....the endurance of darkness is preparation for great light. ~ St. John of the Cross
My mom has often told me, in my times of suffering, that I was experiencing a "Dark Night of the Soul." I had no idea what that meant. She tried to tell me, I guess in an attempt to encourage me, that I had so long endured, during different times in my life, this darkness because God must feel a special connection to me; that He had deep purpose for my life, but that He must feel I needed to be tested in order to truly fulfill what that purpose was.
I didn't pay my mother much mind because it didn't feel, during these times, that God cared for me at all.
I had read several years ago a book, Mother Teresa: Come Be My Light: The Private Writings of the Saint of Calcutta. Mother Teresa, that saintly woman, who went into the slums of India to be a servant to the poorest of the poor. She always did her work in the slums with a smile and what appeared to be a true light about her. The book consisted of the correspondence, in letters, between Mother Teresa and a few different people, but mainly with the few priests, who through many years, were her main confidants.
I'm telling of reading this book right now because, unbeknownst to the world, and nearly every single person closest to her, Mother Teresa suffered a "Dark Night of the Soul" for nearly fifty years! In other words, she did the work of God, while at the same time keeping the secret that she spent almost 50 years without sensing the presence of Him in her life!!!
It was astonishing for me to read of this lack of God's love, that a woman whom many would consider as being a modern day saint, felt. She felt that God didn't love her; that he had abandoned her! But she still kept true to what she felt was what God had called her to do: be the lowliest of servant to the lowliest of human beings.
But I hadn't thought of these last three years of my illness: the severe, chronic nausea that never leaves my body completely, and sometimes, like these past few weeks, makes me feel as if death is near - as being my "Dark Night of the Soul." That is until today.
I have struggled these past several weeks with my illness, feeling as if I was going backwards, instead of forward in my attempt at getting well. The surgery I had was just some small thing thrown into the middle of my real battle.
I even remember telling my mom, when she told me that family members had said they would be praying for me during my operation, that what I really needed, more than anything else, was for them to be praying for me about my real illness; my nausea.
In the past few weeks of suffering (and I can't call it anything other than that) I have lost probably twelve pounds. I had felt happy before as I saw my weight go up close to what I consider to be my optimum. But then I gradually saw that feeling of success slowly go away. I was once again feeling gauntly.
But it was yesterday and today in which I became fully broken. I was so sick, so physically and mentally sick of being sick that I called my neuropsychiatrist, Dr. T., and left a message telling her I didn't see a way of going on, I was crying in sadness at that fact and spoke little more before I hung up. I sat on my bed for a moment, lost in my misery, and then I realized that I better call her back and leave another message telling her that I wasn't going to harm myself. I knew I could't do that.
But today when I woke up, and that same overwhelming sickness enveloped me, I had nothing left to tell myself - to bring my mind out of the darkness. So I didn't even try. I just began to talk to God. I asked Him to take me. I told Him I was ready to go. I was ready to be with Him. I remember saying to Him that everybody has their time to die and that I would like Him to let it be my time now. I just kept repeating over and over, "I'm ready."
And I was ready. I no longer felt, that strong and deep desire, I had held in my heart for so long - to be married and have a biological child, or children, of my own - I didn't want anything but to let God take me away.
I barely even cried, I was too busy begging. Begging God to let it be my time to go. Begging Him to take me away from where I now was. Promising Him that I was ready; I was ready to go.
But as I lay there on my bed, questioning everything about God and me - about our relationship and what He expected of me. I told Him, "If you decide this isn't my time and You aren't going to take me to You, then You have to give me a Big Sign to let me have some kind of hope that I will get well." And so now I am expecting that Big Sign to come to me in the next week or so. I will be looking for it. I will be believing that it will come.
Not long after my plea with God ended, my neuropsychiatrist called me. She was concerned and wanted to know how I was. I told her that I was past a place where my mind could try to reach for anything positive any longer. That I was at my darkest hour.
I know I've written a lot about all the different therapies I have tried over this past three years to get better - both Eastern and Western medical modalities. But I'm not sure if I've ever written about having had a conversation with a woman one time who had asked me about my mother's pregnancy while I was in the womb. I had told this woman that my mom said that I was her worst pregnancy out of the seven children she had. My mom had told me she was sick the whole nine months. And, I told this woman that my mom had five kids ages, seven to one-in-a-half, that she was trying to take care of while I was in her stomach. So, this woman told me that she thought it was quite possible that I had picked up the stress hormones, that were surely streaming throughout my mother's body, during the time of her pregnancy with me.
I thought some on what this woman had said but I didn't see how it could help me figure out how to get better. I didn't dismiss it, but I didn't think further on it. That is until some months later when I came across an article from a medical journal that had presented the evidence showing that a cell from a mother's child was found in the brain of the woman thirty years after she had given birth! I believe this is the article that I read. And I certainly feel that it explains better than I could what the ramifications of such findings might be.
Anyway, after reading the article my mind began to think back to what this woman had spoken of: that it might be possible for me to have picked up, and presently be in my body, stress hormones my mom endured during the time of her pregnancy with me.
Yes, it still sounded kind of crazy, but I began to mention it to the health practitioners that I was seeing. First, I presented the idea to my chiropractor, and believe it or not, he felt like it could be a plausible connection. He said that he would try to find a hypnotherapist who did "regressions" which I basically understand as taking you back to the point of some trouble, and attempts to "re-program" your thinking - your mind - so as to see what occurred not in a negative light, and to not hold onto that feeling, whatever it may be, any longer.
You know, as sick as I have been, and as hard as I have worked to find a way to get better, I was willing, am willing, to try just about anything.
And, as it happened, further to my surprise, both my general practice doctor, Dr. M., my neuropsychiatrist, Dr. T., and my Chinese acupuncturist all feeling like it was also possible - these stress hormones from my mom, at the time of her pregnancy, now being a cause, maybe not the only cause, but one worth looking into, of my having ill health.
I remember my acupuncturist saying to me, after I mentioned this "theory" to her, that that was exactly the reason why pregnant woman should not smoke, or drink, or do things that aren't calming to them, because in the end, the child can bear the ramifications of any negative behaviors by the mother while pregnant.
So, now my only problem became, that in the smaller town in which I live, though hypnotist could be found, none could be found that had experience and "certification" with regression. That is until today.
Today, when my neuropsychiatrist called to talk to me she said that she had just come across, in an alternative health newspaper, the name of a woman whom she knew, but had completely forgotten about, who was a hypnotist and did do regression therapy. She gave me her name and number and as soon as I hung up with Dr. T., I called this woman, Z.,
Z. answered the phone and told me she wasn't in town today, but would be back tomorrow, Sunday, and would call me to talk to me more and schedule and appointment. But the best thing that happened was that after I had told her that I had nothing left in me, that I felt no hope, and that I had asked God to take me because I was ready to go, Z., said to me, "L. I just want you to know, that in my experience, whenever a person has reached that seemingly bottomless place of darkness, that is when they are actually closest to the light, closest to having things change, closest to being healed. So just hold on."
And that was exactly what I needed to hear, I don't think it was my Big Sign, but it I do consider that it was a small "sign" and it has allowed me to "just hold on" a little bit longer.
When I called my neuropsychiatrist back to tell her that I had gotten in touch with Z. (she had asked me to do so) and what Z. had ended our phone conversation telling me, my doctor, Dr. T, said it reminded her of the Dark Night of the Soul.
The Dark Night of the Soul, I thought, yes, just as my mother had tried to tell me, I have been going through my Dark Night, and when I come through it, and a miracle-believer like me should know that day will come, I will be victorious... not for myself, but for God.
I will be victorious for God. And what that may mean to me personally is only something that will be revealed as I make my way from the darkness to the Light.
I will have survived my Dark Night of the Soul and I will have come through it, by God's grace, and for His glory.
Saturday, June 8, 2013
Tuesday, June 4, 2013
Ughness!
"If you break your neck, if you have nothing to eat, if your house is on fire, then you got a problem. Everything else is inconvenience. " ~ Robert Fulghum
Ughness! My surgical wound still has the stitches in and was supposed to be healing, but I was remaining in pain. And in the last two days I noticed that an area of the cut was a pinkish color and that area was where most of my pain was coming from. I knew I didn't have a follow-up visit with my surgeon until June, 11th, but I did have an appointment with Dr. M. on Thursday, so I thought I'd just wait another day and then see Dr. M and have her tell me if she thought an infection was starting to develop or not.
But then, today, Tuesday, I get a voicemail from Dr. M's staff saying that my appointment for Thursday had to be canceled. But since I had to do something today which would take me right by her office, I decided I would just go in and have her, or her nurse, take a look at my surgical area because I really did feel like something might not be right (plus I had another question about a med that I wanted clarification on which I'll write of in another post).
So, I stop by and I'm talking to Dr. M.'s administrator, T., about the two things I really need to see Dr. M. for, and Dr. M. comes out of one of her consult rooms and says she can fit me in. I tell both of them I've got this other engagement and I'll be back after that is taken care of and their like, fine.
I get back to Dr. M.'s about forty-five minutes later, wait another ten minutes, and then I get in to see Dr. M and have her look at my surgical wound. She does think it looks like an infection is developing, but thinks it is strange that it isn't over the whole wound, it's only one part of it, and doesn't notice any oozing of pus (sorry for the TMI!) and isn't really, really red. So, she calls her nurse in to take a look, too, and her nurse, V., says it also looks like an infection is developing, and she says she does see a slight bit of oozing. Long story short, I'm now on an antibiotic and hopefully it will be strong enough to nip anything more serious in the bud.
Once again, I feel thankful for my intuition, pushing me to make sure that my wound was seen, because even though it wasn't red, red, and it didn't appear to me to be oozing anything, I still just really felt like something was not quite right and that the sooner it got looked at the better.
And as a side note (in which I wish my intuition had worked even a little bit) - a really big side note: I haven't broken my neck. I do have something to eat. But my house did catch on fire yesterday. Yes, fireman and all.
Everything is okay, although it was quite scary, it happened so fast. I made sure my mom got out of the house. I ran back into it, trying to put out the flames (from the bar stove downstairs... it was an accident on my part!) thinking of how to do it. I remembered you're never supposed to put water on fire, it only makes things worse. But things happened so fast, you're confused, and that black smoke, soars quickly and thickly to the ceiling.
There were burnable items that were about to be inflamed (hell, I mostly use that bar area as my printer, office space. I've never once thought of the stove as even being usable. I'm not sure that in 25 years it has been used!) I throw those in the sink, ran to get a thick blanket, threw it over the flames, had to run up stairs to get my breath, ran back down to see if the flames were dowsed at least somewhat, which they seemed to be.
I then opened up the sliding door out to the patio, ran back up stairs to make sure my mom stayed out of the house and asking her if the firemen were, in fact, on their way!
I ran back down the stairs, was practically mesmerized, except for the air and stench keeping me from being so, by the intenseness of the black swirling smoke moving like a river across the roof, and opened more windows in other rooms.
Finally I ran back up the stairs for the last time, went out side where my mom was sitting in a plastic chair, and laid there, on the cool concrete, feeling like my lungs were slightly scorched, out of breath and waited for what seemed like a long time until the two fire trucks arrived (from two equally distant stations).
They went around the back of the house, made sure all flames and embers were out - I think if I hadn't have done what I did, by the time the fireman had got there that room would have been engulfed - and then put on the "fan" which supposedly cleared out the smoke, but which, probably also blew the ash seemingly, everywhere!
I was thankful for the fireman doing what they did - make sure everything was better and give us the all clear.
Anyway, not only do I have my little surgical infection, but I have a house that smells like burnt plastic and black ash covering every single item in half of it. And the task of cleaning it all up is overwhelming me even as I write this!
So, regarding my lead quotation: I not only do have an inconvenience, but I actually did have a problem as well!
But then, today, Tuesday, I get a voicemail from Dr. M's staff saying that my appointment for Thursday had to be canceled. But since I had to do something today which would take me right by her office, I decided I would just go in and have her, or her nurse, take a look at my surgical area because I really did feel like something might not be right (plus I had another question about a med that I wanted clarification on which I'll write of in another post).
So, I stop by and I'm talking to Dr. M.'s administrator, T., about the two things I really need to see Dr. M. for, and Dr. M. comes out of one of her consult rooms and says she can fit me in. I tell both of them I've got this other engagement and I'll be back after that is taken care of and their like, fine.
I get back to Dr. M.'s about forty-five minutes later, wait another ten minutes, and then I get in to see Dr. M and have her look at my surgical wound. She does think it looks like an infection is developing, but thinks it is strange that it isn't over the whole wound, it's only one part of it, and doesn't notice any oozing of pus (sorry for the TMI!) and isn't really, really red. So, she calls her nurse in to take a look, too, and her nurse, V., says it also looks like an infection is developing, and she says she does see a slight bit of oozing. Long story short, I'm now on an antibiotic and hopefully it will be strong enough to nip anything more serious in the bud.
Once again, I feel thankful for my intuition, pushing me to make sure that my wound was seen, because even though it wasn't red, red, and it didn't appear to me to be oozing anything, I still just really felt like something was not quite right and that the sooner it got looked at the better.
And as a side note (in which I wish my intuition had worked even a little bit) - a really big side note: I haven't broken my neck. I do have something to eat. But my house did catch on fire yesterday. Yes, fireman and all.
Everything is okay, although it was quite scary, it happened so fast. I made sure my mom got out of the house. I ran back into it, trying to put out the flames (from the bar stove downstairs... it was an accident on my part!) thinking of how to do it. I remembered you're never supposed to put water on fire, it only makes things worse. But things happened so fast, you're confused, and that black smoke, soars quickly and thickly to the ceiling.
There were burnable items that were about to be inflamed (hell, I mostly use that bar area as my printer, office space. I've never once thought of the stove as even being usable. I'm not sure that in 25 years it has been used!) I throw those in the sink, ran to get a thick blanket, threw it over the flames, had to run up stairs to get my breath, ran back down to see if the flames were dowsed at least somewhat, which they seemed to be.
I then opened up the sliding door out to the patio, ran back up stairs to make sure my mom stayed out of the house and asking her if the firemen were, in fact, on their way!
I ran back down the stairs, was practically mesmerized, except for the air and stench keeping me from being so, by the intenseness of the black swirling smoke moving like a river across the roof, and opened more windows in other rooms.
Finally I ran back up the stairs for the last time, went out side where my mom was sitting in a plastic chair, and laid there, on the cool concrete, feeling like my lungs were slightly scorched, out of breath and waited for what seemed like a long time until the two fire trucks arrived (from two equally distant stations).
They went around the back of the house, made sure all flames and embers were out - I think if I hadn't have done what I did, by the time the fireman had got there that room would have been engulfed - and then put on the "fan" which supposedly cleared out the smoke, but which, probably also blew the ash seemingly, everywhere!
I was thankful for the fireman doing what they did - make sure everything was better and give us the all clear.
Anyway, not only do I have my little surgical infection, but I have a house that smells like burnt plastic and black ash covering every single item in half of it. And the task of cleaning it all up is overwhelming me even as I write this!
So, regarding my lead quotation: I not only do have an inconvenience, but I actually did have a problem as well!
Thursday, May 30, 2013
Yesterday
"All problems become smaller if you don't dodge them but confront them." ~ William F. Halsey
Well, yesterday afternoon I finally got the surgery done to patch up my hernia. I had waited so long for the procedure (over a month-and-a-half of this pain!) because my OBGYN had wanted to be there to look over the large hemorrhagic cyst on my right ovary and he and the surgeon had to coordinate their schedules so they could be in the O.R. together.
Well, as it turned out, my GP, Dr. M. had me do another ultrasound on both my ovaries and uterus again last week. The results from the second ultrasound had shown that my hemorrhagic cyst had shrunk considerably in size. So, in the end, my OBGYN decided he didn't need to check it out when my surgeon opened me up - so an unnecessary amount of pain was endured, for that long period of time, for basically no reason!
Okay, I let it go and was just happy to be getting some relief from my pain with the surgeon's procedure.
I always get nervous before they wheel me into the O.R. but the nurse anesthetist shot me up with some thing to relax me and then asked if I felt it, no, I told her, so she shot me up two more times which by then I definitely was feeling relaxed as they were about to put me under.
You know, in a unfortunate and fortunate way, both - this being my fourth operation there in the last year-and-a-half - as well as being with my mom there when she had her gall bladder taken out (within that same time period of time), it was interesting.
I say, unfortunate and fortunate both, because it's unfortunate that you had to have surgery so many times you end up knowing, on a first name basis, most all the O.R. staff! And I then, I say fortunate, because having been through so many surgical procedures there, you do know the staff on individual basis, and they you, which always has the effect in helping, at least me, be less nervous about going under, and the feeling of being extremely well taken care of (though I am sure these professionals treat every person with such good care).
Just to give you an example, one of the O.R. nurses, PA, has a beautiful smile and I have told her previously that just seeing that smile, as you are wheeled in and then getting prepped for surgery, makes for such a calming feeling to me. But this time when I finally was rolled in to start the procedure, PA, already had her mask covering her face. I asked her, as I was moved from the patient room's bed to the surgical bed, "PA, could you please lower your mask and let me see your smile?" And not only did she follow through with that request, she came over and gave me a big hug, held my hand, and said, "Everything will be just fine." Very shortly after that, the mask went over my face and nose, and I was "gone" - no memories until I awoke in the recover room.
Now, I suppose I'm "fixed," but, gosh dang it, I am still in so much pain from where the doctor cut me open, that I feel like I have to take my pain meds at every opportunity! Maybe things will ease up on me tomorrow, after all it is just my first day after surgery. So, that is what I am concentrating on; each day will be less and less pain, and each day will better than the last.
Well, yesterday afternoon I finally got the surgery done to patch up my hernia. I had waited so long for the procedure (over a month-and-a-half of this pain!) because my OBGYN had wanted to be there to look over the large hemorrhagic cyst on my right ovary and he and the surgeon had to coordinate their schedules so they could be in the O.R. together.
Well, as it turned out, my GP, Dr. M. had me do another ultrasound on both my ovaries and uterus again last week. The results from the second ultrasound had shown that my hemorrhagic cyst had shrunk considerably in size. So, in the end, my OBGYN decided he didn't need to check it out when my surgeon opened me up - so an unnecessary amount of pain was endured, for that long period of time, for basically no reason!
Okay, I let it go and was just happy to be getting some relief from my pain with the surgeon's procedure.
I always get nervous before they wheel me into the O.R. but the nurse anesthetist shot me up with some thing to relax me and then asked if I felt it, no, I told her, so she shot me up two more times which by then I definitely was feeling relaxed as they were about to put me under.
You know, in a unfortunate and fortunate way, both - this being my fourth operation there in the last year-and-a-half - as well as being with my mom there when she had her gall bladder taken out (within that same time period of time), it was interesting.
I say, unfortunate and fortunate both, because it's unfortunate that you had to have surgery so many times you end up knowing, on a first name basis, most all the O.R. staff! And I then, I say fortunate, because having been through so many surgical procedures there, you do know the staff on individual basis, and they you, which always has the effect in helping, at least me, be less nervous about going under, and the feeling of being extremely well taken care of (though I am sure these professionals treat every person with such good care).
Just to give you an example, one of the O.R. nurses, PA, has a beautiful smile and I have told her previously that just seeing that smile, as you are wheeled in and then getting prepped for surgery, makes for such a calming feeling to me. But this time when I finally was rolled in to start the procedure, PA, already had her mask covering her face. I asked her, as I was moved from the patient room's bed to the surgical bed, "PA, could you please lower your mask and let me see your smile?" And not only did she follow through with that request, she came over and gave me a big hug, held my hand, and said, "Everything will be just fine." Very shortly after that, the mask went over my face and nose, and I was "gone" - no memories until I awoke in the recover room.
Now, I suppose I'm "fixed," but, gosh dang it, I am still in so much pain from where the doctor cut me open, that I feel like I have to take my pain meds at every opportunity! Maybe things will ease up on me tomorrow, after all it is just my first day after surgery. So, that is what I am concentrating on; each day will be less and less pain, and each day will better than the last.
Friday, May 24, 2013
Mountain View
“Ah, but a man's reach should exceed his grasp, or what's a heaven for?” ~ Robert Browning
I know, that in my own way, from my own vision, I have followed steps similarly like those of which Paulo Coelho suggest in his blog post: Manual for climbing mountains
But I have to say, I'm not sure that I have been blessed to have found what is mentioned in point, "C]" which states, "Learn from someone who has already been up there: no matter how unique you feel, there is always someone who has had the same dream before you and ended up leaving marks that can make your journey easier..."
I wish I did know of a person who is dreaming of what I want: to find a husband (for the first time!) at such a late age (49!) AND getting pregnant NATURALLY (using my own eggs!), from that new-found husband, with the result being a healthy baby (or babies!)
I know of people who dream of getting pregnant later in life - naturally, using their own eggs - and I know of people who dream of finding husbands for the first time later in life, but I have yet to find one that is trying to do all three, at my age, and believing it is POSSIBLE!!!
I would love to find, and, "Learn from someone who has already been up there..." There probably is such a person "out there," but I have, as yet, had the blessing of finding one!
I do feel like I'm on my own in my "triple-whammy" of dreams. It has been a hard road to travel, but if it takes climbing the mountain, alone - or I finally find someone who's successfully made the ascent - if it takes reaching beyond what one can feel as being, "graspable," if it takes Dreaming Miracles, I will find my "heaven!" I will... and when I do... I will leave my mark!
I know, that in my own way, from my own vision, I have followed steps similarly like those of which Paulo Coelho suggest in his blog post: Manual for climbing mountains
But I have to say, I'm not sure that I have been blessed to have found what is mentioned in point, "C]" which states, "Learn from someone who has already been up there: no matter how unique you feel, there is always someone who has had the same dream before you and ended up leaving marks that can make your journey easier..."
I wish I did know of a person who is dreaming of what I want: to find a husband (for the first time!) at such a late age (49!) AND getting pregnant NATURALLY (using my own eggs!), from that new-found husband, with the result being a healthy baby (or babies!)
I know of people who dream of getting pregnant later in life - naturally, using their own eggs - and I know of people who dream of finding husbands for the first time later in life, but I have yet to find one that is trying to do all three, at my age, and believing it is POSSIBLE!!!
I would love to find, and, "Learn from someone who has already been up there..." There probably is such a person "out there," but I have, as yet, had the blessing of finding one!
I do feel like I'm on my own in my "triple-whammy" of dreams. It has been a hard road to travel, but if it takes climbing the mountain, alone - or I finally find someone who's successfully made the ascent - if it takes reaching beyond what one can feel as being, "graspable," if it takes Dreaming Miracles, I will find my "heaven!" I will... and when I do... I will leave my mark!
Tuesday, May 21, 2013
My Cycle
"Adversity has the effect of eliciting talents which, in prosperous circumstances, would have lain dormant." ~ Horace
I've been trying to write this post for the past two weeks but things have kept getting in the way!
But I have wanted to share with you what was happening with my cycle. As you may recall in March I went into anaphylactic shock (still unsure what exactly caused it!) and rushed to the Emergency Room where I was admitted right away.
In the E.R. the doctor pumped 125mg of Solu-Medrol, a steroid, into my body via I.V., as well as a few other drugs.
My body had a horrific reaction to the steroid that lasted over an hour (in which time not only was I in severe pain, but out of my mind - literally - I was not in my right mind!). It was scary, but I got through it, the inflammation went down and I was given an rx for more steroids (a different kind) to take for the next seven days.
Of course after that seven day period I thought I was back to normal, that everything was fine. And it was fine, from an inflammation standpoint - that had completely subsided - but what I came to find out later was that I really wasn't "fine," at least my body wasn't fine - it didn't behave normally - and I say that my body didn't behave normally because, for the first time in my life, when I was supposed to start my period (I had ovulated that month) it never came!
Not having my period come for the first time, at my age, was like having an, "Oh shit!" moment. It was really upsetting to me because I thought that it might be the beginning of that word I don't mention that starts with an, "M." But after having talked to my neuropsychiatrist and, later, my new OBGYN, they both assured me that the high dose of steroids that were put in my body would have definitely caused my hormones to become imbalanced and out-of-whack enough to make me miss my period.
Of course I had a huge feeling of relief at that news, but then the problem was - I didn't know where I was in my cycle! I had no idea (my cycle can vary by a few days anyway!), not even enough to try to find out if I was ovulating, as I felt like it would be just throwing away good money (those ovulation kits aren't exactly cheap!). But I did take note of when I thought I was ovulating, but it was purely by how my body was feeling, and when I thought my period should come, what I thought was long after it should have come, it didn't. Now I was getting nervous again.
I had an appointment with Dr. M., my regular doctor, on a Thursday and expressed to her my concerns; how long it had been since my last period. She was concerned too and prescribed some progesterone capsules (which would make me start bleeding!) to take if I didn't start my period by Monday. She also wanted me to start a an rx for progesterone cream five days after my bleeding had started.
I really wanted my period to come before Monday, so I didn't have get the progesterone pills, not only because of the out of pocket expense (I spend so much out of pocket expenses for my health issues as it is!) but also, most importantly, because I just didn't want to have my period made to start by unnatural means!!! But my period didn't start on Monday so, that afternoon, I went to pick up the pills and cream at the apothecary that would be filling that prescription.
Later, however, I had to go to my regular Walgreen's pharmacy to pick up a new anti-nausea medicine (my insurance company was denying me the Zofran that I had been taking for my nausea for the past year) and I was feeling so sick I was just desperate for it to work, but unlike the Zofran (I had had the kind that you put under your tongue and it melts and goes almost immediately into the bloodstream which takes away my severe nausea within minutes) this drug wasn't working (I had taken it like a drug addict - the minute the pharmacist handed me the bottle I swallowed the two pills prescribed!).
By the time I got back home this anti-nausea medicine was still not helping and I felt so utterly ill that I walked in the front door, right past my poor mom (not even stopping to say a word to her!), went straight to my bedroom, turned out the lights (evening was falling), turned my stereo on, found a song on my iPod - this classical piece of music - piano with violin - and put it on repeat. I laid on my bed, in the darkness, listening to that moving music and cried and cried and cried. I cried for the sickness I felt, for the nausea that I can't seem to have leave my body for these long three years, and I cried for having to take those progesterone pills that night before I went to bed, because as I said, I wanted my period to come to me naturally and I felt so sad that that hadn't happened.
I cried with this overwhelming sadness for everything seeming to be going against me, going against my dreams, for at least an hour - it was probably more - I had so many tears that just needed to be shed. And then, at some point I stopped crying, but I just kept lying there on my bed in my darkened room with that touchingly, lovely music playing endlessly, and I was just left feeling hopeless and sad.
But as my thoughts were still being propelled to go in such a negative direction, about my life and my situation, I heard a voice say, "Wait!" The voice had forced its way through the clutter of my thinking. What I heard was in my head, I didn't hear a sound, but I heard the voice very loud and very clear; it was strong. I even asked, "Who are you? Please reveal yourself to me?" because I wanted to try to understand if hearing, "Wait!" was coming from my own imagination, or if it was coming from some other entity (if you've followed this blog you know that I believe strongly in God, in "signs," in angels, and in spirits!). The only thing that came to me was the name, Ruth.
Ruth was the name of my paternal grandmother who was one of the great loves of my life, but I had never before called her Ruth, for as many grandchildren are apt to do, even while much older in life, they still call their grandmother, grandma, or nana, or some other name by which that person wishes to be known. I had always called mine, grandma, but I don't ever once remember calling her Ruth.
So, I can't really say if it was my grandma's voice "talking" to me, but I also can't say it wasn't! And every time I asked, "What are you trying to tell me? What is it I need to know?" I got the same answer, "Wait!" and then, as if needing a little more encouragement, "Just, wait!" was added to what I was hearing. And the "Wait!" was telling me not to take the progesterone pill that night. I was "told" to hold off on taking it.
When I questioned the wisdom of that, saying that I felt no symptoms of a period even remotely coming, I heard the voice ask me if I thought my emotional crying might not be an indicator? I said, in my thoughts, that I didn't think so, but I was now, because that question was asked of me, not feeling sure. I certainly felt like my crying and sadness had been for very real reasons - my continuing to feel so ill with constant nausea and seeing no "light at the end of the tunnel," and that it was understandable for me to feel sadness over having to start my period unnaturally. But, really, after that thought entered my mind, I couldn't conclusively say whether it might be related, or not, to what might be a "symptom" of my period coming.
If I waited, as I was being told, the voice simply reassured me that if I didn't start my period the next day I could always start the pill that next night instead!
I remember going back and forth with these "thoughts" in my mind. I was questioning the reality of it. Was it just my imagination, or was I really "hearing" someone, or my angels, trying to give me a clear message? Finally, the voice, being so persistent in my mind in telling me to, "Wait, just one more day," I decided to heed it, but I wondered at what cost?
And I say, I wondered at what the cost of heeding the voice would be, because I knew it had the power to critically change the reality of my thinking. Because up to that point, I felt as if my intuition was becoming stronger and stronger, and that my ability to see and understand "signs" was a "language" I was beginning to be more clearly adept at.
Now I was being forced to a cross-roads. If I heeded the message of this voice to, "Wait! Just wait one more day!" to not take the progesterone pills, which would unnaturally start my period, and it still didn't come, I felt as if I would forever doubt my intuition, that I would forever doubt those inklings, those "voices" inside my head telling me of this thing or that, of leading me, as they had been, towards my dreams these past four years.
And as I laid on my bed in the darkness, with the music continually playing, I was thinking about all of it. I told myself that even if my period did not come the next day I would still believe in my angels and my spirit guides, but I would always doubt my own intuitive abilities - the stakes, I thought to myself, were high - I would either fail the test - not have my period the next day - and doubt my inner-wisdom forever, or I would find success - my period would start - and I would know, from that point on, not to doubt myself, not to doubt what my instincts were, nor where they were leading me.
And with that thought on my mind, I turned off my music and fell asleep.
The next morning I had not started my period. I had gone to the bathroom really expecting to see blood and there was not even a little bit of spotting... there was nothing, no sign of anything, and my body felt perfectly normal, not one signal that indicated to me a feeling of a period coming.
But I had my acupuncturist appointment that day and needed to leave my house by 10:15 a.m. And just before I walked out the door to leave, I thought, I better go to the bathroom one more time before I get to that appointment. So, I went into the bathroom and peed and when I wiped myself with the tissue I couldn't believe my eyes... on the tissue was a big swipe of pure red blood! I had started my period! That voice I had heard the night before, continually telling me to, "Wait! Just wait, one more day," was not my imagination!
I felt like I won the lottery! Not only had I started my period naturally, but I could now completely trust my intuition and the "signs" I felt I was always getting that were leading me in the direction of my dreams! I felt like I was being "looked after," that I had God, my angels, and spirit guides, so very close at hand! It was an amazing feeling which I will forever be grateful for and never forget! I had heard that persistent voice inside my head telling me to, "Wait," and I followed that voice with nothing but the pureness of faith and I had won - in so many ways - I had won!
But I have wanted to share with you what was happening with my cycle. As you may recall in March I went into anaphylactic shock (still unsure what exactly caused it!) and rushed to the Emergency Room where I was admitted right away.
In the E.R. the doctor pumped 125mg of Solu-Medrol, a steroid, into my body via I.V., as well as a few other drugs.
My body had a horrific reaction to the steroid that lasted over an hour (in which time not only was I in severe pain, but out of my mind - literally - I was not in my right mind!). It was scary, but I got through it, the inflammation went down and I was given an rx for more steroids (a different kind) to take for the next seven days.
Of course after that seven day period I thought I was back to normal, that everything was fine. And it was fine, from an inflammation standpoint - that had completely subsided - but what I came to find out later was that I really wasn't "fine," at least my body wasn't fine - it didn't behave normally - and I say that my body didn't behave normally because, for the first time in my life, when I was supposed to start my period (I had ovulated that month) it never came!
Not having my period come for the first time, at my age, was like having an, "Oh shit!" moment. It was really upsetting to me because I thought that it might be the beginning of that word I don't mention that starts with an, "M." But after having talked to my neuropsychiatrist and, later, my new OBGYN, they both assured me that the high dose of steroids that were put in my body would have definitely caused my hormones to become imbalanced and out-of-whack enough to make me miss my period.
Of course I had a huge feeling of relief at that news, but then the problem was - I didn't know where I was in my cycle! I had no idea (my cycle can vary by a few days anyway!), not even enough to try to find out if I was ovulating, as I felt like it would be just throwing away good money (those ovulation kits aren't exactly cheap!). But I did take note of when I thought I was ovulating, but it was purely by how my body was feeling, and when I thought my period should come, what I thought was long after it should have come, it didn't. Now I was getting nervous again.
I had an appointment with Dr. M., my regular doctor, on a Thursday and expressed to her my concerns; how long it had been since my last period. She was concerned too and prescribed some progesterone capsules (which would make me start bleeding!) to take if I didn't start my period by Monday. She also wanted me to start a an rx for progesterone cream five days after my bleeding had started.
I really wanted my period to come before Monday, so I didn't have get the progesterone pills, not only because of the out of pocket expense (I spend so much out of pocket expenses for my health issues as it is!) but also, most importantly, because I just didn't want to have my period made to start by unnatural means!!! But my period didn't start on Monday so, that afternoon, I went to pick up the pills and cream at the apothecary that would be filling that prescription.
Later, however, I had to go to my regular Walgreen's pharmacy to pick up a new anti-nausea medicine (my insurance company was denying me the Zofran that I had been taking for my nausea for the past year) and I was feeling so sick I was just desperate for it to work, but unlike the Zofran (I had had the kind that you put under your tongue and it melts and goes almost immediately into the bloodstream which takes away my severe nausea within minutes) this drug wasn't working (I had taken it like a drug addict - the minute the pharmacist handed me the bottle I swallowed the two pills prescribed!).
By the time I got back home this anti-nausea medicine was still not helping and I felt so utterly ill that I walked in the front door, right past my poor mom (not even stopping to say a word to her!), went straight to my bedroom, turned out the lights (evening was falling), turned my stereo on, found a song on my iPod - this classical piece of music - piano with violin - and put it on repeat. I laid on my bed, in the darkness, listening to that moving music and cried and cried and cried. I cried for the sickness I felt, for the nausea that I can't seem to have leave my body for these long three years, and I cried for having to take those progesterone pills that night before I went to bed, because as I said, I wanted my period to come to me naturally and I felt so sad that that hadn't happened.
I cried with this overwhelming sadness for everything seeming to be going against me, going against my dreams, for at least an hour - it was probably more - I had so many tears that just needed to be shed. And then, at some point I stopped crying, but I just kept lying there on my bed in my darkened room with that touchingly, lovely music playing endlessly, and I was just left feeling hopeless and sad.
But as my thoughts were still being propelled to go in such a negative direction, about my life and my situation, I heard a voice say, "Wait!" The voice had forced its way through the clutter of my thinking. What I heard was in my head, I didn't hear a sound, but I heard the voice very loud and very clear; it was strong. I even asked, "Who are you? Please reveal yourself to me?" because I wanted to try to understand if hearing, "Wait!" was coming from my own imagination, or if it was coming from some other entity (if you've followed this blog you know that I believe strongly in God, in "signs," in angels, and in spirits!). The only thing that came to me was the name, Ruth.
Ruth was the name of my paternal grandmother who was one of the great loves of my life, but I had never before called her Ruth, for as many grandchildren are apt to do, even while much older in life, they still call their grandmother, grandma, or nana, or some other name by which that person wishes to be known. I had always called mine, grandma, but I don't ever once remember calling her Ruth.
So, I can't really say if it was my grandma's voice "talking" to me, but I also can't say it wasn't! And every time I asked, "What are you trying to tell me? What is it I need to know?" I got the same answer, "Wait!" and then, as if needing a little more encouragement, "Just, wait!" was added to what I was hearing. And the "Wait!" was telling me not to take the progesterone pill that night. I was "told" to hold off on taking it.
When I questioned the wisdom of that, saying that I felt no symptoms of a period even remotely coming, I heard the voice ask me if I thought my emotional crying might not be an indicator? I said, in my thoughts, that I didn't think so, but I was now, because that question was asked of me, not feeling sure. I certainly felt like my crying and sadness had been for very real reasons - my continuing to feel so ill with constant nausea and seeing no "light at the end of the tunnel," and that it was understandable for me to feel sadness over having to start my period unnaturally. But, really, after that thought entered my mind, I couldn't conclusively say whether it might be related, or not, to what might be a "symptom" of my period coming.
If I waited, as I was being told, the voice simply reassured me that if I didn't start my period the next day I could always start the pill that next night instead!
I remember going back and forth with these "thoughts" in my mind. I was questioning the reality of it. Was it just my imagination, or was I really "hearing" someone, or my angels, trying to give me a clear message? Finally, the voice, being so persistent in my mind in telling me to, "Wait, just one more day," I decided to heed it, but I wondered at what cost?
And I say, I wondered at what the cost of heeding the voice would be, because I knew it had the power to critically change the reality of my thinking. Because up to that point, I felt as if my intuition was becoming stronger and stronger, and that my ability to see and understand "signs" was a "language" I was beginning to be more clearly adept at.
Now I was being forced to a cross-roads. If I heeded the message of this voice to, "Wait! Just wait one more day!" to not take the progesterone pills, which would unnaturally start my period, and it still didn't come, I felt as if I would forever doubt my intuition, that I would forever doubt those inklings, those "voices" inside my head telling me of this thing or that, of leading me, as they had been, towards my dreams these past four years.
And as I laid on my bed in the darkness, with the music continually playing, I was thinking about all of it. I told myself that even if my period did not come the next day I would still believe in my angels and my spirit guides, but I would always doubt my own intuitive abilities - the stakes, I thought to myself, were high - I would either fail the test - not have my period the next day - and doubt my inner-wisdom forever, or I would find success - my period would start - and I would know, from that point on, not to doubt myself, not to doubt what my instincts were, nor where they were leading me.
And with that thought on my mind, I turned off my music and fell asleep.
The next morning I had not started my period. I had gone to the bathroom really expecting to see blood and there was not even a little bit of spotting... there was nothing, no sign of anything, and my body felt perfectly normal, not one signal that indicated to me a feeling of a period coming.
But I had my acupuncturist appointment that day and needed to leave my house by 10:15 a.m. And just before I walked out the door to leave, I thought, I better go to the bathroom one more time before I get to that appointment. So, I went into the bathroom and peed and when I wiped myself with the tissue I couldn't believe my eyes... on the tissue was a big swipe of pure red blood! I had started my period! That voice I had heard the night before, continually telling me to, "Wait! Just wait, one more day," was not my imagination!
I felt like I won the lottery! Not only had I started my period naturally, but I could now completely trust my intuition and the "signs" I felt I was always getting that were leading me in the direction of my dreams! I felt like I was being "looked after," that I had God, my angels, and spirit guides, so very close at hand! It was an amazing feeling which I will forever be grateful for and never forget! I had heard that persistent voice inside my head telling me to, "Wait," and I followed that voice with nothing but the pureness of faith and I had won - in so many ways - I had won!
Tuesday, May 14, 2013
What's Been Going On...
"If you think you can, you can. And if you think you can't, you're right." ~ Mary Kay Ash
I did want to tell of what has been happening regarding my health issues. I met with the OBGYN on the Monday morning after my Surgeon's visit on Friday. My Surgeon had set up the appointment while at her office on Friday - which I thought was pretty quick to get in to see him (or her!) since I was a new patient of both of them. And, remember, it was my very first OBGYN visit - ever!.
At my OBGYN appointment he looked over the ultrasound results of my hemorrhagic cyst and said that he would not need to operate, but that because I would need the operation done on my hernia, he would coordinate with my surgeon so that he could be there to take a look at it. So, the only time they could make their schedules work together was late May. I am now scheduled for that procedure on May 29th (my mom's 83rd birthday!)
First, let me say that nearly a year ago I had asked my general practice doctor, Dr. M., who, knowing what my goal was - that I wanted to get pregnant and have a biological child of my own at such a late age - what OBGYN she might refer me to who would have empathy - an understanding - towards my trying to attain my dreams and who not only would avoid talking negatively to me, but, most importantly, be encouraging of my deeply held desire?
She had thought on it then and had told me this particular doctors name (although I never ended up going to him until now - when I had to!). I had asked her why she felt he would be the right OBGYN for me and she replied simply, "Because I know that he is a man of faith, so believing in miracles may be more likely to be in the realm of his thinking."
I have been blessed over these past, three plus, years to have put together what I considered an amazing team - Primary Care doctor, counselor, chiropractor, acupuncturist, neuropsychiatrist, Biofeedback Specialist, Naturopathic doctor, cranial-sacral therapist - because each one of these specialized health practitioners - even though I went to many of them originally concerning my chronic nausea - once I shared with them my hopes and dreams for having a biological child of my own, ever spoke negatively to me about my dreams, never gave me anything but the best they could provide to keep my dreams alive, for as long as possible, in the hopes of helping me attain what they knew to be my heart's desire.
Even the doctor at the clinic in Chicago who, at least at that time - 2009 - was the only fertility specialist, who I could locate in the whole country, that would take on a patient as old as me - just two weeks shy of my 46th birthday - to retrieve eggs for freezing, albeit with the dutiful obligation of telling me the likely dismal statistical outcome of such an endeavor, and that I would be lucky to have even one or two viable eggs retrieved.
But after stating to him my understanding of the undertaking, the high costs and the quoted, 1% odds of success, I simply told him, with the clarity of someone who had been to the future and had come back to report on it (though, of course, at the time, it was just simple, pure chutzpah on my part... and I say, "at the time" because what I have come to learn about myself in these past few years is that, what I had deemed, at times, to be my deceptively "bold courage" and vivid imagination, has more often turned out to be more like "visions" of the possible), that I would be in that 1%!
He laughed at my audacity, but never said anything other than he would do his best for me... and he did... he retrieved six mature eggs, two immature ones, and the one that was near and dear to my heart, a germinal vessel cell (my vision - looking out into the future - of what that type of cell could one day possibly allow for. I remember, just before the anesthesiologist put the mask over my nose and mouth, asking the doctor to make sure he retrieved any germinal vessel cells. At that last moment, he questioned why I would want him to retrieve something that wasn't viable and I told him firmly, "Just do it! It may not seem viable now, but my vision goes far beyond this moment." And I heard him reply back, "If you have a baby from a germinal vessel cell at your age, I'll write a paper for the Journal of Medicine!" "Promise me you'll do it?" were my last words, and before I drifted off to the place of non-remembrance, I heard him say, "I promise, if I can get them, I will." And he did.
However, getting back to the nearer present, more occurred during my recent (and first!) OBGYN visit.
First, the good news: I had asked my GP, Dr. M., to send to him my most recent hormone levels (she had told me they were better than the last time I had them checked - she checks them pretty regularly - but I wanted the OBGYN to explain them in baby-making terms! So, he looked over my hormone levels and said they looked good. He told me, "With your hormone levels as they are you are capable of getting pregnant. That isn't to say you will get pregnant, but that there isn't anything to say you couldn't." I didn't say, "Wow!" out loud, but, believe me, that is how I felt!
All I'm trying to do is stay "in the game" for as long as I possibly can, and having him telling me I am capable of getting pregnant at 49 1/2 years old is still being "in the game!" He also re-affirmed, as my neuropsychiatrist had told me, that, yes, I probably did not have my last period because of the high level of steroids that were pumped into my system when I had my anaphylactic shock ER visit, and the steroids I was on for the week following, as that would definitely have thrown all of more hormones completely out of whack. I have to say, that was a relief for me to hear, as I had yet to have another period and I did not know where I was in my cycle.*
Then, the not so good news: he did a breast examination and found a lot of cyst in both my right and left breasts.
I wrote in a post entry around August of last year that I was having pain in my right breast so I had a mammogram and sonogram done. They showed that I had more than ten cysts in each breast of varying sizes, one in the right breast being of the most concern - it was bigger and had unknown particles floating inside it and fluid around it. So, I went back six months later - (I did take some herbs from my Chinese doctor, tried to be more consistent on my vitamin E intake (and doubled it) and just remained off caffeine (which I had gone off years ago) - to get an another ultrasound done of that more complicated cyst in my right breast.
The ultrasound tech messed up (I even asked her if she was making a mistake and she said, no!) and took the ultrasound of my left breast. So, of course she goes off to show it to the radiologist and he tells her it's the wrong breast, she was supposed to do the right one. So, when she comes back to tell me that, I'm not at all surprised. As a matter of fact, I was kind of glad she messed up (and maybe that's why didn't insist to her more that she was!) because I now knew from that ultrasound that all of the cysts in my left breast were gone - so good news there. Then after doing the right breast, and showing it to the radiologist, I was told that the one which was the "concerning" cyst had shrunk quite a bit in size, and all the others were gone, so that was good to hear, also, but they still wanted to keep monitoring that right breast cyst because of the unknown particles in it. The appointment was set for six months later (which will be in August and at that time they'll do another mammogram and ultrasound).
Anyway, getting back to the OBGYN he said he felt the cysts and he said he felt a lump, too. Good, grief, I thought, what the hell else do I need piled on top of my already seemingly over-whelming health issues?
So, that Thursday I did have my appointment with Dr. M. and I told her I wanted her to do the breast exam, too (I'm not good at doing them... I don't know what I'm feeling for - probably because I tend to have cysts and so I can never seem to tell what is okay or not! Really, they should do a breast exam class like they do CPR classes... get out a life size "dummy" and let the woman feel the breast of different dummies so that they can understand what feels like a cyst and is okay and what feels like a real lump that needs immediate attention!) She did do the breast exam, and she said she did feel all of the cysts, but that she didn't feel a lump. However, then, two weeks ago now, I was her last patient of the day and I think she was already running late for something, so I felt like she may have been in a hurry at the end. I'm going to ask her to do another exam of my breast at this Thursday's appointment so I can feel more assured of her findings.
So, to make a short story long (as I seem often to do!), if it's not one thing it seems like it's another, but it is also true, that with some bad news, came some good news. I guess, health-wise, I'm stalled (and probably that goes for my life in general), but being stalled sure as hell beats going backwards!
*I will talk on this more specifically in a following post.
I did want to tell of what has been happening regarding my health issues. I met with the OBGYN on the Monday morning after my Surgeon's visit on Friday. My Surgeon had set up the appointment while at her office on Friday - which I thought was pretty quick to get in to see him (or her!) since I was a new patient of both of them. And, remember, it was my very first OBGYN visit - ever!.
At my OBGYN appointment he looked over the ultrasound results of my hemorrhagic cyst and said that he would not need to operate, but that because I would need the operation done on my hernia, he would coordinate with my surgeon so that he could be there to take a look at it. So, the only time they could make their schedules work together was late May. I am now scheduled for that procedure on May 29th (my mom's 83rd birthday!)
First, let me say that nearly a year ago I had asked my general practice doctor, Dr. M., who, knowing what my goal was - that I wanted to get pregnant and have a biological child of my own at such a late age - what OBGYN she might refer me to who would have empathy - an understanding - towards my trying to attain my dreams and who not only would avoid talking negatively to me, but, most importantly, be encouraging of my deeply held desire?
She had thought on it then and had told me this particular doctors name (although I never ended up going to him until now - when I had to!). I had asked her why she felt he would be the right OBGYN for me and she replied simply, "Because I know that he is a man of faith, so believing in miracles may be more likely to be in the realm of his thinking."
I have been blessed over these past, three plus, years to have put together what I considered an amazing team - Primary Care doctor, counselor, chiropractor, acupuncturist, neuropsychiatrist, Biofeedback Specialist, Naturopathic doctor, cranial-sacral therapist - because each one of these specialized health practitioners - even though I went to many of them originally concerning my chronic nausea - once I shared with them my hopes and dreams for having a biological child of my own, ever spoke negatively to me about my dreams, never gave me anything but the best they could provide to keep my dreams alive, for as long as possible, in the hopes of helping me attain what they knew to be my heart's desire.
Even the doctor at the clinic in Chicago who, at least at that time - 2009 - was the only fertility specialist, who I could locate in the whole country, that would take on a patient as old as me - just two weeks shy of my 46th birthday - to retrieve eggs for freezing, albeit with the dutiful obligation of telling me the likely dismal statistical outcome of such an endeavor, and that I would be lucky to have even one or two viable eggs retrieved.
But after stating to him my understanding of the undertaking, the high costs and the quoted, 1% odds of success, I simply told him, with the clarity of someone who had been to the future and had come back to report on it (though, of course, at the time, it was just simple, pure chutzpah on my part... and I say, "at the time" because what I have come to learn about myself in these past few years is that, what I had deemed, at times, to be my deceptively "bold courage" and vivid imagination, has more often turned out to be more like "visions" of the possible), that I would be in that 1%!
He laughed at my audacity, but never said anything other than he would do his best for me... and he did... he retrieved six mature eggs, two immature ones, and the one that was near and dear to my heart, a germinal vessel cell (my vision - looking out into the future - of what that type of cell could one day possibly allow for. I remember, just before the anesthesiologist put the mask over my nose and mouth, asking the doctor to make sure he retrieved any germinal vessel cells. At that last moment, he questioned why I would want him to retrieve something that wasn't viable and I told him firmly, "Just do it! It may not seem viable now, but my vision goes far beyond this moment." And I heard him reply back, "If you have a baby from a germinal vessel cell at your age, I'll write a paper for the Journal of Medicine!" "Promise me you'll do it?" were my last words, and before I drifted off to the place of non-remembrance, I heard him say, "I promise, if I can get them, I will." And he did.
However, getting back to the nearer present, more occurred during my recent (and first!) OBGYN visit.
First, the good news: I had asked my GP, Dr. M., to send to him my most recent hormone levels (she had told me they were better than the last time I had them checked - she checks them pretty regularly - but I wanted the OBGYN to explain them in baby-making terms! So, he looked over my hormone levels and said they looked good. He told me, "With your hormone levels as they are you are capable of getting pregnant. That isn't to say you will get pregnant, but that there isn't anything to say you couldn't." I didn't say, "Wow!" out loud, but, believe me, that is how I felt!
All I'm trying to do is stay "in the game" for as long as I possibly can, and having him telling me I am capable of getting pregnant at 49 1/2 years old is still being "in the game!" He also re-affirmed, as my neuropsychiatrist had told me, that, yes, I probably did not have my last period because of the high level of steroids that were pumped into my system when I had my anaphylactic shock ER visit, and the steroids I was on for the week following, as that would definitely have thrown all of more hormones completely out of whack. I have to say, that was a relief for me to hear, as I had yet to have another period and I did not know where I was in my cycle.*
Then, the not so good news: he did a breast examination and found a lot of cyst in both my right and left breasts.
I wrote in a post entry around August of last year that I was having pain in my right breast so I had a mammogram and sonogram done. They showed that I had more than ten cysts in each breast of varying sizes, one in the right breast being of the most concern - it was bigger and had unknown particles floating inside it and fluid around it. So, I went back six months later - (I did take some herbs from my Chinese doctor, tried to be more consistent on my vitamin E intake (and doubled it) and just remained off caffeine (which I had gone off years ago) - to get an another ultrasound done of that more complicated cyst in my right breast.
The ultrasound tech messed up (I even asked her if she was making a mistake and she said, no!) and took the ultrasound of my left breast. So, of course she goes off to show it to the radiologist and he tells her it's the wrong breast, she was supposed to do the right one. So, when she comes back to tell me that, I'm not at all surprised. As a matter of fact, I was kind of glad she messed up (and maybe that's why didn't insist to her more that she was!) because I now knew from that ultrasound that all of the cysts in my left breast were gone - so good news there. Then after doing the right breast, and showing it to the radiologist, I was told that the one which was the "concerning" cyst had shrunk quite a bit in size, and all the others were gone, so that was good to hear, also, but they still wanted to keep monitoring that right breast cyst because of the unknown particles in it. The appointment was set for six months later (which will be in August and at that time they'll do another mammogram and ultrasound).
Anyway, getting back to the OBGYN he said he felt the cysts and he said he felt a lump, too. Good, grief, I thought, what the hell else do I need piled on top of my already seemingly over-whelming health issues?
So, that Thursday I did have my appointment with Dr. M. and I told her I wanted her to do the breast exam, too (I'm not good at doing them... I don't know what I'm feeling for - probably because I tend to have cysts and so I can never seem to tell what is okay or not! Really, they should do a breast exam class like they do CPR classes... get out a life size "dummy" and let the woman feel the breast of different dummies so that they can understand what feels like a cyst and is okay and what feels like a real lump that needs immediate attention!) She did do the breast exam, and she said she did feel all of the cysts, but that she didn't feel a lump. However, then, two weeks ago now, I was her last patient of the day and I think she was already running late for something, so I felt like she may have been in a hurry at the end. I'm going to ask her to do another exam of my breast at this Thursday's appointment so I can feel more assured of her findings.
So, to make a short story long (as I seem often to do!), if it's not one thing it seems like it's another, but it is also true, that with some bad news, came some good news. I guess, health-wise, I'm stalled (and probably that goes for my life in general), but being stalled sure as hell beats going backwards!
*I will talk on this more specifically in a following post.
Wednesday, May 1, 2013
Blessings in Disguise
"Magic is believing in yourself, if you can do that, you can make anything happen." ~ Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Last night I was watching, Call the Midwife, a television show on PBS.org. It is now Season 2 of the series (of which I can not recommend highly enough!) and I was watching Episode 4 on my laptop. The show is a period piece set in the East End of London around the 1950's. It is very common that I cry while watching it.
I cry so often, because it so strongly, yet simply, shows the everyday struggles of people living the lives they were born to live; the joys, the pains, the tenderness, the heartache... it shows life - in all its forms - good and bad. And it shows the humanity of life... given and received.
And usually my crying starts at the end of the show, when the narrator of the story - the main character who is now old and looking back on her life - shares what insights and wisdom she has gained from the naive, young girl she once was, so very long ago.
In this particular episode, when hope was taken away, but through the grace of love, given back to a young couple, my tears started to flow, and flow so profusely that I had to pause the show to go get tissues to cry into.
I couldn't stop my crying because my heart was aching. These past few days have been so trying for me - to learn of these new problems I will have to overcome (I will write more on that in my next post) on top of the ones I already have. I feel overwhelmed by Life and what it is presenting me with, and in need of solace, because my dreams - of being married and having a child of my own - are still held so strongly in my heart.
As I so often do when I get to this place of doubt, and worry and fear, I ask God and my angels to give me a clear and understandable "sign," one that I will recognize as telling me to keep believing, keep having faith in my dreams coming true.
So, after having just asked for a "sign" I took the box of tissues back to my room - all the while continuing to cry into them - and I pressed the play icon to continue the last few minutes of the show.
I watched these last minutes and as the show was coming to its close, the narrator began speaking. I listened to her tell of what she now knew. And after she had finished I felt the strong need to write at least some of what she had spoken of, so I once again paused the show to find paper and pen. But now, because I had gone past the point of the beginning of her narration, I had to try to find the point it was of when she started it. So, I try to go back and find that point and when I do, and press play again, a box pops up on my screen with a time, and every other second blinks in front of me. If I remove my cursor off the screen the box would disappear, but even as I continued pausing (to get the words said, written down) the box would pop up the same way it originally had.
No matter how many more minutes the show progressed forward, and how many times I pressed pause and then play, the box had the same time shown. I'm not sure why the box read as it did because, as I said, at this point, I am close to the show's end. But, even as I write what I hear the narrator say, and even as I have to find my way back to the place of the last words she had spoken to continue writing the thought she was expressing, the box pops up and the same time is on it. And do you know what that time was? It was 4:44 - the significance of which I explained previously in my post - Quick!
Anyway, what the narrator had said at at the show's ending, and which I had felt I wanted to write down, was, "Sometimes in life one has to take a chance. Without risk there is no possibility. Without potential loss, no prize"
And, I have to say, that after just minutes before, having asked God and my angels for a "sign" to help keep me hopeful. Those words spoken to me, at that moment, as well as this peculiar box reading 4:44 popping up (and flashing!), made me know that what I had asked for, had been answered. And what I needed, had been given: faith.
Below is a screenshot of what I was talking of when I said a box popped up as I searched, and then again, re-searched for the place I needed to be in order to write down what I wanted (needed) to hear. And as I said, no matter how many minutes passed by after that, and you can see, in the lower, left corner of the box, the time I went back to restart the show, and then further below that, the "real time" that was progressing, and yet that top number, 4:44, in the upper right corner, remained the same.
Some computer savvy person might understand why this happened, but for me, who is not computer savvy, it didn't really matter, because to me, it was "out of the norm," a "mystery " and "unusual," all of which for me, are ways that I perceive "signs."
And I know, I feel, that I am blessed...
Last night I was watching, Call the Midwife, a television show on PBS.org. It is now Season 2 of the series (of which I can not recommend highly enough!) and I was watching Episode 4 on my laptop. The show is a period piece set in the East End of London around the 1950's. It is very common that I cry while watching it.
I cry so often, because it so strongly, yet simply, shows the everyday struggles of people living the lives they were born to live; the joys, the pains, the tenderness, the heartache... it shows life - in all its forms - good and bad. And it shows the humanity of life... given and received.
And usually my crying starts at the end of the show, when the narrator of the story - the main character who is now old and looking back on her life - shares what insights and wisdom she has gained from the naive, young girl she once was, so very long ago.
In this particular episode, when hope was taken away, but through the grace of love, given back to a young couple, my tears started to flow, and flow so profusely that I had to pause the show to go get tissues to cry into.
I couldn't stop my crying because my heart was aching. These past few days have been so trying for me - to learn of these new problems I will have to overcome (I will write more on that in my next post) on top of the ones I already have. I feel overwhelmed by Life and what it is presenting me with, and in need of solace, because my dreams - of being married and having a child of my own - are still held so strongly in my heart.
As I so often do when I get to this place of doubt, and worry and fear, I ask God and my angels to give me a clear and understandable "sign," one that I will recognize as telling me to keep believing, keep having faith in my dreams coming true.
So, after having just asked for a "sign" I took the box of tissues back to my room - all the while continuing to cry into them - and I pressed the play icon to continue the last few minutes of the show.
I watched these last minutes and as the show was coming to its close, the narrator began speaking. I listened to her tell of what she now knew. And after she had finished I felt the strong need to write at least some of what she had spoken of, so I once again paused the show to find paper and pen. But now, because I had gone past the point of the beginning of her narration, I had to try to find the point it was of when she started it. So, I try to go back and find that point and when I do, and press play again, a box pops up on my screen with a time, and every other second blinks in front of me. If I remove my cursor off the screen the box would disappear, but even as I continued pausing (to get the words said, written down) the box would pop up the same way it originally had.
No matter how many more minutes the show progressed forward, and how many times I pressed pause and then play, the box had the same time shown. I'm not sure why the box read as it did because, as I said, at this point, I am close to the show's end. But, even as I write what I hear the narrator say, and even as I have to find my way back to the place of the last words she had spoken to continue writing the thought she was expressing, the box pops up and the same time is on it. And do you know what that time was? It was 4:44 - the significance of which I explained previously in my post - Quick!
Anyway, what the narrator had said at at the show's ending, and which I had felt I wanted to write down, was, "Sometimes in life one has to take a chance. Without risk there is no possibility. Without potential loss, no prize"
And, I have to say, that after just minutes before, having asked God and my angels for a "sign" to help keep me hopeful. Those words spoken to me, at that moment, as well as this peculiar box reading 4:44 popping up (and flashing!), made me know that what I had asked for, had been answered. And what I needed, had been given: faith.
Below is a screenshot of what I was talking of when I said a box popped up as I searched, and then again, re-searched for the place I needed to be in order to write down what I wanted (needed) to hear. And as I said, no matter how many minutes passed by after that, and you can see, in the lower, left corner of the box, the time I went back to restart the show, and then further below that, the "real time" that was progressing, and yet that top number, 4:44, in the upper right corner, remained the same.
Some computer savvy person might understand why this happened, but for me, who is not computer savvy, it didn't really matter, because to me, it was "out of the norm," a "mystery " and "unusual," all of which for me, are ways that I perceive "signs."
And I know, I feel, that I am blessed...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)