Today I feel like writing a little. I haven't felt it lately. Well, I've felt the urge to get my words out of my head and down somewhere else, but haven't had the drive... the ability.
On Thursday I had a small explatory surgery to look for endometriosis and any signs of anything bigger. I've had this gynocological symptom set for years. Abnormal and excessive bloating, general pelvic pain and pressure, localized pelvic pain and pressure on the lower right side that ranges from the daily (which is a pressure with a few stabs) to the severe (consistent and lasting stabbing/burning), the complete inability to poop that every GI doctor in the universe has failed to find a cause for, general pain in areas that if I were to specifically mention would cause me to have to put an age warning on my blog, and random and varied periods. My Aunt referred me to her gyno and ZOMG he actually listened to me.
So I went in and now have a bruised and second-trimester-esque belly to show for it, along with shoulder pain that is painful. I'm not a wimp, nor am I a hypochondriac in the slightest. I'm the girl that hates Tylenol. But holy shit. Ow. I try to keep in mind that many people I know in my internet life experience excruciating pain most days of the year, but that thought has not helped my own pain go away. So. Cameras went in through my belly button, above my right and left hip and internally. A golf-ball-sized cyst was removed from my right ovary and...
Nothing was found. Nothing. No endometriosis, no irregularities, no scarring, nothing. Which is good, right? Especially given my own personal history and my family history, both myself and the gyno were expecting to find moderate endo and wouldn't have been surprised by some other irregularities. And nothing. Which, I'm thankful for. So thankful. So thankful to have a doctor that is paying attention to me instead of laughing, so blessed to have found a doctor in COWBOY COUNTRY that told me I am the owner of my body and am the only person qualified or entitled to make decisions about it, and so beyond relieved that my CA125 (a blood test commonly used as a semi-reliable tumor marker, particularly with ovarian cancer patients) was at an incredibly normal and healthy 8. So thankful. Relieved that I'm not facing some diagnosis.
However. Now what? I'm too educated to believe that all of these symptoms were caused by one small cyst. And what of the others? The constant headache? The dizzy spells? The un-explained grey matter revealed on an MRI from two years ago? The back spasms? I've done so many things in my life. I've changed my eating habits (though, if I'm being honest, I've consumed far too many brownies over the past few months with my excuse being that brownies aren't as bad as whiskey), I've lost a whopping 70 pounds in four years and will lose another twenty in the next 6-12 months. I'm working on the smoking. I'm looking for a shrink. I've become more honest with myself and others, I've found my belief system, I try to sleep. I have rid my life of the passionate but toxic relationship I had with my very own personal and genuine alcoholic. I've been working on my own recovery for several months in that area. I've done all of the things I can do short of the next, more extreme steps that I'm not willing to take at this time (along the lines of living on raw and home-made juice, or giving up steak or magically finding Jesus). Why are all of these things present?
I'm stressing and I know I am. I'm always stressing. Stress is my comfort-zone, as evidenced by how fucking manic and weird I get when things seem to get easier. I'm ok with the personality traits that make me who I am, regardless of whatever diagnoses head doctors like to make when I open my mouth.
Speaking of head doctors, I recently did a small interview on film with a friend who does work for the National Alliance on Mental Illness about awareness and stigma. It's pretty exciting and scary, to think of my face on something that I hope will get out of this world big. But that's another post.
That's what's going on right now. I have all of these "other posts" that get written, sort of, in my head. That I never have time for, energy for. Today, I'm missing my Madre. Not that sick woman. This may sound harsh, but I don't miss her. I'm happy that woman is out of pain and out of that body. But my Mama, Madre, Mamita. All of the things she was that made me use different names for her. I'm missing her bad today because I want to talk to her. My Dad fulfills other roles in my life, wonderful ones that only he can fill. And my family here, I'm overwhelmed by them and their love and closeness. I'm thrilled that I feel like finally finally I am becoming a part of it. But my Mom, I just, I can't explain it. I'm missing her bad right now.
Earlier today I was thinking about when I was younger. We sat out on the lawn with two bottles of White Zin and laughed and talked about all of the serious things that were going on in my friends' lives. Teenage pregnancy, drugs, an OD, a death, all of the things that regularly afflict teenage lives. And now, I want to be sitting on my porch with two bottles of Moscato and talking about what's going on in my life. I just miss her today, bad. Emmy dreams about her almost every night and I am so happy for that. This has been so fucking hard on that precious little girl, that amazing little thinker. And I'm so happy that Gramma is in her dreams in a "black shirt with strings and sunglasses."
Conclusions for the lose.
