Down So Long

"And I've been down so long, and it can't be longer still. I've been down so long, that the end must be drawing near."

I've been going back and forth debating on whether or not I wanted to write this post.  I haven't fully decided how open I want to be since nothing ever really leaves the internet.  Or maybe, I don't want to write it because it helps me pretend it doesn't exist? So, screw it. 

A couple of weeks ago, I went to the Emergency Room because I had a panic attack the day before, and while the anxiety was gone the pain was still in my chest. If you have anxiety, then you know the pain I'm talking about.  It becomes difficult to breathe. Air is staggering quickly into your mouth as you gasp for whatever you can get. I was concerned that the pain was still there and the anxiety was gone.  I spent the night in a hallway cot of the Emergency Room hooked up to IVs and filled with Ativan and some drug that reduced the swelling of my heart.  I was lucky enough to have two great friends who spent most of the night in that ER hallway with me.  Around 7 a.m. the next morning I was released with instructions to follow up with my primary care physician ("PCP").

I wasn't overly concerned with the anxiety portion of my diagnosis, as it's been established that I've been dealing with that for the majority of my life.  So, still feeling the pain in my chest, I decided to see my PCP and again accompanied by a great friend, waited 3 hours to be seen.  I was thinking it'd be no big deal, get another prescription for my Ativan, bing bang boom, we'd be out the door.  Not so much the case. My weight loss was an issue and he diagnosed me with volume depletion, my heart rate was high and my blood pressure was also pretty low. So I was directly admitted into the hospital.  This was on a Wednesday. I stayed until Saturday and saw almost every specialist known to man. Cardiologist, gastroenterologists, psychiatrists and had MRIs, CT Scans, IVs, blood work. And no known diagnosis except volume depletion. So on Saturday I was released.

As I'm writing this, I'm realizing how long a story it is. I wonder how many superfluous, unnecessary details I added? Hah, just realized that this part is exactly what I was curious about. I digress. The minute I was released I drove home, hit a curb and got a flat tire.  I couldn't keep anything in my left hand without it falling to the ground. My depth perception was way off and I was still short of breath and light headed. I chalked it up to being in the hospital for a few days. I drove to Salem to visit the boyfriend (who we will be calling B) and we went on a boat cruise and just hung out for the night.  Sunday was father's day so we went to a cookout at my parents' house and I was still feeling awful. I couldn't put thoughts together and simple things weren't processing.  B, my parents and my brother were concerned so we called my PCP and I was again admitted to the hospital.  

I spent Sunday through Tuesday in the hospital in my hometown. I was mainly ignored and none of the specialists who were supposed to see me actually came to my room. I had a brain MRI and was told by my PCP and the neurologist's PA that they found some abnormalities on the MRI. Here is when I fully decided that I wanted to be transferred to Boston. So, I went to Tufts and had more MRIs, blood work and even two spinal taps (don't even get me started on that story.) Tufts neurology team also find the bright spots on my brain, but couldn't add it up with the symptoms I was feeling so decided it was most likely nothing or migraines. Reassuring, I tell you. So after about two full weeks in the hospital I was released again. With no answers. I now have an exorbitant amount of outpatient appointments.

I was laid off from my job today. I guess it's a blessing because I can focus on my health and figuring out what's wrong with my brain.  I feel like a failure. It's an overwhelming and emotional situation that I'm coping with because my whole life I've been smart. Some people have talents (athletic, musical, dancers, etc). I was never exceptional at anything. I was good at a lot of things. But I was always smart. I felt like that was what defined me. An intelligent, blonde girl with a killer sense of humor. But now, being unable to comprehend simple concepts? I'm incredibly depressed because I feel stupid. I know it sounds stupid and petty, but for me? My intelligence was always so important and now everything takes just a little bit longer. I can focus on school because that's going to be a whole lot harder. I unfortunately had to move back home with my parents, which I'm lucky that they are willing to take me in, but I hate burdening them and don't want it to ruin our relationship. 

I'm slowly realizing that things are going to take a while to get figured out. I'm not going to get the immediate answers and results I want. I won't be able to go back to work for a while. I'll have to learn to deal with my pain and use it as motivation rather than let it hold me back.  Things will work out. I know it. The old cliche will prove true. That everything happens for a reason. I believe, and I truly believe, that this whole experience is going to make me a strong, courageous woman. It will humble me. It will open my eyes that things aren't always going to be easy. Most of all, it will make me a better version of myself. Because without struggle, there'd be nothing to learn from life.

And while this is basically a novella, it was incredibly therapeutic for me to write it out. Even just the medical portion of it. I don't think my inner monologue through the entire hospital process is necessary because I'm fairly certain it'd just be a slur of profanities and I need to get better with my language, mainly because I'm not a truck driver, contrary to popular belief.