I went back to see my therapist today. She was pleased and, I think, surprised that I had gone to ride trainers several times. She said, “Oh, that’s great!” I quickly let her know, “Well, I didn’t like it.” I don’t know if she got that or if she was disappointed.
In case I didn’t share, she is a thirty-something blonde who is quite attractive and very thin. Not like TOO thin, but basically perfect. I’m not sure she gets it completely. While she seems to get it that I have a lot of medical problems that contribute to my depression. Well, she even said as much to me today, but I’m not sure she quite gets it how hard I have tried to lose weight.
She ended up asking how I felt about having the extra weight. I explained to her how I ended up “like this”.
The short version is that just after I gave birth to my second son, I ended up at my general physician with what I thought was another sinus infection. Actually, I DID have a sinus infection, but when he pressed on my face to see if my sinuses were sore, he noticed that I felt clammy. I told him how I was always sweating and felt like I had an internal furnace. He walked around and felt of my neck and announced, “Your thyroid is the size of a baseball.” I had no clue it was enlarged nor that it wasn’t supposed to be the size of a baseball. Soon I was put on heart medication, beta blockers, because my heart rate was almost 200 bpm. I had to stop breastfeeding my baby because of those meds. They sent me right to an endocrinologist to look into getting treated for Graves Disease. That meant a radioactive iodine treatment, or I-131.
It never dawned on me to get a second opinion. All the nurses and doctors were telling me HOW much better I was going to feel once I had this treatment. It would include having to keep at least a room away from my two young sons for 4 days to keep them from being exposed to the radiation, not sharing food or beverages with anyone, making sure I was not around any pregnant women or other babies, flushing twice to be sure the radiation was not left “exposed” in the bathroom. Looking back, which is always a whole lot clearer view, I can’t believe I didn’t have any qualms with any of it. But honestly, I felt so horrible at that time of my life, I just couldn’t wait to feel better and I bought the “dream” they were selling me.
Needless to say, it did NOT solve my problems. I dunno why but my suspicion is that I just naturally need more thyroid hormone than the medical books said and when they zapped my thyroid gland, instead of just taking out part of it, they destroyed it completely since my readings went from five times above normal, or toxic, down to point-zero something. And in two weeks instead of 6-8 weeks. So, anyhow, after getting back into my pre-pregnancy clothes by the time my son was 4 months old, in 6 weeks after the I-131 treatment, I had gained 30 pounds, almost the full amount I gained during the entire pregnancy, and I no longer felt like myself but like I was trapped in this body that I had to clothe with my maternity clothes.
I think that’s when my depression got “real”. That’s when “the black hole” got really REALLY deep and my life got very dark.
Anyway, so I explained that to my therapist, that my weight gain was not gradual and even after all these years, I still feel trapped in this body. I resent it and the fact that, even when I work my hardest, I still can’t lose the weight. All the things that work SO well for everyone else never seem to work for me. And so…I feel very trapped.
So after all that, she suggested that maybe I need to work on acceptance. Accepting that this is just how I am, how I’m always gonna be…uncomfortable and unable to feel good.
That brought the tears. I’m not gonna lie. I told her I wasn’t sure I could do that. I didn’t want to do that.
She didn’t really have much of a response.
She then suggested that I try working at something, something I didn’t necessarily want to do, but that needed to be done for ten minutes. Just put on some music and give it ten minutes and then if I still didn’t “want” to do it, if I didn’t feel better about accomplishing something that I could quit. That if I gave it ten minutes, and didn’t feel any better, that that was my “out”.
So I guess that’s my next assignment. I intend to really try it. I have only had two days that I felt really better. I’m hoping that I will have more.
I have another appointment, well, two of them actually in about three more weeks. I’ll see the PA to talk about getting on some meds and I’ll also talk with the therapist again.
I think after this next session, I will know if I am really getting a whole lot out of them. I am hoping to learn that there’s some medication that will help me start really feeling better, so I can continue moving forward. Such a terrible, terrible cycle…feel so bad you can’t move, can’t push out of it, but staying immobile, not trying, keeps you in “the hole”.
Lord, help me overcome this?!
Philippians 3:14 — “I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus.”
I’ve told this story several times since it first happened. But at this point, it’s been a pretty good while since I’ve even thought about it. But my post about dealing with my bike and the fear I have of using the clips on the road got to me to thinking about this stuff again.
If you’ve read much here at all, you know that my family and I are very active in our local Emmaus community. Since I went on my own walk back in the fall of 2011, I’ve worked almost every walk after that in one way or another. I’ve served in the conference room multiple times and in various capacities, I’ve served in agape a few times and on the dining room team multiple times as well. I’ve also served on the prayer team multiple times.
If you’re unfamiliar with Emmaus, let me explain that it is a 72-hour “retreat” of sorts, but it’s unlike any Christian retreat you’ve ever attended. It’s really hard to explain and some people treat it like a huge secret but it’s really not. It’s just that it’s very hard to put into words exactly what an Emmaus weekend is!
You are put at “table groups” with up to 5 other people (at least for our community, we don’t put more than 6 people at a table) and you stay with this group throughout the weekend except for sleeping. You bunk with people who are NOT at your table, so you get to meet a lot of new folks and make lots of new friends. The purpose of an Emmaus walk is to strengthen your walk with Christ and build your faith and help you become a better church member once you leave. It is interdenominational and separated into walks by gender. Men’s, women’s and then boys and girls for the younger ones down to age 15. You spend the days in what we call the conference room listening to talks on the different aspects of God’s grace, discussing them with your table group and generally having a lot of fun, eating lots of food and usually crying lots of tears. It’s all good, don’t worry. I strongly encourage you to go if you ever have the opportunity to attend a walk.
So, all that aside, it takes a LOT of people to make one of these weekends flow seamlessly. There are tons of people behind the scenes cleaning, setting up rooms, meeting various needs of the attendees AND the other workers, cooking food, setting up the dining room for each meal and serving the meals and praying.
There’s a team of people there just to pray the entire time the walk is going on. And not only that, there’s also a list of people who are NOT on site, people who are praying around the clock at their homes and work for the walk also. The whole thing is bathed in prayer long before the weekend arrives.
The prayer team works in shifts, 3 hours at a time, twice a day per (usually) 2-member team. Those two people go in the designated prayer room where there are bibles, devotional books, and a list of names of all the attendees of the walk and a book for the prayer requests that come in during the weekend. Also, for each speaker that gives a talk in the conference room they come in before their talk and are prayed over, then when they are done giving their talk, they come back to be “prayed out”, to ask God to bless the words they have spoken and to refill their spirit for what they’ve “poured out” during their talk, etc. So you have speakers coming in unless you have the “wee hours” shifts when everyone is sleeping.
It is a huge honor to serve in prayer and I have always grown immensely from my experience on the prayer team.
Once I was asked to serve in prayer on the first-ever women’s prison walk. Yes, Emmaus does modified walks in the prisons. They’re called “RECs” or Residents Encounter Christ. So this was the first one in a women’s prison for our community.
I was very excited to go, but it was in Nashville! We, the prayer team, would serve outside the prison.
Let me explain that the “teams” that work and support the Emmaus walks are people who have previously gone on walks, and at this point, there had probably been about 10 walks since my own and mine was #29, so that was a LOT of people that I’d never met who I might potentially be put on a team with. It’s always fun to work a walk because you get to know new people each time.
So, hopefully for you who are unfamiliar with Emmaus, you can now follow most of what I’m about to tell you. My apologies for this being SO long, but I felt the explanation was necessary for anyone outside the Emmaus community.
We were housed in a gigantically huge and century-old church on the outskirts of Nashville. Those who were working directly with the inmates would load up a couple of vans and go in each morning then come out each evening for the supper meal and to sleep. Those of us on the prayer and kitchen teams were at the church for the duration except for the closing ceremony when the inmates would give their testimonies.
So this church… it had been built onto numerous times. It had four levels and scads of rooms and rooms-within-rooms and twisty staircases throughout. At that time, they were doing some renovation in the main sanctuary, which was not that huge but retained much of its original style and frankly, smelled pretty musty. It was a little confusing to understand just what sort of church this was. I mean, for it to have that small a sanctuary when compared to the sheer mass of the rest of the building?? That was sort of odd. We got the feeling that the church had been booming at some past point, but now was in decline as most ALL those many rooms I mentioned were in various states of disuse and disrepair.
All us workers were stationed on the third floor in about 3 different bunk rooms. The church also served to house visiting mission groups and sometimes just church groups passing through to other places as somewhere to sleep for the night as they went elsewhere. So there was a group of teens there when we arrived. We never really even knew they were there most of the time til the night my prayer partner and I were doing our second shift of the day, during the supper hour.
There was a small, dingy room that was designated for prayer and that’s where we would meet. This was in the summer so it was hot and we’d have to run the window AC unit, which was noisy and bothersome. But on this particular night, the second night of our weekend, those kids decided they would take turns running and jumping onto mattresses and sliding down the stairs, which meant all this was going on right outside the prayer room.
Since my PP (Prayer Partner) and I were the only ones of our team up there at the time, I found it a little scary to have this big mob of teens behaving so badly. She stuck her head out a couple times to ask them to please be quiet and was met with some smart remarks and disrespectful looks.
Then we put a sign on the door, “Please be Quiet! Prayer in progress.” all to no avail.
Finally they stopped as our team started coming up from supper a few at a time and we began to get team members coming in with prayer requests for what was going on inside the prison.
One lady, who happens to be blind, came in requesting prayer for a very oppressive spirit to leave the prison and she described as best she could an incident that happened during a very “soul-searching” time in the walk, a time when many people who may not be saved, will realize it and come to a true relationship with Jesus. But she described hearing a noise she had never heard a human being make. It sent chills up my spine.
Later, we got other reports of one particular inmate screaming and writhing on the floor as if possessed. And let me state, we don’t practice exorcism or anything like that, but when there’s demon activity, you pray for God to free that person!! So that’s what had happened and it must have been a really unsettling manifestation.
So we prayed for all the various people that came in and for the situation that had been submitted for prayer and for the inmate who had been, by her own testimony, freed from a demonic spirit.
Soon the next shift came in, another two ladies and we began discussing what had happened and to pray, me and my PP staying to pray with them.
And so it was that the four of us were in that little room praying and most everyone else was asleep. By this time it was a little after midnight.
We began to hear some very loud noises. It was like someone was bouncing a ball on the floor up above, but it wasn’t regular… it was almost like someone wrestling on the floor. It was loud enough that we were all disturbed by it and soon one of us said out loud, “What in the world is that noise!?” My PP and I shared how the group of teens had been making all kinds of racket earlier, so we just assumed it was them in the level above us carrying on.
The only man on the place was the clergy who was serving as spiritual director inside the prison. He was in a room on the floor above us too. One of the ladies from the other shift and I decided to go up there and tell those kids to knock it off since we had people needing their sleep. They all were getting up early so they could be at the prison around 7 am!
So up the little curvy staircase we went and once we got to the top, we were greeted with a couple of wide-open rooms with bare light bulbs illuminating them, and not a soul in sight. We could still hear the noise, but it sounded as if it was coming from somewhere else. There was a short hallway going back down into darkness to our left, and a couple of rooms with closed doors before the hallway started. I didn’t dare open either of those. I was honestly very confused and frightened at this point.
I don’t do “scary” as in ghosts or demons, etc. I will watch a murder mystery movie, but if it involves anything demonic in nature, I normally will not watch it. And so it was really NOT in my nature to have even volunteered to go upstairs in the first place. The lady who had gone up there with me tends to be a somewhat stern personality and besides, she was a good foot taller than me and could have wiped the floor with me if she wanted.
I got concerned when she looked at me with her face full of fear.
We both turned and went back downstairs. The noise had stopped by this time. Just stopped. Nothing at all to be heard.
When we got to the hallway at the bottom of the stairs, we ran into one of the hosts, a college boy who stayed at the church to see to the needs of anyone who was using the bunks. We asked him about the noise and he said he hadn’t heard anything. Then we told him how we’d thought it was probably the teens who were also staying there. He then told us that they had left shortly after the stair-sliding incident.
Now we were thoroughly confused and troubled….and frankly, scared.
We went back into the prayer room to find that the other two ladies thought we’d set those kids straight. When we told them what we’d found, we all become very troubled. I realized then that the lady who’d gone upstairs with me was a younger Christian and was extremely upset with what we’d just experienced. The other lady was an older lady, a mature Christian probably saved longer than me and my PP was probably the intermediate as far as “length of salvation” went.
I only mention that stuff because I began to worry about how this lady was processing the situation. The fear on her face was so real!
Once we got ourselves settled, I mean, if there had not been four of us in there, it would have been easy to say we were just hearing things and dismiss it all. We began to pray again and soon, the same noise began again.
We all looked at each other, all of us feeling fear by then, and totally unsure of what to do. I suggested we go get the clergy from upstairs to come pray with us.
The same lady agreed to go with me again, which was surprising to me. So up the stairs we went again. I really hated to have to wake this man up. I knew all the team who had been in there the past two days were worn out. It’s hard working directly with the people attending walks, whether it’s in a prison or not, so I hated to infringe on his sleep, but we needed some direction in a big way.
I thought my stair-climbing partner might squeeze my hand into pieces before we got back downstairs, but we finally awakened the clergyman and told him what was happening. He told us right there that he hadn’t heard a thing.
We weren’t surprised. Thankfully he didn’t blow us off but agreed to come downstairs. We all gathered around in the prayer room. Maybe once he saw who else had also heard the noise, people mature in faith, he took it more seriously? Or maybe it was simply because he had been front and center when the incident happened in the prison that day. Whatever it was, he prayed the most comforting prayer.
He spoke of the fact that only God had any authority in the earth and that satan (I refuse to capitalize that name! ha!) had no business trying to distract any of the team from their tasks. It made me realize something right then and there.
Fear is NOT an emotion. It is a tool. It is a tactic. satan uses it to distract us from God and from what He wants us to do, see or concentrate on.
The Bible speaks many MANY times about fear and tells us repeatedly to “fear not” “be not afraid” and I believe God means what He says.
I realized that there was major Kingdom work going on in that prison and satan was not happy about it. His only option, since he has no power to thwart God, was to distract God’s people from the task at hand. If he could make us afraid, we would look away from our Lord and toward the fear. Exactly the way Peter did when he became bold enough to step out into the sea to walk to Jesus during the night…
Matthew 14:28-30English Standard Version (ESV)
28 And Peter answered him, “Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water.” 29 He said, “Come.” So Peter got out of the boat and walked on the water and came to Jesus. 30 But when he saw the wind,[a] he was afraid, and beginning to sink he cried out, “Lord, save me.”
When Peter looked at his surroundings and focused on the “could haves” of the situation (he could have drowned, he could have slipped under the waves and drowned, he could have been eaten by sea creatures) he took his eyes off Jesus, Who had the whole situation under His control.
Those other ladies tell me that after the clergy man left, I prayed an amazing prayer. I honestly don’t recall it, and so I say that it was the Holy Spirit praying through me, but I DO recall feeling so bold and so thankful to realize that we had NOT. ONE. THING. to fear. Ever.
One week to the day that I got home from Nashville, I had an accident on our riding lawn mower that left me crippled for several months, required a couple of surgeries including a skin graft. But it taught me, no, it drove home the fact that I’d just learned.
I have NOTHING to fear. If a fire-breathing monster were standing before me, with huge, sharp teeth ready to devour me, I STILL have nothing to be afraid of. It gave me the boldness to claim this truth and just watch God work through my months of recovery. It kept me from shedding a single tear when, in the moments after the accident, as I lay in the back field watching the mower go on without me, looking down to see that my shoe was gone and the blood began pouring from my foot and I felt panic start welling up in me… I could refocus and speak out loud, “you are NOT going to invade my life satan. My God is bigger than you. you will NOT make me afraid!”
The doctors and nurses in the ER who first worked on me wanted to know how long I was passed out. I never was. Not that *I* am strong, but my God sustained me. He kept me from passing out so I could call my son and husband. He is the one who caused me to do something I normally never do… put my phone in my pocket to go mow the yard. He is the One Who caused an old diabetic to heal at an unprecedented speed. It was Him who had me up and wearing shoes and walking months before the doctors predicted.
I learned so much through all these experiences. So I have a whole new take on what fear really is.
It’s not an emotion. It is a tool used to cause us panic, to cause us to take our eyes off what God is doing, off what He wants us to focus on.
Do I still get scared? Of course!! But do I live in fear? Not anymore. Panic and fear still slip up and grip me, but these days, once I recognize it, I speak the name of Jesus over it and I see fear as what it is… a distraction tactic of satan. I see it as a warning that I need to refocus on Jesus.
I hope all this long, rambling story has helped you to rethink what fear is. I hope it will prompt you to do a study of what God has to say about fear in His Word. It is the single most-effective tool the wicked one has and he uses it OFTEN to paralyze God’s children and make them ineffective in the kingdom!
I’m thankful for the lesson I got about fear and I try to keep it fresh in my mind so I don’t let it compromise me. And although I don’t see myself as a great spiritual person by ANY means, I hope that at least my sharing this experience can help others recognize when fear is being used against them and helps them overcome it.
God bless you!!
1 Chronicles 28:20 — “…. “Be strong and courageous and do it. Do not be afraid and do not be dismayed, for the Lord God, even my God, is with you. He will not leave you or forsake you, until all the work for the service of the house of the Lord is finished.”
Search “fear not” in the Bible and see for yourself how important it is!!
Sorry for yelling, but have you looked outside!?!?! THE SUN IS SHINING!!! I dunno about you, maybe you live in Hawaii (and if you do, then we can’t be friends anymore.. ha ha, kidding, but let it be known, I’m uber-jealous!) but around here in The Bluegrass State, we haven’t seen the sun like this in a long, LONG time!!
The window I look out most often is actually our french doors that open onto the patio in our back yard. From there, I can see the hills that rise up behind us, so all the color I’m getting is this dead-grass brown, so that’s not so exciting. And of course, this sunshine is also accentuating the fact that my windows are in dire need of cleaning. And that it will soon be gardening time and I’ve done nothing to plan other than looking for some heirloom seeds online.
So, maybe the sunshine is a little more depressing than I first thought. Ha ha!!
Nah, I’m happy for the sun and happy that soon the weather will be warm enough to actually ride bikes outside instead of inside on a blasted trainer.
Speaking of bikes, (and no, this wasn’t supposed to be a bike-themed post, but whatcha gonna do?) Hubby and I were the only ones at the shop to ride trainers last night. What is up with all these lazy people?? Ha ha!! Truth be told, any one of them could blow me out of the water and they probably didn’t show because they got out and rode on the road yesterday. You never know with those crazy people. They are die-hard cyclists!
But yeah, so the guy running the shop now stays there overnight sometimes, so he was cool with us riding, so ride we did! I’ve been using the clips to ride and I am so unsure about that. [read here if you missed my post about my thus-far experience with cycling] I still have visions and flashbacks of my experience trying the clips the first time. Heck, I still have a lump in my breast from the bruise I got back in September, okay? I have the ugliest scar on my knee from it. I am just REALLY not sure I can learn to do this clip-on thing well enough to ride all the time, but I’m gonna try.
*sigh* Seriously, I know I’m not gonna fall riding with clips on the trainer since it stands up on its own and doing the training videos, I’m not getting a whole lot of experience clipping in and out either.
Maybe my brain just works too slow to remember that when I’m gonna stop, I have to twist my foot loose first. And then there’s those times when you actually don’t KNOW you’re gonna stop (someone stops in front of you, there’s debris you can’t swerve around, a dog runs in front of you, etc.) so I am just WAY nervous about those doggone things. I hate feeling this way too.
And that brings me back to fear. Am I just too afraid? Am I just letting fear mess with me? My inner me wants to scream, “NO! I’m just being PRACTICAL and trying to TAKE CARE OF MYSELF!” *ie: avoid future scars or breast lumps!
But IS it just fear? Maybe I need to explore that. Hang tight for my post about my realization of what “fear” really is and how I was exposed to its true nature and what I learned from that. I’ll link it later.
Revelation 21:23 — “And the city has no need of sun or moon to shine on it, for the glory of God gives it light, and its lamp is the Lamb.”
Deuteronomy 20:3 — “….‘Hear, O Israel, today you are drawing near for battle against your enemies: let not your heart faint. Do not fear or panic or be in dread of them,”
So if you read my previous post, you might, well…. you might be passed out on the floor because I’ve posted twice in one day. Ha ha! But you might be interested to know that I spent the evening with three of the most precious ladies in my life.
What a complete “God thing” it is that tonight would be the usual meeting night of these ladies. After my long post about my mindset on friends and how I don’t have that many in my life and how hard it is for me to make true and actual friends…
These ladies are part of what’s called a “reunion group” in the Emmaus community. It’s similar to a small group. We meet to talk about our walk with Jesus, the struggles we’re having, the victories we’ve realized and we pray for and support each other. We hold each other accountable.
I stopped going to the meetings except for the rare occasion when I started selling Mary Kay because I always had some MK thing to do on that night.
I missed my friends, my sweet girls, so much, but felt I had no choice. God took care of that for me. Or maybe that’s not exactly what He was doing or why my health went downhill so much that I couldn’t continue with MK, but nonetheless, I was SO happy to meet back up with my little core group of women tonight.
The group has grown and shrank (shrunk?!) and changed over the past few years since I became a part of it, but this core group of women has always been there, so it was nice to go back tonight and it just be us.
As I’ve shared in previous posts, I have secluded myself during this last bout of depression. I cut myself off from pretty much everyone. But my little core group of gals from the reunion group would still text to see if I was coming or how I was doing.
So tonight, there was a lot of heavy burdens we all had to share. I felt like, for most of the evening, that I wouldn’t add my stuff to the pile. It didn’t seem appropriate or I didn’t feel comfortable or as if it was “the right time” to share this stuff with them.
I honestly thought I would just keep it all to myself. I mean, there were three other people there. Did I really want to tell them this stuff that was so deeply painful? Did I want to trust them with that?
Well, yeah, I am kinda just telling the internet, but somehow, that’s different than looking someone in the face and saying, “Hey, I have lived 40 some years with this huge despair in my life and I’m having a hard time carrying it lately.” “Sometimes I don’t want to live anymore.” “I have this deeply personal sorrow in my life that I cannot share with just anyone–can I share it with you? Do you care enough to listen and pray?” Then hope that they are as trustworthy as you think and that they then care enough to … not ‘deal with’ but support you while you deal with your pain.
That’s a scary thing to do. The issues with my marriage I have only entrusted to two other people before tonight. One proved to be entirely trustworthy. The other, and first, did not. Tonight, I praise God for three women who love me and Jesus enough to have listened to me and who I know will pray for me as I make this journey.
So, on the day I write a post about how I have come to be so slow to label someone “friend”, I am supremely thankful that God put three more of those people in my life.
He really is a loving, merciful Savior!
Deuteronomy 4:31 — “For the Lord your God is a merciful God. He will not leave you or destroy you or forget the covenant with your fathers that he swore to them.”
Psalm 112:4 — “Light dawns in the darkness for the upright; he is gracious, merciful, and righteous.”
Proverbs 17:17 — “A friend loves at all times, and a brother is born for adversity.”
I started thinking about a post the other day. But it included using the word “friends” in the context of the way I used to think of friends when I was in high school. And honestly, I didn’t really have friends in high school. I knew people and was friendly with some people. I tried to be nice to everyone, but to say I was “friends” with someone meant something totally different to me then.
By the time I got to high school, I’d had several people I thought were my friends treat me really bad and so I was very slow to give someone the title of “friend”. Very slow.
To me, a friend was someone you loved spending time with, someone you could be yourself around and not have to worry about everything you said or did being misconstrued or turned into an offense. It meant you could count on that person to “have your back”, to not spread rumors about you or desert you when you needed them. It meant that if they came up on some people talking bad about you, they’d be the one who took up for you, who would set the record straight…not just walk on by or even worse, join in with the group.
As a young child, I can remember a few “friend events”. This refers to an afternoon or perhaps a couple of days spent in perfect camaraderie with someone. These were hours spent playing and laughing that you might dream about days later. The time spent was that good.
I learned rather quickly though that just because I’d spent that one afternoon a few years ago in perfect sync with someone did NOT mean they were my friend or that they’d even still like me in a different setting with different people around.
For me, at that stage in my life, that was SUCH a shock! I just was not wired that way. If I liked you, I liked you no matter who was around or what was going on. But I soon learned that was dangerous on my part. That you couldn’t just be all “out there” with people because they would rip you to shreds.
So, as I entered high school, I really didn’t have any close friends. As I continued on through those monumental years, I did have several people who I got close to, who I considered (and still do) friends, but it wasn’t a close, deep friendship that I longed for. It was never a “best friend” relationship.
And maybe that’s where I get this feeling (that still plagues me today) of not being wanted or loved or liked.
Let me state that this is NOT a post to bash my mother. However, it’s recently come to my realization that something she said to me once and then insinuated other times in my childhood has colored my whole view of who I am and how others see me.
One of the few people I DID consider a “best friend”, at least for a few years when I was in grade school, was a girl whose family went to the same church we did and we spent a lot of time together on the weekends. She was about 3 years older than me, so we didn’t go to the same classes, but weekends were always spent together. And this friend had asked me to come home with her for some kind of whole-family thing.
Unlike me, she was the youngest of a family of six kids. I was the oldest in a family of two girls. We were total opposites, but I loved the atmosphere in her family. It was so totally different and I was treated like “one of the gang”.
I know my mother had my diabetes to consider when letting me go and do things, but this was different. I’d spent the night with this family dozens of times, but when I went to ask her if I could go, Mom said, “They don’t really want you to go.”
I don’t think I actually realized it then, not in the chaos of the situation or the feeling of unfairness because I wanted to go so bad and also the crying that I had to do then because I wasn’t being allowed to go… but every time I re-live that moment, those words, now it’s like a sharp slap across the face.
And I realize that I feel that way SO often when I’m in a group of people. If there is the least bit of talk that’s “prior history” for the rest of the group, I will instantly back away. Even if the talk isn’t purposely to exclude me, I will feel as if it is. And I will hear those words, “They don’t really want you.”
I hear that sometimes when my husband tells me he loves me and I’m feeling particularly unloveable. I hear it when my grown sons tell me they love me. I hear it when a friend offers to pick me up to go to lunch or something.
And I KNOW it’s the devil or satan or whatever you want to call him. I just know that it comes from the enemy of my happiness. The enemy of my closeness to Christ. He will even go so far as to whisper it in my ears when I want to spend time in Christ’s presence.
During this last, most horrible phase of the depression I found myself pondering death. Not contemplating it, but just thinking about how nice it would be to just “go on”. And those words came…“What in the world does God want with you? He doesn’t want you either.”
Annnnd, there went my “clinical composure”. Out of all this thinking and writing about one of the most painful aspects of my life, the tears never stung my eyes til now.
And that’s what satan wants when he whispers such horror into my head. But I know The Truth. His name is Jesus. So take that, you wicked creature!
I still have a lot of trouble dealing with that mindset that people don’t really want to be around me. They’re not really my friend. I’m not really wanted in the group. I’m not really liked by those people.
It’s a constant thing for me to fight against and in a world where it’s hard to read people and they DO tend to let you down or leave you behind, it’s really REALLY hard to keep my head on straight where this particular lie comes into play.
I’m just thankful God didn’t leave me in that lie. In the huge vat of that lie where I had been floating for months and was fully convinced that no one wanted me at all. I’m thankful He didn’t give up on me and put others in my life who didn’t either.
God’s so incredibly good!!
[ADDENDUM] As for my definition of friends, as I alluded to in that first paragraph, and how I view the word now… I have friends now. I have some GOOD friends. They will call to check on me if I’m scarce on Facebook or if they hear I’m under the weather. They will even come by to see about me or bring food or other sweet gifts if I’m sick. (and I have one friend who is so precious, she will bring gifts for no reason at all!) I have one friend who was so sensitive to what was going on with me that she insisted I follow her to a quiet room, away from a crowd at an event at camp where I was working, and she promptly sat me down, knelt and untied my boots and massaged my feet because she could see how bad I was hurting. So God has been good to me. I have some amazing, awesome friends!
And after all that, I still listen to that voice, that lie that tells me no one loves me. When I am feeling analytic and take time to ponder this, I wonder why it is so easy for me to believe that. Is it because that has been ingrained in my mind? Is it because I feel unlovable? Is it because I don’t much love myself?
I honestly don’t know at this point. But when I figure it out, I’ll be sure to let you know.
Zephaniah 3:17 — “The Lord your God is in your midst, a mighty one who will save; he will rejoice over you with gladness; he will quiet you by his love; he will exult over you with loud singing.”
Praise God! I went on the 30th to have the mammogram done to check the lump in my left breast. The one my GP didn’t even check but instead just said, “Go get a mammogram.” and ordered a regular scan.
I did that (regular yearly mammogram) December 30 of last year. It showed nothing, but when I was there and told the technician about the accident when I rammed the handlebars of my bike into my breast and it left a horrific bruise, then the lump showed up… she asked me what the doctor had said about it.
I told her he didn’t even check it. She said, “Well, he’s only got a scan ordered.” so anyhow, that’s why I got worried. I thought if there was some other way they checked you when you had a lump, then I needed to see someone who would give a flip about it. I mean, a doctor who would at least check the thing to see if it warranted further investigation.
And yes, this is the same guy who told me that if I’d only keep my sugars under control, I wouldn’t have had this undiagnosed, by him or 4 other doctors at that time, rash that I’d had for over 8 months, even though during that time, my A1c had gone DOWN (meaning my blood sugars were doing better and at 7.1, were not at ALL the cause of the rash as he wanted me to believe)
I’m telling you, I’m so mad at this arrogant jerk-of-a-doctor, I could just spit. That kind of thing infuriates me to no end!!
Anyhow, so we went to Lexington with my films from the December screening in our town. I really liked this place but man, was it busy! They did the scan then sent me back into this waiting area where all us women sat in short little pink robe dealies. I was doing okay except I’d started coughing again.
I’m sick to death of this lingering cough and I know all those women were thinking, What is UP with that woman who keeps hacking!?! but I just couldn’t make it stop. I finally ate a couple Lifesavers and that helped, but then, some woman walks by my chair and into the changing room right behind me. The doorway to this room was right beside my left arm. I thought I was going to choke to death right then and there. A technician followed her into the room to discuss her scan and I thought we would have to call for someone to resuscitate her. That woman had on enough perfume for a whole nursing home. I mean, it was BAD! It was like a thick, stinky fog descended on the whole area!!!
I gasp for air a couple times, then I got up because the two ladies next to me seemed to think I was a loon already. I stepped over past them toward the door they had brought everyone in from the main waiting room…then finally I opened the door and stepped out in the hallway.
Ah! Thank God, fresh, unpolluted air!!! I stood out there for about 3-4 minutes but since it was full of doors for the offices and a couple check out windows, it wasn’t really a good place, so I went back into the waiting area only to be choked again.
I dunno what kind of perfume that chick was wearing, but it REEKED! It wouldn’t have been so God-awful smelly if it didn’t smell like she’d bathed in it!! And you know how they do when they give you instructions… use the wipes to take off any deodorant, lotions or PERFUMES. I’m not sure, maybe that brought her back out there to make her do it again??!!!
I have been accosted by overly-perfumed or -cologned people before, but this was horrific! I don’t know if it’s because I have become more sensitive to things in general or what, but I thought I would die before that stench got diffused.
I used to think people who made a big deal about not being around strong scents were nuts and rude (and honestly, some of them just ARE!) but when those things do this to your physical well-being?? I have a different view of it now. The same way that to me it seems rude for someone to come walking into a place having just tossed their cigarette, drafting a plume of smoke in with them then plopping down right beside me, it’s just as rude to assault people with your chemical-laden scent of choice.
Think “hint of” when applying your fragrance, not “whop you upside the head”, please?
*long sigh* Um, I digress…
So anyway, after my scan and perfume assault, they called me back into one of the changing rooms to go over the results. YES!! Right then and there! It turns out there IS something there, obviously since I could feel it. The doctor called it an “oil cyst” and said it was a natural response to a bruise like the one I’d had. She said it sort of encapsulates the bruise, or collected blood and it should eventually dissipate over time. She said it was normal to be tender and not to worry unless I noticed any changes.
They will call me a couple months prior to schedule my yearly mammogram for next year.
I am SO impressed! And that’s not all…
That morning, I decided not to wait any longer to see about getting treatment for the yeast infection I had going on. I’ve been on that erythromycin for almost 2 weeks now, so I knew it was coming. I called the place in Lexington, where I’ve only been the one time, and contacted the prescriptions line, gave my name and other information and let them know that I needed some Diflucan for the yeast since OTC products just don’t work for me anymore.
I received a call back in LESS THAN AN HOUR to confirm what I needed and to let me know they’d be calling it in.
I haven’t been this impressed in a LONG time, let me tell you! I usually have to beg and do contortions and end up having to be seen to get a simple Diflucan from The Arrogant GP. This was just SO nice!!
And they didn’t wait til the end of the day to call it in either. We picked it up from my pharmacy in another maybe 45 minutes. I got the med into my system ASAP! AND they gave me two doses instead of the normal one. So perhaps I won’t be bothered with this yeast again before I’m done with this antibiotic.
If it wasn’t for the 80 mile drive, I’d look for a GP in Lexington. It seems that we’ve become accustomed to mediocre medical treatment in this town and the doctors, at least many of them, are more than happy to dispense it when they feel like it.
Okay, so back to being thankful that there’s nothing to worry about with my breast. Thanking God for getting one more thing off my Worry List! Yes!!
Jeremiah 33:6 — “Behold, I will bring to it health and healing, and I will heal them and reveal to them abundance of prosperity and security.”
So I’ve been trying to be more active. I’ve gone with my hubby to the bike shop uptown to ride trainers. Of course, that’s HUGE for me at this point in my life. I thought I’d lay the background for why in the world I even have a nice-ish road bike.
We both signed up for a ride, The Red Bud, coming up in April. Hubby and my eldest son did the ride last year, the 26 mile portion, shortly after Hubby got his bike. I didn’t even have a bike at the time.
He’d never ridden anywhere near 26 miles, so it was a MAJOR accomplishment for him. I was so proud of him, of course, then again, he can do ANY. THING. he sets his mind to. The man is determined if nothing else.
So, he got me into riding. I really enjoy it, but it’s a real task to get me out and going. I enjoy seeing the landscape and honestly, we live in an area with some of the most beautiful riding country in the nation. The Red Bud Ride garners participants from all over the world. I mean, seriously! That’s some “big time” cred! LOL!
Now, I have actually done approximately 25 miles before. Once you get conditioned even slightly, you can do many more miles than you’d imagine. The Hubbs is very VERY goal oriented and he has signed up for what they call The Century Challenge. A “century” is, obviously, a 100-mile ride. The challenge is to do four of them in a season. I’m not sure where each of them are and I think there’s about 5 or 6 of them, so you can choose. There’s no cost to register for the challenge, but there’s a cost for each ride, so theoretically, you can “drop out”. I am kinda dreading this as these rides can take up to 8 hours or more to complete! The farther ones I think he will probably be attending with some other people from the cycling club we’ve become part of because I can’t imagine waiting that long for him to finish. I kinda dread him having that “thing” that I’m not part of, because the Hubby tends to get a little obsessive about things and honestly, I love him, but I get really tired of trying to keep up with his many & varied obsessions.
ANYhow, so the bicycling is one way I’m trying to be more active. There are these crazy things called “cycling shoes” or “clips” that are basically insane contraptions that attach you to the bike pedals by your shoes!! When Hubby got his, I told him he was a loon. I understood his repeated explanation of why they were beneficial, but I just didn’t want to even attempt them… besides the fact that they are NOT cheap. Just so you know, I mean, in case you WANT to know, haha, here is the science and reason behind cycling shoes.
Okay, and so…the Hubbs found a pair of cycling shoes in my size on clearance and yep, he ordered them. I really REALLY wasn’t happy. I just wasn’t interested in having clips. I finally tried them and was SO proud of myself for being able to ride about 3 miles without falling. Then, I decided I would attempt a horrific hill just up the road from our house. I think I could’ve done it, although it would have been TOUGH, I think I could’ve made it if not for those stupid clips.
We hadn’t had time to adjust them, the tightness or how easily they would clip and unclip. And so once I got to the very steepest part of the hill, I tried to unclip….and fell. I just toppled over, as you might imagine would happen with someone attached by the pedals to their stinkin’ bike. I was SO upset, but determined at that point to do it. So, right there in the very steepest part of the hill, I tried to take off again.
First of all, it’s HARD to take off on a steep incline without being clipped in, so that was my first mistake. As you might have guessed, I fell again. Harder this time.
And that made me mad. I don’t normally react that way. But somehow I was on this I-Can-Conquer-The-World kick and I’ll never know where it came from. So I got back on the bike.
And I fell AGAIN! This time, it was much worse. That’s when I jammed my straight handlebars into my chest. It felt like I ripped off my left boob. I thought sure it was bleeding. My right knee was pouring blood and Hubby had not made it down the hill yet.
Now after that fall, I was beyond angry. I was FURIOUS! Once Hubby got down to where he could see me, I started yelling. I had already kicked the bike away from me. I was SO mad, mad that I had tried so hard and failed, mad that he had forced me into doing something I didn’t really want to do in the first place. I demanded that he ride home (which was less than a quarter-mile away) and come pick me up in the truck. I wasn’t about to get back in those stupid clips.
About two months later, we did a local ride called The Thriller. Obviously, I did that one withOUT those blasted shoes.
This was in late September. It was cool and rainy. There was a fairly steady mist the entire time we rode. We were doing the 26 mile portion. It went right past our house, so it was on a route we ride all the time.
I was SO tempted to just stop at the house on the way back instead of riding back to the finish in the middle of town. But once we got to our driveway I decided to keep my big girl bloomers on and ride on in.
There’s a mid-sized downhill just before you get on the next-to-last road before getting to the finish. I’ve been down it dozens of times. It’s one of my favorite downhills. There’s a fairly sharp left at the bottom that runs into a mild incline, so it’s best to keep your momentum going so you can coast up the next little hill. That’s what I thought I was doing.
I headed down the hill at a pretty good speed, like always. The mist had stopped falling, but the roadway was still wet. As I got to the middle of the decline, I realized I probably should not have powered into it so hard and I tapped my back brake. I immediately started to fishtail, so I got off the brake and coasted the rest of the way. As I came into the turn, I could feel the bike hydroplaning. I tried turning slightly to avert my steady path toward the raised sidewalk to my right. That didn’t work, so I tried leaning to move myself toward the center of the road.
No luck with that either. I knew I was going to go down. At the same time, I saw an SUV coming toward me in the left lane. About that time, I hit the edge of that sidewalk and was slammed over onto my right side and slid about 12 feet down the sidewalk before coming to a stop in a very inglorious lump.
Turned out the people in the SUV was a guy from the cycling club and his wife. Hubby was far enough behind me that he didn’t see the incident, so he thought I had hit my brake and caused the wreck. He didn’t see me get slammed and go sliding. Thankfully, the Club Guy saw it. He and his wife parked in a lot across the road and came running over and got to me about same time Hubby did.
I thought sure I’d killed myself. But no. I was able to get up and walk to Club Guy’s SUV. He put my poor bike on the carrier and his wife drove me on in to our truck at the finish.
I have a nice scar on my right elbow to commemorate.
I’m not sure why I expounded on all this bike stuff. But I guess you should prepare for more. I’m doing the training so that I can get back in shape for the Redbud and so that I can hopefully whittle down this horrid pouch on my midsection.
That’s the most horrid thing about riding… the feeling of my upper legs hitting my saggy gut as I pedal. I hate being overweight but have never been able to get rid of it since my thyroid blew up on me.
Lord willing, my energy levels will go up and I’ll get more into riding again, ’cause right now? It takes a WHOLE lot to get me out to ride.
1 Corinthians 9:26-27 — “So I do not run aimlessly; I do not box as one beating the air. But I discipline my body and keep it under control, lest after preaching to others I myself should be disqualified.”
It’s not major, but guys, I have just tackled a mountain of laundry. I have been doing a little laundry now and then, but the most I have done is get it moved out of the dryer. I haven’t been able to make myself go any farther.
My poor husband has been running around the house naked searching for underwear and socks. He’s been terribly magnanimous about it all. Love his heart, as blunt and non-subtle as he can be sometimes, he’s been trying to overlook my inability to do even the most basic of housekeeping for months…
For anyone who doesn’t struggle with depression, you might not be able to comprehend how huge this is. My loveseat was COVERED, and I mean HEAPING, with clean laundry that had been piled there from various areas… like the kitchen chair, the top of the dryer, the foot of the bed.
Yep, I’m telling you it’s been bad around here for months. So anyway, I have gotten all those clothes folded and stacked & some of them even put away. Lord willing, I might even get them all put away. I have another load going in the washer, so woo-hoo for me!
For your normal functioning person, this seems so trivial and stupid. For anyone who is OCD/super-organized, it’s probably gross, but for anyone who’s ever experienced major depression, this is a gigantic step of progress.
As minor as it may seem to you, I am trying to use this blog to document my progress.
As far as appointments, I go Friday to get the new mammogram to check on this lump. I need to make a trip to town (which I have not been able to bring myself to do yet, but must by tomorrow!) to pick up the films from the scan I had done in December to take to the new place.
I hope this is not a waste, but I also hope it’s nothing. If it IS from a bruise (I jammed the handlebars of my bike into my boob in a fall sometime in October/early November) then it won’t show on a mammogram. I’m not sure what they do from there. I don’t know if they will do another test or of they will just diagnose it as a bruise. ?? We shall see I guess.
My next appointment with the therapist is February 6 and a friend has offered to ride to Richmond with me, so I’m looking forward to spending the day with her. We share depression in common, so she’s been a big supporter and I’m so thankful for her company and prayers.
So, I guess I’ll get myself off here and back to my progress. I hope I might be able to make a little headway in the kitchen as well! Praise God!
So I’ve decided that since no one reads this, or at least not many people I know IRL (In Real Life) even know about this blog, I will write about this deeply personal issue here. I feel as if the future is going to bring healing, that God is orchestrating things for my good through the events of the past few weeks and that perhaps, through my sharing, someone else might benefit.
And besides, I think it will help me to verbalize things if I actually write them out here. I am looking forward to and expecting some major healing in a lot of areas of my life through the huge steps I’ve taken in the past couple days.
Let’s start by saying I am now seeing a therapist for my depression. That is a biggie for me. I saw a “counselor” very briefly about 20 years ago and the whole experience was abysmal!! The woman happened to be the lady my mother had hired some 12 years earlier to photograph my wedding!! And she didn’t do a great job at that. It was just too much to try talking to this woman. She seemed to me to be even less suited to counselling than she was to photography. I hope she finally found something she could succeed at, or maybe she got a LOT better with counselling??
ANYway, my kids were small back then and it was just such a waste of time to me to go talk to someone I didn’t know and frankly, didn’t respect about things they couldn’t fix anyway. I might have gone twice and the last time she asked me something about how I felt about coming to counselling. I told her all I could think about was all the stuff I needed to be doing at home and how much this was costing us. That seemed to shock her so I have the feeling she probably didn’t stick with that for too long either. *sigh*
Fast forward to now:: For the past several months I’ve been slowly slipping into a deep depression. I’ve struggled with depression since childhood. Being a Type 1 diabetic is, of course, a cause of depression, but I believe my parents both struggle with it and most likely so did at least my grandmothers on both sides. So for years, until I was about 25, I just thought “this” is the way things are.
Then I had my second child and ended up at the doctor’s office for another sinus infection. He almost casually mentioned that I seemed depressed, then informed me that almost anyone with diabetes becomes depressed to some extent. I was flabbergasted. I had no clue, had never heard such a thing or even had it mentioned to me before. The next several months, maybe a year, were spent trying various anti-depressants to find one that would finally work for me. I ended up on one that I can’t remember the name of. Even back then, it was an older medicine but it seemed to help more than the newer stuff I had tried. Those would work for a couple of weeks, then BOOM! I’d feel myself back under the black cloud, sometimes even worse than to begin with. So, we settled on this older med, which was cheaper, so I was glad of that. But it made me gain a lot of weight and along with the things that would soon happen (being diagnosed with a thyroid disease and having my thyroid basically destroyed with radiation) I gained more weight with those medical procedures, so I ended up in a very deep hole. I no longer felt like myself, my body was uncomfortable, none of my clothes fit and I had a much harder time taking care of my kids.
It was not a good time in my life, but I don’t recall a lot of details simply because life WAS just SO busy and I hope my boys didn’t suffer too much from my state of mind and body at the time… but I do worry about that.
So, over the years, I tried various medications for depression. I have been on Paxil, Zoloft, Celexa, and a host of others that I can’t recall. None of them seemed to work for me until Wellbutrin XL. It seemed to be the magic bullet and I took it successfully for over 10 years. Then, something happened with either my insurance or it just went up and it started to be hard to afford.
Then, one fabulous day, it became a generic, so I was hopeful that I could now stop worrying about affording my meds. But alas, the generic did not work for me and I spent some time trying to recover from the “experiment”.
Just lemme say, there’s nothing I despise more than messing with my meds when they are really working for me. So, I went back to the brand name. Sometime later, I was actually able to use the generic. Odd, I thought, but I tried not to think about it. I was just glad to afford my meds, ya know? However, it seemed the Wellbutrin was not working as well and I could feel myself sliding down the slope again.
Eventually, I decided I wanted to get off anything I could. I got tired of the side effects, worrying about affording it all, having to choose which meds to get, ya know? And yeah, I just stopped them cold-turkey. They say you’re not supposed to do that, but honestly, I didn’t have an immediate response to it. It took a few weeks before I felt yucky again, and it was a slow decline into really feeling “in the hole”.
I have now been off anti-depressants for about a year. Honestly, I was coping pretty well until the conflict with my new daughter-in-law happened. Well, let me clarify… there have been numerous conflicts and tension with her.
It’s more a matter of having quite different personalities between us because I love her to pieces. I actually introduced her to my son! However, she tends to get hurt over things that are NOT meant to be hurtful, she tends to over analyze things and is much more dramatic and outgoing than I am, so things are said and feelings are hurt pretty easily. All that to say, this is not some huge thing, but this last incident seemed to push me over the edge with the depression.
And it was combined with other things, other situations… I got the flu and was horribly sick; it was right after the holidays, which are a little depressing for me anyway. So, there were a lot of other factors and soon I found myself avoiding friends, staying home to the point of running out of EVERYthing because I didn’t want to go to the store, missing get-togethers with friends because I just couldn’t make myself go. Couldn’t make myself want to go even.
So after just withdrawing from my kids because my daughter-in-law was mad at me, because she blocked me on Facebook, which I felt was over-the-top anger .. I was just so crushed, I just shut down. So this went on for weeks. And they live just up the hill from us, so I could see them passing every time they went anywhere. But on the day that I decided I would just apologize for whatever it was she was upset about and try to extend an olive branch and even begin to fix things, I had printed out the note and planned to have my husband stick it in their mailbox the next day. And our daughter-in-law called my husband. They have always been pretty close and she doesn’t tend to be as “prodding” or “jabbing” with her words toward him as me, so…they talked on the phone for a bit. At some point, hubby decided to come home…
I could tell something was up. His expression was telling. He said he was worried about me, wanted to help me… then he dropped the bomb (that’s what it felt like to me!) and said our daughter-in-law was on her way to the house. The house that was a horrific mess because I didn’t care, and there I was in a t-shirt and panties because I didn’t feel like getting dressed, with my hair two days past washing and a nasty mess. I felt a bit betrayed, but what was I going to do?
She came and we all talked. Turns out hubby had taken off work for the rest of the day. I did not talk a whole lot, but some… I just felt so hurt over the mess with my daughter-in-law that I was to the point I was afraid to say much. I was afraid I’d say something that would make her mad again. But some things about my son, my baby son, were revealed that I had had no clue about. Some serious, painful things that as a mother, broke my heart in a million pieces.
At some point, I said that I was going to have to get some help with the depression and the next thing I knew, Hubby was on the internet searching for a place, then he was on the phone, making an appointment for me with a therapist.
*insert totally shocked face here*
After he got off the phone, after I’d spoken with someone to make the appointment, it came out from my daughter-in-law that she, my other daughter-in-law and my boys had actually got together at some point and decided that my older son was going to speak with us and try to get us, both my husband and me, into therapy.
Wow. Yeah, the revelations were rampant that day, but it was a breakthrough.
A couple days ago, I went to see this therapist. I dreaded it horribly, but along with my hubby, we talked to her and I left feeling better. She asked me about my physical health, which of course, opened up a whole big can of mess, and she suggested that I see about getting these things fixed or at least seen about. She said something like, “We can talk all day about how you feel, but until you address these physical things that make you feel bad, it’s not going to do a lot of good.”
One of the things I needed to get checked, or rather, re-checked, was the fact that I have always had some degree of pain with intercourse. This is obviously a huge part of my depression and we had, about 20 years ago, seen several different doctors looking for help, without finding any. So we gave up. We learned to deal with it.
So this therapist recommended we try again. She said there were places that dealt specifically with pelvic pain and she recommended a women’s health center. I called them once we were out of that first appointment and was told they had a cancellation that afternoon! So, we hung out in Lexington for a few hours so we could go to this second appointment.
I was a little irritated at the wait time, but once the doctor, a lady this time!, came in, she did a pap smear and a breast exam (because I have a lump that wasn’t picked up in a scan and had not been examined by a doctor), then we discussed the pain. She did some checking and found a thickened spot. She asked me about any injuries and the only one I could recall was when I was about 6-8, I had climbed up on the kitchen counter for something and fell off right straddle of an open cabinet door. It was never checked, but I remembered that it did bleed some.
So ANYway, she then tells me that I should go see a pelvic physical therapist!! Yeah, I didn’t know there even was such a thing either! That place, called a “Pelvic Health” practice, called to set up my appointments. Yes, multiple. And it turns out that there is a LONG wait for this kind of thing. The first new patient appointment they had was late April!!! SERIOUSLY!?? Seems they only have the one therapist, who spends an hour with each patient. I asked about getting a cancellation when I was told that there were seldom any cancellations and since long-term patients had visits scheduled a full year in advance, any cancellation went to an established patient first. *insert wide-eyed, mouth-agape look here*
Yeah, who know?!?! So, I set up appointments through June since I don’t know what she will find once she examines me, but til then, I have weekly appointments. Lord Jesus, please let gas prices stay low!! That’s at least once a week to Lexington & bi-weekly to Richmond for therapy sessions.
Thankfully these are nothing like going to see the endo. Hopefully, I won’t need a ton of sessions with the pelvic place and once I can see the PA (in the therapist’s practice) to see about getting on some meds, maybe I won’t have to see her as often either.
I am just feeling a lot more encouraged and hopeful than I have in a LONG time. If there’s some way to “fix me” so that being with my husband isn’t painful??? I dunno… we may have to go on an extended honeymoon. That’s something I’ve never considered or even slightly wanted, but perhaps??
I just don’t know, but here’s to a better future!! God’s so good!!
in keeping with yesterday’s title. Haha. I awoke last night, or rather this morning, around 2am with a slightly tight feeling in my chest and a nagging, dry cough.
When I got up today, it’s still with me and I dare not treat with any oils. So I have rubbed some Vick’s salve on my chest (did that at 2 this morning in the dead of the night) and dug out my nebulizer and albuterol today. Thankfully, that has helped some. I don’t have a sore throat, thank God, but my head is really hurting.
I really hope I can whip this out on my own. I really don’t want to go back to my regular doctor. Like, ever! and I don’t want to go searching for a new doc while I’m sick like this. After my doctor telling me if I’d just keep my sugars in control, I wouldn’t have this months-long rash in my arm pits? I am done with his idiotic ideas and blaming my diabetes, or rather the way I control (or don’t!) it, for everything that’s wrong with me.
He acts like his infrequent blood glucose tests are the full and final indicator of where my sugars stay all the time. That is the most moronic thing I have ever heard! And I once considered this man to be fairly intelligent. I appreciated that he was not a “symptom treater” who would just prescribe something for all the symptoms I had but instead he’d look for the cause. I guess that got to be too much trouble for him or something?? I don’t know, but it really upsets me to run into so-called medical professionals that don’t know (or don’t act like it) any better than that.
Just because my sugar was above 200 that split second in your office last week, don’t have your nurse call and tell me my sugar is “high” and I need to come back tomorrow as if you are going to fix it somehow. When I get there “tomorrow”, my sugar will not be that number anymore. It might be a lot lower, but frankly, as long as I have to wait, sometimes while I’m in pain, for you to show up for the appointment I had a couple hours ago, there’s no wonder my sugar is high!! In case you haven’t heard, stress does weird things to a type 1 diabetic’s sugar levels.
Hmph. This post is becoming more about my utter disdain for this doctor instead of this bronchial thing I currently have.
I’m worried about it, frankly. I had been going here and yon to try and find a cure for this awful rash under my arms and had stopped going to my regular doctor every 3 months after he blew me off about it, so I didn’t get my flu shot like I usually do in early fall. I didn’t remember that I forgot to get my shot, though and when my endo asked about it, I told him I’d got it at the other guy’s office.
Sheesh! Then, when planning a get together with some friends and we had to cancel when the hostess’s husband came down with the flu, it suddenly dawned on me that there was no way I could have gotten my flu shot because I had not been to my gp’s office in half a year!
So… I have been being super careful about keeping the germies at bay. And that shouldn’t be a big problem since I’m pretty much always at home. We are so close to broke, I don’t go out except the occasional pharmacy or grocery run and church. And now, I’m so afraid to use anything on my skin, I don’t quite know what to do for this cough.
The Vick’s didn’t seem to bother me, but I didn’t use much. Not nearly as much as usual, so after the small amount of oils in my bath scalding me the other day, I’m just really scared of that happening again.
Oh well. Sorry for such a boring post. Such is my life today!