So I thought I would let you get a better peak into my life in a little installment called Let’s Get Personal.
About seven months ago I had what polite people would call a break down, I called it going bat crap crazy. Hubby agreed with me and we both thought it best to go see my shrink. After telling him what was going on, he prescribe me with an antidepressant and a low dose of as needed Xanax. His diagnosis? Anxiety with underlying depression. To me, this made sense. So I went home and began my new daily pill regimen. Things were going great for about three months, then my life started falling a part again. Truthfully, I thought that this was just how it was suppose to be. I know better now, but at the time I just pasted on my Everything-Is-All-Right face and did my best to trudge on.
A couple months ago I hit a serious ‘reality pothole’. Just an hour after I got home from taking Buddha the bulldog to the vet I suddenly doubled over in absolute pain, like my spleen just ruptured kind of pain. Not knowing if it was a serious problem or not, I went to my local walk-in clinic to figure out if something did rupture of if I was just having worse cramps than normal (yep, my cramps were up there with something might rupture. that’s normal, right?). The nice doctor there couldn’t really find anything wrong, but there was no denying that there was something wrong. Her diagnosis, at the time, was a uterine infection (I told you we were getting personal). Once she explained that these things can lie dormant for a while and then BAM! you’re doubled over wondering what rabid animal just eviscerated you, I thought that this was probably what was going on. With a shot of fast acting antibiotics in my hip (which hurt) and a bottle of horse pills in my purse, I went home with instructions to go to my doctor if I got worse or developed a fever.
I started feeling better the next day, but as you can imagine life dealt me another glancing blow (another dadism). A few days later I was lying in bed, alternately shivering and burning all through the night. In the morning I felt like I had been hit by a truck and I was still shivering, on a whim I took my temperature. 101.2. Yikes! Where did that come from? It was far too early to call for an appointment (I had woken up at 6 to get ready for a 7am work out), so I crawled back into bed and let my imagination run wild with what could possibly be wrong. When the doctor’s office opened, I made the first available appointment and headed over to see if, as my husband is fond if saying, my uterus was going to fall out. By that time my fever had broken so I almost felt silly for going in, but it was too late to back out. After a few questions and some prodding and poking, my doctor said that there was no infection but before she diagnosed anything I was to get my butt over to this radiologist for an ultrasound. Soooo, off I go to the other side of town and wait for yet another person to poke and prod me. With that done, I go back home and crawl back into bed to wait.
Now, I don’t know about you, but I’m not one of those people who can have a test done and wait with out a thought for the results. No, I sit there wondering what was going on, when would I get the results, and all sorts of fun things that my anxiety was having a total field day with. Three days later I finally get the call. The diagnosis was… Cysts. A few ovarian cysts on each side. Okay… what the hell does that mean? Apparently it just means that I have cysts, though Web MD assures me that I’m going to get cancer and die. Thanks, Web MD! Always knew I could count on you to settle my anxiety.
More on my run in with a reality pothole in my next installment of “Let’s Get Personal”