Happy 4th of July!

Just popping in to say Happy 4th of July!!!! 

My boyfriend and I have been mostly snuggling and watching movies since this morning when we were playing with some popping fireworks. 

We’re both big dorks, but it keeps us smiling and laughing so we don’t care. We watched Secret World of Arrietty just now. 

Family should be here soon so we can start our barbeque and have the kids around to watch fireworks. Have a happy and safe 4th of July!!!

Frustration

My pre-op package was supposed to be sent last week. Tomorrow is the 4th of July, and the breast clinic that was supposed to send all this out is closed for today. All of this, including my prescription for my pain medicine, paperwork I was supposed to bring to the surgical hospital, and instructions on what to do/what not to do before my surgery. 

As it was supposed to be mailed to me, should it be sent on Wednesday, it will arrive too late. I live 3 hours from the surgical hospital, and my appointment begins at 7 a.m. 

I attempted to call the hospital, to which they can’t do anything since the breast clinic was supposed to send it out. 

Add all of this with the fact I’m getting demands from family members that should know that I’m stressing too much to cater, I’m a mess and a half.

Hoping that it somehow magically appears. Until then!

Note to Self

You would think I would have learned from when I had my appendix taken out a couple years ago that it is a very very bad idea to watch a video about your surgery. I had watched it after I had gotten home and I was still healing. Apparently they burn your appendix out piece by piece, clamp by clamp. 

Obviously, my brain and sense of curiosity didn’t think it would be a bad idea to watch a video about my upcoming surgery, however. Something about “It hasn’t been done to me yet, so maybe I won’t feel bad this time.” 
Keep in mind that I watch horribly gorey forensic shows as I continue. Blood, guts, bodily fluids, etcetera, does not bother me.

After my appendix, watching the video created a great pain in my still-healing insides, and I also came close to vomiting. 
This time was only a little different. It hadn’t happened yet, so there was no pain, and only a little nausea. However, it created a panic within me that seems to grow with every passing hour as I mentally count down the days. 

The image of the woman’s breast being cut, pulled, and cut again before ducts were free to pull out and then the hole was sewn will forever be etched in my mind. With each excruciating pain from my right breast (it only lessens enough for me to ignore it sometimes) I see it. Instead of a different woman, I automatically replaced her image with my own in the recesses of my mind. 
Last night, I actually had a nightmare about it. Something about the anethstesia, and how it affected my other situation. I remember hearing my boyfriend calling for me and crying for me, but I was in a pitch black room I could find my way out of. Mainly because I couldn’t move. When I felt him wrap his arms around me while we slept, I managed to jolt awake and curl into his arms long enough to breathe right. I checked my phone to see the time, it was about 3am. It was hard getting back to sleep. I dozed at about 6am. 
Needless to say, curiosity is hardly ever a good thing. Especially in my case. 

Currently Diagnosed

Today I wanted to talk about the conditions I currently have, and if I remember, when I found out about them and how. 

I’ll try to start with beginning of me being a problem child for the first time ever: In my infant years, as my mother told me, one day I suddenly spiked a fever out of nowhere. Just at random. However, it was so high, that my body went into shock and I was having seizures. I’m not sure how things were after that other than being told my sisters ran all over the place while my mother took me to the hospital trying to get to my grandmother, and ran to the hospital before my grandmother could get into her car.
Now, the next thing would be my athsma. I was fully “diagnosed” when I was about 10 years old. However, upon looking into my medical records when I was about 15, I found that years ago the upper left of my lung collapsed. I was never informed, my mother was never informed, and I went untreated at 7 years old at that time. Since then, I have had to have a steroid inhaler and then a nebulizer because they got tired of me going to the ER for breathing treatments when my inhalers just didn’t cut it.

Not long after being diagnosed for my athsma, I was later plagued by a strange feeling in my health. Suddenly, my world would distort and move, I even felt sensations that weren’t there. Like that one time it felt like the ground was Jello and my feet kept sticking to it. That was a trip. 

Honestly, every doctor I went to at that time kept insisting I got ahold of some sort of bad drug or something, but every time they did a blood/pee test, of course, nothing was in my system! Finally, finally, I found a doctor that informed me of Alice in Wonderland Syndrome. He thought it might be caused by my migraines that used to be very frequent and violent in my younger years. My migraine medicine my doctor had given me never helped when my migraines we’re that bad. Then, they sort of just went away and I was stuck with Alice in Wonderland Syndrome. 

Oh well, moving on!

Finally, I will inform you of a rarety I first noticed only about three Halloweens ago. Halloween will be remembered as my CU anniversary. CU, is short for Cold Urticaria. 1 in 100,000 people have it. There isn’t a lot known about CU. All I know, for instance, is that the cold makes me break out in hives and itch. Slushies make my tongue swell. I am 100% allergic to the cold. The air conditioning this summer has been making me itch more than I care to analyze. It has gotten to the point in which rain makes me break out.

Most doctors have never heard of it, but please, look it up and spread the word. It helps us with Cold Urticaria let our doctor’s know that we aren’t crazy or “just making it up.” 

Aside from my recently obtained duct ectasia diagnosis, and only-fate-knows-what is wrong with my legs, that is it.

Feel free to address me as Problem Child, I’ll be okay with it. I’ll update as things go on and days go by! Until then!

High Emotions

Today has been high emotions, between worrying about my health and upcoming surgery, waiting to have another “episode” where I just fall and can’t move, and then worrying how my boyfriend will react to latest news. 

No, not that. Still a virgin over here. Plus, if PMS and bleeding is a part of it, I think things need to be checked on.

He had wrecked his car falling asleep at the wheel about a week ago. His first car that he worked for a few years to pay for every cent to buy. It really doesn’t look that bad, at a glance. But the machanic said it would be cheaper to just total it and get a new car. Apparently it’s worse than we originally thought. 
I feel exhausted and weak, but my emotions (and other’s) are making me restless. I’m hoping that things will calm down before my surgery, because this is unnerving right now.

Feeling Today

Today I feel as though I am walking through a haze. Apparently, I forgot my sister brought the mail to me earlier. Interesting.

My head feels fuzzy and I feel kind of dizzy. I’m glad I have my breast surgery on the 6th, but I’m worried about my current leg issues. I thought I was going down again earlier today. I took a step and suddenly, my legs felt as if they were asleep and it was hard to balance and move. They were shaking, I later realized, and I sat down.

It has been like this pretty much all day. Maybe I worry too much. But, since my neurology appointment still hasn’t been made yet, it’s hard not to be concerned.

 

On a lighter note, I was arguing with a post about the Friends characters being sorted into Harry Potter’s Hogwarts Houses. I think I made a strong case.

 

Anyone who has seen Friends or read the Harry Potter books will have their own opinions, but some of the reasons the article gave just didn’t seem plausible.

I take my Harry Potter very seriously.

Don’t judge me!

 

Now, I shall be taking a shower and hoping I don’t fall in the tub again.

Into the Unknown

This only began around the end of May. Sort of. It’s only happened three times so far, but the latest on was the worst.

My legs have been going into random bouts of giving out on me without warning. Becoming wet noodles that can’t feel anything from the mid-thigh down. The first two instances lasted about twenty minutes at most and I was able to feel them sort of “wake up” and I was able to move a little after that.

The latest instance, however, landed me in the hospital overnight. I was taking a shower at the time and my father had to lift me out and then take me into my room. My sister had to help me dress. My mother poked me with a needle to try to see if I could feel anything. I couldn’t until she started poking at my upper thigh. Honestly, I laid there on my bed and wondered if she was too nervous to start poking at me until I felt it poke me. She then told me she had already gone up my leg. Then, when my boyfriend came home, we had a discussion and he and my father carried me out to the van (very awkwardly) and my mother brought me to the ER about a town over. I wasn’t about to let the band-aid station in my town even look at me.

There, the same sort of test was done to see if I had feeling. After an hour drive there and two hours fighting back and forth whether I should go or wait until morning, I still had no feeling. After an hour in the ER, I had my blood taken and a doctor came in and told me that I couldn’t go home because they didn’t have the right people to deal with me on staff then.

I was then prepped and carted upstairs, all the while crying and panicking. I was desperate. I wanted to go home, and it was already past midnight. If I just forced my legs to move. By the time I was put in my room, I was hysterical.

I am very controlling, especially when it comes to my own body (as I think everyone should be.) The fact that I couldn’t command my own legs was killing me. What if they never got feeling back? What if I ended up in a wheelchair? What if it was something serious to add on to all the other stress I was going through already? All of these questions and far more bounced in my head as I attempted a tear-soaked bargain with my mother that I –could– do it, I could –make– them work and I could go home.

I didn’t sleep the whole night. Partially because of my panic, and partially because the nurse apparently didn’t put in my catheter right and it felt like it was ripping me to shreds later.

My sister, who worked at the hospital as an RT (NEVER call a RT a nurse if you want to live!!!) described the nurse as stupid and ill-of-hearing. I got that vibe from her after the fourth call demanding someone come check it out over the span of a very painful hour. Some pains just should not be inflicted at certain parts of your body- especially virgin parts.

Finally, after nine hours, (that’s right, NINE HOURS) I was starting to feel that pins-and-needles static feeling of my legs “waking up.” Thankfully the stupid nurse was in not long after and she poked at my legs and I felt relief to feel her boney fingers digging into my flesh. I felt it! Finally!

 

Not long after, I was able to bend my legs and I began forcing them to move, despite the pain. Just like if my legs had gone to sleep for an excessive amount of time. I almost laughed through my pain. Soon, I convinced the idiot to remove the catheter, but she refused to let me attempt to move.

But, seeing as I was getting a cramp in my butt and desperately wanted my panties back on, I expertly stood on my knees and put them on from the bed. Later, my new nurse that I practically cheered for when she came in, checked on me and brought in the best hospitalist I have ever seen. He was amazing. If he had his own family practice, I would leave my current primary in a red-hot second! He made sure everything was in order, talked to me and asked and answered questions for over half an hour, and even popped in when he remembered something and came in to ask again. He then made an entire list of what I should do next so I didn’t have to remember. He was awesome.

Everyone called him Dr. A, apparently because they couldn’t pronounce his last name at a glance.

He told me to get an appointment with a neurologist asap and to go through a few other tests such as a full thyroid test and a nerve test. He left no blanks and answered all my questions. I left feeling as though I might figure this out sooner than my other issues.

 

However, I forgot to put my primary into the equation. My primary is a very sweet man, but he’s obviously burnt out. I have to take the reigns and demand what to do next because now, if he can’t throw a Z-pak at it, he panics.

I spent my weekend checking out new doctors for once this is all sorted out and taken care of. Now, I am fighting to find a neurologist that doesn’t have a wait until November, and have to call my primary’s office to keep hounding them until I get it.

 

I will continue to update, but until then!