Drift

Drift.
I don't know if I will ever 'just be'.  
Everyday feels like a struggle—an exhaustive, up hill, draining, unproductive time.  
Can I commit to anything?  
I'm pausing already—typing is even like running a marathon for me.  
Why do I feel this way? 
I feel so fake.  
Who am I?  
I have no idea.  
I'm terrible at moving forward.  
Achieving coping skills that work continuously—when will I be successful?  
Is this self-pity?  
Is this depression?  
Is this my failed physical health?  
Is it my daily self-loathing?  
Never worthy.  
My insides feel decayed.  
Where am I?  
Lost in all my pain.  
Troubled.  
How do I fix my life!?  
Alone.  
An actress is what I am.  
I hate myself.  
Things weren't supposed to be this way—turn out this way.  
Let me drift...

Tyla

Thank you Sarah Henderson

I just stumbled upon this blog called Writing for Recovery.  Inspirational.  I could use that right now more than ever.  I look forward to reading all of her poems and writings and gather strength from her motto, "say the unsayable".
http://writingforrecovery.wordpress.com/

Honorable Woman
I am an honorable woman
I live in an authentic way
Honesty suits me well
You can trust that I mean what I say
I am an honorable woman
I know when to walk away
To not take less than I deserve
If it’s not right than I won’t stay
I am an honorable woman
I am loyal to those close to my heart
Love is what gives life its meaning
Even when we are apart
I am an honorable woman
I hold myself in respect
I treat others how I wish to be treated
I never abuse or neglect
I am an honorable woman
I’m accountable for my actions
I’m responsible for my part
Of my personal interactions
I am an honorable woman
I stand up for what I believe
I want to change the world
And I don’t think that is naive
I am an honorable woman
I have faith that things will work out
I believe that God’s on my side
Even when I am in doubt
I am an honorable woman
I work as hard as I can
To maintain the standards I hold
I will not be controlled by a man

I am an honorable woman
I have a powerful voice
I use it without holding back
To proclaim my freedom of choice
I am an honorable woman
My love is both tender and fierce
I will love through pain and desire
I will love through laughter and tears
I am an honorable woman
Who continues to learn and to grow
I am an honorable woman
And should be regarded as so
© Sarah Henderson 2010

Pre-Second Opinion Appointment with Neurosurgeon

I'm feeling rather nervous.  It's been near 18 months now that I've been with a left, numb leg, an absent front, foot push-off, no reflex and living in chronic back pain daily.

I am reaching for strength and hope that my fate will be of a good nature when I meet with another neurosurgeon on October 4, 2012.  I've never in my life had to seek a second opinion.  It feels stressful and coated in a thick paste of the unknown.

My first appointment in August of 2011, with the surgeon that did my first back surgery, a discectomy/laminectomy back in July of 2009, dismissed me in five minutes, stating to me that there was nothing she could do surgically.  Even after I told her I'm dosed with pain medications, attending physiotherapy, massage therapy, and chiropractor; tried ultrasound, shockwave, heat, acupuncture, and yoga; purchased orthotics, a stability belt, ergonomic chair, therapy ball chair, and lumbar chair supports.  As well, I had no sexual function for seven months after my near fall in April of 2011. 

She read the MRI report briefly, examined me briefly, and said it's fibrosis, which is scar tissue; here try neural flossing with your physiotherapist and here's a recommendation to your family doctor to refer you to a pain management specialist for epidural nerve block injections.

Needless-to-say, I was devastated leaving her office in tears.  Where do you go from there when you're in pain everyday?  I disagree entirely that my issue is scar tissue because I was 20 months post-operation and was doing great until the near fall in April 2011.  Scar tissue forms in the first six to 12 weeks following surgery.  I had no issues until I jolted my back that Friday right before Easter long weekend, which put me in bed for seven days.  My CT scan clearly showed a recurrent disc herniation and inflammation.  I had no numbness, tingling, sharp pains in my leg and foot until that jolt.  I was a surgery success story.  I continued on pain meds and the various coping treatments including the neural flossing, which had no fix results whatsoever.

In May of 2012, after far too much sitting in my office chair hunched over the keyboard (computer job-life is going to be the death of me), I just couldn't take the pain anymore.  The inflammation was at its worst.  I felt like I'd been in a car accident and was pushing old-age.  I would come home from the office to put my housecoat on and retreat to my heating pad in my bed when it was only 4:30 pm.  I had nothing left for my family.  I hadn't cooked in nearly nine months.  I had told myself that when the one year mark approached, April 2012, I would either accept this life or do something about it.  Well, at 42 years old, I couldn't bend over and stay like this.  Pain, pain every day!  Not able to work!  Not even able to walk with a proper gait, having gainned near 20 pounds of fat!  No, I am not going to stay like this !  WTF! 

So, as the second opinion day approaches I'm not sure how to prepare.  I will be much more assertive this time around, tearing down whatever roadblocks may breach my goal.  Yes, I know my place.  I'm at the mercy of this surgeon. 

My feelings haven't been all warm and fuzzy about him either.  For starters, my family doctor made the referral in February of 2012, via fax.  Four months went by with no response.  The fax was faxed again in May.  I finally received a phone call from the surgeon's secretary in July.  My appointment was set for September 12, 2012.  I asked her if written correspondence would be sent by mail confirming the appointment.  Snarly, she said, "no, you'll have to write it down."  Obviously, I was writing it down, but it did seem unprofessional that proof of the appointment wouldn't be provided.  I would have liked to provide that to my employer since I was off work due to my back, and it would be helpful to substantiate that I was pursuing trying to get some relief. 

Disappointingly, I was notified on September 8th, that the surgeon was going to be away for two-weeks and my appointment was rescheduled to October 4, 2012.  This was left on my answering machine with no written correspondence.  Thankfully, no one in the household erased or forgot to tell me about this message.  In the least, I was not too happy, but again there's nothing you can do.  You don't want to piss off a surgeon that you've been waiting to see for nine months.  Well, again on Friday, September 28th, I got a phone call notifying me that my appointment was now reschedule from 11:30 am to 3:30 pm, the same day.  My heart sank as I was anticipating another date change!  I was thankful, once again, that it was only the time.  I called the surgeon's office confirming that I would be there.  So, I kind of already don't care for this surgeon or his staff.  People are in pain and waiting for you to make them feel better.  And what's with always notifying people on a Friday?!  I'll talk about this business of 'Friday notifications' in anther post. 

I opted not to try the epidural nerve block injections for several reasons.  Firstly, in my city there is only one pain management clinic and it is run by one anastegeologist, who I have heard from several different and reliable sources to not let him touch me.  Also, from my research, these types of injections are very shortlived for pain relief, if it works for you, and injections into the spine can cause more scar tissue.  I didn't even get an epidural when I was in labour with my son.

I will bring with me all DVD MRI and CT scans, and medical reports to support my reasons for wanting surgery.  Needing.  Needing surgery.  I believe, I have made every effort and exhausted all alternative pain relief resources and methods.

I'm presently, also on a waiting list to work with an occupational therapist, but we have none locally in private practice, so I'm waiting to see one at our local hospital and the waiting list goes by triage.  I've been waiting since July 2012.

Please help me dear second opinion surgeon.  I am not able to work because sitting kills me.  I don't want to live like this.  The pain makes me want to just reach for sleep because when you sleep you feel no pain, same with when you are dead, but I don't want to die.

Tyla

The Day After The Big Tell

la·ment/ləˈment/

Noun:	A passionate expression of grief.
Verb:	Mourn (a person's loss or death).
Synonyms:	noun.  lamentation - wail - plaint - mourning - moan - elegy verb.  mourn - wail - moan - bewail - bemoan - weep - deplore

More info »Wikipedia - Dictionary.com - Answers.com - Merriam-Webster

This is how I feel today.  I thought I would feel a sense of 'free', but no, I do not.  If I think this through, which I didn't, I wasn't thinking at all when I blurted out "I was a victim of sexual abuse for five years by my brother!"  "Yes, my first sexual experiences were with my brother through incest!"  I wasn't prepared for my husband's reaction whatsoever.  

Advice to all survivors; no victims-- I really want to say victims because that's the reality; I was a victim, at the time.  I still feel like a victim, but I know I've survived for the most part.  Yes, emotionally I am still terribly bruised and yes, still feel physical affects as well, like headaches, nauseous and fatigue.  Back to my advice, one should contemplate in their mind what the other person's reaction may be, so that you have a plan of how to respond, react and deal with this event of "the big tell". 

We all have a "big tell", no matter the secret; that one person who we just couldn't/can't/won't, would rather die tell.  Whether it is mother, father, clergy, doctor, best friend, partner, spouse, co-worker, therapist, we all have difficulty with one certain person, the most.  For me it took over 20 years to tell my husband, which I just did yesterday during a heated discussion about our relationship or lack of it. 

So, I'm here today, alone at home (sigh), a day I had a list of things I was going to attempt to achieve and I find myself back in bed on my heating pad on the net.  Yes, I got up ambitiously, got dressed, even made a Buttermilk, Blueberry Breakfast Cake (Pintrest!) http://www.alexandracooks.com/2011/06/29/buttermilk-blueberry-breakfast-cake/comment-page-18/#comment-86247, for my son before he caught the school bus school.  Yeah, for super Mom, retch, I'm so fake, as I waste the day away...guilt, guilt.

Funny, how my mind's closet can have its compass go in all directions during such a major, serious post!  I'm experiencing a type of 'letdown' it seems.  To hold a demon vaulted inside of you for 20 years and finally I expose this "disgusting, shameful, what will he think of me now", confession results in leaving me feeling cheated of relief.  Why?  One for the therapist there. 

Can anyone relate?  Please share with me your experience because I'm so confused.

Yes, I'm now just over one year into my psychotherapy, which obviously has helped me, but I have a ways to go yet.  I cold-turkeyed(sic) my anti-depressants over a month ago now.  I could tell she, my T, was very concerned about that, but I made a choice to 'feel'. 

 I've accepted the day after the big tell and I choose to cleanse my brain today by playing scrabble, which is better than turning to the bottle!  (Which I've never done).

P.S. If you're curious what my husband said to me visit me at https://twitter.com/mymindscloset

Tyla

Changing Me - Why?

Changing.  We all are forever changing.  Most of us are not even aware of our subtle changes.  Some people resist change, some embrace change and some don't give a dam either way. 

I'm not talking about technology, business trends, or food and packaging changes all surrounding our daily lives.  I'm talking about us, each of us how we change our thought process often.  How things that may happen in our lives cause us to alter our perspectives of things.

My latest changes that I'm trying to accomplish are:

• be a kinder person
• be more patient
• be less reactive
• gossip less
• stick to my boundaries

I feel myself slipping often and then feeling ashamed.  I considered myself a good, caring and honest person prior to my summer from hell.  So why do I feel strongly that I need to change?  I liked me.  I'm confused now. 

Personality changes are difficult to make in your forties.  Physical changes are so much easier.  No one is asking me to change.  Not my therapist, not my husband or child or my friends.  So called friends.  I don't really have any friends.  Just one. 

Does it make sense then to want to change yourself when no one is asking you to change?

Tyla

Raw Wounds Part II - 7 Days of Mind Torture

Today, I received in the snail mail a letter from our local regional hospital.  It was inviting me to attend a memorial service for my father and any other patients that died from April to September of 2011.  The letter was authored by the hospital reverend.

My dad didn't want a obituary announcement, a funeral service or anybody preachin' over him.  He felt that anybody who cares will already know.  He wished to be cremated immediately.  My sister who had been living with my father for a near decade shared this with me.

Sounds pretty straightforward and simple.  Absolutely not.  You would think so, but no. 

While my dad was in the hospital dying from his stroke my sister had this idea to have a 'Living Wake'.  I had never heard of such a thing.  She was very excited to plan this event that she kept referring to as a 'party'.  It will be good to have aunt so and so come and say goodbye and uncle tom, dick and harry were her motives.  When just the evening before she was sharing dad's wishes with me and then this idea - I was surprised and uncomfortable.  If I were dying, my breathing laboured, skin as white as snow, non responsive in any way whatsoever, the last thing I would want is practically strangers touching me and seeing me in this condition.  My father was an only child.  I felt this was a place for immediate family only - his children, grandchildren.  A time for us to have privacy and every last moment holding his still warm hand. I chose to not attendant this event.

My sister was in total control of all aspects when it came to my father's life and death legally, but due to her extensive 30 year weed addiction, I will say that she was totally out of control in mind and body.  It was disturbing and concerning to me.

I returned the following day to the hospital and everyday for those seven days and nights.  I endured the engrossed dysfunction of my mother and all my sibling,s except one who could not afford to fly here.  Nothing had changed in the 10 years since I had distanced myself from all of them.  Day after day my wounds ached and became more raw.  My mind was in a tortured standstill.  I held my head and didn't say much to anyone over these days.  I went to be with my dad who I hadn't seen more than twice in 10 years either.  Never was I given the courtesy of just a mere five minutes alone with him.  I would have whispered so many private things to him.  I was not granted these last moments.  I never and my father never did or said anything to hurt me.  I prayed that he would leave this world quickly because there was no hope.

My sister had carriage of his ashes and he wanted to rest at a lake he fished on.  No one contacted me after my father died.  It's like everything is the same.  So I didn't know when the cremains would be dealt with.  My therapist gave me homework to find out.  I obliged her.  I had no intention of going and suffering another moment around all of them again, ever.  I just wanted to know that it was done.  They did it three months later.  I would have like to have a small amount of my dad's cremains so I could have my own private closure, but I am powerless up against all of them.

Feeling like a victim once again.  Unimportant, forgotten and discarded.  Treated with no respect. 


Even though the hospital is hosting a religious memorial service, I feel this is my opportunity to reflect like a normal person.  It's at a hotel and not a church, so my dad would be okay with that. 

I miss him.  I have regrets.  My missing him started years ago, and now it is permanent.

Tyla

Shoe Therapy - Not an Alternative

Shoes, shoes, shoes.  I am mourning the loss of wearing a shoe with heel.  I'm not being humours here.  Genuinely, I am struggling with the loss of options in footwear. 

Most women understand that it is a fact that high heel, narrow toed shoes can cause physical health issues.  My particular back pain problems weren't caused by the wearing of high heels, but as a result I can no longer fashion a pretty heel.

I know it sounds vain.  I should be thankful to be walking at all.  Think positive.  I should be ashamed.  Shallow guilt is damaging.  I in no way have become an advocate against women elongating and slimming their legs with beautiful ornaments upon their sexy feet.  I loved how pretty shoes made me feel.  Just like a drink always taste better when sipped from a beautiful glass.

This article explains the possible effects of high heel wear.
http://www.ergonomicchair.org/news/21/When-High-Heels-Cause-Holy-Hell-in-Your-Back.html

A whole set of problems comes with accepting change even when it is footwear.  I have a 28 inch inseam, yeah, no joke that's it.  Tree trunks.  I buy jeans and dress pants in size 8 to 10 and they come with a 32 inch inseam.  I don't sew.  I shrink them and then would wear 2 to 3 inch heels.  My favourite, mini ankle boots.  This made my legs look so much longer.  So now I've had to find 30 inch inseams.  Awful.  Wow, look at my tree trunks!  Purchased four pairs of ballet flats.  They are difficult to walk in.  http://youlookfab.com/2010/03/18/how-to-fit-classic-dress-pants/

No more sexy. 

Cute.  Forty-something, and cute...sigh.

Some of you will say to me "don't sweat the small stuff", blah.  I'd rather worry about this than the horrible 'big stuff'.

Tyla

Last Year Everything was So Different