looked. But it took this illness to make me realize that, as tough as the job may be, I truly, in my heart of hearts, love ER nursing. And I hope my patients can tell. I certainly try to let them know that.
Today was a good day at work. It started with me being very short of breath. And oh yeah - the headache was there. And the ear pain. And, oh wait.... Oh crap. This is the same exact way this all started back in December. The same way it all went down before all the really bad stuff happened. Sigh. Here we go again. I put on my best face for the day and smiled - I hate for people to know when I'm feeling bad. And besides for the feeling awful part, it really was a good day at work. I prayed with my patients. I cried with them and their families. We laughed and joked and held hands. We wished each other well. I listened to them and their stress and frustrations. I let them know that someone (me) cared about them, their family, their stress, and their pain. They let me know that they cared about me too. It wasn't necessary, as I already felt blessed just to touch lives. But it was nice. Coworkers came to ask about how things were going. We hugged, laughed, prayed, and planned for the fun times when I return. Yeah, when. I like that.
Today was definitely a good day at work.
And when I got home, a birthday celebration for Miss Rita, the first dog Duane and I bought together. Today she is 7. Our baby is growing up. A chorus of singing, lots of birthday treats, playtime with her new sister. Most importantly, one on one time with mom. Kissing, hugging, talking, loving. Reassuring her she is and always will be my baby. Perfect birthday celebration.
And now we are all heaped in the bed, snuggled and warm. It's as if nothing else in the world matters. My heart is smiling. My soul is happy. If only this moment could last forever...
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Sunday, February 20, 2011
The countdown is on...
Getting nervous...
I'm leaving soon for my "big appointment". The one everyone is banking on. Pretty much the "last hope". Everyone else is anxious, nervous, excited, so on the outside I remain level headed and strong. But inside I'm terrified. What if they don't find anything? Or worse... What if they do? My mortality is becoming more and more of a reality...
It's hard for so many people to understand. Since I've last written, I've been getting stronger and feeling better. They see the healthy, upbeat, positive me. They forget I'm sick, think nothing is wrong. And that's good. Most of the time. But sometimes the expectations are a bit much. And the support isn't there. It's like being a widow. Everyone is there for the funeral but soon disappears shortly thereafter. There are still bad days. And there is the fear that since I feel great, something awful is hiding right around the corner. Why? Because that is how it happens. every. single. time. And I feel way too good too keep going at this pace. Sad, I know, but it's the honest truth.
I remember when I first started learning about auto-immune disease. I thought, "What's the big deal?" But I soon learned. I watched, observed, absorbed. The hurt, the pain, the suffering. Diseases that are misunderstood, misdiagnosed, and most times judged harshly. An awful way to live, a cruel way to die. Some quicker than others. Their very own bodies attacking them, their sad eyes full of pain and sorrow as they would lay in horrific pain on the stretcher, wishing for someone to not only make them better, but to hear their pain. To believe them.
And here I am. Yet another statistic of whatever is causing millions of us to have these disorders. I don't know whether I am fortunate or unfortunate, as mine seems to be progressing rather quickly. One day I am fine, the next some organ is freaking out, shutting down, reminding me that something is wrong. Yet know one can figure it out, slow it down, or stop it.
So yeah, I'm a bit nervous about this appointment. It's pretty much my last hope. No one else knows what it is or how to stop it. There's no denying the events that happen; the heart and kidney problems, loss of vision, fainting... you name it. Yet the can't seem to put a name on it. Which means no treatment. And thus, the vicious cycle continues.
For now we count the good days. We say what needs to be said, what we want to say. We enjoy time together and have fun. And count the moments until the appointment.
I'm leaving soon for my "big appointment". The one everyone is banking on. Pretty much the "last hope". Everyone else is anxious, nervous, excited, so on the outside I remain level headed and strong. But inside I'm terrified. What if they don't find anything? Or worse... What if they do? My mortality is becoming more and more of a reality...
It's hard for so many people to understand. Since I've last written, I've been getting stronger and feeling better. They see the healthy, upbeat, positive me. They forget I'm sick, think nothing is wrong. And that's good. Most of the time. But sometimes the expectations are a bit much. And the support isn't there. It's like being a widow. Everyone is there for the funeral but soon disappears shortly thereafter. There are still bad days. And there is the fear that since I feel great, something awful is hiding right around the corner. Why? Because that is how it happens. every. single. time. And I feel way too good too keep going at this pace. Sad, I know, but it's the honest truth.
I remember when I first started learning about auto-immune disease. I thought, "What's the big deal?" But I soon learned. I watched, observed, absorbed. The hurt, the pain, the suffering. Diseases that are misunderstood, misdiagnosed, and most times judged harshly. An awful way to live, a cruel way to die. Some quicker than others. Their very own bodies attacking them, their sad eyes full of pain and sorrow as they would lay in horrific pain on the stretcher, wishing for someone to not only make them better, but to hear their pain. To believe them.
And here I am. Yet another statistic of whatever is causing millions of us to have these disorders. I don't know whether I am fortunate or unfortunate, as mine seems to be progressing rather quickly. One day I am fine, the next some organ is freaking out, shutting down, reminding me that something is wrong. Yet know one can figure it out, slow it down, or stop it.
So yeah, I'm a bit nervous about this appointment. It's pretty much my last hope. No one else knows what it is or how to stop it. There's no denying the events that happen; the heart and kidney problems, loss of vision, fainting... you name it. Yet the can't seem to put a name on it. Which means no treatment. And thus, the vicious cycle continues.
For now we count the good days. We say what needs to be said, what we want to say. We enjoy time together and have fun. And count the moments until the appointment.
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Today is a sad day...
Today is a sad day.
As I step out of the shower I can't help but stare off into space. Water drips down my legs as I half-heatedly wrap a towel around myself. The sound of the dogs playfully fighting beneath me seems muffled, as if it's a million miles away. I am staring, yet I don't really see. I don't see the tub in front of me. I don't see the laundry strewn across the floor. Instead, a vivid flashback. I am young, maybe 6 or 7. The sun is shining brightly through the trees and there is a soft subtle breeze. I am laughing and twirling in circles. My best friend - my Gram - is there. And it's glorious. We are having a great time, in her yard, at her house. Yes, it's home. The one place my soul feels at ease. Funny, I never recalled this memory before. Tears stream down my cheeks as the memory plays out, so very boldly in front of me.
I finally snap back to reality. To the sound of the dogs growling and nipping at each other, trying to egg the other one into a playful fight. To the sound of the radio playing a CD that is supposed to calm and relax you, yet seems to just make me sad today. To the sound of the neighborhood kids playing, oblivious and happy.
I start to wonder if having these vivid flashbacks and memories are part of the process. I've never had them before. Or maybe they're from all the medication. They are both nice and scary, all at the same time.
Some days are sad, some are angry. Some days I'm organized and energized and convinced it will be alright; others are busy putting a smile on for others. The unknown is awful. Feeling sick is even worse. And the ultimate? Trying to answer everyone elses questions when you don't know yourself - and putting on the happy, reassuring face even when you are scared.
It's a day of tears. A day of thinking I should call and say things to people. A day of thinking I should start this blog and record my feelings and thoughts so *if* anything happens, my loved ones won't guess what I was thinking in the end. And then the guilty feelings that tell me to stop the pity party; everything will be ok, the doctors will find out what is wrong , I will be just fine and to suck it up.
Yeah, today is a sad day.
As I step out of the shower I can't help but stare off into space. Water drips down my legs as I half-heatedly wrap a towel around myself. The sound of the dogs playfully fighting beneath me seems muffled, as if it's a million miles away. I am staring, yet I don't really see. I don't see the tub in front of me. I don't see the laundry strewn across the floor. Instead, a vivid flashback. I am young, maybe 6 or 7. The sun is shining brightly through the trees and there is a soft subtle breeze. I am laughing and twirling in circles. My best friend - my Gram - is there. And it's glorious. We are having a great time, in her yard, at her house. Yes, it's home. The one place my soul feels at ease. Funny, I never recalled this memory before. Tears stream down my cheeks as the memory plays out, so very boldly in front of me.
I finally snap back to reality. To the sound of the dogs growling and nipping at each other, trying to egg the other one into a playful fight. To the sound of the radio playing a CD that is supposed to calm and relax you, yet seems to just make me sad today. To the sound of the neighborhood kids playing, oblivious and happy.
I start to wonder if having these vivid flashbacks and memories are part of the process. I've never had them before. Or maybe they're from all the medication. They are both nice and scary, all at the same time.
Some days are sad, some are angry. Some days I'm organized and energized and convinced it will be alright; others are busy putting a smile on for others. The unknown is awful. Feeling sick is even worse. And the ultimate? Trying to answer everyone elses questions when you don't know yourself - and putting on the happy, reassuring face even when you are scared.
It's a day of tears. A day of thinking I should call and say things to people. A day of thinking I should start this blog and record my feelings and thoughts so *if* anything happens, my loved ones won't guess what I was thinking in the end. And then the guilty feelings that tell me to stop the pity party; everything will be ok, the doctors will find out what is wrong , I will be just fine and to suck it up.
Yeah, today is a sad day.
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