#and then the hypochondriac in me is like…I had covid when she did and we had the same lingering symptoms so like. is my heart damaged too 🙂 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

harlowcomehome · 2 years

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In that case, I’d like to request a jack Harlow imagine where the reader has covid. Like she has like really bad headaches, feels very weak, and has chills? And Jack just takes care of her and is really sweet? Also I see you have a lot of emoji anons. Can I be 🪐?

“Covid and congestion.”

You woke up in the middle of the night, covered in sweat but you were shivering. You felt like you were sleeping in a walk in freezer. You had a gut feeling that you were sick, you had went to a pool party the other night at your friends house and ever since then you just felt off.

You had told Jack about it, but he did his best to calm you down, assuming you were just being a hypochondriac like usual. You snuck out of bed and walked into your kitchen, you had some at home covid tests left over from the last set you bought. You did your best not to wake Jack knowing he had a long day.

You swabbed yourself and waited in the living room for the results.

You had a few more minutes to wait when you heard footsteps behind you.

“Babe?” His voice was raspy and exhausted “what are you doing?”

He walked toward you and you motioned for him to stay where he was, he looked at you confused. “What’s wrong?”

You sighed “I think I have covid” motioning towards your test that was sitting on the kitchen table.

“Stay away from me” you said sternly and of course he didn’t listen.

“I’ve already been sleeping next to you” he shrugged, sitting next to you and rubbing your back for comfort.

“If I get you sick, I’ll never forgive myself” you coughed, clutching your chest.

“Let’s just see what the test says before we spiral” Jack teased, getting up to check your test for you.

When he turned, you could tell by the look on his face that you were positive.

“Holy shit, what do we do? Should I go stay somewhere else? I mean I can rent a hotel room away from you? I don’t know…” you started to panic.

“Baby, I’ve been sleeping next to you all week and I feel fine” he shrugged. “I think I’m immune or something” he just laughed and you looked at him with a annoyed look on your face. “You’ve got to be joking” you said with concern.

“Come here, I’m testing you” you said, opening another test and Jack groaned.

“I feel fine!”

You looked at him, giving him a look that made it clear it wasn’t an option.

“I’m not doing it myself” he folded his arms over his chest, annoyed.

You laughed, he was always a big baby when it came to stuff like this. You put a mask on and motioned for him to come over to you.

You swabbed him and of course he coughed over dramatically “Jack, stop it” you laughed, swabbing both nostrils. “It fucking tickles” he wiped his nose aggressively when you pulled the swab out and you just shook your head and laughed “you’re so over dramatic.”

When his results came back negative you were happy but still stressed about your living situation. “I can go get a room for a few days” you walked into your bedroom looking for a suitcase to pack things in.

“Why would you leave?” He watched as you walked around the room frantically.

“I’m not going to get sick” he shrugged, “just stay here.”

You looked up at him feeling defeated and low energy “babe…”

“Please” he begged “I’ll wear a mask or whatever you want me to do, I want to take care of you.”

“You can’t tell your label, they’ll kill me” you laughed.

He nodded “not so much you, definitely me though.”

He looked at you concerned, he could tell you felt weak.

“Do you need me to go get you anything specific?”

You shook you head as you slowly crawled back into bed, “actually, can you bring me another blanket? It’s cold in here.”

He left to get you a big blanket from the hall closet, and he covered you when he got back.

“I’m going to go to the store and get you some medicine” he kissed your forehead before leaving the room.

You remembered falling asleep but when you woke up you had no idea what time it was, considering the room was incredibly bright. You turned to the nightstand and saw that there was medicine and a coconut water. You looked for your phone and saw that Jack had text you to let you know he had a work meeting but he’d be back soon.

You took the medicine and drank the coconut water, you thought it was a random thing for him to pick himself. You text him questioning why coconut water, he responded right away

Soulmate💜: I googled things that help when you have Covid. Coconut water was on that list… weird right? 🙈

You laughed, he never used the monkey emoji until you started using it a lot, you always thought it was so cute to see the way you rubbed off on him.

Your chest felt heavy, you realized you couldn’t breathe that well which scared you, you tried to stand up so you could shower but you were instantly lightheaded. You crawled back into bed, trying your best to take short small breaths.

When Jack came back home, he heard you wheezing in the bedroom. He ran in quickly, you noticed he wasn’t wearing a mask “mask” you wheezed, staring at him concerned.

He grabbed one of the dresser and ran over to you “what do you need me to do?”

“Can you run…” you swallowed and he handed you his phone so you could type it out instead.

You asked him to run the shower so that the steam could help your congestion, he helped you walk to the bathroom and get undressed so that you could sit in the shower.

You noticed he was looking on his phone concerned, you coughed as you watched him.

“Get that shit out” he encouraged and you winced.

“Can you leave the bathroom? This isn’t sexy” you said weakly, spitting up phlegm.

He noticed you were trying to actually shower while sitting on the floor, he helped you wash you hair and body. You couldn’t even fight him on that, you didn’t have the energy.

“I’m not leaving you in here what if you pass out or something” he chewed on his lip, still slightly distracted by his phone.

“What are you doing on your phone?”

“I’’m trying to see if i can get CVS to doordash to us.”

You looked at him confused, the CVS closest to you was less than five minutes away, and he usually went to it for that specific reason.

He read your expression “you’re insane if you think I’m leaving you home alone again.”

“Jack you have interviews this week” you tried to stand up but couldn’t.

He shut the shower off, helping you stand.

“I don’t care” he mumbled “I’m worried about you, this shit could get really bad babe and you have asthma.”

You nodded, you knew he was right but you felt guilty keeping him from his career.

“Do you want anything to eat? I can doordash that too” he helped you get pajamas on and back into bed.

You sniffled, trying to hold back a cough. “I’m not hungry” you whined and he nodded. “You need to eat something though, soon okay?”

You nodded “babe can you get me a hair tie?”

He grabbed one off the dresser and did his best to put your hair up for you, you appreciated the effort and were way too tired to correct it any.

“You still feel okay?” You said with tears in your eyes.

“Yeah, I tested again this morning too” he smiled at you as he wiped away your tears, now staining your cheeks.

“Don’t cry, it’ll be okay” he traced your jawline with the back of his finger.

Soon after that you heard the door and Jack got up quickly to get everything.

He brought you a sinus inhaler, “lets try this and if this doesn’t work I’ll call around tomorrow for a nebulizer or something.” You could see the fear and worry in his eyes which worried you, you remembered the time you had an asthma attack in front of him, realizing he was probably concerned about that happening again.

Eventually you fell asleep, snoring instantly loud but Jack didn’t mind, he was just happy you were resting.

You only slept for two hours, waking up to a coughing fit. He was quickly by your side, rubbing you back and bringing you a bucket to spit in. “Sorry” you groaned, knowing what he was looking at was not attractive in the least bit.

“Don’t say sorry. I just want you to feel better” you realized his voice was small and sad, you wished you could’ve convinced him that things would be okay but you were starting to feel unsure yourself.

Your head felt heavy, you could’ve sworn you felt a heartbeat inside your skull.

You laid your head in your hands and groaned, “my head feels so heavy.”

“Its probably from coughing so much” he assured you and you nodded.

“Babe, you need to eat something” he mumbled as you laid back down.

“I can order soup, do you want chicken soup or something?”

You didn’t respond right away which sent him into a small panic, he shook you a little to make sure you were still breathing.

“Sorry, I just needed a second” you wheezed and he started chewing on his lip again nervously.

“I’ll take soup” you noticed his nervous tic, and he got on his phone again.

“Can I cuddle you? I’ll keep my stupid mask on” he mumbled and you laughed, making you break out into a coughing fit.

“Awww baby” he said as he scooted closer to you, you held out your arm, motioning for him to scoot even closer.

“I hate that you don’t feel good” he said sadly, playing with your loose pieces of hair.

“I’m freezing” you shivered into him, he realized you had a fever though. “You’re cold? You’re burning up.”

You nodded sniffling as you cuddled into him. “I’m scared you’ll still get sick” you pouted.

“I’ve been taking vitamins, I’m wearing a mask, I’ll be fine Y/N. Just focus on feeling better.” He wrapped a leg around you, which felt good considering he radiated so much heat.

You sniffled, “did you order the soup?”

He nodded and you cuddled into him while you waited.

Eventually the doorbell rang and Jack went to get your food, but he came in the room with flowers also.

You smiled at him, “you got me flowers?”

He nodded, setting them where you’d be able to see them.

“I know you can’t smell them” he laughed “but I thought you’d like to see them when you wake up from your naps.”

“I really do love you” you hummed, you watched him standing there with all the love and adoration you could muster in your eyes.

He smiled at you, he could tell you really meant it.

“I love you too.”

#jack harlow #jack harlow concepts #jack harlow blurb #jack harlow imagines #jack harlow x reader #jack harlow fanfic #🪐 anon

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tara-l-blackmore · 2 years

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Updates

Social Media and Online: Tiktok: I fought Tiktok and won. I told them they banned me due to discrimination, the likes of which they never even bother with when it comes to literal criminals and predators. I told them that to censor someone queer and neurodivergent was pure bigotry, and if they didn't do something about it, I would let everyone know. So they did something: they gave me my account back. Am I glad? Somewhat. I've stepped back from it a great deal due to what I discussed last time, instead focussing less online and more off social media, and that has been helping me greatly, both mentally and creatively. So there is a small victory.

Twitter: I am still fighting them on this one, especially when it comes to current events and why I was banned. They keep asking me to delete the tweet that made them suspend me, but whenever I mention I can't even get into my account to do so, they don't see the problem and have yet to even talk to me about it.

Photobucket: After almost 20 years of free service, Photobucket has decided to start charging their customers for access to their own photos. Not only that, the photos they once gave you access to and that you uploaded in trust are hidden behind a pay wall, and unless i subscribe for a monthly fee, I can't even save the photos and delete my account. I am currently still fighting this, and they have yet to give me a good reason why they have done this and why they won't even let me save my photos and leave.

COVID: Both Terry and I are still struggling with side-effects, even two months later, and as such, we've scheduled for the second booster shot. Everyone around me is saying how ridiculous it is that we need these shots, and I keep thinking, "You never had it, so how would you even know?" And 99/100 of the time, the person saying I'm being a hypochondriac either has never had COVID or isn't even vaxxed. You simply do not understand how bad it is until you have it. It's not just a "bad flu". This disease has consequences, one that has caused a global pandemic that everyone has decided to ignore, and I personally am not interested in dying because of someone else's ignorance.

Personal/Misc: Jenny: On June 29, a childhood friend's sister passed away suddenly of COVID-caused pneumonia and complications with diabetes. Her name was Jenny, and her sister is Julie. When I first heard, I sobbed my eyes out, despite never having had spoken to her in decades, nor her sister, even. This was due to two major reasons: grief, obvious grief, as she was only 40 (my sister Heather's age), but she was a mother of three children. And her death was so avoidable and needless and tragic. She was a firecracker, a tough and no-nonsense person, who took little shit but gave a great deal with a smile and a hug. She was a force of nature, fierce and loyal, and also kind. So to hear of her death in such a sudden way was heartbreaking. The second reason is more selfish: it reminded me that death can happen at any time, without any warning, and can take anyone and everyone I love. And because Jenny was also Heather's age, it's even more terrifying. (More on her in a moment.) I went to the memorial, terrified of being there and ready to leave in case I was not wanted or welcome, holding Terry's hand in my own. I walked in, looked around, and found Julie. Both of us were wearing masks, but it didn't matter. Our eyes met, and in silence, we broke the distance and hugged, hard, crying. From such a tragic loss, something else was reborn: a hopeful friendship, renewed, with Julie. Julie, who is married to her childhood love and a mother of two, who still has that orange hair but finally has meat on her bones, a beautiful fluff. I am of course wary, but I have some hope that our friendship will rebloom. I need a friend.

Family: Heather's pregnancy has bumped up early, meaning she will be giving birth to her second child, named Nicholas Basil, in a week. I am so happy and excited, but it seems to be that I am the only one. My mother is miserable about it. She thinks Heather is making a mistake having this baby, and is already blaming him for things when he isn't even born yet. She hates him, for being male, for existing aside Ellie, his older sister, and thinks he will destroy the family and cause Ellie to regress. She want "nothing to do with him," her own grandchild, because he was born late and a different sex. I told her off last week about this, but she doesn't care. I honestly hope she either grows up once he is born, or Heather tells her off, too. I love my mother, so very much, but I would support Heather if she were to disown Mom over this, over her own disowning of a literal foetus, including not allowing her into Ellie's life, anymore. Heather has that right, and if she's going to be nothing but a demon to my nephew, I don't want Mom near him or Ellie, either. She doesn't deserve to have a relationship with Ellie nor Heather if she persists in doing this. We're all worried and scared for Heather, as at 40, having her second kid will be very hard on her, which was another reason why I was so upset when Jenny died: it reminded me that Heather could, too. She could die giving birth to Nicholas, and then what? Nobody would love him, then, because they would blame him. But I would and will, specifically because of that. And I'm going to be his protector for the rest of my life, especially against his own grandmother. No grandchild should ever be treated that way. Ever. Least of all before he is even born!!

Marriage: I want to say things are well, and for the most part, they absolutely are: Terry continues to support and love me like always. But lately, sometimes, I feel distance between us. Our physical love has decreased a great deal, and while I usually am and able to label this under age, I'm also terrified it's something deeper, something hidden, something he doesn't want me to see or know. Or maybe I'm just projecting, thinking I am gross and unwanted because of my change in gender and looks. I'm not (just) a woman, anymore, and least of all the woman he married. I'm a genderqueer enby, fluctuating between what I see as a woman and something else, agender, undefined, and more and more, it's becoming the latter. I'm terrified that my changes and expressions of this are off-putting, and the fact that I am changing is turning him off of me. We barely are together like that once a month, and even though I know we're both on the ace spectrum, being who I am and having gone through what I have, I can't help but read more into this than I probably should. Maybe it's better not to, but I would rather be paranoid and catch something I missed than miss it completely. I just don't know or understand what is or isn't normal for relationships. Maybe comparison isn't such a good idea, as it's our relationship and thus one of a kind. I dunno. I just worry sometimes.

Writing: I haven't been writing much at all, and it's clearly hurting me. I have been getting great ideas for one of my series, but writing is slow. I'm not quite sure why, but as mentioned, once I stepped back for a bit and tried to prioritise, I've been mostly reading stuff, which in turn helps me imagine and think about my own words. Fanfic, usually a staple of my daily activities, has become dormant and almost dead, and several fanfics have been ended for those reasons. However, thankfully, I had a few breakthroughs over that time, so hopefully, I'm thinking that some of the fics I want to finish are now being worked on. I'm excited about it, but also worried it'll absolutely suck. I just need to write it, get it down, and not worry so much about it being perfect (write high, edit sober), because the worrying is holding me back, when instead I should just be writing, just to get the story out. Like I surmised, death is unpredictable and comes without any warning; my biggest fear is to die with all my stories unwritten or unfinished. I want to leave my nieflings something...

Personal: I'm lonely. I'm very lonely at times. I spend my days alone in my apartment, a very wonderful luxury, yes, but also isolating. I do have hopes with Julie, but past experience has warned me to be cautious and wary. I can't work, have no means of meeting people, and even when I do, whatever strikes up ends fast, because once people realise I'm autistic and mentally ill, they leave. I've spoken at length about this several times, only back then, I didn't know it was my autism that kept myself apart from most of the world. Now that I do, I lack the patience or effort to wait for long and see if a person is worth being my friend. And yes, that sounds cold and arrogant, and I do not care. I'm old and lonely and tired. I just want one person I can see and hug and talk to once and a while, to help and be helped by someone who not only likes me, but understands me, and I don't have the time or patience to work on friendships that are fake or only one-sided. It used to be that this person was my mom, but once I figured out my true gender and tried to talk to her about it, and was thus ridiculed and laughed at by her for it, I have since been unable to be my true self with her, anymore - especially when it comes to my future nephew, too. So I'm a lonely and sad housespouse who has no money to their name and nothing to show for their almost 40 years of life. Looking at myself that way, I can see why I have no friends. Maybe it's better I don't; I won't have to say goodbye.

That's all for now. Special shout out to @cypsiman2 for always sending me a kind word after a word-vomit like this post is, and I just wanted them to know that I appreciate them. Thank you.

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struggles-and-prose · 11 months

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Hypertention

So, since I was a wee girl lol, I've always had low blood pressure. Why ? Something to do with my heart disease that I still can't understand enough to explain, even after 30 years of being alive. :D Heck, even when I used to smoke, which is something known to make your blood pressure higher, I still had low blood pressure. It always made me prone to syncopes.

Since the beginning of the pandemic now, being an hypochondriac and having severe anxiety, it slowly started to normalise, which is good, right ? Well no, not exactly. It was slowly getting higher from all the stress, which looked like it was getting normal since it's was always at a low.

At that time, I didn't think anything more of it, until I finally got covid and was having palpitations. Again, having a heart disease and asthma, I didn't think much of it, since I thought it was just the virus doing it's thing to immunocompromised people.

The other day though, I was out with my BFF, and she needed to go to the pharmacy to get something. So we went, and I saw the blood pressure machine and thought, let's take our blood pressure for fun. Her's was normal, as for mine, it was slightly high. 140 over 80.

Now 80 is a normal diastolic BP. But 140, is a high systolic BP. Systolic is the pressure in your arteries when your heart beats, while diastolic is the pressure in your arteries when your heart rests between beats. How the fuck are they so spaced, I don't know, but still, that means I have a mild case of high blood pressure.

Being anxious all the time and it getting at an all time high lately, I don't worry too much. But my BFF is a bit though. I've never been one to worry too much about my health, knowing there's always something wrong with me. If I'd worry about everything that problematic with me, I'd probably be dead by now due to the overactive anxiety.

I only worry when it's giving me a hard time in the present moment, which is not. And people with anxiety are known to have a higher blood pressure than the average people. I'm not feeling ill or anything besides my usual state. Haven't had more trouble doing demanding and exhausting activities, I've always had problems in that area. The hike I did with my BFF last month was hell, and we had to stop several times, but I was expecting it.

Now, the thing is, my BFF is very dear to me. She isn't my BFF for nothing lol. So when she worries, I worry because I hate seeing her worried. That's a lot of worrying lol. So I'm torn between should I look into my blood pressure or should I not worry about it, making her understand that it's nothing to worry about. And at the same time, she's been with me through thick and thin since we've met over 10 years ago, and if I have to go through heart surgery, I don't know how she'll react. Probably be really worried and still be there for me as usual, but I don't like when she's like that.

None the less, I still avoid doctors because, I'm afraid of bad news. I know, it's fucking stupid, but anxiety doesn't always have to be logical. And heart surgery isn't something I want to go through, especially when I know that when something hard happens to me, I sink into a deeper depression every time, making it harder and harder to get back to normal, which I still haven't accomplished fully. I'm 30 (31 in July) and still have yet to come to terms with my mental health. And I hate being a burden to my loved ones, even if I know I already am.

Life is just so fucking annoying at times.

#canada #montreal #quebec #stress #mental health #mental illness #heart disease #hypertension #surgery #anxiety #immunocompromised

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catchester · 2 years

Video

youtube

Oh, this is interesting.

At about 52 minutes they talk about Genalyte, who's machine, the maverick, can do nearly 100 blood tests on less than a drop of blood (4% of a drop, apparently). It uses light to detect the presence of various proteins in the blood. They can do 95% of the most commonly ordered tests in 15 minutes.

I knew the micro tests Holmes was espousing would be available one day, technology is always shrinking, but I was thinking 10 years minimum, probably closer to 20 or 30 years for just small drops of f=blood.

Not that I’m unhappy with how the NHS is monitoring my health vis blood, I have blood drawn on Friday, oncology has the results by the end of the day, and any issues can be discussed before I get mhy next chemo dose on Monday.

But this is a machine I could use. Not only can it track my cancer markers (down to 107, from 1,700, yay!) this maverick machine could also keep track of my white blood cells, meaning it can detect illness, and even detect the exact infection in some cases (those listed on screen all seemed to be viral).

Right now I’m under orders to call the emergency helpline if my temperature rises even 1 degree but the truth is, you don’t always get a temperature. For normal people that’s fine, mean’s it’s just a glancing blow, but for the immunocompromised like me, I can’t recover from the common cold without medical intervention.

This really is a machine you could keep in your home. I wouldn’t buy one (I honestly think only those who are very unwell or hypochondriacs would buy one for their home) but I think this could be invaluable for some people. Those with for profit healthcare for example. With this machine you can (for some conditions) check if you really need to go to the doctor before booking an appointment.

It can check for anaemia, which I have. My red blood count hasn’t been above 100 in at least 6 months, and it only gets close to 100 with a transfusion. 120-150 is the normal range.

It can even differentiate between anaemia caused by low iron (mine, usually caused by blood loss, the chemo knocking out bone marrow probably isn't helping either) and anaemia caused by a B-12 deficiency (my sisters, commonly called pernicious anaemia).

It can check for HIV (I don’t have it, but I did have a family member die from it. I can see that regular testing could have given a bit more peace of mind to his carers.

It can tell you if you have covid, or SARS, or low testosterone.

It covers a broad base of conditions already, and I had no idea we could be this close!

But now I have to re-evaluate Elizabeth Holmes and Theranos. Was Elizabeth Holmes deluded? Overly ambitious? Did she think if she just believed hard enough, it would become reality?

Or was she an actual conwoman?

Visionary or not, proved right in the long run or not, I still think she was a sociopathic conartist.

Had she been open and honest about her progress, she would probably have been fine.

Instead I think was far more interested in being a “billionaire entrepreneur” more than she wanted to be an invented, or a disrupter. When she idolised and said she wanted to be the next Steve Jobs, she meant she wanted the hype around him, the hero worship. The cult of Theranos, sorry, I meant Apple.

So she told whatever lies she needed to in order to keep her image intact even although it was built on wet sand and sinking faster than a boat without a hull.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=to2GSibbrv0

#theranos #elizabeth holmes #fraud

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juuls · 3 years

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So the good news is I’m not dying (well, let’s give it another 50 or so years then check back on that 😋)

I told a couple people but mostly kept it between my dad and I; at least, I told him stuff before my besties because I’m a daddy’s girl and I wanted comfort and hugs and someone physical to cry on.

And okay, look, what I’ve been experiencing is nowhere near as bad as others have it, but this was the worst case of nauseating gastrointestinal distress I have ever experienced to the point I woke up at 3am this morning, threw up for the 10th day in a row, clutching at my upper abdomen and barely able to walk (no one else was around to help me get there). Anyway, no one wants cramps where they’re not supposed to be on women—felt like when I ruptured an ovarian cyst a few years ago along with kidney stones another time, just felt higher up the abdomen.

Two points about the personnel at hospitals and how people with fibromyalgia get treated. One bad, and one surprisingly good.

The triage nurse told me I shouldn’t be wasting hospital time (there was no else in the waiting room because it was goddamn 5am) and that all ‘normal visits’ should be conducted through general practitioners/family doctors. Never mind the fact that the 2018 census showed 241 doctors for every 100,000 people. Which is abysmal, and I’m so lucky to have the same one for 20 years now. Anyway I told her in a snippy tone (I get bitchy when people imply I’m a hypochondriac or wasting people’s valuable space and resources as a disabled person) that a) it currently takes 6 weeks to get an appt with my doctor and that’s why I book two months in advance, but am shit out of luck if something pops up between all that. Like, I get a d understand and take precautions with Covid. But like??? Sometimes people need to have their abdomen poked and prodded which…

Might actually save my life/or from a long recovery surgery, or a lifetime of having to plan his and grandma’s days around his (I’m now learning: hereditary— thanks grampy) disease. But yeah this female doctor in probably her late thirties comes in and actually TAKES ME SERIOUSLY. I did also start the meet and greet by expressing concern over her doing what countless others have done…. Blame it all on the Fibromyalgia (oh you have a concussion Tommy?? Keep playing, it’s just your fibro!” Bitch please. Anyway. She said she absolutely understood and would help me figure out what feelings were fibro, and which were abnormal for anyone. Reminds me of this tweet I found around this hellsite:

But I’m so grateful she listed and she actually ordered all the blood panels they have available at this rural hospital, took x-rays, did a physical exam… and after all that and the tests she semi-smiled at me and said “well it’s not fibromyalgia” and I about cackled.

But yeah, if you start throwing up for no reason for 10 days in a row (plus some other gross things I shall not mention), please go to the hospital. Apparently I have something fucked up going on in my large/small intestine and perhaps colon. She was worried enough about me, since they don’t have the tech there except x-rays, that she said she’d bully my do tor into seeing me sooner so he can arrange some, uh…. Well; some not bad; some uuuugh…. tests to figure out wtf is going on.

I didn’t even know what was going on! So hard to explain pain when you’re in pain every day. Bah. But she helped and had excellent bedside manners and took me seriously. One of the best feelings as a fibro patient.

Only problem with it not being fibro… is you only have deductive reasoning and tons of tests to do. She told me if I don’t vet these tests done, I could die from a rupture or whatever term she used. Though I do know what sepsis is! Yay! *rolls eyes*

I’m just glad I didn’t talk myself out of going to the ER, because I was worried it ‘wasn’t serious’ enough…. Yeah well, your body can lie to you! Jerk body.

So yeah now I have a plan of action, new medications to hopefully last me until the more thorough tests are conducted.

I don’t want to be (more) sick, but I’ve always believed in knowing what can happen to your body even if it’s a bad thing. And maybe we caught this early.

All I can ask for now is this, though: please please please no more upchucking every day, or at leat only for a few days.

God, it’s been a miserable 10 days, but I still somehow feel better. Knowing does that. :)

(P.S. I’m not intending this as a ‘woe is me’ thing because sometimes people do care about how their friends are doing, and also because I am a hug supporter of listening to your body and judging WHEN not IF you go to the doctor about it. I hope this post helps that attitude somewhat.)

Anywho, we’ll see how the tests do (whenever that may be, because of Covid) and treagmt with meds a d adjust food until I learn more.

Take care. Be safe. Stay well!!!! ❤️

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spectrumed · 3 years

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14. haircut

Allow me to brag for a moment. As a kid, whenever I would get a haircut, I would consistently get told by the person cutting my hair that I was the calmest kid they have ever had the fortune to give a haircut. Oh, yes. I was a calm kid. I knew qi. Qi knew me. I existed in harmony with nature, even back then. I was a special kid. I was a calm kid. A silent kid. A quiet kid. I didn’t hurt anyone. I didn’t throw tantrums. I didn’t take up too much space. If the person cutting my hair wanted me to look down, I’d look down. If they wanted me to turn my head left, I turned my head left. If they wanted me to turn my head right, I turned my head right. I didn’t complain. I didn’t act up. I knew what I expected from me. I knew the rules. I obliged. It was easy, after all. Not as if it took a lot of effort to do as they said. I’d get complimented for doing something so easy as following simple instructions. I was a good boy. I did as I was told. And I got my hair cut. Even as a child, when being commended for my good behaviour when getting my hair cut, I wondered what in hell other kids must be getting up to when they go to get their hair cut. Like, don’t those kids know who’s got the scissors? Do they want to get their ears cut off? If you go to get your new haircut, do as the person cutting your hair wants you to do. Or else they might leave you one-eared.

Look at me now, however, and you wouldn’t think I’m particularly good with getting my hair cut. My hair is long, untamed, and I’ve got a big beard, too. Some folks inaccurately might say I look like Jesus, but we all know that Jesus wasn’t white like me. I’m as Scandinavian as they come, and Jesus certainly wasn’t Nordic (not even of the extraterrestrial variety.) But I am bearded and longhaired. Recently I’ve been using the excuse that I haven’t gotten my hair cut because of COVID, which is partly true. I’ve certainly been more scared of COVID than I think most scenesters my age. Plenty of younger adults seem to think of themselves as being immortal. That’s not really me. I’m not as hypochondriacal as I could be. Frankly it is one of those areas my mothers got me beat, when it comes to anxiety. Sure, I’ve got experience with OCD, my mother hasn’t, but she’s way more of a hypochondriac than me. COVID isn’t the reason why I haven’t gotten my hair cut. I haven’t gotten my hair cut because… well… I don’t see the point of getting my hair cut.

And also I am scared. My hair doesn’t feel pain, I know it doesn’t. If we as humans needed to get our fingers cut every so often, only for them later to regrow, I am sure most people would agree with me that getting that regular trim is honestly not so important. Our fingers have got nerves. Our hair doesn't. Cutting your hair isn’t painful. I am still unthinkably nervous whenever I go to have my hair cut. Why? Well, why not? Do I need an excuse to get unthinkably nervous? Just let a man exist on a wholly different plane of anxiety and nervousness. Don’t expect me to act normal. Or well, if you do, then don’t expect me to be your friend. I’m vibrating at a different frequency. I am tuned differently. I am smart and you are dumb. Yes, don’t act all dumbfounded. I am clearly gripped by intelligence that is foreign to you. My anxiety must be because I am so smart, right? Neurosis is a consequence of intelligence, right? I am eccentric, yes, but eccentric people are remarkably intelligent individuals. I am not a basket case. Please don’t tell me I’m a basket case.

“I love my son. He’s so intelligent.” I know how to ride a bike, too. Eventually, at least, I learned how to ride a bike. Can you believe I spent a lot of time as a child feeling ashamed over how long it took for me to learn how to ride a bike? Okay, yeah, if you’re a regular reader of this blog you probably can believe that. Maybe I am mistaken in this, but I have to imagine I felt an unusual amount of shame as a child. Some of my earliest memories involve me feeling shame. Feeling shame I didn’t know how to ride a bike. Feeling shame I still sometimes sucked on my thumb. Feeling shame I wasn’t developing as fast as the other boys. Feeling shame I wasn’t as butch as them. Feeling shame over the fact that I was feeling shame, and they weren’t. Shame begets shame. Miserable little worm-creatures better not expose themselves to direct sunlight. Burrow into the dirt. Hide away from the gaze of others. Worry. Despair. Don’t feel pride. You don’t know how to ride a bike. You aren’t intelligent. Sleep a lonely sleep. Relieve others of your presence. Go dormant. Hibernate. Disappear from society.

Let me be available. I am not always available. I can’t pretend to always be on top of things, clearly, I am not. But when I am good and in the mood, let me be available. I’ll help you. I’ll prove myself to you. Pick me up, and turn me round. I guess I must be having fun. Why make enemies when you can make friends? Why frustrate others, when you can please them? Why cause unnecessary arguments? Why quarrel? That’s not me. That’s not what I am about. I’m just an animal looking for a home. Don’t think I’m going to upset you. I will act according to your wishes. Ask me to look up, I will look up. Ask me to look down, I will look down. Whatever I need to make you want to help me, I will do that. If I ever do something that does not please you, that goes against you, then you better know I didn’t mean to do that thing. That was something I did unintentionally. I did that without meaning it. I can’t help it. I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean to hurt you. Didn't mean to speak too loud. Didn’t mean to act carelessly. I love you. Do you love me?

I always got along better with adults than kids my age. Adults loved me. Adults always assumed I’d be the bright shining star of the next generation. I am a millennial. I suppose I was meant to be a great millennial, but really, I am just one of the many millions of millennials out there. If only we had just come out of some big world war. That’s how previous generations got to make their mark. It is much easier to get a job when the world needs rebuilding. As much as I hated being a teenager, I sort of miss those moments where I got to feel special. Being surrounded by adults who believed in me. Thought I’d make a difference as I grew older. Thought I’d make an impressive career. I was depressed, sure, but the future was still ahead of me. If I could travel back in time and slap myself. One, two, three, four, five, six times across the face. Get over yourself you miserable punk. Don’t you see the chances you got? It’s not all too late now, is it? Don’t tell me it’s all too late. Tell me I’m still that kid. Tell me the adults still respect me.

I fear. I cuddle up in bed, I hold a pillow in my arms. I like to cuddle with a pillow. I am genetically a big spoon, I don’t want to feel anybody’s arms around me, but I want to hold somebody else. If I was more desperate than I am, I’d get a body pillow. But I am not that far gone, I’m happy to report. Still, I am a big old bear that’d make a good hubby one day. Feed me a little bit of honey, and I’ll do anything you ask me. I’d look down, if you told me to look down. I’d look up, if you told me to look up. Cut my hair, if you wish. I’ve got long hair now, but I am willing to go shorthaired if that is what you want in a man. If longhaired men are too effeminate for you, baby, then trust me, I’ll cut my hair. I’ll be a proper man for you, darling. I’ll be the leather-clad biker of your dreams. Go on, sniff my jacket, ride my bike, I’m all ready to take you on. I will find a way to please you. Just like that person who cut my hair as a kid. I won’t cause you any trouble. I will be the most courteous kid you’ve ever come across. I’ll make your job easy. I’ll be your favourite little boy.

They’ll hate me, if I turn up being myself. I am not easy to love. I’ve got my… peculiarities. I’m not easy to love...

… But I am easy to love. I don’t have the same edges other people have. I am not rude. I am not unreasonable. I am not some sadist. I’m no Marquis de Sade. I like other people. I want to be liked. I want them to like me. I can be myself, and they actually ought to love me. Why do I keep on thinking I’m some kind of monster, some kind of unlovable freak? I keep accusing myself of being a freak, a fucking monster, a fucking horrendous piece of shit! Why do I find it so difficult to love myself? And what is that part of my brain that makes me insist that other people ought to find it as difficult to love me as I find it difficult to love me? Surely, just ‘cause I have certain issues with seeing my own self-worth doesn’t mean that other people have got to have the very same issues. If another person loves me, then maybe that should be enough proof to show that I am loveable. If they can do it, then I should be able to do it. I’ve never experienced as much hate from anybody as the hate that I’ve received from myself. I am loveable. I am adorable. I am precious, and it’s time that I recognise that. It’s time I rise above all that self-loathing and become a fully self-realised person.

I’ve probably got quite a high IQ. I can’t say for certain, as I’ve never done a proper IQ test, but I’ve done plenty of estimates. Part of the reason why I’ve done the tests is because like most people, I like to be able to brag. Who doesn’t want to have a high IQ? But also, I’m kinda insecure about my intelligence. Believe it or not. I certainly seem rather arrogant, at times, but it’s part of my comedy persona. I exaggerate certain things for comedic effects. I am not nearly as much of an alcoholic as I sometimes portray myself as. Unlike a proper alcoholic, I merely drink too much a couple of times a week, not all the days of the week. But my drinking, I like to intellectualise it. I like to depersonalise it, to remove it from my emotional core, to make it all into some question of theory or debate of ideas. I don’t like to discuss my physical flesh. I’d rather exist as a concept, than as a pile of muscle, blood, and skin. I shouldn’t care about stuff like IQ, because IQ is how you measure the intelligence of mortals. And I should be better than that. I should be immortal.

But autistic people are retards, right? Sorry to use the r-word, but I feel as if I’ve at some level got the right to use that word. Even though I’ve never actually used it, even in my more immature younger days. I very much squirm any time I hear it used, and I don’t appreciate any edgy comedians who think that they can use that word ironically. The r-word strongly bothers me, even if I never really grew up being called one. It’s the rejection that I’m afraid of. For a time I went to a school that had a separate curriculum for those with special needs. I remember how all the “normal” students mercilessly teased and humiliated those kids who weren’t like them. Who needed extra help. Extra care. Who weren’t like the rest of us. Who weren’t accepted. I wasn’t like them. Surely, I wasn’t like them. I couldn’t be, I couldn’t be as ostracised as they were. I wasn’t a freak, I wasn’t some retard, I was normal. I feared them. I knew I was different, but I hoped real bad I wasn't like them.

I am intelligent, right? I am good. I am polite. I can contribute to society. You should like me. You should be on my side. I do as I am told. Though… maybe I’ve gotten naughtier with age. Like, maybe, I am willing to tell you to fuck off every so often. If I gotta be living my life in vain, then I reserve the right to be able to tell the rest of you that you’ve got your priorities configured all the wrong way. I don’t want to be free of hope. And I don’t think I am at the end of my rope. I can try to get by. I feel an obligation to be somebody. To get past that brain fog I suffer most days. It’s easy when you’ve got a voice telling you where to look. To look down, or to look left or right. I don’t freak out when I hear that buzzing of the hair trimmer next to my ear. I know that the haircutter won’t hurt me. If he did, then he wouldn’t get paid. I am not some animal, I’m not driven by my instincts. I can stay calm. I can look ahead. I can be an example, some glorious ideal for all the retards to look up to. I can be their hero.

I just want to be myself. I just want to go to bed. I don’t want you to like me, or to hate me, I just don’t want to feel like every single interaction has to do with me trying to present a persona to you. I don’t want to have to worry whether or not you find me normal. I don’t want to have to worry whether or not you find me to be a freak or not. I don’t want you to have to wonder if I am intelligent or not. I don’t want you wondering whether or not I am retarded. I don’t want to go to a special class, for kids just like me with neurological issues, with learning disabilities. I want to be likeable. I want to be agreeable. I want everyone to be able to have something positive to say about me. I want to be given a good grade. I want to be told I did good. I want to stay with my friends, don’t tell me I’m a retard, don’t tell me I’m not normal. Please, just let me be. Don’t see through me. Don’t leave me naked. Don’t leave me vulnerable. Don’t make me a freak.

Just cut my hair, please.

#neurodivergent #neurodiversity #autism #autism spectrum disorder #aspergers #mental health

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artificialqueens · 3 years

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Devoted: Stream (Katlaska) - Kamylove

Sixth in my collection of unrelated one-shot ficlets. This time with Covid!

Young, untreated, self-medicating Katya was an introvert whose greatest fear was embarrassing herself.

Sober, almost-38-year-old Katya is an extroverted introvert who embarrasses herself daily and whose love language (and she only knows this thanks to Trixie the romantic, honest) is touch, and whose attention span is shorter than a ferret's.

Self-quarantine is killing her.

She was in Europe when shit started going to hell. She got out just in time, flew home to have her temperature taken at LAX, and was told to lock herself up for two weeks before she could see another human being.

It sucks.

Other queens (including Alaska, damn her) are doing Instagram lives, dragging up for shows on Twitch, collecting tips on Venmo and Paypal. Katya's ADD ass can't get herself together to unpack, let alone do her job virtually, but she still craves the attention.

Worst of all, Alaska is quarantining somewhere else. Somewhere Katya can't go. Somewhere that is not their house.

Alaska was home in LA when it happened, the lucky bitch. Alaska is a hypochondriac who would lose her mind if she had to shelter in place all alone, and Katya didn’t want to risk infecting her or the staff of a hotel. So Alaska, after much convincing, had decamped to the house she used to share with her best friend.

She's facetiming Katya every day, several many times a day, and dropping off care packages on the front steps. But Alaska needs drag to stay sane, so she's up in everyone's Insta, writing new damn songs for digital drag shows, agreeing to another and another and another show every hour. Or that's what it feels like to Katya.

Trixie's up on Insta, too, and Twitch. Trixie's doing live performances from her condo. PEG was even smart enough to invite Fena to do a digital show, which is fierce and fabulous because Fena is fierce and fabulous and Katya loves her like a brother.

But Katya's still got all those emails and voicemails sitting untouched on her phone. You'd think she'd be dying for any variety of human contact, and she is, but the thought of being productive right now is just too much.

Oh, look, there's Alaska on her friend's live again. There's Alaska laughing and being adorable and sharing space with--actually sitting next to--a human.

Katya loses all self-control and comments, "Bitch I am losing my self-quarantined mind STFU and call me."

And she does it from her public account, like an idiot.

The host of the live squints at the screen. "Oh, honey, your favorite Russian spy is stir crazy. We love you, Katya."

"Aww, Katya," Alaska's former-slash-temporary housemate says. "We miss you, gurl."

"Katya's here?" Alaska says. Katya can see her scrolling up on her iPad screen, because she'd obviously missed Katya's comment. And it should not bother Katya that Alaska missed her comment, because she knows what comments on lives are like. She used to livestream her entire damn life.

"Oh, no," Alaska says, looking straight at the camera. “Poor Russian spy. I'll call you in a bit, okay?"

Other commenters have now caught on, unfortunately, because Katya is an idiot, and there's a swarm of comments about her. I love you Katya, hearts to Katya, and suddenly she's taken over the live and she feels awful about it. Like she needs to feel more awful.

She exits and texts Alaska, "I hate you all and please apologize for me for barging in. CALL ME."

She doesn't know what happens in the live after that, because she leaves her phone in the bedroom and goes to the kitchen to cheer up with some Skittles. Skittles make everything better, and she's almost out of them. Thank God for Postmates. And Alaska's care packages.

Alaska facetimes her just a couple minutes later. Katya rushes back to her phone.

"Don't fucking apologize," is the first thing Alaska says. She's retreated to her old bedroom, a space Katya is very familiar with, and is sitting under a window Katya recognizes. It's unreasonably annoying.

"I didn't want to make myself the center of attention," Katya says through a big mouthful of candy. “Sorry."

"You always want to be the center of attention," Alaska teases lightly.

"A drag queen with a pathological need to be on stage," Katya says. "Shocking."

"They all worried about you after you left. They miss you."

"Now I feel worse, so thanks for that."

"They love you. They love you even when they can't see you. Even my fans love you."

"Hahaha aren't you funny."

"But none of them love you as much as I love you."

Katya scowled. "Fuck off, making me feel better. I'm enjoying my miserly misery."

"I would like to remind you that I wanted to risk my life and stay home and bring you breakfast in bed every day, and you said no."

"Why the hell did you listen to me?"

"Hey," Alaska says with a gentler smile. "It's only six days before we can social distance together."

"Six days is forever."

"I've got to warn you, though, that when I get home, you are getting your wig on and getting on camera. I’ll paint you myself if I have to."

Katya doesn't have a rude answer to that, and she doesn't want to give a polite one. She pouts instead.

Alaska can read her pouts, though. This one doesn't mean, That's an awful idea, don't make me do it. It means,

Alaska laughs at the pout and says, "Let me set up something digital for you? I'll do all the legwork and you'll just have to show up. I know you miss the fans as much as they miss you."

"Point one," Katya says. "I, unlike you, do not enjoy getting all dragged up with no place to go."

"Point one,” Alaska counters. “Yes, you do. Point two, you would have a place to go!"

"Sitting on the couch with an iPhone camera does not count as a place to go. But point two, if I start Instagramming live I'll never stop, and we both know where that would lead."

"Embarrassing personal revelations and masturbating on camera?"

"Precisely."

"Oh!" Alaska brightens with an idea. “You know what the world really needs?"

"A vaccine and a new president?"

"An episode of UNHhhh with the two of you in your pajamas and full face! And I'm going to make it happen!”

It's another good idea Katya doesn't want to admit is good. "Don't make promises you can't keep, bitch," she says.

"I'll keep it. I'm drafting an email to World of Wonder right this second."

"You're not. I can see you."

"In my head. I'm drafting it in my head." Alaska produces a pen from somewhere and writes in the air. "Dear WOW, Katya's lost her mind and I know this is hard to believe, considering, but I think more UNHhhh will help her find it. Also, if you don't make her do something," which she underlines in the air with a flourish, "with all that talent, I'm never doing Bro'laska again. So there."

"Please. You’re never doing Bro'laska again anyway."

"I’ll never sign on to Werq the World?"

"As if a major recording star like yourself would sink that low in the year of our lord 2020. Face it, you have no leverage here. Maybe if you said you’d never make another appearance on Drag Race...”

"Oooh," Alaska says. "Buuuuurn."

Katya tells her to fuck off.

After she stops laughing, Alaska says, "Let's have dinner tonight."

“On Facetime? Like always?” It's something they often do when their schedules put them in different time zones.

"No, for real.”

“Still not looking to pass on my potential plague,” Katya says.

“I’m sure you’re not sick," which is what Alaska says every time the topic comes up. "But no, listen. I’ll bring takeout. Whatever you want. You sit inside the back door, and I'll sit out on the patio."

"Hmm," Katya says.

"At least I could see your gorgeous face without a camera or a window."

"At a socially safe distance of at least 10 feet. In case I drool. Which I might."

"Are we on, then?" Alaska asks.

"Anything I want? Would that include watching me jerk off?"

"I would absolutely love to watch you jerk off."

"Then it’s a date," Katya says. "As long as I still have enough Lysol to coat the entire patio."

#rpdr fanfiction #alaska thunderfuck #katya zamolodchikova #katlaska #fluff #canon compliant #ficlet #devoted #kamylove #tw covid

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x--daughters-of-darkness--x · 3 years

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The Pretty Reckless’ Taylor Momsen Lives for ‘Death by Rock and Roll’

“The 27 Club” is a depressing cultural phenomenon — it’s the age musical luminaries Amy Winehouse, Jim Morrison, Kurt Cobain, Mia Zapata of the Gits, Janis Joplin and Jimi Hendrix died.

The Pretty Reckless singer Taylor Momsen is now is 27 but was 25 when she wrote a reckoning in the semi-autobiographical “25.” The song appears on Death By Rock and Roll, the band’s fourth record. The LP is a stunner; a dozen stellar songs that are at once reverential, referential and intensely personal.

In the past four years, Momsen lost two hugely important people in her life. In 2017, Chris Cornell died by suicide, and not long after, her musical mentor and best friend Kato Khandwala died in a motorcycle crash. Understandably, Momsen was devastated. Thanks in no small part to the catharsis of music, the age of 27 seems to be a renewal, as she exorcises her pain in Death By Rock and Roll. The Pretty Reckless’ best album to date, the passion and pain are palpable in both music and lyrics. The plaintive “Got So High” could be an alt-rock chart-topper, in wonderful contrast to the raw rallying cry and aggressive gutter-rock feel of the title track. She moves easily from the quirky cinematic moment of “Broomsticks” into the fiery, feminist coven-call that is “Witches Burn.”

Speaking from her pandemic hideout in Maine, Momsen isn’t on the other side of the grieving process.

“I’d be a liar to say that I’m, you know, over things,” she tells SPIN. “I’m still in the process of healing, but the making of this record really was just a huge step forward. I was in a very, very dark space there for a while, and if it wasn’t for the making of this record, I don’t know if I would be here right now.”

She wallowed, but ultimately her instinct for self-preservation kicked in. As did a worldwide pandemic. Masking up is nothing new for Momsen, who calls herself “a super hypochondriac” who hasn’t left her house since March.

“Even before COVID, I was strict. It probably stems from being a singer and not wanting to get sick on tour, because you never fully recover. So [I always flew wearing] masks,” Momsen says.

Though she’s healthy, and it’s probably not an exaggeration to say that, emotionally, Momsen was saved by rock and roll. “I keep just sticking to the word rebirth,” she says. “I know it sounds cliché, but it really does feel like that for the band.”

While the songs are truthful, sometimes sad, always powerful, they’re never a pity party. “I keep trying to want to put a positive spin on it because I don’t want it to be this representation of this very morbid thing,” Momsen says. The concept behind Death By Rock & Roll is a positive rallying crying, something a band might shout together before going on stage. “It’s an ethic that we live our life by; go out your own way, rock and roll till I die,” she continues. “Don’t let anyone tell me differently.”

The phrase “death by rock and roll” was coined as the band’s de facto motto by Khandwala, which made it an appropriate choice for the album title. The band’s friend, producer and touchstone, Khandwala died in 2018 at the age of 47. He was with The Pretty Reckless from 2010’s Light Me Up to 2014’s Going To Hell and 2016’s Who You Selling For.

Khandwala’s memory bookends the album: A recording of his actual footsteps on a wooden floor begins the record, and the final song is the poignant tribute “Harley Darling,” a stellar ballad that could be a hit on Americana/country radio. If the only way around something is through it, Momsen dove in headfirst, putting all her angst, love, sadness and power into the songs.

“The record delves into a lot of darkness and a lot of sadness. There was no way around that as a writer. And as a person. It just became so a part of who I was that I couldn’t avoid it. But I think by writing it and getting it out, that was a huge part of the healing process.”

Wanting to use music to process and express her emotions, she called Khandwala, who had produced every The Pretty Reckless album, to talk about recording.

But then came the call that Khandwala had died.

“That was the nail in the coffin for me. I threw my hands up in the air and kind of went ‘Yeah, I give up.’ I went down a very dark rabbit hole of depression and substance abuse and everything that comes with that.” she confesses. Momsen was so down that she couldn’t even listen to music. Eventually, listening to her favorite artists helped her. “I started with the Beatles, listening to every detail, the whole Anthology, and just going through what made me fall in love with music when I was young.”

The band – drummer Jamie Perkins, guitarist Ben Phillips and bassist Mark Damon – met Momsen through Khandwala and were all equally devastated, processing losses in their own ways. They were on tour with Soundgarden in 2017, which was a thrill but ended in tragedy when Cornell died.

“As an artist [being asked to open the tour] was the highest compliment that you could possibly get,” she says. “If you know anything about me, I mean Soundgarden is just the epitome [when it comes to rock bands]. I was there that last night in Detroit,” she remembers. “I talked to him at night I gave him a hug and said goodbye. When I wake up to that news the next morning … It just went from the most elating experience to the one of the most devastating. And Kato was at all those shows.”

Cornell’s death shook Momsen and the band profoundly. She says it “took me down to a place where I wasn’t useful in the middle of a record cycle.” The Pretty Reckless were supposed to be on the road for another year, but Momsen wasn’t up to performing as she dealt with her grief. “I couldn’t grieve and continue to get on stage every night and pretend, put on this big rock show like everything was okay. I left the tour,” she says.

With time, she was able to listen to Soundgarden’s music, and eventually, she picked up a guitar. Death by Rock & Roll was a record that was easy in the worst way possible.

“I didn’t have to try to write it. It was more just a necessity that I didn’t even know I needed. It just kind of poured out of me,” Momsen says of the writing process. “There were a lot of tears during the recording. We put everything we had into this album, physically, emotionally. There are good days, bad days, obviously. I think the full spectrum of emotions was spanned on making this, from anger to tears of happiness to tears of sadness.” Some days were too difficult for Momsen even to attempt vocals, too heartbroken from the past few years.

That said, Momsen, in conversation, along with the record itself, aren’t outwardly mournful. Her voice has laughter and life. “I’m ecstatic for people to hear the album and to share it because I’m really proud of it. I know it sounds cliche, but it really does feel like the first album, like we had to start from scratch again, and we didn’t know how that was going to go.”

Still, there are songs where Momsen chooses not to divulge the true inspiration to inquisitive journalists. “I think it’s unfair to the listener to detail song lyrics in a personal manner. It takes away what it means to [the listener].” She offers up an example to clarify: “I’m a huge Pink Floyd fan. (She references “The Great Gig in the Sky” in the song “Rock and Roll Heaven.”) I’ve watched every documentary ever made about Pink Floyd. In one, Roger Waters is talking about ‘Shine on You Crazy Diamond,’ going into depth about what the song was about to him, about Syd Barrett.”

Momsen was shocked to learn the song’s true story. “It was so not how I had taken that song my entire life! I’m glad that I know the story now. But if I had known before I listened to it, I think that it would have changed my perspective of the song. It wouldn’t have had the same impact that it had on me and my personal life. That’s why I don’t like to do that.”

Death by Rock and Roll reaffirms The Pretty Reckless’ love of rock and roll, along with the people who made them who they are, musically and as individuals. “I think because we went through so much trauma, and so much loss, that this record, in one way, feels so much like a gift. We’re given the gift of rebirth; I mean, how many artists can say that? As artists, you struggle to find inspiration always. In this case, inspiration was just thrust upon me.”

With a record that marks such a powerful turning point for The Pretty Reckless, talking about Khandwala and Cornell will be inevitable and ongoing. “This record starts and ends with my love letter to Kato. So there’s no getting around talking about that,” Momsen concedes. “But it’s so much more than that. I think it’s reflecting on the cycle of life. You come into this world with nothing but your soul, and you leave it with nothing but your soul.”

#Taylor Momsen #the pretty reckless #2021 interviews

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junior-goddess · 3 years

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Ok, so a few months ago I tried to confide in my mom about how my supposed best friend had earth-shatteringly betrayed my trust and exploited a traumatic experience for me, and her response was “oh, I forgot. Anytime someone does or says something you don’t like they’re ‘being mean to you.’” and this honestly was such a stab in my heart (which I let her do to me repeatedly bc I yearn for her love and acceptance, but that’s another issue). She is constantly manipulating and gaslighting me, invalidating my feelings at any and every chance she gets. So now set the stage for tonight with this memory fresh in your mind.

At dinner every night for over a week my stepdad has asked how we’re all feeling about thanksgiving (specifically if we’re comfortable with my brother and his girlfriend, and my stepdads three kids plus one of their partners coming to dinner). We have all said we’re okay with it, every night for a week (I’ll get into why later). The household is currently me, my little brother, my mom, and my stepdad. I nanny once a week and my little brother leaves once a month to buy food for his lizard. That’s all we do, but my parents are different. My mom has 20 different students come to our home each week for private instrument lessons (she did stop for like a month and a half at the beginning of the pandemic), with both parties wearing masks, washing hands when they come in, and sanitizing doorknobs and instruments in between each student (not good but could be worse). My stepdad has not changed his work routine in the slightest and goes in to work 5 sometimes 6 times a week. Most of his department (sales) works from home at least partially, but he claims he can’t because he has to do inventory (which is maybe 4 hours of his entire work week). He’s had 2 ‘scares’ and one test since the pandemic started because he was potentially exposed to the virus from his coworkers when they were in office, but everything was negative. He didn’t disrupt his work routine for this and still went into the office daily.

In addition to this current schedule of our work lives, each potential thanksgiving guest group has been over before during the pandemic. My brother and his girlfriend have visited twice from the next state over. They do not leave their house other than grocery runs and the visits to us. My step sister A has been over once or twice for dinner. My step brother has come over once a week+ since the start of the pandemic, despite having several ‘scares’ (he is a hypochondriac and also just dramatic. All of his tests have been negative). He still goes in to work every day and sees his friends. He claims he wears a mask during all of this socializing but I would be willing to bet serious money that that’s a load of bullshit. My stepsister B and her boyfriend have been over once or twice since the pandemic began as well, but we are pretty confident they make no health concious choices and know they do not wear masks the majority of the time. They claim they already had COVID (despite testing negative when they thought they were sick and ignoring the possibility they could get it more than once). And once during September we had all of the mentioned parties at our house for lunch. We were seated outside but still right next to each other. And at no point during any visits have either my siblings/step siblings worn masks, even when it was all 10 us in September.

So now the issue is, my brother wants to come see us for thanksgiving with his girlfriend. My mom has okayed this but stepdad doesn’t trust stepsister B and her partner so now wants to cancel any visits to make it ‘fair’. I want to see my brother and honestly don’t give a fuck about the step siblings. My stepdad has been trying to ‘convince’ us to tell him to cancel thanksgiving so he can do it without feeling bad, making it just the 4 of us in my household. He told us the state my brother is from ‘has gotten so bad they’re completely shutting down again’ which we (we being myself, my mom, and little brother) know isn’t true and that they’re being preemptive to combat any surges because of the holiday. Since he couldn’t convince us that way, next he brought up that cases are surging in my state with over 7,000 new ones yesterday, which while true, is misleading because those cases are mostly on the other side of the state from us. Our area is doing relatively well. Next he tried to say that even his boss cancelled his thanksgiving, but left out the fact that their holiday was going to have over 30 people there from all over, and has now been cut to just their household, which is not much smaller than our group. And In his final attempt to sway us, he said 2 of his coworkers just got it, but failed to mention that they were in a different department on the other side of the building that he’s had no contact with.

So after a week of him asking us and lying and making himself anxious, I explained to him that I still wanted to see my brother and failed to see how he was going to tell him he couldn’t come. To me, my stepdads not taking the appropriate precautions because he still goes in to work when he doesn’t have to and wears a mask everywhere but his desk, yet has still been exposed now 3 times. More than that, he’s had each member of the family over separately, AND EVEN ONCE ALL TOGETHER. If he was really that worried he wouldn’t have done any of those things. I didn’t really have a say in any of the other visits, but he asked how I felt about this one and I was honest. We’ve already done it, and if he doesn’t want his kids there at thanksgiving bc he doesn’t trust them, then he shouldn’t punish my brother for that and he needs to work it out himself.

Well, apparently he felt like I was making fun of him and making him out to be over reacting (which I think he is but whatever) and that hurt his feelings. So my mom came down to my room to condescend to me and tell me. I don’t think I was rude, sarcastic, angry, or mean in anyway. I was just being honest about how I felt and why, and I relayed it respectfully (not it like a tone or anything). I told my mom I didn’t understand why he accused me of making fun of him, and, get this, this woman said to me “well those are his feelings. You hurt his feelings”. Like, ARE YOU KIDDING?

So basically this was just a novel length explanation to why I’m now boiling with rage. I really need to know if I’m right and she actually is being pretty fucked up, or maybe am I over reacting? I honestly can’t tell, all I know is I’m offended and upset with her for treating me like this.

Also, I don’t think I was mean to my step dad at all. Does it sound like I was? Do I need to apologize or something? My mom is so passive agessive and she’s the only one who raised me so I genuinely do not know or recognize anything below absurdly mean and horrendous behaviors.

If anyone can offer some insight/clarity to this situation from an outside perspective that would be fantastic. And any tips for surviving until I get a job and can move out (other than killing myself :) ) would be greatly appreciated.

Tldr; I hate my parents and want outie

#personal

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hmlegacy · 3 years

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My COVID-19 Experience (Long Story)

In late September, around my birthday, my aunt got weirdly sick. This is the aunt that was diagnosed with Stage III or IV stomach cancer last October, in 2019. She took and completed chemotherapy successfully, her cancer is in remission, she was doing great. That being said, she just got off the chemo in perhaps July? If you don’t know, chemotherapy absolutely wipes out your blood cells and depletes your counts. This means you are susceptible to all sorts of illness.

We have been doing every guideline imaginable with this pandemic. We didn’t go out except for necessities--even if we did go out for a superfluity, we had the mask, we wore gloves and disposed of them, and we were constantly washing hands or using sanitizer. From March to October--7 months--we were good. Then all hell broke loose.

My aunt got diagnosed with pneumonia. The doc in the box, however, did get scans of her lungs and found the telltale crystallization and wanted to do a COVID-19 test. My aunt only had a few symptoms but, naturally, they were weakening her supremely. Just got off chemo. Thusly, because of this, she also was taking all necessary measures. Her best friend who lived down the street from her would bring her groceries...however, this best friend is also a community church leader, she would get the food from the banks and redistribute it to the homeless in our urban areas of town. A beautiful gesture...but is putting you around people that probably are not wearing masks.The friend is similarly sick but, due to my aunt’s immune system, her symptoms generate quickly.

My mom takes my aunt to the hospital because she is getting no better treating it as pneumonia. My mother is using the mask and everything but the negligent hospital actually allows her to stay in the room...because they think it’s pneumonia. It is not pneumonia. Come to find out, she is COVID-19 positive.

My cousin and I had a conversation with a longtime cohort of ours. It went like... “I got a call from (aunt’s best friend) and she was making these long dramatic pauses and my heart just plummeted.” I said, “Yea, you thought she was gonna say your mama was gone, right?” “Right! And she was just like...’I’m not feeling well’.” The cohort expressed his confusion as to why we were so...pessimistic. I advised “We’ve been through that call a lot”.

My aunt’s best friend died.

So, so, so much confusion. She was younger than my aunt, had some breathing issues but they were being treated, and she was very energetic. She went to the hospital--the hospital kicked my aunt out, saying it was not ‘safe for her’. My aunt went home...and recovered. They had her friend and kept her. Every day, the story changed but it sounded like...she was getting better? They were giving her steroid treatments, they put her in an induced coma to keep her fever down, the doctor said she’s doing ‘much better’. I woke up to my mother screaming. She was gone. She also had COVID.

My mother...went to where I work in administrative to get the testing. The only person she’d had contact with, really, was my aunt. She also had COVID...and, therefore, the rest of us had COVID.

I’m not describing the time frame well at all. It’s just jumbled. But there were spaces where COVID-19 was dismissed and not on the table by certain professionals. Testing here still is taking upward of 3-5 days. My dad, the hypochondriac, goes to a facility, they diagnose him with upper respiratory infection. Down the damn hill from there.

I love my dad to pieces but he is the most dramatic human being I know. He’s the type of person that will list details about the past and throw in a line like “so really, you’re lucky that you were born” or something to get an emotional response. And because I’m not that person, I’m just like “I mean, if I wasn’t born, how would that have affected me? I wouldn’t be there?”. He’s just a very...emotional human being and I’ll admit...we tend to not always take him seriously as a result.

I started coughing. Tired. Weak. Fatigued. My mom had similar symptoms. Nonetheless, if I had to call it anything, I’d say it was like a moderately bad cold. My dad also had the same but he kept saying, ‘this is bad. I’m telling you, this is bad’. As a reminder, I have T1 diabetes, hypothyroidism, and, per the diabetes, heart disease to a degree so I am not...a great candidate for being around illnesses. But, I trucked through and helped my mom care for my dad...after my aunt’s best friend died, my dad insisted we take him to the hospital.

This probably is where the story diverges away from ration and takes on what many might call ‘conspiratorial’...but, another reminder, we are black. Historically, our medical complaints get ignored until we are fully in the throes of the worst possible outcome or dead. I complained about my heart from the time I was sixteen years old, it was always kind of dismissed as ‘that’s weird’ and a shrug, and it took me having a small heart attack at 28 years old for it to be taken slightly seriously. The hospital that had been keeping the best friend? Well, in my experience, they literally kicked me out perhaps four hours after I had my stent placed. Basically, we don’t trust hospitals often.

My mom is sobbing. My oldest brother is irate. We don’t trust hospitals, he’s like, ‘no, no, don’t take him to the hospital. What happened to best friend is going to happen to him’. I’m thinking, ‘look, I’ll take him to my alma mater’s hospital, they’ll do the testing, they’ll reassure him, and he’ll feel better’. That’s how his hypochondria works, once he knows what it is, he recovers so much better, even if it is the basic cold. So I take him, they give him a pulse ox reader, an inhaler, and tell him to isolate until the results get back and send him home.

We’re all relieved. For a few days. He is deteriorating. I try to treat him for his symptoms but he is not doing great. I took his pulse ox, it was reading 75. Should be in the upper 90s, ya’ll. I called my alma mater’s hospital, she basically admits the things are faulty, but, that if it’s showing that low, it’s probably not a good sign and he needs to come to the hospital. Panic again, I take him back.

By this point, I’m like, ‘Do I even have this thing? I’m treating it like I do but...’. So, when I take him in, I tell them we’ve had exposure and I would like to get tested. The hospital takes me back and a nice nurse tells me, ‘look, this thing is crazy. It’s essentially unavoidable--it’s everywhere. And it is not being addressed correctly’. While not reassuring in any way, this did make me realize it was just a matter of time before this occurred...just wasn’t expecting it like this.

Naturally, because this is where I get all my treatment, they go in and find that, uh, you had a heart attack? And, essentially, they just admitted me. I was like, ‘no, no, I’m okay, I think, I just want testing’. But they give me the whole routine to be safe, x-raying my lungs, blood tests, EKG--my EKG looked normal when I was having the heart attack, I really just want them to stop utilizing this thing. I hung around, they took the test, found everything looked okay...but they are going to admit my dad.

They allow me to go see him which was also crazy and I hung around for a while. He looks really, really bad. This is not his dramatics. I video call my oldest brother and he’s just devastated because, seriously, if any of my dad’s dramatics are at work, it seems like he’s just given up. But he does insist he hasn’t, he just doesn’t know. I tearfully leave him and the doctors here seem a bit bewildered by my response and insist he’s going to be just fine. I look at my online portal results in a few days, I also have COVID.

My older brother is on the autism spectrum. He is verbal to a very, very small degree--he speaks words but you have to know him to know how to apply them (Like “left” means “the highway”). It’s a very short list of words and he doesn’t offer many to us to use to have him understand--mostly because, if anything, he is insanely stubborn and does not want to understand. It is his way or he’s going to have a violent outburst or just flat out ignore, even to his detriment. My mom was eating a bowl of soup--he snatched it from her, something he has never done, and basically drinks it. Before anyone can say anything, he has consumed this bowl of tainted soup and we’re all just gawking at him in horror.

Needless to say, he also got COVID-19. He was...okay, for a bit. Seems to be the story. Then, slowly, he just can’t get out of bed anymore. He starts vomiting, he has gastric issues, he cannot eat, and he is falling. Meanwhile, my dad is in the hospital and I am increasingly fatigued and hurting. My knee injury from 2011 flares up intensely and I am in excruciating pain. I’m like, ‘this cannot be COVID’. Nope. It is, per the nurse assistant I called.

Everything--and I mean everything this illness could have targeted, it targeted. I was nauseous, I was hot (but no fever?), in pain, and tired. But, again, because my mother and I were the least sick in the house, we had to keep trucking along. My dad stayed in the hospital for a week. He started hallucinating and I guess that was the final straw, they said, ‘he’s good’. I went and picked him up, he was...weird. He came home with a lot of tomfoolery and drugs that literally had as the first accepted side effect ‘hallucinations’ and incessant hiccups. Again, another symptom of COVID.

We fixed that. But my poor brother, he was...he was in tough shape. Like, he could not keep anything down. There were days where he seemed to recover and then went back down for the count. Because this particular hospital did so well with my dad, we took him there as well. It’s a little trickier with him, if he does not want to be there...he does not want to be there. He was ready to go by the morning of the next day and was in full angry mode at points. Only my mom could stay, however, so she had no real calming support. They didn’t really get a good grasp on what was wrong with my brother--they tried multiple diagnoses but none of them checked out. They found his anti-seizure meds were destroying his blood counts so they changed that and sent him home...so he could just continue to be fatigued and tired.

Everyone...is okay. My aunt recovered but her best friend and closest companion is gone. The husband’s family blamed my aunt at the woman’s wake, over her body, for her death and, if you ever wonder why I write such dramatic stuff, this is why, this is the nonsense I end up around. I can’t...imagine the pain of not being able to properly attend your best friend’s funeral because of shunning but my aunt was in pieces and I admit, I was ready to go fight some people. My cousin almost did--I promise you, this lady was the sweetest woman and, if there is an afterlife, she is probably just as appalled. Her mom called my aunt and told her not a living soul in the best friend’s family thought she had anything to do with it.

I write this long AF journal to say...this thing is all types of real. I didn’t have it that bad--the mildest form, I would say, compared to most, just aside from being asymptomatic. But I do feel somewhat different. My thoughts feel like they’re in a fog--I’m still a bit tired but I’m always tired. Forgetfulness and jumbled are my biggest peeves though. I’m keeping sharp but, observing it in my parents, it’s a little...concerning. We luckily don’t seem to have longterm breathing issues but...

Bro is okay. I’ll admit to my fault that we didn’t a hundred percent realize how bad that drug for his seizures were. Depakote...was apparently a big component in a lot of his angry outbursts. He’s been having these outbursts for twenty years. I don’t...understand how he had all these doctors that we explained his behavior to and they were just like ‘that’s normal’ when he has meds with these side effects. The new meds, unfortunately, made him depressed so he was crying a lot and we don’t like that either but with some tweaking, he’s...about the nicest guy. Still demanding, really, but he’s...got more patience. Not bursting into tears too much or angry too much, just very balanced and cordial. About...really the only good thing to come out of this.

I will say, do take this seriously. We weren’t fooling around and got this thing, we were helping a family member not die. But that means you can definitely get this with some of the behavior I’ve seen--please, we’re getting new leadership, we’re well into a vaccine--I know people can’t avoid work. I know people can’t always avoid going out either--it is detrimental to a lot of people’s mental health which I don’t think many people on specifically this site grasp? There’s multiple reasons why being contained in a house is not mentally healthy for some people. That being said, don’t...go to weddings with hundreds of people? Don’t have weddings with hundreds of people. I know we all had plans for this year, I know I did--but don’t be a source for anyone having to suffer. If you must, if you want, just keep it small and contain yourself afterward. We are almost there.

My experience was a best outlook outcome...and someone in the story still died.

#covid-19 #covid #experience #journal

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doonarose · 4 years

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Under a cut because it’s a long, incoherent rant about my extended family and one specific group of morons who broke the law and went and spent time with my grandparents yesterday.

It was my grandmother’s birthday yesterday. I guess I haven’t seen her for a couple months which isn’t so bad since I usually only see her every month or so. Her and my pop. They live about a half hour from my parents and I live another 2.5 hours from them. I was good and gave her a call around dinner time to wish her a happy birthday and we talked for fifteen minutes and then she had to hang up on me because her dinner had arrived.

So. Dinner comes in the form of my vapid aunt by marriage to my mum’s youngest brother. I hate this woman and her entire family at this point and am already working out how never to have to see them again.

Why? They’re been the worst of my mum’s family for the last decade. They manipulate my grandparents and it’s increasingly clear they are positioning themselves to get more of the inheritance. They’re selfish and self-centered, notoriously, so this shouldn’t surprise anyone and it doesn’t even really upset me. I don’t need any of the inheritance, whatever. Watched that shit burn my dad’s family to bits fifteen years ago.

Part of that manipulation is being the family to step up and help my grandparents during isolation. Cooking meals and picking up groceries and shit like that. Which they proceeded to brag about and show off on our family facebook chat and then demand money. Not request, or ask nicely. But basically say, we’re doing more than you guys (because, mind you, they live the closest) so you have to pay for it. I didn’t. Neither did my other aunt. And we got publicly shamed for it.

Now here’s the thing. This family is big. Parents, four kids, two married with live in husbands, two grandkids. All in one house. And they’re dumb. And they live in my state’s hotspot for covid. So as this is playing out my main concern is my grandparent’s health and it’s becoming increasingly clear that this dumbfuck family are either too dumb to understand the risks, or too selfish. My grandparents needed bread and milk and I stuck my hand up and said I’d get right on it. My plan was to drive the 3 hours down, dump it on their doorstep, then drive the three hours back. I am the lowest risk member of the extended family. I live alone. I have been leaving my house once a week for food and that’s that. My regional city hasn’t had an outbreak. Let me do this. I’ve explained the risks, even though they’re small, I’m happy to make the risk even smaller.

I’m steamrolled and told that I’m basically not welcome, and the dumbfuck family will take care of it.

I left the family chat after that. And had a row with my family who seem to understand that I am right and that the dumbfuck’s involvement was definitely increasing the risk where it did not need to be increased.

Now, this was about a month ago. I made my peace with it. I still called my grandparents every week. Then I found out that in the midsts of all this, three members of the dumbfuck family had gone to hospital. No idea if it was extended stays, or what. They’re hypochondriacs. They’re fine now. But I can guess there were at least a couple of overnight stays, and I can guess everyone went in to visit. I can also guess it was a hospital that was/is treating covid. So the risk goes up again.

I’m also assuming they’re not doing great at the isolation (I wouldn’t be either in a house of 10 people) as it sounds like they’re doing daily shops and I would bet they’re hanging out with friends. The risk goes up a lot more.

Then last night, after I’m hung up on by my grandmother, I’m wondering what she got for dinner. I’m sad. I have some drinks because fuck it.

And two hours later I get a missed facetime from them. They don’t know how to facetime. I wasn’t even sure if their phone could do it. Yet another thing I would have loved to have fixed but couldn’t because it wasn’t worth the risk. I trying calling back three times and then eventually they call me and it’s my beautiful, little old grandmother’s face. She is happy to see me and I’m happy to see her and she looks well and in the space of a 37 second call, I wish her happy birthday and then get flipped around to see a number of the DUMBFUCK FUCKING FAMILY OF FUCKWIT SELFISH CUNTS in my grandparent’s house. I’m drunk and probably still happy to have seen my grandmothers so I say a joyous hello to them and then I’m hung up on.

Here’s a thing I did not find out until later. One of the daughters got tested (negative result) for the virus a few weeks ago. It was in the group chat I’d left. She’s literally the only person I know who has had the test, and when she got it, it had to have been because she a direct link to a probably positive.

But anyway. I’m guessing 4-10 members of the dumbfuck family went to my grandparent’s house and spend more than two hours there, sharing a meal, and teaching them how to facetime. At the moment, where I live, this is against the law. I could dob them in and they’d likely get a visit or call from police and warned not to do this thing that everyone knows is against the fucking law.

So. Can it be that they’re so dumb, after all my explaining, after the endless online and tv explaining about how this risk grows, they just don’t comprehend it? Or could they be so selfish as to decide it was worth the risk of infecting my over-80s grandparents? At this point do I care or do I just go and set their house on fire?

Anyway, all of this sunk in and I flung off texts to my sisters and parents. The most sympathetic sister called me and we drunk talked for over an hour. I was crying, I was struggling to talk, I don’t know how obvious it was. She agrees with my assessment of increased risk but she doesn’t seem to know what to do with it. The rest of the family ignored me.

I then took a big gamble and shot off a facebook message to my mum’s other sister and my cousin. I needed to see if I was nuts but they were on the same page as me, thank god. They’ve asked me to call my grandparents and try to talk some sense into them. Which I’m going to try to do but I’m terrified.

I’m potentially causing a big family drama that could hurt my grandparents to try to shut down the 1 in 100,000 risk they get sick from the dumbfucks. It’s making me doubt myself. But then the selfishness that underlies it is also there. The face I think this family are willfully putting my grandparents at risk for money. I wonder if I could pay them off. You know, here’s a million bucks, don’t go near them again.

So there’s a rant. I don’t know if there’s anyone even left out there that will read it but I needed it out of my head.

#tw covid 19 #tw family drama #swearing

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spikeisawesome456 · 4 years

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1. Spotify, SoundCloud, or Pandora? Uh… None, actually. I use YouTube and iTunes mostly. I have YouTube premium family (means that for $15, I get six accounts that can have YouTube Premium) so I don’t have to worry about ads and all that.

2. is your room messy or clean? Both? I only have a thin area of my room that can have movement, since it’s so small. The majority is taken up either of my bed or my dresser/end table/storage. So the room is full of stuff, but the main area is kept clean so I can move through it, ya know?

3. what color are your eyes? Green/blue, but mostly green. I also have brown in the center of my eyes. I guess you could call it hazel? I don’t really know what hazel eyes mean, honestly.

Here’s a close up I took a while ago. I’m looking at you!! Ha!

... I just realized I’ve not changed at all since I was a child. :-(

4. do you like your name? why? Yep! I like it. I have a long, more formal name (Katherine) but also a shorter, more informal nickname (Katie). I like this dynamic of my name. I also like how it sounds. Both of them. <3

5. what is your relationship status? Single, but okay with that. I’m starting to think I’m aro, as I don’t… ahh, like people? Much? It’ complicated.

6. describe your personality in 3 words or less Very, very, annoying.

7. what color hair do you have? I think you could call it golden?? I usually call it dirty strawberry blonde. It’s a coppery color, but also blonde. Not quite strawberry, not quite dirty. A mix?

This is a somewhat good example, but it is a bit more copper-toned than usual, due to the light next to my computer. The kids at work ask me sometimes if I dyed my hair, since it is almost completely orange on the badge my work printed for me, aha. But this shows the range of colors my hair goes through.

8. what kind of car do you drive? color? Ha! What, you think I’m a functioning adult? I don’t know how to drive.

9. where do you shop? Literally anywhere? I don’t care. I get my pants from Walmart, my shirts from wherever sells cute fandom shirts.

10. how would you describe your style? Ha!!! I answered this one in an ask, but I determined I have no style. I just prefer comfort to fashion.

11. favorite social media account Hm… I don’t tend to care much for social media accounts, personally at least. I just follow whatever is neat. I guess I like Game Grumps social media?? Eh.

12. what size bed do you have? Twin. It’s pressed up against the wall and I just sleep pressed into the corner like I’m trying to merge and become one with the wall. One day, sweet wall……..

13. any siblings? Sadly, yes. _._ An older brother. He’s actually fine, but still siblings...

14. if you can live anywhere in the world where would it be? why? Probably…. Hm. I liked New Zealand when I visited, but I don’t know if it would be the best place for me to live, since it’s just so different to how I live now. Same with Ireland, though both would be amazing for me. I think… honestly, where I currently live, since it has good weather and is familiar to me.

15. favorite snapchat filter? Don’t use snapchat! :-D

16. favorite makeup brand(s) Hm… I used to only use Bare Minerals, but they don’t have great coverage, I’ve found. I’ve been using Clinique now, but I think they make me break out, which is bad. I don’t like makeup and I always feel it on my skin, or else it makes me break out after usage. I have very sensitive skin, ya feel me?

17. how many times a week do you shower? Never! I hate showers. I don’t like the feel of being blind when the water gets into my eyes.

I take a bath twice a day, though. Once in the morning and once at night, where I wash my hair. I know I’m not supposed to wash my hair so often, but it’s a habit at this point and it helps me sleep now.

18. favorite tv show? Buffy the Vampire Slayer, mostly since it was so important to me growing up. I still love it, though! I just don’t tend to have favorites, ya know? But Buffy will always mean the most to me.

19. shoe size? I don’t… I don’t really know? Heels I’m a size 8, I think? But I wear size 9.5 for sneakers, since I like my shoes a bit big. I think??? I don’t really know.

20. how tall are you? Ehhhhhhhh I say I’m 5’4, but who knows. I think I’m 5’3 and a half. I just round up. According to my doctor’s records I shrank and am 5’2, so who even knows anymore. Height is a made-up concept to control the short. ;-)

21. sandals or sneakers? Sneakers, god. I wore sandals once for a fancy event and I got sand and dirt on my feet immediately. It was sad. :-(

22. do you go to the gym? HA!

23. describe your dream date I don’t really know. As I said, possibly aro. Maybe…… Uh…. Somewhere quiet. Private. I’m not good in groups or crowds. OR! Maybe a theme park, the absolute opposite of what I said. OR a fair. I love fairs! Anything, really. I’m not picky.

24. how much money do you have in your wallet at the moment? Oh! This one is a shock, because my dad just gave me a lot of money since I paid for dinner with my mom, since he was being an overly dramatic baby over me calling out his awful behavior and left us alone for dinner at Red Lobster, and he stubbornly paid me back. So I’ve got… let’s see… about $135, if you count the $30 I had in before.

25. what color socks are you wearing? Ha! Jokes on you! I’m not WEARING ANY SOCKS!!!! AHA!!!!!!!

26. how many pillows do you sleep with? One. Too many makes me feel weird.

27. do you have a job? what do you do? Well… I HAD job, because Covid. I was an after-school teacher, where I looked after kids, kind of daycare style, ya know? I loved it, and I love kids. Currently I’m “teaching” some of the kids I used to look after STEAM over Zoom. Apparently, the girls- sisters- missed doing my STEAM experiments each week and asked their mom to contact me to do the experiments with them over Zoom. I use “teaching” in quotes, since I mostly just do science activities with them, step by step, without much teaching involved. I used to explain why what we did was science, but I don’t want to make the kids do more work when they have so much with Covid going on. Also, I’m lazy, ha.

28. how many friends do you have? None! Seriously, but it’s okay. As I said earlier, I’m not the biggest fan of people so it’s kind of reliving to be on my own for the most part. I had been making a new friend before Covid, but we’ve not spoken much since. I did text her once and she seemed friendly still. Maybe we can meet up after this all is done with.

29. whats the worst thing you have ever done? Uh… I don’t really know? I used to get into fights online, mostly just fighting for what I believed in, but I never really attacked anyone, or I didn’t mean to. I’ve not done many bad things?? Not to make myself out to be a goodie-two shoes, but I don’t like hurting people or being “bad,” so I tend to avoid things like that. I’ve probably done things others consider “bad,” but that don’t register to me, so I don’t really know.

30. whats your favorite candle scent? Oh my god. I’m currently OBSESSED with this new candle from Bath and Body Works. It’s called Strawberry Pound Cake, but it smells like strawberry vanilla, and it’s AMAZING. I love it. I also have it in hand cream and hand sanitizer form and it’s THE BEST. It reminds me of those strawberry vanilla candy things from when I was a kid.

31. 3 favorite boy names Daniel, William, and… uh… I’m not sure. Alex, maybe? I know I like Daniel and William though.

32. 3 favorite girl names Emmaline, Clara, and… hmmm… Not sure, again.

33. favorite actor? Hm. Not sure. I don’t do favorites much. I guess Misha Collins? If this were about YouTube people, I’d say Dan Avidan in a heartbeat. Though… technically he is an actor… he did an actual YouTube show, with a plot and acting, so he’s technically an actor. So, then, him.

34. favorite actress? I’m even less sure about this one, honestly. I don’t pay attention to actors or actresses much, really. I know Misha since he does GISH, but otherwise I’m unsure about actors much.

35. who is your celebrity crush? Oh, Dan Avidan, clearly. He’s amazing. My profile pic on Tumblr has been the same for 4 years because I can’t get over the fact I met him. I used to change my profile pic every so often, with my artwork, but now I’m never changing my profile pic. Ever.

36. favorite movie? Uh…. Probably Phantom of the Opera, 2004. I love that film. Again, not super into favorite things, but if I had to pick one it would be PotO.

37. do you read a lot? whats your favorite book? Well, I DO read a lot. Mostly it’s fanfiction though, aha. And again, favorites aren’t really my thing. I used to say Island of the Blue Dolphins, but I reread that book a few years ago and didn’t like it as much. Still liked it but was more eh about it and never finished my read through. Maybe Stargirl, by Jerry Spinelli. I’ve not read it since I was a child, but I recall it being really good. My favorite book I’ve read recently would probably have to be Rebecca, by Daphne du Maurier. I had a lot of problems with it, but ultimately, I loved that book.

38. money or brains? Brains, obviously. They taste better. :-)

Though to be honest, I do say brains. Money is good, don’t get me wrong, but with brains the person can actually think about doing what is right or wrong. Money corrupts and without thought, there’s so way around it.

39. do you have a nickname? what is it? Yep! Technically I only go by my nickname, since I go by Katie, but my full name is Katherine.

40. how many times have you been to the hospital? Ooooh, personally? Once, when I broke my arm when I was 4, almost 5. Well, many times for that, but one time overall. I’ve been in the hospital often for my mom and dad, though. My mom is disabled and is a bit of a hypochondriac, so we sometimes have to take her to the hospital whenever she has pain, just to be safe. She did once have kidney stones, though, so it was needed. My dad had a panic attack once and thought it was a heart attack, so we were there for that. I also went to the hospital once when my grandma was dying, to say goodbye with my dad. It wasn’t sad, which says a lot about my and my dad’s relationship with my grandma.

41. top 10 favorite songs HA! Can’t. Seriously, can’t. I love too many songs equally for this one.

42. do you take any medications daily? Yeah. I used to take Seroquel nightly, but that just made me gain 40 pounds and didn’t help with mood much. It only helped me sleep and that was replaced by over the counter melatonin and Benadryl. So I gained 40 pounds for nothing and I’m struggling getting the weight off. Yay!!!!!!

43. what is your skin type? (oily, dry, etc) Both, I think?

44. what is your biggest fear? Death.

45. how many kids do you want? I don’t know, one or two? I don’t know if I want to get married though, so… Single mom for the win? I also might want to adopt older kids, or foster them at least, give them a place to live. When I’m on my own and have a stable, good paying job of course.

46. whats your go to hair style? Whatever my hair naturally does, honestly. I just brush it out and it does its own thing. I have thin, wavy hair, though, so it’s mostly fine. It parts in the middle, and I don’t have bangs. It refuses to grow passed my boob level, no matter how long it goes between haircuts, so it hangs there. It always grows back to boob level, but never passed. No idea why.

47. what type of house do you live in? (big, small, etc) Very presumptuous, question thing, to assume I live in a house. I live in an apartment, with my mom, dad, and older brother. It’s fairly big, with two bedrooms and a converted den for my bedroom, but it’s small for 4 of us. Less then 1500 square feet. I think 1200?

48. who is your role model? Hm. This is gonna sound conceited, but myself. Or, the person I want to be. I have an idea of what I’d like to be in life, and that is what guides me. It’s not based off anyone I’ve met, but based on my own personal desires, a mis-mesh of ideals. The only person you can be is yourself. Trying to be like someone else will only hurt you. Even wanting to be like someone else can be hurtful. Not that I’m putting down anyone who has role models! But it just… never worked for me. Putting people on pedestals hurt me, so I just look forward to being the best version of me that I can be.

49. what was the last compliment you received? Hm… I get a lot of compliments on my Facebook page, people saying I’m doing a good job with that. So that, probably. 50. what was the last text you sent? It was too my dad, who, as previously mentioned, was being a bit of a butt and was mad at me for calling him on his rude behavior to me and my mom. I texted “alright,” to him telling me to not buy him a takeout dinner. I didn’t listen though, and he ate it when we got home after sulking a bit. He’s better now, but he’s yet to apologize. He never does. -.- 51. how old were you when you found out santa wasn’t real? Uh… Wait, Santa isn’t… real…?!?!?!

Aha. JK. I don’t know. Maybe 8?? I don’t remember. I just know I believed when I was 6-ish, when Polar Express came out, since I asked for Santa bells for Christmas. I think I also believed the next year, but I don’t remember much. I learned the difference between Judaism and Catholicism around then, and eventually decided to be Jewish when I was 12-ish, but who knows, man. Who knows?

52. what is your dream car? One that self-drives and doesn’t ever crash, so I don’t have to drive myself.

53. opinion on smoking?

Bad! Bad, bad, bad!!! No smoking!

Truthfully, honestly. My mom gets really sick around smokers, especially around pot and vape smokers. It makes her have an allergic reaction. 54. do you go to college? Yeah baby! I just finished and will be getting my (probably useless) degree in the mail soon! Summa Cum Laude, baby! (Highest honors, if you don’t know what that means). Now I just got to get into grad school so I can do something with my Psych BA! Aha. Haha. Ahahaha. Ha… 55. what is your dream job? School psychologist! I want to help children, but don’t have the temperament to be a teacher. I’m too lenient and would let them walk all over me. I kind of do as an after-school teacher. The kids respect me, though, and like me well enough. I don’t think I could be the only person responsible for them, though. I get frazzled, which I learned while doing my STEAM activities and the kids would NOT listen, sometimes. I could do it, though, if the whole school psych thing doesn’t pan out. Or school counselor, would be my second choice. Something to do with kids, though. 56. would you rather live in rural areas or the suburbs? Hm. I like city life, though I think I’d prefer suburbs. I live in a kind of suburb, though I live in a major city… We just don’t have skyscrapers near where I live, only downtown. We have over a million people in my city, and 3 million in the county. So, big. 57. do you take shampoo and conditioner bottles from hotels? Uhm yeah??? Why wouldn’t you? They’re free souvenirs! I went to a kid-themed hotel once, near Disneyland, for my parent’s anniversary, which had this neat bubblegum shampoo from their kid spa. I loved it so much I asked my dad to buy me a whole bottle of it as a body wash. It was… expensive, but I still have some left over, which I’ve kept for some reason. 58. do you have freckles? Some, yeah. Not many on my face, just some around my arms, scattered. I have a big one on my left palm, at the base of the meat of my thumb, if that makes sense. Otherwise they’re just scattered all around. 59. do you smile for pictures? Yep! Well… my version of smiling. I don’t ever smile with my teeth, since they’re small and my lips are so long, so it looks awkward when I smile with teeth. Instead I just smile with my lips. 60. how many pictures do you have on your phone? HA! I had to get myself a 164 GB phone to deal with the fact that I take lots of photos. Over 2,000, now. 61. have you ever peed in the woods? Ew? No? I hate the woods. Or, going into the woods. I like the idea of woods and I like being in them, guided, but staying in them? No. Scary. 62. do you still watch cartoons? Yep! I’m currently watching She-Ra! I like it! 63. do you prefer chicken nuggets from Wendy’s or McDonalds? Oh, no contest. Wendy’s. I do like McDonalds’ chicken nuggets, but Wendy’s are just *chef kiss* mwah! 64. Favorite dipping sauce? Ranch, but I especially like Wendy’s ranch. It’s creamy and nice. 65. what do you wear to bed? Pretty much what I wear during the day. I used to literally just go to bed in my day clothes, before I started taking a bath each night, about 6 years ago. Now I wear yoga pants (ones without pockets, since I finally found ones with pockets for day use!!) and an old faded T-shirt. 66. have you ever won a spelling bee? HA! HAHA! AHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! I can’t spell. I’ve liteally been spelling half my words wrong this entire time. Spell check is my best friend. Though! I did get to the finals of a class spelling bee once, since they gave me easy words (to me, at least) and my classmates harder ones. It was almost funny. 67. what are your hobbies? I like to draw, paint, write, do other crafty stuff… Things like that. I also read, fanfiction mostly. :-) 68. can you draw? Yep!!

Behold! My digital drawings!

This was my most recent traditional drawing, using charcoal for the first time. It was for GISH.

69. do you play an instrument? Nope! Ha, but I do wish I could, ya know? But I’m bad at doing different things with one hand vs. the other, which is why I can’t clap my hands and stomp my feet with alternating rhythm. I can only do one thing at once, ya know?

70. what was the last concert you saw? Ohh, hm. This is a good question… Hm… I think… It was at my county fair last year? A country dude with my parents. Trace Atkins, my dad said. I’ve not had the chance to see many concerts recently, sadly. :-(

71. tea or coffee? I like coffee better on the whole, but I’ve begun to like fruit teas, like raspberry or strawberry. I also like this nice orange/cinnamon tea.

72. Starbucks or Dunkin Donuts? Dunkin Donuts, is this supposed to be hard? We don’t have many where I live, though. I like their iced coffee from stores, though.

73. do you want to get married? Ehhhh…… I’ve talked about this before. I’m not sure, really. If I find someone I like who likes me, maybe. But I have a hard enough time making friends, so I doubt it.

74. what is your crush’s first and last initial? N.O.

(Stands for no one. :-) )

75. are you going to change your last name when you get married? IF I get married, probably not. I like my last name. It’s unique.

76. what color looks best on you? Hm. I don’t really know. Maybe red? I don’t have style so I don’t know. I like blue and purples, but who knows.

77. do you miss anyone right now? Eh, not really.

78. do you sleep with your door open or closed? Closed, but my “door” is a curtain, since I sleep in a converted den which has two open windows into the living room that are covered by curtains, and no door, which I also cover with a curtain on a shower rod. It was good when I was a sleepless teen, but now that I’m an adult trying to fix my sleep habits, it’s not so good, ya know.

79. do you believe in ghosts? Not… really. Not much more to say about this.

80. what is your biggest pet peeve? People being rude. Like… stop it.

81. last person you called` Hm. Prolly my dad? Or my brother. I don’t like calling people. Phone anxiety, ya feel me?

82. favorite ice cream flavor? Rainbow sherbet! Fun fact, when I was younger at camp, maybe 16 or 17, our camp counselor asked us this question and I replied with rainbow sherbet, saying it properly (sher-bet, not sher-bert) and my camp counselor went OFF, saying “Thank you!” for saying it properly. He was… something else.

83. regular oreos or golden oreos? Oooh, I like those cinnamon bun Oreos. You know the kind? They’re the BEST. I can’t buy them often or else… well. I’ve already gained 40 pounds the last couple years. No need for more, aha.

84. chocolate or rainbow sprinkles? Rainbow. Pretty!!

85. what shirt are you wearing? My “Scare to Care” shirt that I bought for charity a few years ago. It’s a charity that raises money for Camp Kesem, which helps children who have a relative undergoing cancer treatment have a nice, normal camp experience for free, I think.

86. what is your phone background? My lock screen is the picture of me and Dan, the background is the drawing I did of the Guardians of the Galaxy years ago.

87. are you outgoing or shy? Both! Aha. I’m friendly when talking to people, seemingly outgoing, but I don’t go up and talk to people. I fear I’m annoying them, ya know? And I’m awful in groups. I never know when to talk and when I do talk, I fear I’m annoying people. Actually… I always feel I’m annoying people. Aha. Ha…

88. do you like it when people play with your hair? Yep! People don’t do it often, though. Kids will, but you have to be careful when they do that. Sticky hands are not the best to be in your hair….

89. do you like your neighbors? I guess? I’ve not spoken to my neighbors since my next-door neighbors of 5 years moved out 5 years ago. They had kids my age, but we never really spoke. They were… not the brightest, or kindest. They once took in a stray puppy and locked it in their hot garage. My older brother and I freed it and kept it in our hallway outside our apartment, since we have emergency doors that we could close to keep him in, while we played with him. I’m allergic to dogs, though, and we have guinea pigs, so we couldn’t bring him inside our apartment. Luckily their parents got home after an hour or so and brought the dog to the shelter. They also had a different dog who kept escaping and my brother and I had to keep an eye on it often. It once got into our apartment and it was, ah. Fun. She didn’t hurt our pigs, though, so it was a plus!

90. do you wash your face? at night? in the morning? YES. Both morning and night. It has not helped my acne.

91. have you ever been high? Nope! Not even when I got my wisdom teeth out. I was fine the minute I woke. I felt ripped off. I was a bit over tired, but no more than if I’d not slept the whole night. Maybe I’m just always in a perpetual “high” state???

92. have you ever been drunk? Nope! I have a high tolerance, so one or two drinks does absolutely nothing for me. And I’ve never tried more than a coupe drinks. I’m almost afraid to see myself drunk, ya know? I’m so energetic usually, but keep a lot of thoughts inside, so who knows what I’d be like. I don’t like being out of control and I honestly think I’d hate it.

93. last thing you ate? Shrimp Scampi. From Red Lobster. ^-^

94. favorite lyrics right now Uh… Again, no real idea. I’m not good with favorite things.

95. summer or winter? Hm. Summer, I guess? It’s not much different where I live, though we get more rain during winter. I prefer heat to cold generally, though. So summer in general. I also like summer aesthetics, you know?

96. day or night? Hm. Day, though I do love night time. I just usually am inside during the night.

97. dark, milk, or white chocolate? Milk! I hate all other kinds of chocolate.

98. favorite month? Do people have favorite months?? February, I guess? Since I was born in February! And it’s a rebel. Only 28 days compared to the usual 30 or 31. And sometimes it has 29. Take that, months!

99. what is your zodiac sign Aquarius. :-D

100. who was the last person you cried in front of? Hm… that’s a… good question… I don’t like crying in front of people. Probably my mom or dad. I tend to head off on my own when I cry, though. I don’t like people seeing me sad, ya know?

Yay!! I’m done!! This took waaaayyyy too long. I’ve been doing this for probably over 2 hours. Hope y’all learned something. Prolly that I’m uninteresting, aha. ^-^ If you made it this far without skipping, I love you. <3 If you skipped… YOU’RE DEAD TO ME!

Ha, just kidding. ^-^

OR AM I?!?!

:-)

#My post #Personal #I don't know I did this other than I'm bored and I'm self-absorbed enough to want to answer questions about myself #I don't need you to ask me questions #I AM MY OWN WOMAN!!

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catchester · 2 years

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This is my 5th attempt to post this.

TW: Illness.

I get distracted and go off on tangents and end up writing a wall of justification, because when I’m sick, I think you’ll think I’m a hypochondriac. I’ll tell you I have a cold, that’s nothing and easily medicated into submission, but things like having the norovirus, that I won’t mention until I’m recovered, usually for a while.

Well this time I’m speaking up because this is going to be a big part of my life for a while. And yes, I have a copy of my CT report and discharge letter because I still think you won’t believe me. You’ll call me an attention seeker.

I have stage 4 metastatic bowel cancer with metastases in the lungs and liver, as well as lymph involvement.

I have a 9% chance of seeing the year out.

Only 4 people know in real life, and my best friend on here.

I haven’t told my parents and I don’t want to. My mother’s reaction will probably break me. My father is my facebook friend, and since he chose my stepmother over his children (seriously, she gave him an ultimatum, her or us) I don’t think he deserves to get to pretend to care.

The problem with keeping this a secret though, is that I’m constantly self censoring. My life is an open book and I’ve come to terms with the embarrassing and shameful things in my past. I don’t drone on about them but if my experiences can help someone else, I’ll share my story. It’s not like me to hide aspects of myself.

I want to joke about this because gallows humour has long been our family’s way of dealing with awful shit.

So anyway, tomorrow my multidisciplinary team (MDT - surgical, chemo, & radiation) are meeting to best decide how to treat this. I’m too young for this disease. I’m too young to even be in the screening program. My big fear is they’re going to say it’s too far gone and give me palliative care only, but from the speed of the tests I’ve had, I think they’re planning to hit this hard. It’s going to be a miserable year for me but, I’m not ready to roll over and play dead.

So there, I said it. Let’s see if I have the courage to press post.

EDIT: Took me 4 hours to work up the courage to post.

I feel like a need a nemesis, someone who will gloat and make me stronger out of spite (never underestimate the power of spite). Trouble is, if this is terminal, my final act of heroism has to be to take you down with me in some dramatic fashion, like pulling you into a volcano.

Applications for the position of Cat’s nemesis on a postcard please (Blue Peter watchers will understand that reference).

___________

For the squeamish, there’s icky talk below.

And finally, on a serious note, when Chadwick Boseman died it occurred to me that I really should get my irritable bowel syndrome checked out, just to be sure it is IBS. I even looked on the website about how to get tested. It starts with a stool sample you do at home, but they note that if you have haemorrhoids and there is blood in your sample, you’ll be asked to come in for an endoscopy anyway.

I do sometimes bleed, but I assumed it was from the haemorrhoids.

We were in the middle of covid, the NHS was stretched to its limits, I was too young for bowel cancer, and who wants a tube stuck up their bum? (well, okay, some people probably get off on that).

So I did nothing.

The blood was likely coming from my colon, I saw the live feed from my colonoscopy. Remember those 80s slasher movies where you’d see someone stabbed in silhouette, then someone threw a bucket of blood at the screen? Yeah, it looked like that. Or maybe Carrie at her prom.

But colonoscopies are not as bad as they seem. I didn’t want to be sedated so they gave me gas and air. Each time they took a biopsy I took a breath of it and that pretty much negated the pain and wore off immediately. There was no lasting discomfort.

If you think there’s maybe even a chance something is wrong, get checked out. Yes, I recognise my privilege in having free healthcare, but please, get checked out if you at all can. I wonder where I’d be now if I’d gone to the GP 18 months ago. He was too young for it too, just a year older than me.

And I still have no serious symptoms. I went to the Dr for a lump in my breast, my blood tests showed I was dangerously anaemic, and I was admitted to hospital that night. 1 CT scan later and I’ve essentially been handed a death sentence.

But don’t think that being anaemic has a scary cause and hide from the bad news. Someone else on my ward was admitted for being dangerously anaemic too. Her diagnosis? She wasn't getting enough vitamin B12.

Well, no one ever said life was fair.

And I’ll leave you with this final thought. Yes, the lung metastases do mean that I have bum in my lung.

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foreverfatigued · 4 years

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Wow... a lot has happened since I last posted.

Basically, I weaned myself off, only to find out I did indeed need it still. But, because I stopped taking it insurance needed me to go back through all the hoops of trying different meds before Lyrica and it took almost a whole year for me to get the Lyrica back. It was a painful year because the meds I had to try didn’t work very well and I went through sooooo much Tylenol.

But in that year, I moved to Texas to live with my girlfriend (now she’s my fiancé).

We just moved into an apartment on our own about six months ago and it’s been great.

I had to get new insurance and get new doctors and that was scary but it’s been so great so far. My GP is amazing and is on board with everything and didn’t think I was crazy when I came in with a 10 ft scroll of my health issues and meds. They had me meet up with a rheumatologist to make sure my fibro care plan and meds were all still appropriate and the rheumatologist said it was but we’re upping my Lyrica because my pain levels have been worse the past couple months. She had me get updated x-rays of my spine for them to have on file and I also go x-rays of my foot because I’ve been having a lot of burning aches in my toe and it grinds when I move it and arthritis runs in my family. She also got me updated bloodwork to see if anything has changed since I was last tested for lupus, Lyme and RA (since I was tested 10 years ago) and all of those came back negative. Neither of my doctors made me feel like I was crazy or a hypochondriac and neither of them made me feel like my weight was to blame. My rheumatologist talked about how diet was important but it was a talk I appreciated and I didn’t feel talked down to or belittled. I felt heard.

I’ve been in a bad flare for about a month now. I’m sure with the stress of COVID, a lot of it is stress related but knowing that isn’t helpful. A lot of days where I’m sleeping 14 hours and a lot of pain.

I’ve been thinking about this community a lot lately and all the people I connected with but lost touch with and how I’m not sure what happened. Was it because I was sick and it was a lot of energy? Or was it when I started to get better and I didn’t have as much time? I’m not sure but I’ve been having a lot of guilt about feeling as though I abandoned some people, but I’m not sure if I actually did. My memory isn’t great and I have a lot of gaps, especially in those years of being sick.

If anyone still follows me and read this...... How are you? What have you been doing?

#fibromyalgia #cfs #chronic fatigue syndrome #m.e.#pcos #endometriosis #fibro #chronic illness #spoonie

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debbie-tanthorey · 4 years

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65 DAYS IN MAY

CHAPTER ONE

Cosmic irony. A dentist saved me. You read that correctly – saved my LIFE, albeit inadvertently. An action as mundane as having one’s teeth cleaned, set fate in motion. Was the week of Thanksgiving 2019, bi-annual check-up. Dentist does his thing after the hygienist finishes. You know the drill (pun intended). Only this time he uncustomarily offers me a hand-mirror, tells me to look in my throat, asks me if I've had my tonsils out.

“No”

“You have a white spot back there, see that?” My eyes shift toward the mirror – I LIE – say I see it (don’t have my glasses on, PRIDE won’t let me admit I can’t see any white patch) He continues, “If you don't mind, am referring you to an oral surgeon for a biopsy.” The nefarious B-word; brain fires a warning shot. B-word leads to the C-word.

Alone now in my car, I fall apart. Hi, I'm a hypochondriac; I don't handle health challenges well despite the jovial persona folks see. A paralyzed-with-fear hypochondriac. Foremost in my thoughts is a long-time friend from high school, currently dealing with a devastating throat cancer diagnosis; I know not to minimize this. (R.I.P. Grady, August 8, 2020 😔) Get to my desk, dial my primary physician immediately, which is a big deal for introverted-me; set up an appointment for a second opinion. The Thanksgiving holiday means I can't be seen until the following week. What is normally a fun, family-gathering time of year, is effectively fogged in with dread, I go through the motions. All-consuming thoughts ruminate incessantly - I'm dying. Yeah, it's what hypochondriacs DO, we ‘dive off into the deep end,’ thrash, drown in ‘what if’s??’

The next week, my doctor smiles after he peers past my tongue into my throat, “Where?” Looks twice, insists I relax, “It's nothing.” He knows me well, adding, “if it would make you feel better, let's follow-up in three months.” His reassurance tempers my panic . . life resumes.

CHAPTER TWO

December 2019, January, February, 2020 the winter that wasn't. Work that was. Mid-February Housing fair at Ohio University's Walter Hall Rotunda. Event coordinator, Donna, introduces herself to Dave and me at our display table. Lively-soul, (I admire extroverts) she explains she recently transferred to this area from Columbus and, among other things, is a Stage 4 breast cancer survivor. Woman is spunky. Piques my interest. I share my sister's email address with her, explaining Cheryl is an 18-month soldier waging the same battle.

March approaches and the little nagging voice in my head reminds, “3-month follow-up, Deb, just do it.” Did. Friday, March 6. Confirmed, no dumb spot. Ha!! Your basic normal appointment. Crisis debunked. As visit concludes, Hillary, his nurse, scrolls through my medical record, turns to mention it's been more than a couple years since my last mammogram, they’ve all been clear, but I'm due, and would I want to set up one.

“Sure”

My youngest, Leah, works in this same medical facility, stop at her desk near the lab to say ‘hello.’ She’s my last to leave home, miss her in my house still. Always good to see and talk to her. She and Ian were married 18 months ago. Her desk-mate, Jordan, coincidentally one of Leah’s friends from her high school days, sets up my mammo appointment for Monday.

MONDAY, MARCH 9. Say ‘hello’ again to the girls at their desk. Check-in. Take a seat, wait my turn. Have had plenty of these 'grams in my lifetime, no big deal, no dread. Bare 'em, squash 'em, and get back to work. This time though, the tech knows my sister, and as I dress when we are done, from behind the screen she casually asks how old Cheryl was when she got her diagnosis and how’s she doing. (60. She is doing remarkably well, maintaining) 10 minutes later, I’m back at my work desk, phone rings, the mammo-tech is on the phone, needing me to return the next day for “a couple more, 'maybe clearer' pics, and an ultrasound.” That’s never happened before. A fleeting shot of panic surges, but since my most recent dread has been unfounded, I attempt to not over-react.

TUESDAY, MARCH 10. Keenly study the radiology-tech’s face for clues when she comes to fetch me from the lobby, I examine her demeanor as if I’m a police detective on a high-profile murder case and she’s my prime suspect. She's calm. So I'm cool. Rescan first, ultrasound second. Not especially pleasant the latter, (idiotic thing to say, was wholly unpleasant ) having your chest unceremoniously smashed in a circular motion against your ribs. The techs are studious, the room silent, I stare at the ceiling. Last time I had an ultrasound was 26 years ago and I was pregnant. Today, no fun at all. Understand now why my sister mentioned she is not a fan of these during her breast cancer struggles.

CHAPTER THREE

SATURDAY, MARCH 14, a knock on the front door, mailman is standing on my front porch and in the time it takes me to scribble my name on a card, I'm staring down at a certified letter in my palm, the return address of the clinic lunging off the paper at me. There's a low, barely-audible, foreign sound in my head. It's 'control', in human form, and is protesting/whining as she’s being forcibly dragged away from me. Remind myself I'm somewhat sane, an adult - just open the envelope. I do. And there it is, in black and white, the word -

ABNORMALITY

The rest of the weekend is a blur, debunking the need for concern with my daughters. Every excuse, every plausible explanation of why a letter like this would be mailed. A mistake, surely so. Just a glitch in the system. “Mom, if it was bad, they wouldn't notify you by letter,” Leah insists.

MONDAY, MARCH 16, my primary physician calls in regard to my somewhat-panicky email fired-off to him on Saturday, the day the letter arrives. He speaks in calm tones, explains he was on vacation the past week, is sorry he could not talk to me before the notice arrived, he's seen the offending spot on the film, offers it's so small, unlikely any cause for concern. “Indistinctive,” he assures. Forwarding to a surgeon for review.

CHAPTER FOUR

TUESDAY, MARCH 17, mama-daughter call . . normal stuff .. she’s working today at the clinic. She mentions the aforementioned surgeon has office hours today, maybe I could be squeezed in. I’m in luck, they can. So in a couple hours, I am shaking the hand of the head of surgery. Personable guy, he tells me he's reviewed my pics, if the radiologist had not circled the area, he would not have noticed it right away. Optimism duly noted. He thoroughly examines that body part, pokes and prods, asks me if I feel a lump. “I have not.” Today he doesn't either. Every woman knows about lumps. I absolutely know about lumps. I would never ignore one. Fact of the matter, there is NO lump!

We go over my less than stellar immediate family history of C. (HATE that word). Lung, breast, leukemia. He recommends biopsy to rule out any true problem. The B-word again. This day I say, ‘ok'.

Right here is where COVID-19 makes it's bizarro presence known, personally impacts ME. Doctor advises local surgery center is now closed due to the virus and procedures are limited to emergencies only but he is willing to go before the Board to plead my case. ???? While thankful he is willing to intercede for me; I am tamping down anxiety fighting to rise up, mentally jumping up and down, stomping on it, both feet.

Couple days later I get the call the Medical Board approves me for a needle biopsy. Control-of-my-life, she is sitting on the floor in a fetal position, rocking, whimpering in a locked padded-room somewhere.

CHAPTER FIVE

TUESDAY, MARCH 24, Jess drives me to Jackson. I don't need driven. Appreciate my oldest’s company though. COVID rules necessitate only a patient be permitted to enter any facility; Jess has to wait in the car. At the door, am screened for symptoms, this is the Twilight Zone. And it's too quiet in here. The place is dark and weird and I don't want to be here. I'm the ONLY person in the entire surgery center, I overhear the staff talking, they weren’t on the schedule today, I’m the only patient. hhmmmm, why am I so important?? Creepy.

Am ushered into the procedure room, nurses are professional, put me at ease. Entering, it’s impossible to miss my film aglow on the lighted-box on the wall; she asks if I want to see it. (NO!! I don’t want to see it!!) In reality, robotically, walk over to look. There it is, plain as day. The previously described small-likely-nothing indistinctive spot. Yikes, it's a glaring, ominous, bright white glob with literal tentacles reaching out, it’s in the middle of my precious flesh. No denying this now. Thing’s staring back at me. The only way I know how to describe the rest of the appointment, is that I am having an out-of-body experience, it’s not happening to me. No . . . is not.

You know the lifts in a garage of an auto repair shop? That's what this is. Clumsily climb aboard, assume a face-down position. There's no delicate way to explain the procedure. There's an enormous hole in the table, chest area, your beloved body part dangles and the table is raised, surgeon accesses it from below. Area is securely taped, prepped and numbed. Needles are fun, aren't they??! (eye roll) Am told the table will vibrate, surgeon cautions me to lay perfectly still or the laser will slice me. (no problem, I float away, not even present in the room) And it begins. Computer guides a gatling gun of needles as it commences to stab the tumor, withdraw specimens of cells. Sounds horrific, but it isn't, numbing tends to that. Divert my eyes from the red, fleshy goop siphoning into the container, my eyes clamped shut much of the time. Lasts just a few minutes, dress, then am on my way. Visit the same surgeon in a week for the results. Will not come back to this location, by then this center will also be closed by the pandemic mandate, next appointment is at a nearby hospital.

CHAPTER SIX

APRIL 1, 2020, APRIL FOOL'S DAY. First time I have ever visited this hospital, enter alone, virus protocol at the door. Surgeon’s office on the second floor, take the elevator. Few folks in the building, those that are, like me, are wearing masks. As I wait, pilfer on my ipad. Name is called, off I go. Today I find out this thing is benign, that I have been spazzing for weeks over nothing, naturally. Don't wait long for the Dr., I remain seated as he enters, greets me. He begins talking as he walks across the room, lays down my chart, then turns, making eye-contact, “you are so lucky to have had this test, mammogram did what it was supposed to do; we've caught it early.”

“...(I go effectively deaf) blah-blah-blah-blah-blah CARCINOMA.” A cataclysmic concoction of consonants and vowels strung together into syllables, words, in sentence form, delivered matter-of-factly. What happens here is nothing short of BIZARRE. Always imagined if I heard the words, “you have cancer,” I would react BADLY.

I would -

be angry

weep

go to pieces

vomit

all of the above

In reality -

I did not cry

I did not faint

I did not scream

Instead, sit calmly, silently. Stoic. Utterly, absolutely, wholly dumbfounded. ( this isn’t real - my head hurts - is this a stroke!?) REALITY Brain cells scramble to focus, I listen intently to every word, nod occasionally. Hearing all, absorbing little, during this a crash course on three types of breast cancer and treatment options available. (drifting off - I like him, he gestures with his hands as he speaks of surgery options.) Reconstruction; their plastic surgeon is top notch. The decision is mine. The doctor adds simply, “you know what will happen if you do nothing.”

I do

Unceremoniously and without a second’s hesitation, I react, “Get it off me,” hand on my chest. (subconscious protesting, “I feel FINE!!!! THIS. IS. STUPID!!”)

He nods in acknowledgement of my words, continuing, discusses recurrence rates on the opposite breast. Fuzzy math. Right here I interrupt him with the wave of a hand, “Get them both off me!” For good measure, I repeat it. Decision made, bilateral mastectomy it is, ASAP. Hands me a print-out with my diagnosis, I roll the paper up like a diploma and slip it in my bag. Stare down at the bag I take to work everyday . . (new-reality thoughts commence) or did … back when life was normal.

“Lousy April Fool’s Day, ya gotta admit.” I mutter out-loud to him as I rise to my feet, reach for the door. (how am I walking??!)

Ah, but COVID-19. Global pandemic, if it were a person, he’d be a cold-hearted, merciless jerk. I have to wait 14 days, be symptom-free in order to be permitted in their surgery unit or risk contaminating the whole place. Condemned to live with my killer for 15 more days, let it sleep with me, go to work with me, hang out with me while I visit my kids, grandkids. Melodramatic? You betcha, but the truth. All the while knowing the beast is growing.

I don’t exit the building until I am pre-registered for surgery, receive copious instructions, am assigned a day, APRIL 16. Next to the radiology waiting room, there I message my sister, she is the first to know. I have breast cancer. There’s lab work, x-ray, EKG. Am a zombie. A polite zombie with cancer making idle chitchat with techs who have no freaking clue my unremarkable and average life has evaporated in the last 45 minutes.

Poked, prodded, scanned and x-rayed - my walk across the parking lot is a 1,000 mile trek. Open the door, slide into the seat, fasten the seat belt, inhale deeply, fill my lungs with air just so I feel alive and less numb. Stare at my hands. Wish I could scream without attracting attention. Vomiting would be a blessing about now. I seem to be the same person that got out of the vehicle two hours before. No, am not the same at all. HOW do I do this????! Any of this??

HOW??????????!!!!!

In the days that follow, I will unroll my biopsy report, familiarize myself: invasive lobular carcinoma, 1.6cm, grade 1, ER+PR+HER2-. (translation = hormone fed) I will become versed about the enemy within, that if left untreated, would put me in the ground. Knowledge is power.

CHAPTER SEVEN

How do you tell the people you love, you have cancer? How do you toss a live emotional-grenade in a room? As terrifying as it is for me, I have to watch the realization sink in, the fear in their faces. Jess and Leah, my girls, having initiated a video chat with me as I wait for labs at the hospital. “Mom...well, how’d it go??” Not necessary to share details out loud, I crack, my eyes said all there was to say. Tough to hide that. Awful is the fact I’m in a public waiting room as they ask, am trying to hold it together, not disintegrate, explode into pieces. Watch them absorb what they now understand. I can’t help them.

Morning of April 1, the plan was to go back to work after the appointment. I don't. I aim the car toward home.

But first, I stop at my mom's house, to reveal the diagnosis to her and George. This is the first time I will say the words. Standing in the middle of her living room, my mouth opens and the emotion-less words fall out, “I have cancer too.” It is weird to hear it voiced and I feel bad for her. (her sister, my dad, my brother, my sister, now me) Explain to her what I plan to do and comfort that it'll be alright. She supports my decision: show no mercy to the beast.

Head home.

Turn onto my county road, Jameson calls, asks how the Dr. visit went. Avoiding answering, instead, ask if they are home, that I will be right there. Am thankful I am not them. He ‘knows’ from my tone, detects from the question. My son and wife, Patty, live 1/4 mile from my house, I arrive at their place in only a couple minutes, walk into their living room where they both were, learn the kids are upstairs, state the fact to the both of them, and I sit down for a bit. Just like that. Keep it light and matter of fact.

Life is insane.

CHAPTER EIGHT

What follows is 15 days trapped in a state of in-between. Desperate for normalcy yet knowing I can’t have it. What to do. What. To. Do. Staying right-minded is the aim. Crave it. C-word rarely leaving my thoughts. Every day ‘hospital Jessica’ calls me to ask a series of Covid-19 related questions and asks my body temperature that I am tasked with taking each morning upon waking.

What I CAN maintain right now, is routine.

COVID locks my office door in mid-March, am the only one staffing there. OU student move-in/move-out day is May 3. I’m the one in charge of this, making sure everything is ready. Can’t cancel it . . it goes on with or without me. Scheduling surgery mid-April, slashes two weeks off my prep time for this once-a-year event. Realize the timing could not be better, if there IS such a thing, I have little free time to ponder what’s coming, am too busy. Every day I plow through my work to-do list. Go home too tired to indulge doom and gloom.

Away from the office too, I quickly find another diversion, researching and shopping for items I might need after the surgery. Soft tops with inner pockets for drains management, ice packs, hot packs, special propping pillow. A miracle they all arrive on time because Amazon Prime has been waylay-ed by the corona virus. A sick and twisted ‘Merry Christmas to me’ as each package arrives. In some small way, gives me a semblance of control.

Sleeping is not an issue during these days. It’s my safe place. Sleep deep and well, courtesy of a little purple pill discovered years ago. (thank you, menopause) Each and every morning, have about 30 seconds of ‘normal’ before I remember what demon is living in me.

An entertaining activity during this time is staring in my lingerie drawer at the start of every day, choosing which style, what color bra for one last travel in the rotation. I waffle. At first, suffer pangs of melancholy while looking at the neat row of vibrant colors and lace. Then chuckle, cups are large enough to be made into hats for small children. No one wants to discuss my boobs, but this is an important part of the process of letting go. Acknowledgement. A girl spends what seems like her whole life waiting for these body parts to materialize; coveted, we dress them up, suspend them with steel reinforcement, make the best of them. They feed our children, we rock our babies/grandbabies against them. They’re part of who we are. Mine are set for execution. It’s them or me.

Time ticks by.

CHAPTER NINE

WEDNESDAY, APRIL 15. Mastectomy Eve, am something I have never been, radioactive. True. This day go into the hospital ALONE, pass through the covid-19 gauntlet; escorted to a quiet room with a massive machine, bet it was a CT scanner, I don’t ask, I lay down on a metal table and a needle is inserted in my chest region, right side (still find it weird to use the word ‘breast’) and a radioactive tracer is placed in my body at the sight of the tumor. I’d researched the procedure a little (LIE . . I researched a LOT) beforehand, and read it would be EXCRUCIATING. So expect the worst. Naturally. Tech is kind and reassuring; small talk. I notice what great hair he has. Stare at the ceiling as I lay there. Then the doctor comes in, says I’ll feel a stick (had read the area is numbed first) expect that. Did. Not horrendous - that’s an exaggeration, barely felt anything. Assume we wait for the numbing to take effect before he drills through to the core. What I DIDN’T expect, is him to say, “you’re done.” Meaning that tiny prick was it. Say what now? Before the morning’s surgery, I’ll come back to this table, and will find out if the cancer has leeched into any lymph nodes. I dress and exit the building.

ESCAPE! The rest of this day IS MINE. I take my dreary thoughts, my diseased chest, the ‘DD girls’ , and we hit the road, took the long way home. Gave ‘them’ the best darned last-day-alive you could ask for. Was the least I could do considering what I was consenting to do to them. Pitied them and wanted them DEAD at the same time. Them or me.

Flowers waiting for me when I got home, the first time I sobbed in earnest. A torrent of tears.

CHAPTER TEN

THURSDAY, APRIL 16, 2020. DtoDD DAY. Death to DD’s Day. (and my Mom’s 81st birthday) Eerily calm. I grab my packed bag, stare at my freshly-made bed as I turn to exit the bedroom. Oh here comes one of those bizarro thoughts I have at times like this. Glancing around, mutter, “when I return, nothing will be the same. Gee, I hope I come back.” Melodramatic to a fault I am. Patty drops me off at the hospital door at a ridiculously early hour. Did I mention this is during a pandemic so no one can come in and that the hospital is spooky-empty and hushed?? Well, it is. Apocolyptically-quiet. Surreal. Check-in is swift and efficient and a surgery-nurse retrieves me promptly, accompany her to the prep area. this is real?

This unit has a circle of several cubicles, all but three are empty though. Settled in, changing into hospital gown, then I have three hours to ponder the fact that the last time I had surgery was 26 years ago and I am not as young as I used to be, and nowhere near ready to die, and lordy, I am no fan of pain. I feel FINE . . how can something deadly be in me yet I feel this HEALTHY??

In the hours I wait, return to scan-room to see if this thing has reached my lymph nodes. Dark room, humming machine. Same tech lets me watch the screen, bright lights like tiny fireworks become visible. No clue what I am watching.

My appointed time arrives, was about 9:30 a.m. Accompanied by a surgical nurse, I walk down the hallway to the O.R., my IV pole in tow. this isn’t real Three surgical staff are busily prepping. Funny how apprehension makes one awkwardly talkative with strangers, more so than normal. I greet them and cannot shut up, blather, “you know how kids took home tonsils in a jar?? (clutching my chest) you have a gallon jug I can take these home with me?” (yes, I really did say it) Laughter from them, that’s good. Am offered a stool to climb onto the table. I do. My God, to the gallows, ‘girls’

Jettisoned into the Twilight Zone right here. In the time it takes me to scoot, get comfortably horizontal on the table, sterile people descend on me, all over me doing things. Arms, legs . . belt around my abdomen. Am picturing masked-ants. Busy, busy. Big light on the ceiling lowering, settles above my upper torso and head. I feel FINE Am here, but not here. Oh God. Gentle voice to my right, as a mask is fitted over my nose and mouth, “take a couple deep breaths.”

Blackness.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

I’m struggling in deep water, not diving down - but up, shooting to the surface of the water, I need air. Regaining consciousness, a jostling, repeating, “Debbie, wake up. Can you hear me?” Awake. Literal first conscious thought, drenched in relief -

“... NOT DEAD”

Body is being tugged, moved, but I’m not doing it. Realization hits me, where I am and what's happened. Conscious, I no longer feel fine, unrelenting waves of nausea wash over me. I give myself over to whichever medical professional wants to tend to me. They can have me, I don’t want me. Not this me.

End up in a hospital room, no recollection whatsoever how. Silence interrupted only by BP cuff on an ankle, inflating noisily at intervals reminding me I’m alive. Not moving. Lord, what have I done? Ice packs under both arms. Detest feeling this gross. I hang onto the sheets for hours, ride out the nausea.

As terrible as that was, and it was horrendous, it ends abruptly once I am fully awake later in the afternoon. In fact, feel remarkably good - considering. Any pain is well-managed. I can move, even lift my arms. I can walk to the restroom, tend to myself. Am hungry and eat a good dinner. Pleasantly surprised at this half of the day.

Curious. Here’s where I gingerly lift the blanket to get my first look. DD-girls are gone, replaced by a thick layer of bandage all across my chest, tubing, two drains, and . . . oh my lord . . . HOW long has my belly been that size??????! God bless boobs, they divert one’s attention from a myriad of flaws. Geez-louise.

Thank you, Covid-19, for the hospital stay’s solitude, I don’t mind, I welcome not having to share this day with visitors. Am only interrupted intermittently by nurses and the doctor. No big deal. Not much to tell. Post on facebook that I survived. Was released to go home the very next day with surgeon’s, “no restrictions. See you in a week, will have lab results for you then.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

FRIDAY, APRIL 17. HOME. Here’s where it gets funny. Seriously. Humorous. Reality. My youngest, Leah, volunteers to stay for the first few days. Plan on not needing much in the way of assistance. Stubborn. Not too uncomfortable, prop on pillows, watch tv, pain meds. First-night, decide my bed is where I will sleep, let her have the couch. Undeterred in the middle of the night, manage to get myself to the bathroom alone. Good for ME!! Ah, but then the sun comes up. Right here I discover Super Woman I am not. Attempt the same maneuver and the stabbing pain angrily asserts, “NOT THIS TIME, SISTER!” Ah, bladder is bossy and insistent. But Pain is in charge. “#*&@*#&$}” a little too loudly (translation) “Leah!! Help!!” She comes trotting and I’m laughing, trapped in my own bed. Arms frozen at my sides, literally cannot move under my own power without an instant excruciating reaction. With urgency (full bladder loudly protesting) instruct her to wring a bed sheet, get to the foot of the bed, hold the ends, let me grab the middle . . . PULL!! It works!! Whew, lesson learned, until I could get up and down on my own unaided, I didn’t sleep there again.

Drains. Grateful to only require two. Three times a day they need emptying. Unceremoniously, Leah’s job. When large portions of flesh are removed, one’s body compensates by attempting to fill the space with fluid, drains are typically inserted to draw off this fluid, speeding recovery. These ‘things’ (drain hoses) are just under my skin across the width of my chest, a stitch holding them in place at the hole (yikes) where they exit on either side. The bulbs at the end of the 12 inch lines are clear grenade-shaped receptacles collecting wound-juice. (you winched at the visual, didn’t you? haha) They get full. Necessary to milk the line first, with sterile gloved fingers of one hand, she grasps and steadies the line where it exits my body, with the other, she slides her pinched fingers down the tubing, pushes the ooze and any clots to the end. Pops the top of the bulb, empties 'ick' into a measuring cup, and logs the amount and color. Squeezes the bulb as she closes the lid so siphon will commence. My only job is to 'enjoy' the vigorous suction. eek

I sit dutifully still on a stool while she goes about her ‘work’, chit-chatting about this and that, am intentionally not watching the gore slipping, dripping into the bulb. She's not hurting me but every now and then will feel a subtle tug, a movement of the tubing. (shudder) Sunday evening she taps the bulb’s bottom on the table, remarking, “darned clot won’t fall through.” (rap, rap, smack) “Eww, that’s gross,” she says, “clot (tap) won’t (tap) let go ( jiggling it, the dangling, stringing bloody blob just hanging there, swaying back and forth).” My skin is warming . . . interesting sensation . . getting hot. Really HOT. She is sitting right next to me, is talking but her voice is fading. Am looking her direction, but she is drifting away in a misty vapor . . . waaaaaaaaaaaay over there now, voice, can’t hear her. Vision going and the room is moving ever so slightly.

I see my girl in slo-mo, she realizes what is happening, "Mom, Mom ... MOM!" (my mouth no longer works, cannot respond) hear her excited, “DAD!!!! Come quick!! Help! Mom’s passing out!!!”

Didn't. (did get to the couch . . sat still for an hour, feet up . . w/ice pack alternating on my neck, forehead) Didn’t vomit, so that's a 'WIN" for the day.

I learn to do it myself once she goes home. No big deal.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

THURSDAY, APRIL 23. A week passes, mostly uneventful. Sick leave, lounging, medicating, tracking excretion of Deb-juice, healing. Tough to remember the days in March and early April when I felt GOOD. I feel terrible. Blah - which to me, IS terrible. No fever, no signs of infection, just a general feeling of malaise. (such a descriptive word, ‘malaise’) Post-op visit, a follow-up with the surgeon. Oldest daughter Jess, chauffeur for the day. The entire drive down to Gallipolis, I imagine they’ll take one look at my sorry self, react in horror, re-admit me immediately. I have to be dying, something has to be terribly wrong. No one can feel this bleak and survive.

Mull my life over for that hour drive, did I live it adequately, what is left that I have not done, am I going to throw up IN or OUT of her car . . oh woe is me . . my thoughts are rambling, disjointed, grim. (BEYOND melodramatic) LOL Get to the hospital, I have to admit I cannot even walk in under my own power. I have no power, drained dry. Jess requests a wheelchair and I feel how I imagine being 150 years old and feeble feels, reliant on a stranger for transport up to the waiting area. Pitiful. I hate this. Too puny to care.

And remember COVID . . Jessica can’t come in with me. My mummified remains parked in a desolate waiting room. sigh I need a transfusion. I need a transplant, I need SOMETHING . . want my life back. Where’d Debbie go??!!

Eventually wheeled into the exam room (decrepit thing that I am) to wait. Surgeon enters, his normal perky self, smiles my direction. I lament the state of (absence of) well-being and inability to go to the bathroom for DAYS. (how embarrassing) “Sweetheart (NO, he did not say 'Sweetheart’) it’s your pain meds doing this to you. STOP THEM.”

huh?????!

Examines the 12-inch incisions on either side of my torso. Both doing well. No stitches to remove, interior stitches will dissolve on their own. Exterior sterie strips will fall off in the next week. He studies my drain-log, then simply remarks, “looks great, amounts are decreasing steadily. You want them (drains) out today?” (glimmer of hope) Instantly agree, so without ceremony and with a quick snip of a stitch and a wiggle of the tube and a firm TUG, one Jackson Pratt drain is out. Nasty thing now coiled on the exam table. OUT!!! The other follows swiftly. Oh dear lord . . feels soooooooo good to be rid of those things. Best part . . expected to have them at least another week, that the extrication of same, would be horrendous. Wasn’t. Didn’t hurt actually. Bandaids applied to my newest holes. No stitch, no nothing. “See ya in a month. No restrictions.” Surprised he didn’t pat me on my sorry head.

Trip home is infinitely better, envision the tunnel and light shining in the distance. aaaahhhhh

Not another pain pill crosses these lips . . the man is a genius. (epilogue: my decline was indeed induced by the pain meds . . out of my system - recovering was a breeze. TIP: get off them as soon as you can)

P.S. Almost forgot the most important part!!!!! Lab results!!! Geez . .the tunnel, the light . . THIS IS WHY!!! TODAY I learn I am CANCER-FREE‼️‼️‼️ Well, I would hope so!! Nearly six pounds of flesh sacrificed / removed . . CLEAN MARGINS around the tumor. Lymph nodes are CLEAR!!! Sentinel node removal a bit messy, seven others unable to be separated from it, come out as well. Sobering fact is that I, nor the surgeon, felt a telltale lump - but it was there. In black and white, sobering words, “STAGE TWO”. Appointment with oncologist in May to discuss options. Why??? Here's the thing about breast cancer, sometimes IT COMES BACK.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Want to tell you the euphoria was warmly welcome and long-lasting. Yes and no, in that order. Sharing with friends that surgeon ‘got it all’ was met with copious genuine exclamations of ‘thank God!’ and ‘hallelujah’. For good reason. Pathology report of clean margins and clear nodes is a positive outcome. IT’S GONE!! And like me at this juncture, believe that’s the end of it. Too few days of relief pass swiftly - the reality that it may not be over, steadily seeps back in as I educate myself. But with a stubborn childlike optimism, trust the oncologist will study my diagnosis, pronounce my journey with this evil thing over. “Deborah, congrats, you’re finished with it and it with you. Have a nice life.” Let’s go with that. I want it.

Just a couple more weeks to find out.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

In the meantime, at home I’m getting bored. ‘Bored’ is WONDERFUL. It’s normalcy. And a strong signal that it’s time for life to go on.

I am well enough to attend to work emails, becoming more frequent as students prepare to leave Athens officially, the stalwart diehards who came back after Spring Break despite the lockdown that commenced mid-March. Boredom, the impetus, that gets me out of the house.

TUESDAY, APRIL 28, 12 days post-op, several days free from pain-killers and feeling almost back to my old self, I slide behind the wheel of my car, new precious pillow between sensitive chest and the seatbelt and drive to work. Man oh man, how I missed 70′s radio . . sing all the way. I last at my desk for 4 hours this first day, mindful to recognize limitations, cut the day short, but go home triumphant.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

THURSDAY, APRIL 30. Meet-my-oncologist day. (mentally mark off THAT on my ‘Life’s List-of-Dreads’) First things first, why am I here??! Surgeon recommends I have a chat with the man . . rule out the need for anything further. Youbetcha. Today is THE. DAY!! Fully expect to be ‘blessed’ and sent on my way . . “Debbie, you were lucky, it’s all gone. Your cancer journey was intense and brief and now it’s over. Go live your life, girl.”

Check in. Hunker down at the back of the vast lobby, comfy chair. I absorb the room. Oh you know I don’t want to, but I do. A few patients are here. One unhealthy looking older lady on a hospital stretcher over there. Another slightly-weathered woman near the wall, wearing a turban. And there’s me. Odd-man out, pain-killers now out of my system: (yes yes, am minus the ‘girls’) full head of thick hair, kinda sorta minimally wrinkly, feeling strong and healthy . . . like me again.

Name called. BP and weight. Perks of the day . . bp is good, especially good for me. Literally-asked-the-nurse-to-repeat-the-numbers good. And am down 10 lbs. I’ll take it!! Gee, this visit is headed in the right direction!

Lead to an exam room, given a questionnaire. Ugh. Bottom of the page. Please list details of immediate family members . . . health issues, explanation. Here we go . . Melvin / dad / died in 2000 @64 / lung cancer (scribble to the side ‘life time smoker’ . . like it somehow negates the dying) Tim / brother / died in 2000 @39 / leukemia (again, the scribbling, master mechanic, hands in chemicals) Stephen / brother / died in 1957 @6 weeks / S.I.D.S. Bottom of this page is an OCD nightmare, ink scribbles in every direction, sad that I ran of space. Add, “Cheryl / sister / is 61 / @60 stage IV breast cancer (’maintaining’ . . didn’t add, but wanted to, “THANK YOU VERY MUCH!!”) Janice / mom / is 81. Terry / brother / is 55.” Finishing up, as MY oncologist enters the room.

Brief introductions . . Cursory physical exam of surgical site.

Oncologist reviews the information I provide, studies my chart. Two verbal inquires of me -

do you or have you ever smoked? “no”

do you drink alcohol and how much? “rarely”

He pauses. He can ascertain I’m not fudging the details. “Never?” he queries again. Shake my head in the negative. Sincerely he adds, “this makes NO sense. Risk factors are not there for breast cancer. No sense at all.”

Dr. Hamid relates there is a genetic test that can be performed using my tumor tissue, (eewwww, they still have it!!) the results determining whether or not chemo therapy would be of any benefit to me. Again - I am confused why a person who is now disease-free, minus seven pounds of her best flesh, needs ANYTHING additionally. I consent. He jots down for me the chemo recipe that I would receive if it’s indicated. Metaphysically burns my fingertips as I take the slip from him. (chemo??! stifling a scream) If not, I would be prescribed a pill to stop my body's remaining production of estrogen. Anastrazole is the drug of choice, there are a few common side effects: bone/joint pain, fatigue, etc. Majority of women experience no side effects of any kind, he assures. (mental note of an over-achiever: I will be one of THOSE) Dr. adds, “Lab work takes about two weeks to get back. Come see me in two weeks please. Oh wait . . you drive quite a distance to get here, right? Just call my office on May 13, we can handle this over the phone.”

uh huh . . . so much for being blessed and sent on my merry way. CHEMO, sub-set item under 1. CANCER on ‘Life’s List-of-Dreads’. TRULY . . . there is nothing I enjoy MORE, than waiting on test results. (epic eye-roll right here, stomach twists in knot)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

This is the last chapter of ‘65 DAYS IN MAY’ (today it’s February 25, 2021) I am a procrastinator. Am still me, after all. My instructions were to call oncologist’s office on Wednesday, May 13, 2020, to learn whether or not chemo therapy was the next step in my cancer treatment. By now I have little recollection of the blur of days between April 30 and when Dr. Hamid called me with my genetic testing results, my Oncotype score. Every day seemed endless, recovering well, feeling progressively more like myself. I let work duties bulldoze me through those days, thoroughly occupied. I was thankful to have nearly 300 college students moving-out and moving-in on May 3rd. Grateful to be bone weary at the end of each day, having little time to thrash about the prospect of chemo - that, and staying safe as COVID rampaged.

TUESDAY, MAY 12, at my desk, alone in a pandemic-locked-down office. One last day not having to call, know anything. Ignorant bliss. Phone rings, spy caller I.D., uh-oh, cancer center. I stop breathing. Lift receiver, ‘Hello, this is Debbie.’ Not breathing. HERE WE GO (9+ months later now, still recall the catch of my breath and pounding heart. Am not exaggerating when I tell you time froze.) Dr. Hamid’s voice was soft, he wasted no time relating my Oncotype score plus chance of recurrence is low and chemo is not necessary in my situation. He’ll call in an Anastrazole script for me, it cuts my chance of recurrence to less-than 5%. Only question I had, “what exactly was my number?” 17 “See you again in 6 months,” as he ends the call. Stare at the phone receiver clenched in my hand.

NO CHEMO . . with exorbitant gusto, I EXHALE

Celebration fireworks in my head, both hands in the air, stifle an audible, triumphant HALLELUJAH! For the moment, issued a reprieve. I soak it up. Once composed, swivel chair to my right, run my palms slowly, purposefully over the desk calendar, lift the pages, studying, absorbing. Begin to count . . . .

STINT IN PURGATORY - 65 DAYS IN MAY

EPILOGUE

(stay tuned)

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