Author: oldgirlintheendogame

I have been bone weary tired, lately. Like most adults in the world, I was released from my job. Unlike most of the world, I have enough cash to help pay bills for a while. For that I am blessed, thankful and grateful. I have a couple offers lining up and I am doing some temporary work to cover immediate expenses. With our numbers for Covid increasing, it only stopped all offers.

The ‘released from my job’ business has ended up being a huge blessing. I realized midway in, I had made a mistake linking myself to this business partner. To say our life philosophies didn’t align is putting it mildly. She is a religious zealot. I am not. So it came as NO surprise when she called and told me she wouldn’t put my name on the LLC paperwork to give me my half… her reason? Because God told her not to. And if I had a problem with it, she told me to talk to God. She only does what he tells her to do.’ … …What. The. Actual. Fuck. So, since I refused to drink the cool-aid…. or listen to her ‘David-Koresh’ wanna be bullshit, I decided it was in my best interest to let her and HER business go.

Now- it took a while… for me to let go. Actually. A lot of tears. Telling her off a couple times helped too. It was even more awful because she pulled this bullshit right before Covid hit. The week before the 16th of March. I was shocked, sad and crushed because I busted my ass. Busted my ass for something that isn’t mine. Again, it wasn’t mine. I felt robbed. And somehow, I needed to figure out how to stop my initial response to go kick her ass…

So I started thinking of what I had accomplished there. What had I learned and I started realizing that I now know things for myself that I really didn’t know before. I realized I am smart. I can drive change. I can solve million dollar puzzles! I can diplomatically work for a greedy woman (like her) to maintain my family life and not destroy myself in the process. I can pull groups of people together and show them a different, better way.

BUT.

I can do those things for people who appreciate me, appreciate the way my brain works and accept me for where I am. And where I am going to be, very, very soon.

The day before ‘Ms. Koresh ex business partner’ ‘fired’ me, I had made an appointment with a local psychiatrist. I knew I needed to get my head space right. If I can’t do that, I’ll never settle down and I’ll never trust myself. I’ve been in some shitty situations in my professional career. Most people don’t believe it when I tell them. But here I am. Stronger. Smarter. Wiser. And this time, I know it. There is no problem I can’t figure out.

The psychiatrist is amazing. She helped me get my DNA/medication test. Never questioned my diagnoses or anxiety. She stopped my panic attack at the first visit and told me I didn’t have to fight like that anymore. She started me on Viibryd. She told me she believed we could fix it and I would eventually not need any medicine. No- she assures me I am not crazy, all my reactions are coming from trauma. PTSD.

Now, we will start to do the work to fix my head space. Intake should be over now. I told her my reality is pain. It’s always been pain. I’ll never be at zero on the pain scale but after living at at ten on the pain scales, I can handle a 2-3, overall. But this anxiety that makes me claw my skin off has got to go. And NOW!

I’ll no longer apologize for anything. I did what I had to to survive a hell most people don’t even know exists. I am proud to be alive. Finally.

Now- pray, send positive vibes and healing thoughts my way. I’ll take all the positive I can get. One more long battle ahead and I am ready. My terms. My life. My future.

Head up, feet down.

Head up, feet down. I love you N.

Xx

LS

I’m sitting outside. Watching the beautiful moon rise. I don’t know if I have ever seen one like this. It is a full moon tonight. The clouds were initially glowing yellow with moonlight behind the mountains. No moon visible yet. The night sky is dark, black. The sun long gone… looks like a Hollywood scene.

I’m smoking a nice indica. The temperature is an amazing 87 degrees. The stars are still visible, beautiful and bright.

It was a hell of a day. I worked 14 hours but only billed 12. Everything in my house eats all the time so I fed something or someone all day, the mother in law called- required help (for something the family should not allow at all). It pissed me off. Then I dropped my whole cup of water in the living room. The kid woke up super grumpy and crying. The husband got home and the day just went to shit… so I went back to work. Hence, the 14 hour day. The husband comes in with work clothes on. He got called out.

The kid comes in and sits at the bar and I can tell she’s been crying. Poor baby is just like me. You can see her face is all blotchy… but, I don’t point it out. I just start cleaning the kitchen. Waiting to see if she spills what’s on her mind. I wasn’t expecting what I got.

Months ago, she tapped out and asked to go to the doctor for her periods. After over a year of craziness, she wanted to see the gynecologist for them. They were irregular and she kept reporting pain but it was vague. I took her to see the gyn that I’ve been with forever… the doctor that believed me. And also delivered her 13 years ago.

Our first visit with Dr. Chin was good. Since the kid is only 13, doctor decides no pelvic exam. I was so thankful that didn’t have to happen and supported a hands off, talking approach. After hearing the issues, the doctor said she was going to get an ultrasound just to make sure everything was fine. Probably start birth control after that, depending what the US showed.

The appointment for her US was in early Feb. I busted my ass to get her there and we almost cancelled due to lack of time- mine, no one else’s… but something told me to get my ass in gear and finish her medical appointments! So, we piled in the car and hauled ass to the doctor office for an ultrasound. I didn’t expect any diagnosis that day. I sat in the clinic US room and watched while the tech performed the US. But I didn’t know there was a radiologist actually watching the US real time. The tech calls on a walk-in talkie radio for doctor to review the results with us.

Radiologist comes in and says to the tech-go back to the right ovary, it’s polycystic. Then let’s look at the left as it’s the same. Doctor, speaking to the kid, explains what he sees, showing her the detail in the pictures. Her ovaries look like little moons… full of craters. He asks if she has questions and she says no.

Meanwhile I’m sitting there, dying inside, trying not to show any emotion. Fuck! PCOS. A whole body disease. Diagnosed at 13. I wanted to cry. I was expecting them to poo poo us and send us on our way that every thing was normal. I expect endometriosis. Maybe a cyst. Never PCOS. The one pelvic disease I don’t have. My whole heart was heavy.

Fast forward to today. The gyn put her on the pill and I don’t think it’s the right pill for her. My normal, chill kid is now a hot ass mess of emotions. This whole pandemic and home schooling business has not been easy. She sleeps all day. Refuses to do her homework. almost refuses to do anything. Expect sleep.

She is grumpy. I am grumpy. Never a good combo.

So, Back to this evening. I am loading the dishwasher, waiting on her to say something. She doesn’t.

So I ask if she was hungry? If she needed anything and she burst into tears and said having PCOS wasn’t fair. I burst into tears and simply said she was right. It wasn’t fair. We both just cried. Ugly cried.

Then I told her about my research. PCOS is a whole body disease. There are things we can do to help her by simply managing some of the symptoms. She told me about her research (my girl!!! ❤

We talked about making her a dermatologist appointment. The oily skin and hair is most bothersome to her. So I’ll make a dermatologist appointment tomorrow. We also discussed the need for a pediatric endocrinologist. I made her an appointment the day we got the diagnosis- but it’s not until July. And finally we discussed that the birth control may not be the right one for her and it’s time to call the doctor and ask for advise… keep the current pill or try a different one. I talked to her about metformin, diet, weight control and insulin resistance.

Those are the biggest things my research has shown we need to focus on. I joined a PCOS, not trying to conceive, Facebook page and I asked those ladies what they wished their mom knew about having PCOS at 13 and what they would like to have told their mom. I asked what has helped them. Universally, those things we touched on were in almost every comment.

She instantly perked up when I told her the pills may not be the right ones for her body. They appear to be making her feel awful, be crabby and tearful- she looked at me with big eyes, full of tears and ask, it can do that? Yes! Baby girl, it does do that. And it’s okay because I get it. And, so does Daddy. We get it.

We had a good, ugly cry. Together. I promised to help her manage the symptoms and we discussed next steps so we are on the same page and have the same expectations. She was much calmer and I am so glad I can be here. With her. I assured her that dad and I both know pelvic diseases and we are both here to help her feel better.

I told her that we had an opportunity to see this not as the worst thing that’s ever happened to her but as something we can climb on top of now. Make positive changes that will carry her into her future as healthy as possible. With out fear. With out pain. With out PCOS being the worst thing that’s happened. I want to teach her that it’s just something to fold into your life. Into the daily management. Not something that controls her life. This is where an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure.

I never wanted this for my baby.

I am thankful to be alive. Thankful to be able to help my baby navigate living with a whole body disease. Thankful to *still be working. Thankful for my husband and kid. My small circle of friends and family.

Please, be safe. Kiss your loved ones and take care of each other.

Xx

LS

I woke up with it on my mind and then immediately I felt the heaviness in my heart. The anxiety instantly set in… my vision fuzzy. Tears in my eyes

My first thought of the morning. UGH

I can’t stop it…

Scrolling through my mind like a marquee… you know the one. The sign that is out of place and too bright and has that really loud, odd buzz…

…new doctor… new doctor… new doctor…

I know it’s a fear response. A history of being doubted. But I’m powerless to stop it. I haven’t even seen the doctor and I’m already in panic.

The auditory marquee immediately rolls into visual images of these previous doctors. Like ghosts of my past, they roll together fluidly from one doubtful doctor to the next. Each one here to haunt me all over again. They’re all arrogantly standing over me…. taking turns calling me a liar. Telling me to seek psychiatric care for a pain that was ‘Obviously’ in my head.

The marquee keeps scrolling… it’s amps up in intensity. I can hear the labels they tacked onto me. Like they’re playing pin the tail on the donkey at a kids birthday party…

…she’s a hypochondriac, she’s a drug seeker, only drug addicts use fentanyl, have you thought you are your own problem…

The marquee rolling through my mind and the subsequent panic and anxiety level would normally have been enough to make me cancel the appointment. Why cancel? Because, Fuck it… I still have more pain managed days than non-managed days so there is no need to deal with hypocritical… NEW DOCTORS…. right this minute.

But.

That isn’t healing. Cancelling the appointment isn’t what will help me get this pain back under control.

Luckily, the husband stirred about 20 minutes into my anxiety filled, marquee rolling, panic attack.

He acknowledged that he could see why I was struggling. But was quick to then remind me that we don’t need this guy for answers. We don’t need diagnostic stuff, just maintenance and access to care. -And, husband says, if he’s a dick, just leave. We will find someone else.

So, how did it go?

Well, I got up and took a Xanax. Lol

Then I got dressed. Curled my hair and put my makeup on. Shoes, perfume and Jewelry. ~~It’s necessary for me, you see. It’s a survival tool, really. I learned early on… If I’m put together, not hysterical or wild eyed, their more likely to believe me…

I drove to the doctor and almost bailed in the parking lot but the husband was there to text with me… we don’t need him to believe you, only agree to the injections. It’s okay… you’re okay….

So I went in. Alone. Believing in the power of my own story. And my own survival…. but still, hoping I like him.

Dr. Gossler comes in. Shakes my hand and we do brief intro’s. He asks why I’m there and I immediately explain that I have PTSD that is trigged X1000 when I see new doctors, please if he could be patient with me while I process what is said and if I ask you to repeat yourself, it’s only to ensure I understand what you mean.

…fuck…

…….FUCK.

I didn’t mean to say that! Ugh!

Dr. Gossler looks at me and calmly says, okay. Thank you.

…Then he starts… I read your last records from Hibner. He asks, Who was Dr. Hastings again?….. and off we went, answering questions and then his exam. We discuss how I added procedure onto procedure until I found the powerhouse COMBINATION to deal with PGAD and bladder, frozen pelvic muscles and SIJ injections… Dr. Gossler said he doesn’t want any radiology tests. He is comfortable continuing Hastings injections…

He asked if I had another diagnosis of some hip thing. I said no…I must have looked wild eyed, he backed off. I didn’t ask what he meant as I was so focused on making sure I controlled my ptsd. I’ll have to ask what he thinks is happening to the hips at my next visit.

Then he surprised me. He offered additional treatments to consider when the SIJ Injections stop working… radioablation of the nerves (that can last up to a year at a time) and then fusing the joints. I immediately rejected fusing and he asked why. I said I was afraid of it causing more damage down the road. He said unlikely and explained the dowels they use are triangular and don’t go through the whole pelvic floor. It isn’t one single rod but 4 small ones. He said it’s an option for later, not now. He told me I am lucky, that only 30% of people who get SIJ injections get any relief.

Now that I think about it, I don’t think it’s luck at all… Blood. Sweat. Tears. Withdrawals. And I can’t help but think maybe if the doctors did more powerhouse injections, listening and adjusting based on each patients needs, together then more people would report successful blocks…. if I had done one block at a time and moved on to the next after it didn’t help ‘enough’ then I’d be saying none of them work… it honestly took them ALL, being done together, to get any significant pain difference for me.

Anyways, I did it. A successful visit. By myself. Hahahahaha haha…. unsupervised. To a new doctor! Hells yeah!

And, I see Dr. Gossler again on February 17th for bilateral SIJ injections. In clinic, no anesthesia and I can’t fucking wait! Bring on the pain of those injections so I know I have relief coming… bring it!

Come on Feb 17!

Healing is hard but the reward is beautiful.

Updates after the injections.

Xx

LS

In my quest for ‘Better’, what ever that meant, somehow, along the way, I lost it. All of it.

What is ‘it’, you ask?

‘It’ is the ability to fill my free time with hobbies and activities. Crafts. Fun stuff… things I enjoy.

Instead. I find my free time is empty.

Completely empty!

I have no hobbies.

I don’t watch TV.

I don’t read novels.

Can’t bake- no one in my family has the same dietary requirements.

My house is spotless. For real- nothing to clean here. Move along, lady. SERIOUSLY.

Laundry is done.

Yard, eh, it’s not bad.

Everything I used to do is simply gone.

I find it virtually impossible to watch tv. It’s just to hard to get involved in a tv drama. Mostly because I have found that my life is drama enough.

For instance…

Interested in medical mysteries? I’m it. I am totally not joking. Hell, I may be bald before I have all my answers.

Want cute animal stories? I live them… I have them and I love my animals.

Family drama? Pleaaaaase! I could write a book. And half of it would be unbelievable.

Reading or novels… I just can’t get interested. Same as TV. Why in the hell would I let myself get wrapped up in fake drama? I’ve searched and searched. I have audible credits… just can’t find anything that looks interesting.

Sports and working out are gone. I can’t Botox up and inject all this shit to make it relax all those frozen muscles and then be a dip shit and try and engage them at the same time. It doesn’t work like that. Not for me.

I love my blog and FB. Love helping people and reading their thoughts and successes. But I can’t live in the sick realm too long. It causes me great anxiety. It’s awful.

I don’t work 80 hours a week and no longer have a commute. I pull maybe, maybe 60 hours a week now.

So what’s left? I haven’t a damn clue. I’ll update when I figure it out.

To be honest, I never expected to make it to this point… to still be alive and healthy enough to have waking hours that I can fill with nonsense things. Hours that need to be filled with something to do because I no longer require 20 hours of sleep a day…

I didn’t expect to get better.

Xx

LS

Fuck it. I’m done. Melt down. Can’t stop crying. I just Feel …. really ….fucking pissed. so mad I can’t even see strait.

I’ve sacrificed everything to live. To be okay. To find a comfortable space to exist in the chaos that is me. Only to find that I have lost so much hair, I now have a visible bald spot- in the middle of my head, near the front.

I just can’t. I tried to keep it together when I found it but I couldn’t hide my shock. My anger.

I’m not stupid enough to play the- what next???-game. I know thats never a game I’m ready to play.

This may seem insignificant to some but I love my hair. It was always and has always felt like a huge part of me.

I called the doctor today and according to them, my thyroid is perfect. All my bloodwork looks- and I quote- ‘amazing’. Fuck. Me.

I’m tired of being sick. I don’t want to lose my hair. I do not want to give one more single ounce of energy to being SICK. But alas, it is not to be. I hope, beyond all hope, that I find the cause before I lose it all.

Stick a fork in me. I’m fucking done.

Happy Thanksgiving.