2017 Sara

Hello, lovelies!  I don’t really expect anyone to be waiting with baited breath for me to write a new blog post, but if you are – wow! You should have spoken up, and I would have done this sooner- and if you aren’t and just happened upon this for whatever reason – welcome to the bag of cats riding down an MC Escher rollercoaster that is my brain and this blog!

It has been a rollercoaster.  But I am learning more about all kinds of stuff every day.  And I am always trying to learn more about my brain and body.  It just seems like the goalposts keep moving, doesn’t it?  I figure something out and something else pops up.  Anyway – I was looking back through notes and found this unpublished entry that I am going to share today because 1) I think might be worth sharing and 2) I’m a little lazy today and just wanted to get something back on here so that I can get my toe into the routine of sharing stuff regularly.

Mostly the second one.

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Without further ado – step into the time machine back to May 2017 when we were all so unaware of the very wild timeline we were skidding into. 2017 Sara had some shit going on, but she had no idea that the world was about to spiral out of control.  It’s been a lot.

But it turns out that what 2017 Sara wrote is actually really meaningful to 2025 Sara. I still have that brain that sometimes tries to get me, but I have a lot more information to help me now. (More about that later because it’s actually a pretty big piece of the “WTF is wrong with me” puzzle – that’s my least favorite puzzle, but I have a lot more of the pieces now!)

So here’s 2017 Sara from May 8, 2017:

I’ve been having a tough time lately.  Lots of reasons I suppose.  I may be PMSing.  My insurance company made me get the new generic form of the effective antidepressant it took me so long to find.  (I get the idea behind this. They are cheaper. They save money and they are basically the same.  But not always exactly the same.  And I am weird and apparently sensitive or something.  Albuterol for your asthma?  Hahahaha.  No.  You need levoalbuterol. Yes, that’s the exact. same. molecule.  It’s just flipped around.  You, however, need THAT one.  Also, it’s way more expensive.  But when it comes to my brain chemistry and everything my brain and I have been through together, that’s just not something I am ok with playing around with.  I mean, I won’t even try energy drinks because they might affect my neurotransmitters…)   Oh. And, of course, the entire world is going to shit.  (*Note from 2025: Deja vu like crazy. What could these two years have in common? So weird.)

I have to say that I have the best husband ever who understands my illness and what I need when things are getting kind of bad.  And I work with some amazing people who understand what mental illness is and the ups and downs.  I am super lucky.  That being said, now I’m going to whine.

I went running tonight.  This was a pretty big deal for me because I really just wanted to curl up in a tightly wound ball of anxiety and cover my head with pillows and silence. I know that exercising helps me with my depression and anxiety.  I even changed clothes before I left work.  But when I got home, I had a little girl who wanted to tell me about her day and I had a body that just felt so tired.  But aforementioned husband encouraged me to go on and run, so I did.  And I felt a lot better.  

I realized some things. (This often happens when I’m running but I usually forget by the time I get home.  I’d like to say that’s because I run for such long periods at a time, but really, I just have a shit memory now.)

My playlist was trying to help me out.  I heard “Ironman” (because you fucking ARE one, you badass!).  I heard “What Doesn’t Kill You Makes You Stronger’.  This one reminded me that my depression tried to kill me, but it didn’t.  I’ve been through worse with this illness before and it didn’t kill me.  I’ve fought it before and won.  I can do it again.  Then I heard “Everything Is Awesome”, which is significant, not for the reasons you might think.  So here’s the extent of my philosophical abilities:  In case you didn’t listen to the words, this song is satire.  It makes fun of how we’re supposed to put a positive spin on everything.  We’re all alike and we’re so happy! “Stepped in mud, got new brown shoes/It’s awesome to win and it’s awesome to lose..A Nobel prize, a piece of string/You know what’s awesome? Everything!” Some things are shitty.  They are just the worst.  There is no good about it.  Having cancer, wrecking your car, losing a loved one, your house burning down, dealing with depression and anxiety.  Those are decidedly NOT awesome things.  They suck.  If something like this is going on for you, don’t let people say “Look on the bright side.”  No.  No.  That thing is shitty.  It is.  And it’s ok to say that.  Having depression and anxiety fucking sucks.  It doesn’t mean that my life sucks or that I haven’t been blessed in innumerable ways.  But that part is no good.  

So that’s that.  The only thing left is how I deal with that.  Now THAT’S the part where I can start to spin this narrative of my mind.  This illness that I have, it tried to kill me.  It was very nearly terminal.  But it wasn’t.  I found good treatments and good-ish coping mechanisms and I am still here.  I still have the illness, but I am stronger than it is.  I fought it before and I can again.  I know that exercise helps my mind (and my body desperately needs it too) but I haven’t made it a priority.  This slippery little slide back into anxiety and the edges of depression (whether it’s the new medication or hormones or the state of the world) scared me enough that I went out tonight to run IN SPITE of my mind.  Suck it, anxiety.  And the stubborn, strong part of me knows that I need to keep that shit up to keep the darkness out.  So maybe I won’t call my dr (who I don’t really know and who doesn’t really know me because I just moved here and don’t know anyone) and ask them to beg the insurance to pay for my pricey brand-name drug.  Maybe I will use the less effective medication as a push to keep training. (And if I’m slipping, I have the call to the doctor — and 3 pills I saved from the original rx — as a back up.  Don’t worry.  I have good people watching out for me and I am much more honest about things than I was a few years ago.)

I know this is rambling and stream-of-consciousness, but I’m finding it hard to keep thoughts in order in this foggy brain. But I wanted to get it down before I forget. So if you’re still reading, thank you! Hope this helps someone else too.

SOAPing up

Mental illness is hard.  Full stop.  It is hard and different for everyone.  Currently, my mental illness is harder than usual.  I have a foggy brain.   My heart pounds for no reason.  My anxiety is kicking my ass.  My depression makes me just want to stay in bed all the time.  Or maybe it’s fatigue. Or maybe it’s that I need more sleep.  Or maybe it’s my thyroid.  I’m cranky and bitchy and my tolerance for all the things is waaaaaaay down.  Maybe that’s my mental illness.  Or maybe it’s stress.  Or maybe it’s me starting menopause (even though I’m obviously much too young to consider that).

The problem with my current mental illness state is that I have too much other shit going on.  My depression and anxiety are getting pretty dramatic – is that because my medication isn’t working as well anymore?  I mean, I did go off of it to try other meds that weren’t as expensive (or, as it turns out, as effective for me) – thanks, Blue Cross/Blue Shield.  And now I’m not feeling nearly as much like myself as I was.  But, I’m also on thyroid supplementation.  Maybe my dose isn’t high enough and that’s what’s causing the brain fog.  Or maybe I have Bartonella and that’s causing the brain fog.

In my career as a veterinarian, I frequently have to figure out what is wrong with my patients that have many different factors and potential illnesses that could be contributing.  (Also, they can’t talk.)  (Also, also, the owners that come in with them sometimes talk too much about things that don’t help.  But I digress).  The way I try to figure that out is by using SOAP.  While sometimes I WOULD like to wash my eyes or brain or ears to get rid of some of the things I see or hear, that’s not what SOAP is.  SOAP stands for Subjective, Objective, Assessment, and Plan.  It’s a way to organize the information we have to try and figure all this shit out.  So, I’m going to SOAP myself.  When I type that, I feel like maybe I should set up a webcam and get some $$ for it…  Haha.  J/K  No one would pay to see that.  Also, J/K  it’s not that kind of SOAP, so get your mind out of the gutter.  And pull mine out too while you’re at it.

Here we go

(Edit: P = patient.  That’s me; hx = history; HR = heart rate; EENT = eyes, ears, nose, teeth; H/L = heart and lungs; PLN = peripheral lymph nodes; M/S = musculoskeletal; abd palp = abdominal palpation – which is weird to do on yourself, btw; Neuro = neurologic system; Integ = integument – aka skin; Ddx = differential diagnoses – aka things that could be the cause)

S: P experiencing “brain fog” and memory loss.  Has pounding heart unable to associate with any inciting factor.  Severe fatigue and lethargy.  Depressed.  Hx of anxiety and depression.  Medication previously effective but has changed recently – once changed back to original medication, it seems less effective.  Weight gain.  Not interested in exercise and has difficulty motivating herself to get up, much less exercise.  Losing interest in things she usually loves. Emotional lability, unpredictable.  Gets hot easily (this is new).  Occasional night sweats while husband keeps bedroom a balmy -10000000 degrees. Joint pain.  All of them.  Can’t hold onto thoughts – they slip away and it’s super frustrating.  Easily distracted.  May have ADD but has never been diagnosed, even though she fits the bill quite well.

O: Overweight/obese, sedentary (except at work when she stands all day, but then she sits all the rest of the time when she is not lying down in her bed which is pretty much any time she can get away with it; at least when she sits, she looks less lazy).  HR – usually 70bpm, but sometimes pounds (HARD) at 90 bpm.  Bounding pulse quality at that time.  Normal pulse quality otherwise.  12 breaths/min.  Can’t assess my lung sounds because it’s weird and I can’t seem to do it. But I don’t feel like I can get a good breath without coughing. EENT – no obvious dental disease except that one tooth that hurts all the time and the dentist thinks it might be fractured but p doesn’t want to spend the money to get it pulled and have an implant. Eyes are shitty and super nearsighted but now p can’t see to read very well either, so basically she’s old.  Pain on palpation of ethmoid sinuses, maxillary sinuses, and frontal sinuses.  Probably the sphenoid sinuses as well.  (ok just got back to this from learning/googling about all the sinuses in the human face and where they are located and what they are lined with and their purposes – to lighten our skulls and also to be torture devices – and where they drain. Where was I?) H/L – see above about pulse and not being able to auscult my own lungs. PLN – all seem normal size except that one lymph node on the right side of my neck that has always been big – no recent change; Abd palp – Fat.  Not painful.  Very jiggly.  M/S – see obesity above; see joint pain above; stifles make TERRIBLE creaking noises like small trees breaking in a storm when they are flexed.  Lower back pain from having weak core muscles; Joints may be hypermobile, although it hurts for them to bend as much as they used to, so p avoids it.  Neuro – holy hell who knows.  Integ – dry skin.  Chafing of thighs when wearing shorts and skirts.  Getting old lady skin – it’s looking thinner and less collagen-y.

A:  (DDx)

1) Sinus pain – allergies/chronic sinusitis; sinus infection; punishment from the gods

2) Obesity – inactivity and poor diet; hypothyroidism (supplementation too low or needs non-synthetic hormone because of course I fucking would.  Nothing normal works on this stupid — i mean unique- body); aging/slow metabolism; Cushing’s disease (I add this because of my patients, not because I really think I am Cushinoid, but who knows)

3) Brain fog –  hypothyroidism, Bartonella, brain tumor, this is just me now, allergies, immune mediated dz, ADD, stress, depression

4) Emotional lability – mental illness flaring up, Bartonella, brain tumor, menopause, stress, depression

5) Fatigue/Depression- SSNRI not working as well, stress, hypothyroidism, poor body condition/out of shape, Bartonella, immune mediated, viral infection, just luck

6) Irregular pulses/ runs of tachycardia- HYPERthyroidism (oversupplementation), stress, heart disease, menopause, anxiety

7) Joint pain – Bartonella, age, hypermobility catching up with me, immune mediated,  DJD, stress, viral infection

8) Night sweats/Day sweats – hyperthyroidism, hypothyroidism, diabetes, menopause, stress

9) Dry skin – hypothyroidism, heat on (does a thermostat set at 64 count as having the heat on, really?), menopause, allergies, old age/loss of youthful collagen

Aaaaand that’s where this fun exercise ends.  Because I’m not sure how to make a plan.  I am going to start with a visit to my doctor because she is smart and thorough and she listens.  But it’s an awfully big mess to sort out and I don’t like being a complainer.  Which is dumb and has put me in a lot of stupid situations (looking at you, Incident) when I don’t reach out and end up losing my mind completely or just suffering in silence when there is no reason for it.

I’m not really sure why I put this here.  Maybe just to help me sort it out like I would if I were assessing a patient?  Maybe to see if any of you have ideas?   Maybe to let you know that you’re not the only one who is a chewed up bubblegum sandwich?  Or maybe to let you think “Oh wow.  Yeah, she’s pretty messed up.  I don’t have it so bad.”?

Any of those things are ok I guess. So, if you were thinking that you were the only one out there confused and with all kinds of shit going on, don’t worry.  There’s lots of us out here.  I mean, I deal with the ones that have sweet eyes and (usually) 4 legs and (also usually) are covered in fur with pure hearts and souls.  But there are the other ones, like me, who have squinty eyes and damaged hearts and souls and may also be covered in fur when it’s winter time and I don’t really feel like shaving tyvm.  We’re out here too, just trying to figure things out.  The problem is, things KEEP CHANGING.  Like, our metabolisms, or our response to medications, or new stresses or just different stresses or hormones.  Things are always changing and we just have to try to keep up.  Sometimes it’s helpful to take a step back and SOAP ourselves to see what the possibilities are — and sometimes we just need to take a long bath and relax – which is where I am going right now.  Love you all.

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My Brain and Body talk shit to me

Today I apologized to my body.  Right now, my mental health isn’t great.  It’s been in slow decline for a few months and this week and next week are challenging in their own right, so I’m not really at my best.

I am treading water. And that’s ok.  I am good at treading water.  I can keep my head up enough to breathe for a long time.  The problem is, if I am treading water, I really, really can’t help anyone else swim.  And I feel very guilty and terrible about that.  I see other people treading water, and I see people who are thrashing around, trying to grab onto anything.  And I want to help.  I have been there and I want to be the kayak to hold on to in a long Ironman swim.

But I can’t.

I want to reach out and help them.  I want to duck under the water and push them up from below so they can get a good solid breath.  And I sometimes do.  I take a big breath and go under and push someone up.  Then I run out of air and start treading again.  But it’s taking a toll right now.  Apparently, I have spent too much time under water and not enough energy trying to get to the shore.

Today I had a lapse in my ability to “deal with shit” (Did you picture air quotes?  Because those quotation marks were definitely sarcastic air quotes.)

After I finished at work (taking a break to run angrily around the parking lot), I drove home, fed my child, dropped off a package at UPS for work, let the dogs out, and picked up a lot of dog poop from the yard (because I HATE doing that chore so I haven’t done it in awhile.  Like  a long while.  So gross).  I washed my hands, I went into my bedroom, shut the door, and decided I should meditate. (Which is weird because usually I just lie down and go to sleep.  Sleep is my coping mechanism.  I just want to stay asleep and not face anything.  Sadly, I am not paid to sleep.)

So I did. (Meditate, not sleep).  I set a timer for 10 minutes.  I have to set a timer, otherwise I am always looking at the clock to see what time it is.  And I focused on my breath.  And I focused on my body.  It took a couple of minutes (I don’t know how many because I WAS TRYING NOT TO LOOK AT THE CLOCK) of my brain talking to me.

“Good.  Now we can relax.  It’s good to relax, isn’t it?  This is relaxing, right? Wait.  What are you going to do for dinner?  You didn’t get groceries.  You need to put extra scrubs in the car.  Oh and the car needs to be cleaned out.  Remember how you noticed that earlier?”

“You’re just my monkey brain trying to talk to me.  I’m going to notice these thoughts and let them pass by.”

“Wait.  Did you call me a MONKEY BRAIN?  WTF?  What’s a monkey brain?  Who are you calling a monkey brain?!  Uh, hello.  I am YOUR brain.  YOU have a monkey brain.”

“Yep.  Just gonna notice and let them pass…”

(Ad nauseum)

 

At some point (I don’t know when; I wasn’t looking at the clock) I got quiet.  I kept trying to focus on my breath, but my heart kept distracting me.  It was pounding.  Like, hard.  It’s been doing that lately for no damn reason.  No running or exertion or jump scares or even anxiety attacks (I say anxiety attacks, because anxiety is always there, under the surface causing… well, anxiety… but the attacks are what normally make my heart pound and my blood pressure go up and adrenaline to rush and then make me shaky when it goes away. It’s like you KNOW Jaws is under the boat, and you get used to the constant fear, but then he jumps out of the water and then you get the OMG WE’RE ALL GOING TO DIE fear) But there was no anxiety attack.  No reason at all for my heart to be pounding away.

So I talked to my body.  Talking to myself is not uncommon.  I have very interesting conversations between the two different parts of my brain.  all.  the.  time.  It really is like it’s two people having a conversation.  And if you didn’t think I was crazy before, perhaps I have now convinced you. Job well done.

So, my brain often talks to itself, but I don’t usually talk to my body.

This is how the conversation went this time:

Me: Woah.  Why do you keep pounding like that?

Heart: …

M: Shit.  You don’t have to do that.

H: …

M: omg.  You think you have to do that.  Because I have been totally ignoring everything you’ve been telling me lately.

H: …

M: I have had unending illness for the last 4 months.  My body hurts all over.  I can’t think.  I can’t even breathe lately.  Maybe my body figured my heart could get my attention.  I am not being good to myself.  I am ignoring all the shit and stress I am putting myself through.  I keep telling myself that it’s fine and I can handle it.  My mind keeps telling me that I can do it; I’ve done harder.  Other people can handle this type of thing.  I am strong and I can do all the things for all the people.  But in my heart (literally), I know that’s not right.

H: … I love you and I’m trying to take care of you

M: I am so sorry.  I am going to be more careful where I spend my energy.

H: … (my heart gets calm and beats like a normal heart)

 

Y’all, I am so sorry if you are one of the people I can’t save right now.  I am so, so sorry if I have to tell you no.  Please know that I love you, and I want to help you in every way you need.  Please know that if I tell you no, I can’t do something, it’s because I can’t.  I can’t keep going at this rate and expect my mental illness to improve or my body to get well.  If you are treading water, I see you.  And I am right there with you, trying to save up the energy to swim to shore.  When I make it to the shore, the first thing I will do it throw you a life preserver.  I promise.  From my heart.

Plot Twist

So I had sooooo many positive ideas for blog posts and encouragement when I left the chorus retreat a couple of weeks ago!! Soooooooooooo many. And some time I will do those. But I was so busy for the last few weeks playing catch-up from days off and conferences and such that I didn’t get around to them. And then, like a monkey in a cage, life threw some shit at me.

I just switched back to the brand name of my antidepressant after a long many months of trying cheaper options. I am, apparently, a unicorn that requires the the racemic enantiomer of albuterol, special glasses lenses that cost extra because they are so thick, and the brand name of my SSNRI medication. So. utterly. special.

I was doing super great on my Pristiq, but when the cost shot up from $15/mo to $225/mo WITH insurance and WITH the Pfizer discount card, I decided to try alternatives since I was in a good place otherwise. Spoiler alert: it wasn’t as good. I mean, they were ok. I didn’t want to die every day and I was able to function. But I wasn’t myself. So, I decided to suck it up and pay for my mental stability. Even when switching back to a known effective antidepressant, there’s always a few days during transition where emotional lability and dizziness and not being great happens. I’ve been there for the past couple of days.

And life threw me another curveball. I’m not going to go into all that right now right here, but it’s been a tough one. (Before you ask… No, I’m not pregnant! That’s always the question thrown out when a woman says she has something going on.)

I’m really wishing I could do those positive posts right now, but that’s not where I currently am. And since this blog is basically about my journey, that’s where we are on the map.

Here I am, worn out, exhausted, trying desperately to not get sick (I usually get a cold when I am sleep deprived and stressed), and trying to be my 10 (more on that in a later post).

I’ve been here before. It’s not unfamiliar territory. So, I know I can make it to the other side. One phrase I have become very fond of is “Plot Twist!” As in, when life doesn’t go the way you expect, just yell “Plot Twist!” and move on. It makes the whole story much more interesting, anyway.

So I’m here with my Plot Twist and my interesting storyline, being honest and open and vulnerable about how shit sucks sometimes, in the hopes that if you have plot twists in your narrative, you’ll be able to see them for what they are: something to make your story more complicated and unexpected and interesting and unique. Here’s to this current plot twist and all the new stories it will create.

Love to you all. Don’t forget to take care of yourselves – and each other. And yell “Plot twist!” as often as necessary.

Insurance sponsored learning experience (always so generous)

Hello again. I’ve been ok and not ok since the last post. Long story short: Insurance change = not paying for my medication = trying to make do with the generic that hasn’t worked for me in the past = slow slide down to depression and anxiety = ponying up the $300 for the brand name (with coupon, of course!) = me being disappointed because I didn’t immediately return to where I was before the drug change.

Sooooooo. Things I learned (aside from hating insurance companies, because I already knew that from previous arguments about medications):

1) I will likely need to stay on medication to keep my neurotransmitters at a normal level. And that is ok. It doesn’t mean I’m weak or less than or a drug addict.

2) I am some kind of sad unicorn who has to take the expensive brand name of my medication because the slight variation in the generic is enough to make it not work for me. So instead of glitter and rainbows and other Lisa Frank unicorn adornments, I have an Eeyore aesthetic. Eeyore with a dull horn taped to his forehead. Yay me.

3) I am getting better at identifying when depression and anxiety are starting to get out of hand. And I am better at taking action when it does, including asking for help. (My husband is still the best at noticing when I’m sliding down that slippery slope. I don’t like to admit it when I feel it coming, but he has learned how to gently prompt me to action. I’m lucky like that! It probably outweighs the Eeyore unicorn unluckiness.)

4) I am impatient with medications. I want it to work when I pop it in my mouth. Knowing full well that it can take 2-3 weeks to reach steady state, I am still disappointed that I am a week in and anxiety is still keeping me from sleeping well at night and depression is making my emotions…unpredictable.

5) Depression is extra shitty because it makes me not want to exercise when I KNOW 10000000% that exercise will make me feel better. My brain is a tricky asshole. It wants me to be sad (and sometimes wants to kill me) and it knows how to keep me from doing things to make me not sad. You just wait, brain! Those normal levels will be back soon. soonish. And then you’ll see!

6) I crave sweets like a pregnant lady when my serotonin is low. CRAZY CRAVINGS! Like, go to Dairy Queen for a caramel sundae with chopped nuts during the middle of the day cravings. Because you know what helps with feeling down and depressed and anxious? Gaining a shit-ton of weight. Cheers me right the hell up. (Tricksy brain)

7) Even when I am sliding back to the dark side, being able to recognize it helps me to use the tools I have learned during times not on the dark side. I can recognize the thoughts as thoughts and not facts and try to change my perception of them. I can stop to breathe when I feel like I have an elephant on my chest. I can call my husband and say “I have no energy for dinner tonight” and he will bring pizza or make dinner. I can (sometimes) let myself just sit on the couch for an hour without beating myself up for not cleaning the kitchen/work on protocols for work/do laundry/give the dog a bath/exercise… I have friends that will still come over and spend time with me even when I haven’t cleaned the house or planned anything fun for the weekend and I am scattered and disorganized. (Thank you, ladies. You know who you are.) I can try to be kinder to myself. It doesn’t always happen, but it’s more likely now than it used to be.

So here’s to fighting with the insurance company when they deny my request to waive the penalty for the brand name medication (that keeps me from ending up in the hospital, so it really IS a cost-saving measure) sometime in the next SIX WEEKS. And here’s to paying another $300 for my medication in 3 weeks. And here’s to getting back to myself in the next few weeks so that I can advocate for myself and exercise and get back on the path to becoming my best self!! See you there!!!

Foggy goggles

Hey! I’m still here! Just undisciplined as always, so the posts are few and far between. I’m going to get my shit together. No, for real this time. I think it’s already together. Somewhere. I just don’t know where I put it.

But I did make it to the pool a couple of weeks ago. (I loathe swimming laps, in case anyone was asking.) Besides being a great form of exercise, swimming sometimes gives an insight into my psyche. (This may also be a reason I don’t like swimming laps. My psyche is a frightening place and no one wants to go there. Not even me.)

I’m swimming back and forth and back and forth. And back and forth. And it seemed to just be getting more and more frustrating. Harder with each lap. Harder to keep making myself do it. Uuuuuugggggghhhhh. 1,2,3, breath. 1,2,3, breath. 1,2,3, omg this is so boring and why am I even 2,3, breath, doing this. I hate 3, breath, 1, this is the worst. I am the worst swim- 1,2,3, breath, er ever…. and so forth.

At one point, I stopped to get a drink and realized that my goggles were foggy. Ugh. I spit in them and everything. Stupid foggy goggles. Now I have to break the seal and wipe them out. Everything about swimming sucks.

But I took the goggles off, wiped them out, spit in them again (because that’s just what you do to keep them from fogging up – allegedly) and put them back on. When I started swimming again, I noticed something: it felt easier. Things were brighter, clearer, more pleasant. Nothing had changed. But I had cleared my goggles.

Clearing the film and fog from my goggles made all the difference. I felt happier and even my breathing was easier. It made me think. How often am I going about my daily life with foggy goggles and I don’t even realize it? My own blurred vision makes everything seem so much worse than it is. The pool didn’t change when I cleared my goggles. My perspective did.

A new goal for me is to pay attention to my goggles – literally and figuratively. (Because seriously, those foggy goggles really piss me off in the pool). When everything is frustrating and going wrong and I’m irritable and fussy (ok… bitchy), is it really that everything is bad? Or am I just walking around with foggy goggles?

It’s pretty simple to clean out actual literal goggles: You take them off your face and wipe them off. Cleaning the figurative ones can be trickier. I’ve been trying to just take note. If my goggles are foggy, I try to take a deep breath and consciously decide to see things differently. Sometimes, it requires a nap. Sometimes, it requires a talk with a friend. Sometimes it requires a walk outside to reset. Sometimes, I need a good hug. Or a good cry. But it always requires that I NOTICE my foggy goggles. Once I notice it, I can do something about it.

So, in addition to swimming more (uuuuuuggggggghhhhh), I’m going to pay more attention to the way I see the world and myself. Because it’s so much easier to swim when your goggles are clear.

Rites of Passage

Right now I am sitting in a waiting room. No worries. I’m just getting my first mammogram.

I turned 40 in May. Apparently that is when one’s warranty runs out. I am overweight, not sleeping well, grumpy, my body hurts, and I am tired all the time. Oh, and 40 is when ladies who are not at high risk of breast cancer get to start having mammograms.

I keep reminding my husband about the date of the procedure. I told all the ladies at work about it. When I woke up this morning, I reminded my husband that today is the day I have my mammogram.

He said, “I have never seen someone so excited to have a mammogram.”

“I’m not excited, exactly…”

But I kinda am. It’s like I get to join some kind of club for women who are grown ups. It’s like when you have a kid and you’re suddenly in this club of motherhood. One member might say “chafed nipples” and all the other members nod knowingly and empathize. Or the marathon runners club when you can say “I lost another toenail and my sports bra chafed my back” and other lady runners nod and murmur about Body Glide.

It’s something new, so I want to see what it’s like. It’s a diagnostic test and I want to make sure my boobs aren’t trying to kill me (other than the usual ways they try to kill me — boob sweat, having to buy stupid expensive sports bras, having to go to stupid specialty stores to buy stupid expensive daily bras, potential black eyes from running down stairs, chafing). You will notice that chafing is a common theme for me — and women in general. Uuuuugggghhhhhh.

But most of all, my mammogram is a rite of passage.

My daughter and husband and I were having a conversation about her scraping her knee while running. She was complaining and trying to blame her shoes or the ground or something. We explained to her that scraping your knee and getting hurt while exploring and playing is normal. In fact, it’s basically a rite of passage. She thought about it and said “Rites of Passage hurt”

We nodded knowingly and said, “Oh girl, you have no idea. They definitely hurt.”

In some cultures, rites of passage are much more obvious and ceremonial, like… rites. You might get a significant tattoo or body modification or be sent out into the wilderness to survive for a set amount of time or have to stick your hands into straw gloves full of stinging ants (yeah, I watch a lot of documentaries.) Most of us in my neck of the woods don’t have such obvious rites of passage. But we still have them. Subtle things like your first date and your first breakup. The first time you live on your own. Your first job. Your first real job that you have to use to pay actual bills. Graduations. Parenthood. So many more.

Each time you go through a rite, you enter into a new group. You don’t necessarily leave your old group behind. You just get to be part of another group too. You find new things in common with people. And it cements bonds because of shared experiences.

And they usually hurt. In one way or another, a Rite of Passage is difficult and painful. Growing usually is, I guess. But it makes us who we are and who we will become. So I was excited for this rite of passage.

Update:

I wrote the original post in the waiting room, but that was a few weeks ago, so here’s the follow-up…

I am officially one of the ladies who can complain about getting a mammogram and having her boobs squished between plastic plates while getting very cozy with an X-ray machine. While not comfortable, this rite of passage did NOT hurt 😊

So, ladies over 40, go get one. Make sure your boobies aren’t trying to kill you either!

This Is Me

I just cried while I was running. That’s not too uncommon, honestly. Ask my husband. But I wanted to write about this one.

I have a chronic illness that I really, really wish I could willpower myself out of. I fight depression every day.

Not all days are bad. Some days are good. So, so good. Some are even great and I am so happy!!! Those days are perhaps more amazing than face value because I know what it’s like to have too many days that have no light at all. I just can’t see the light from the things I love most. It’s like I have a curtain over everything and can’t see any good. On the rare delightful occasion, my brain tries really hard to kill me.

But some days are just a plain ol’ struggle.

Today I woke up, took the dogs out, woke up my daughter, fed the cats, grabbed some breakfast and drove my car to work. You know, adult shit.

I went to my great job where I help shelter pets. I did surgeries and discussed patients and people looked to me as if I have all my shit together. I did some paperwork for another shelter and headed home. I was already exhausted from just that little bit. I got home and went straight into the dark bedroom. 30 minutes later, I went to pick up my daughter. I asked how her day was and I was excited when she told me about her classes.

When we got home, I went right back to bed. I have rehearsal with this really incredible chorus tonight (that is totally out of my league, but I’m working on it…) and I am really really trying to run more than once every now and then. So I dragged myself out of bed. Dragged, for real. I think my shins scraped the bed frame. And I went to run.

That’s good and all but that’s not why I cried.

We are practicing a song you might have heard of: This Is Me from The Greatest Showman. We were asked to sing for a possible solo or small group part, but I hadn’t planned on trying that. (See above about it being out of my league)

The song came on and I lost my shit. If you haven’t heard the song, go YouTube it. Seriously. Go now and I’ll wait.

I’m even going to try to add a link for you to make it easy.

This Is Me

Did you listen to it? Are you crying? If you didn’t listen to it, here are some of the lyrics:

I am not a stranger to the dark. Hide away, they say. We don’t want your broken parts.

I’ve learned to be ashamed of all my scars. Run away, they say. No one will love you as you are.

I won’t let them break me down to dust. I know that there’s a place for us. For we are glorious!!

When the sharpest words wanna cut me down, I’m gonna send a flood, gonna drown them out. I am brave. I am bruised. I am who I’m meant to be. This is me.

If you don’t have goosebumps, it’s because you’re not singing along in you head, like I am.

This song, you guys. It came on my shuffled playlist and I broke the fuck down. I ugly cried while running down a major street near my house.

For SO long, I hid these scars. I sat in the dark by myself and hid away the ugliness, even as I pretended to be fine.

The Incident was a hell of a way to be dragged into the light, ugly scars and sadness and struggle and all, but I’m here. I am out here trying every day. And I AM brave. And I am bruised as hell. But I am who I’m meant to be. This. Is. Me.

And you know what, you’re here too. You have struggles. They may be like mine or they may be different, but they hurt and it is hard to show up sometimes. But you are here. You are brave. You are who you’re meant to be. You are beautiful. Glorious. Bruises and scars and broken parts and all.

Addendum:

I wrote the above part during my run. So, I’m adding an addendum. I did audition (even though I only knew the baritone part until I started driving to rehearsal)

I got up and sang in front of some of the most talented ladies I have ever met. Sinus infection, dry mouth, running clothes and forgotten words aside, I stood up beside singers far more talented than I, and I faced a chorus of beautiful voices. And you know what? They were all smiling at me. Every one. I took a step out and found beauty. I will still struggle and I will still fight and I will still have bad days and sometimes really bad days, but sometimes I find beauty in the world. Thank you to everyone who shows up every day even when you want to be in a dark room alone.

I’ll be out there too.

I hate 24 hour weeks.

It’s been a long week. Shhhhh. I know it’s Monday. I just don’t want to think about the fact that there are 6 more days to go in this week. Why has it been such a long 24 hour week?

I don’t have a good answer.

Yesterday, I got to hang out with my family and I didn’t do anything other than watch movies and do nothing. I even tried to order groceries online. I just didn’t have the energy to do anything else. I wanted to do a lot of things. I just couldn’t. And I didn’t have any good reason why not. I even slept til 11:00.

Today I got to go to work with my husband and do surgeries for shelter pets with a great group of people who are fun and work hard (huge bonus: no difficult clients to deal with). And I am still so, so tired. I slept fine.

And sometimes that’s what depression does. It does lots of things. But sometimes it’s boring and the opposite of dramatic. It’s anti-dramatic. It’s being tired for no reason and not wanting to get out of bed. Just because. Not because I want to luxuriate in the soft pillows and comforter that are free of dog and cat hair… (because I don’t have those) but because I just can’t find the energy to move. Because I can’t find anything to make me want to move. Even the things I love. I still love them. I just can’t find the energy.

But I did get up. I did go do 20 surgeries. I did have a great dinner with my husband and my kid. And I loved it. And I am still tired. So I’m going to type out this short little blog, have some tea, take a hot bath, and go to bed.

And tomorrow I’m going to get up and go to a wonderful job and save some animals and work with amazing people and tell depression to get back in the back seat. I’m driving and it’s not. Probably still going to be tired. But one foot in front of the other, as always. I’ll find my energy again.

I’m not sharing this for sympathy or to “harsh your mellow”. I just want you to know that if you’re dealing with the same shit, you’re not alone. And as soon as I get enough energy to get back to shore, I will be right here to throw you a life saver — either the flotation device or the candy, whichever you need the most. You are awesome. You are tired. But you are still fighting and that makes you a hero. Even if the person you save is yourself, you’re still a hero and I see you being incredible by getting up and out during those times when depression has you sucked dry. You got this and so do I.

Long time, no sing!

Hey, y’all!!  I know it’s so unlike me to not post anything for long periods at a time, but, well… here we are!  Life has been happening.  Some bad, mostly good, but as usual, I tend to ruminate over the bad, so we’re just going to skip over the last few (mostly awesome!) months and go to this week.  I will probably backtrack later, since I know you’re probably holding your breath for it. I mean, what’s not exciting about work and not training and depression and normal life and some awesome trips scattered around?!

I do lots of epic shit that most people don’t.  It feels REALLLLLLY weird and awkward to say/write that because I am really not good at being positive about myself.  Self-deprecating?  Expert level.  Maybe, like, Wizard level or some shit.

But, if I were to look at the things I do and have done, it’s pretty epic (I’m going to list some to remind myself that I’m not bragging.  I have done epic shit and it’s ok to say that.): went to – and survived, even passed! – vet school, finished an Ironman, lots of marathons, lots of triathlons, climbed Pike’s Peak, survived The Incident, moved to new cities without knowing anyone – twice,  did a 50K, amputated a kitten’s leg last week because it was nasty and too broken to fix, lived with and survived depression every damn day, and some more stuff that I can’t remember right now but I’m sure my husband would remind me of if I asked… )

But I don’t really get out of my comfort zone often.  I ask myself why and all I can come up with is because it’s hard.  WTF?  Like climbing Pike’s Peak without acclimating or ever climbing more than 2,000 feet was easy?  Like training for and doing my first marathon was easy?  Like getting out of bed when I am depressed is easy?  Because it’s hard has never been a good excuse for me.  Because it’s hard is WHY I chose vet school and WHY I did an Ironman and WHY I do lots of things.  So, I decided I would try something intimidating for me.  I went to a MeetUp.

Scary, right?  For an introvert who has little self-confidence, it was super hard to walk into a room of talented people that I had never met.  All alone.  Without a way to hide.  I even had scrubs on with my name on them.  There was no hiding.  “A MeetUp?” you ask.  That’s vague.

So, since we moved to our new city over a year ago, I (we, really) have not felt settled.  I don’t have friends in this city.  I have friends at work, but that’s all AT LEAST 30 minutes away — and with that city’s traffic, a trip there could take more like 1 to 1.5 hours, so I don’t expect them to come to my city and hang out either!  And I don’t have my music.  I really miss my choral group and just singing in general.  I went to a choral organization in our town, but it just didn’t feel right and wasn’t very welcoming and was hard to get to for rehearsals after work.

So I went to MeetUp to look again.  And I found something scary.

Y’all, it’s a SHOW CHOIR.  An amazingly professional, super welcoming, hard working, incredible choir.  I have never been in a show choir.  I didn’t exactly have the most inspiring (read: any) music/arts opportunities in high school and I concentrated on vet school prerequisites in college, so I am not chorally-trained.  But this was fantastic.

If you know me in person, you know that I am… animated… when I talk or describe things or, really, do anything.  There are flailing arms and legs and weird facial expressions and changes in voice.  Normally, that’s not something you do while singing in a chorus.  Unless it’s a show choir!  The expressions on their faces were perfect.  They moved and smiled and looked like they were having a great time.  And my cheeks hurt from smiling while watching them.  Their director is amazing and talented and I think every single member said hello and welcomed me.

I have to sing for them to place my voice, then audition in a couple of weeks, so I’m not part of that group (yet — fingers crossed!!!)  I am going to train like an Ironman.  But with my voice.  So, not really like an Ironman at all.  What I really meant by that was that I’m going to train really hard, and … geez. You get the point.

I’m going to try to whip this voice that hasn’t sung in well over a year and is still fighting off the bronchitis from my upper respiratory infection from a MONTH ago into shape.  Some shape.  Maybe not the first soprano shape it used to be in, but this choir requires a different tone of voice than what I’m used to, so maybe it will be fine.

Even if I don’t make it in this time, I still went outside my comfort zone.  This time, I was rewarded with smiles and welcomes.  Next time, it may be awkward and weird and unpleasant, but I believe that each time it will get easier.  Probably slowly.  Because just typing that made my blood pressure go up and my palms get sweaty.  uuuuuggggghhh. But I’ll do it anyway.  Because you never get anywhere by sitting still and, while sitting right here on my couch, writing and drinking coffee sounds like a really good strategy, I know it won’t lead to many adventures.  And I like adventures.