While I feel somewhat vain at times going into detail in the saga that is my life, my goal with these blogs, this book I'm writing (once again I will state - did not realize how hard this would be), is to help someone else out there, to make this suffering matter, so I'll continue to crank them out. I also need to express a mountain of gratitude to countless people, so here we go.
Since my last blog, a lot has changed. Short summation: I was not doing well. I think I try to act as if things are normal a lot of the time, in the hopes that things will change (hence me going through the painstaking effort to paint my face and do my hair every day anyway - and also, I just love makeup) on the inside, but as I have seen time after time, many things are simply outside of my control.
The G/J tube was in me, not working, and causing a ridiculous amount of pain. While I could take pain medicine (the very small amount I'm allowed per day) and sometimes allow myself to move off the recliner to outside, these events were few and far between. The majority of the time I have simply been laying here, in pain, in that weird limbo where, as I told my husband one night at my lowest, "I will not kill myself. But I cannot fucking live this way and I don't know what to do."
Despite the low moments, the hospitalizations, the surgeries, never once have I considered the possibility that I may be unable to work again. I am someone who loves my job more than you could possibly know. Never did I think being an academic advisor would have such an impact on my life, and as someone who, at a younger age, had nothing but big goals of climbing the law enforcement ladder, it may seem like a disappointment to switch to a desk job, but it truly ended up being my dream occupation. Working with drug courts made me realize my life goal was to help others in any way that I could and I'm able to do that as an advisor (specifically Criminal Justice - I mean could you get anymore win/win)? However, it was slowly creeping into my mind that I may be physically unable to do the job I love most ever again. If I can't even get off the recliner to go to the bathroom, how the hell am I supposed to get in a car and drive to work every day?
Plaguing the other side of my mind was this - how am I supposed to be a mother? I'm at home with my son who is constantly pulling on me, wanting to throw a ball, get on the floor with his trains, and I simply cannot play around with him, lift him, or do anything that falls under the category of being a parent. My husband is doing at all, and when he can't, my in-laws or my parents are. This was one of the hardest struggles of all - to my best friend who wrote me a letter about just this on a day I needed it most, you know who you are, and I love you.
I told my husband I could not have this tube anymore. This had nothing to do with me still being unable to accept the physical aspects of it; it was far too painful and never has it taken me five weeks to recover from an operation. And I'm a surgery pro at this point.
I nervously went to see my surgeon last Friday, July 9th, to let him know what was going on and he examined me in the office. He advised that the tube was incorrectly placed in my stomach, located too far under my rib cage, which can happen sometimes (I should note that my doctor did not place the tube himself - he would have probably knocked me out for that surgery, he knows what I can tolerate), and that it wouldn't be a long-term solution for me. Pulling it would be "easy," and he did it in the office. I screamed a few bad words when he did it, but thank God, that damn thing was gone. This tube was the reason I was stuck in the hospital for three weeks in the first place. Set fire to it, burn it, make a sacrifice.
He let me know that the best case scenario for me for nutrition at this point will be the PICC line, and I'll be permanently dependent on it from here on out. While this is not the ideal scenario, as PICC lines are at high risk for infection (they are a central line that run directly through your heart), it's what I'll have to live with, which I'm fine with at this point. Sure, the backpack is annoying, but I've gotten used to it. I'm planning on decorating it with tons of band stickers. Would you expect anything less of me?
Finally, the stomach removal. While my doctor could do it himself, he agreed with me and my family that it would be best to have it done at the Mayo Clinic in Jacksonville, FL, and knew of a couple of surgeons that would be best for my condition.
Listen, I'm a crazy, sarcastic, wild, funny, positive person. If there is one thing this year has made me, however, it's a damn pessimist. I left his office that day though, with this odd feeling - hope. I have not felt hope in so long. It's just a gut (maybe I should have used another term here, because that bastard is not trustworthy) feeling that things are going to be okay for the first time in a long time. I felt a sense of peace and let me tell you - I have not known peace in 2021.
I am still in an incredible amount of pain, but it's a pain I feel will go away. Get rid of this stupid stomach and we're good to go. I feel like I'm finally on the mend and things are going to be okay. I'll get to return to that person that I know I am, that job I love, that friend that's freaking nuts, and that mom who is a damn good one.
I overdid it Sunday by moving around too much and was a salty soul yesterday as I spent the day back in my trusty remote operated recliner getting up only when required. But that's okay, I'm allowed to be angry, and switching locations from my chair to a friend's chair for one day was worth it.
So thank you to those of you who have pulled me through, because it has not been easy. I am continuously shocked by the amount of social media messages, texts (and AUDIO), phone calls/FaceTimes (my personal favorite), and snail mail I have received. I genuinely mean this when I say that it has kept me going and a reason to fight. I'm an emotional mess and acts of kindness give me all the feels, so chances are I'm crying grateful tears when you don't even know it.
And to whoever sent me a record player - WHO ARE YOU?! WHY ARE YOU INCREDIBLE AND WHY MUST YOU BE A SECRET?! My Jack's Mannequin and 1975 records are sounding incredible and have been the soundtrack to my mornings.
Until Next Time....
Currently Listening to "The Resolution" - Jack's Mannequin
