Too much stress

Today started out as a nightmare -- literally. I was dreaming and realized that in the dream I was wearing the wig. Uggh. Not the way I want to see myself.

This was followed by Bobka the dog needing to go out to pee at 5 AM, and my inability to fall back asleep after getting up to let him do so. Even taking half a vicodin didn't relax me enough to sleep again, possibly because I knew I had to get up at 7:00.

Rik woke me before he left the house and I struggled to get started, including a walking the dogs only up the block and back. I had to leave the house at 8:45 for a 9:20 appointment with the orthopedist.

I sat in bumper-to-bumper traffic in the I-5 express lane (!). There must have been something at the Seattle Center, because the traffic cleared up just after the Mercer Street exit. By this time I was already 10 minutes late to the doc and had made an (illegal) cell phone call from the car to let them know. Well, since I used the speaker phone I guess it was legal, but I still had to dial. No worries though; the traffic was completely stopped. It took me an hour to drive about five miles.

By the time I arrived at the office I was out of breath, experiencing high blood pressure and rapid heartbeat. A little ativan calmed me a bit, but I was seriously stressed.

Dr. Wagner the orthopod wants me to try wearing a plastic splint over my lymphedema bandaging at night. I had to approximate the bandaging by wrapping my arm with the cotton-like padding they use under casts. (It took five rolls.) The splint is a piece of black plastic, warmed in 150 degree water to make it pliable, and molded to the shape of my arm. It extends from just below my shoulder to halfway down my forearm. The intent is to relax my arm over the course of eight hours in bed.

Now I have yet another gizmo to deal with. At least I only have to wear it at night. After yesterday's tumble, I told Dr. Wagner that I was seriously maxed out with everything medical in my life and could not promise to be compliant in the daytime. He actually understood, part of what makes him such a great doctor.

I got home eventually and am about to crash on the sofa. Hopefully some extra sleep, followed by cooking a nice dinner for friends, will help me recover my equilibrium. Right now my perpetually half-full glass feels more empty than usual.

A rough day

Yesterday was the first time in seven+ years that I felt disabled.

Between more blood pressure issues that caused stress and anxiety while I was driving (in the rain); frustration with my slow-to-recover left arm and how little I could do at yoga; insomnia, and general fatigue from the cold and wet weather, I actually felt handicapped.

It was mostly the dislocated elbow. But the cancer and treatment side effects added so much more to my whole day that I was full up to my eyes and fed up with everything. Even taking Ativan and only doing yoga breathing didn't help enough.

By the times yoga class was done, and I had eaten something, I realized that I should have turned around as soon as I felt poorly and gone home. But no, I'm too stubborn for that. I had to go to yoga, get some lunch, go to the market AND pick up RIk after school as planned. At least I had the presence of mind to cancel our dinner plans at Folklife.

I was such a poor judge of my own stamina and wellbeing that I took a second 0.5 mg Ativan in the car while waiting for Rik and let him drive. He was great. He carried in all the groceries, put them away, made up the bed with fresh sheets and let me take a nap there while he also fed and walked the dogs.

I slept more than two hours and awoke feeling more like myself, was able to prepare dinner and eat it, wrap my arm with the lymphedema bandaging, and even a read a little. Sleep really is an excellent healer for me and I am sure my middle of the night insomnia had a lot to do with my feeling lousy all day long.

Now the goal is not only to recognize when I feel poorly but to stop and listen to my body, then to go home if that's what's needed. Wish me luck on this. I get my stubbornness from both parents.

Son of Meltdown

One thing about cancer is if 10 days after surgery you are weepy and feeling sorry for yourself, everyone says, Yes, of course, you just had a mastectomy; you're having a meltdown, it's only natural. And if you feel that way when you're going through treatment, people say, Oh yes, of course, you're going through treatment. But if you have a few days of terrible headaches and crying, more than weepy but less than jags, and feel ever so sorry for yourself, you can't say to people, I'm having a meltdown, of course, because I had breast cancer, OK, chemo ended in July 2007, and I do have cancer still, that darn polycythemia vera, blood cancer. Because the timing is wrong. Really, haven't you gotten over cancer yet?

And so when your personal trainer (Personal trainer! What privilege!) is sarcastic; when she is once again incredulous that you can't line up your toes by looking in the mirror and have to look down at your feet; when you can't remember which way to move after that squat in which you must keep your head up, you must keep your back straight, your hips back and what is the purpose of this anyway; isn't there something less complicated you can do in order to stretch whatever muscle you're supposed to be stretching because no muscle is aching yet as it should be becuase you aren't angling the squat right and because even though a second grader would have learned this by now--large side step, squat up, squeeze, step to the other side--it all stymies you. You can't let the trainer see you cry. She's upset herself because the lock in her apartment malfunctioned and she had to wait for the repair guy. It does not do to be an adult in this world and cry in the gym for no reason.

But there is never no reason. There are many reasons: You did not sleep enough, you returned to sea level from the mile-high city--why not blame it on altitude, why not on the stars instead of ourselves, Brutus?--where you had headaches and hay fever and terrible heartburn and had to throw up just a little bit. B thought it was because of your oral chemo, throwing up was normal, but that wasn't it. It had to have been the dark chocolate you bought to lure buyers to your table where you were signing books, or would have been signing books had they not sold out. You took orders then.

But that was all the day before yesterday and closer in time, Y has written imperious emails and during the squats and leg movements (not jerky, smooth, squeeze at the end) you think of retorts: You must be so unhappy. You must really feel powerless or else you wouldn't try to control me. Why don't you at least pretend that you believe everyone is equal? But you must not engage. And haven't you been imperious with Y? But yeah, he started it, really Mom really.


You think if, if only you had a brain tumor there would be a reason for this--this head pain, this heart pain. Horrified. You don't want brain cancer but you want a reason--a socially-acceptable reason--and yeah, it could be medically related: you are sick, you are disordered, you have general anxiety disorder, a basket overlarge diagnosis, everyone's got it.

You were weepy and you were running out of potion, red-capsuled Effexor, in that mile-high city. You took half a dose yesterday, your last pill and none this morning. You were out, flat out.
***
And then you get more Effexor and you sleep eleven hours and the next day you are Good As New. You are yourself again. Though anyone could argue that the unmedicated you is the unmediated you, the real you. Without chemical additives.

{Effexor, hero of the day}
To read about Meltdown I, click here.