3… 2… 1…

Tomorrow is the day. I get my hysterectomy at 730am tomorrow…

A, not excited to be up that early (530 check-in)
2, not excited about surgery (weirdly nervous about it)
D, everyone I’ve told has been so great (see below)

When this became part of my reality, I decided not to tell most people. I told my mom so she could come to the doctor with me, and I told Chris because he’s very important to me, and I told David (1), Billie, and Robyn, because they’re my besties. I also told Cat, because she’ll be covering some of my duties at work. But mostly I’ve kept it under wraps until recently. I’m not posting it on social media, but I’ve left little clues for people who are paying attention.

Well some people noticed. Shaunna and Bren are super sweet and offered to stay with me a day, as well as bring me Chipotle. Melanie offered to bring me Chipotle AND Boss (her dog) while I’m off. Baker offered to bring me Chipotle. David 2 offered to bring me dinner and watch a movie… Literally everyone has offered to come hang out and bring me Chipotle. It’s been… really nice. It’s nice to feel cared about. And David (1) went so far as to buy me the Resident Evil 2 Remake Deluxe Bundle so I have something to play while I’m off, since he’s not here to come see me. I was super in shock at that one.

I haven’t decided if I’ll make it super public, but it’s been nice to see an outpouring of support. Everyone who’s ever had surgery has reassured me that I’ll be fine, including Baker telling me about her C-Section. I often feel like I’m kind of a loner, but moments like this, where I could use people, people always show support. I have a unique kind of relationship with people, but we’re still friends. It’s important to remember that.

Yesterday I met my new med shrink. Dr. Patel is a young man with obvious Indian roots, but no accent. He’s also very nice. He helped me, via email, to get my meds straightened out after Dr. Major left. Our meeting was predominantly me telling him that I feel like I’m doing well in spite of all the stressors I have right now, gushing about Chris and how great he is, and just going over some “get to know you” questions. He let a few of Dr. Major’s notes she didn’t share with me slip, like how she suspected I might have Asperger’s. I don’t think I do, but at this point I don’t care what you call my crazy so long as we treat it. At the end of the hour we essentially agreed I’d come back in April or May, depending on if I take the job on the other side of town. It was really nice to see a doctor and not have anything be wrong.

I was a bundle of nerves yesterday, but I’m pretty calm today. I dunno why. Exhaustion, maybe? It’s hard to be anxious ALL THE TIME. I feel like at some point you just have to let it go. I won’t have time to be anxious at 5am tomorrow… I won’t hardly be awake. So I guess that’s good.

I dunno why I feel anxious about the surgery…. I’ve been under the knife several times…. gall bladder removal, ACL repair, skin removal…. Never had a reaction to anesthesia, or had to stay in the hospital longer than predicted. Never had a ton of pain, cuz I keep up on my meds. I don’t actually even think I can die, because I’m nicely deluded. I really have no reason to worry. Mom says it’s because I’m older now, and you just tend to get that way. The older you get the less you like the idea of surgery, because when you’re younger you don’t really think about it; it’s just a thing you do because someone tells you it needs to be done. She might be right.

Anyways… I guess I’ll check in during recovery. Hope it’s not too brutal.

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Scripted Therapy

I’ve decided to stop seeing my talk therapist. It’s not that she’s poor at her job, or anything, but I feel like because of the way Kaiser is structured, I’m not getting what I want out of our time together. I have to come up with goals… so all we focus on are those goals, which I made up purely because she said I had to or Kaiser wouldn’t pay for the therapy. I really needed someone to help me with my anxieties about my hysterectomy, and my health, and turning 30. What we ended up with was her determining that I am lonely.

Now, I will acknowledge that I do not have a lot of close relationships in my life, but that doesn’t REALLY mean that I’m lonely. I have a lot of friends, but a majority of them I don’t see in person. I have three best friends, but two live out of state and Bird is wrapped up in her own 30-year old life. We still text and talk, though. Maybe I don’t rely on them like people think you should be able to. Like I’ve only ever called David crying once, when I got stood up for the first time ever, by a guy I really thought I liked. Bird and Billie? Almost never, but we can talk about serious stuff if we need to. It doesn’t mean I COULDN’T call them; it just means that I haven’t felt the need to.

Because of the script that Kaiser doctors follow, all I was getting from my talk therapist was "you are lonely," and I disagree. So I’ve decided not to go back. I’m still anxious about my hysterectomy, and the emotional repercussions from that, much less the physical ones. I’m still unsure how to take care of my health, and I’m still disappointed that I’m 30… but I think I can handle it. I’m actually in a really good place right now, if I’m honest.

My prescribing doctor, Dr. Major, has left Kaiser. I got an email from her regarding my ADHD medication that explained she was going to relocate to take care of a relative, but that as her last act for me, she’d increased my ADHD meds. I have an appointment with my new med doctor in March, right before my hysterectomy. His name is Dr. Patel. I hope he’s as open minded about treatment as Dr. Major was.

Anyways… just an update on things, I guess.

Post-Therapy Debriefing

  • Improved Emotional Regulation
  • Improved Relationships
  • Improved Coping Skills
  • Decreased Anxiety, Panic, and Rage

What changes am I ready to make?


My talk shrink says I present as a very lonely girl. I can’t really say she’s wrong, but I haven’t figured out how we’re supposed to resolve that just yet.

She asked me how much my weight effects my meeting people. I told her it doesn’t, because I give no fucks about my weight anymore. She asked if I go out. I explained that I taught myself how to go out alone, because my friends didn’t like doing the things I liked doing. She asked why I didn’t make friends from that. I told her I do, they’re just single-serving friends.

I’m not sure that I feel like we really addressed anything today, other than she thinks I’m lonely and that I agree. She wants me to join a 6 month DBT group. A, how much will that cost? 2, that’s a big commitment. D, I associate DBT with D2, who didn’t get better as much as he just says the word “mindful” a lot, now. So… I’m not real keen on the idea, to be honest.

I’ve never been big on the idea of group therapy. Like, I get that it’s SUPPOSED to be a bunch of people with similar problems resolving those problems through group support and accountability. I feel like, in reality, what you end up with is a bunch of people comparing how crazy they are to each other… and then using those other crazy people as reasons to convince themselves they’re fine exactly how they are because at least they aren’t (insert something about the other people in group). But that’s just my personal opinion of group.

Gonna have to mull over whether I really need to see this shrink anymore….

Who Killed Laura Palmer?

I love Twin Peaks. If I’m honest, I even love the new Twin Peaks season. That’s why, when I heard David Lynch’s daughter wrote a book called The Secret Diary of Laura Palmer I definitely wanted to read it. Instead, I got the audio book, narrated by Sheryl Lee herself, the actress who played Laura Palmer all these years. I didn’t realize it was going to be such a dark descent into using sex to feel and drugs to not. It’s a very intense book. It’s crazy. Good, but crazy. I think the book bothers me because while I’m not being haunted by Evil Bob, I had something of sordid life involving sex… so it’s a little triggering.

With that, I’ve started seeing a talk shrink. I don’t know how it’s going to go, yet. I like her well enough for only having seen her once. She wants me to try DBT. I dunno that I want to try DBT. David 2 is in DBT. He thinks it’s great… but he also thinks he’s better, and I disagree. So. Unsure about that.

I had to stop taking the Ritalin. It gives me a headache and makes me nauseous. With that, I’ve noticed that my moods aren’t right. I emailed my med shrink to tell her. I dunno what she’ll do. I guess I have to wait.

Chris asked me to babysit again on Sunday. I agreed. I don’t really want to, but I’m trying to focus on what everyone else has said about it. It’s nice he trusts me with his kid. It’s nice she likes me. It means something. It means that he trusts me. Trust is the basis of a good relationship. I should value that. I like Addi, but I’m just not really big on kids, I guess. I ordered her some old movies for Christmas, to go with a pop up book I thought was pretty cool. Who doesn’t love The Brave Little Toaster or A Goofy Movie? I hope she likes them. If she doesn’t, all I can say is that I’m not great with kids. I worry my apathy towards kids is going to be a problem for Chris and I later. He’s going to notice. He’s going to feel personally attacked because he’s got two kids. We’ll fight. I’ll have my first real broken heart.

I know I should calm down and relax about it, because every love story is a tragedy if you wait long enough, but…. well, I guess I’m jealous. You see, we hooked up Rob and Amber, and that’s great, but I’m jealous of them. They’re both 31 with no kids and very few responsibilities. She’s at his house almost every single night. They’re so in love, in a sick and unhealthy obsessive kind of way. Chris has Addi. Chris has Brinley. Chris has massive crippling debt. Chris has a wife. There’s honestly a lot standing between us and the out of control sickening love that Rob and Amber have going on, and I’m jealous of that. I’ve never been in love before. Somehow it feels like I got jipped (for the record I tried to think of another word, because I hate using a word relating back to the oppression of the Romany people, but I just couldn’t think of one that conveyed what I’m trying to say) on the experience, since I’m having to make sacrifices for it. That’s the cost of falling in love for the first time so late in life, I guess.

I know it’s selfish. I know that I’m selfish for wishing things were different. I know when you love someone you’re not supposed to want them to be different, but if we’re honest I wish I’d met him before he’d had kids. We could have been crazy in love. Now we’re… tip-toeing around kids and his relationship with his soon to be ex-wife. He wants to be her friend. She texted him last weekend, and she was having some kind of crisis and wanted all of his attention, and he didn’t give it to her, but it distressed him. He was still trying to figure out what to say the next morning, because he doesn’t know how to play it. He’s worried I’ll be jealous, and I am, but I’m not going to tell him that. He’s worried she’ll be mad he’s not giving her his attention, and she was BUT SHE HAS A LIVE IN BOYFRIEND SHE COULD TALK TO.

I guess my honeymoon phase with Chris is over. We’re entering the part where you have to make some decisions and sacrifices…. and I’m really not sure I want to make any of those. It’s gonna get real hard and weird…. and I’m not looking forward to that.

★,。・:*:・゚☆”Better”☆。・:*:・゚★

I saw David 2 last night. It was… wholly kind of depressing, if I’m honest.

The trials and tribulations of being David 2 have taken their toll on him. I got to hear about his sister’s cancer going into remission, but his mom’s leukemia is back and she’s in chemo… and then he always wants to tell me about his mental health He’s in DBT, complete with flash cards of terms. He sees a shrink one on one on Saturdays and has group on Mondays. That’s all quite a lot, to me, but he’s also high ALL THE TIME. His shrink seems to be fine with it, and even helped him get a medical cards. When I say all the time, though, I mean all the time. Like he’s never NOT high. He edibles at work and smokes at home. He thinks he’s doing better. He’s taken time off work again, and admittedly he hasn’t been back to the psych ward… but I’m just sitting here like “buddy… that’s not BETTER… that’s sedated.”

It’s just sad, really. He used to have such a vibrant personality. He was a supernova among stars, the kind of guy that draws you in, and you just hope he wants to talk to you because you can feel the electricity coming off of him… and now his light is so dull… It’s like watching a star go out.

I don’t call that better. Maybe he does. Maybe he’s happy. He doesn’t look happy. He doesn’t sound happy. But maybe he is. Who am I to say?

I just know I don’t want that to be me. He’s lost his spark. He’s lost everything that made him so beautiful to know. Now he’s just… nothing. He likes drag. He likes football. He does therapy. And that’s all that’s left of the firework that was David 2.

I can’t say anything to him, obviously. Even though we were in this bipolar war together, we don’t seem to be on the same side anymore. I’m still fighting it, but he’s chosen to live beneath it. I can’t go “hey, you lost your spark, and maybe it’s all the weed” because that’s what he’s chosen to cope. You can’t steal someone’s life raft and tell them to swim… it’s not fair…. but it’s not less sad….

My Colposcopy With NP Slaughter

So back in October, I went in for a well woman exam, because I promised my doctor that I would do it. I hate well woman exams. I find them gross and somehow degrading. Plus, historically I’m always face to face with some nurse that insists she need to know the total number of people I’ve slept with ever, which is an answer I cannot provide. Kaiser doesn’t seem to care who I have slept with, though. I dunno how I feel about that, really… cuz they should care a LITTLE… but I digress. I hate well woman exams for a number of reasons, but the top reason I hate well woman exams is because I always, ALWAYS, bounce the pap smear.

Now, if you’re unfamiliar with a pap smear, lemme give you the quick and dirty summary of events. They jam a spreader (speculum) in you, which my doc says they can’t use lube with because it taints the specimen, and crank your vag open, and then they use this brush to scrape cells off the cervix and put it in a vial, and then some lab technician looks at it to see if your cells look normal or fucked up. If they’re fucked up, you might have cancer. Now, that might not sound super awful to you, either because you don’t have a cervix or because your pap has never hurt you, but for some of us this feels like someone took tweezers, grabbed some tissue inside our lower abdomen and tore it off like a piece of monkey bread. So… never really enjoyed the process. 

I’ve been getting pap smears since I was 12, because my reproductive organs have been trying to kill me since I was 12. Doctors are always horrified to hear this, since they don’t recommend paps until you’re 21 these days, but when you have fucked up organs you have fucked up organs, man. This means I know the drill. I know I’m going to fail. I know they’re going to repap. I know I’m going to get a coloscopy after that. It’s how it’s been for the better part of the past 18 years of my life, except the 3 years I took off because I was god damn sick of it. So, I wasn’t surprised when I bounced my pap. I was surprised we jumped straight to the colposcopy, though. 

So today was my colposcopy, but yesterday I freaked out about it. Why? Because we’re dealing with the C-word… not cunt… well… kind of cunt… but Cancer. I meant cancer. You see, everyone in my (maternal) family gets cancer. My grandma. My grandad. My great aunt. My cousins. My great grandparents. Just everyone. We’re all gonna get cancer. So I was freaking out yesterday because I don’t want to get cancer and die. Last time someone told me they thought I had cancer I freaked out for a whole weekend and cleaned my whole house and started dividing up my things to leave to people… like I was just prepping to die in the next month. It was insanity. You’d think I’d develop a coping mechanism. You would be correct.

When I freak out about something that makes me think I might die, I do this thing where I obsess over something completely unrelated, and set in the future. Yesterday I decided I wanted to buy a new house. I’m not in a position to buy a new house, but that’s what I decided to obsess over so I didn’t have to think about dying. I picked the house (the Polygon is up for sale still) and started trying to figure out how I’d buy it and who I could move in with me. So I was running numbers and figuring the best rate we could maybe get on Mom’s credit, since mine is still low, and asking Chris if he’d wanna move in (which was the point when someone should have asked if I felt okay). And then the crying started. I just couldn’t get far enough into this obsession to block out the idea that I was going to have someone tell me if I had cancer or not….

Joke’s on me, cuz I still don’t know.

So after a terrible day and evening of freaking the fuck out over this procedure, I go from denial to angry numbness. I was just mad when I woke up this morning. I got up and I just didn’t care. I dared god to give me cancer because I am just sick of dealing with this infinite problem hanging over my head. Chris made sure he was up in time for me to panic text him through my appointment… and that’s what I did. I snapped him through the rude reception nurse and the nurse assistant taking my vitals and the long wait in the waiting room because they were behind. It was all nonsense, and being numb I wasn’t even scared anymore. I was just angry this was eating up my day… but I don’t know what would have distracted me without him. 

The BucketEven when they took me back to the procedure room, I had a good fifteen minutes to dick around before I had to strip from the waist down or anyone came in. Now, I’m an adult, and I know you shouldn’t dick around with medical equipment… but I whipped out my Snapchat and took snaps of me investigating EVERYTHING including a suspicious bucket that I could not devise the purpose of. I always marvel at how in spite of our medical progress an examination room and its equipment still looks like the American government could dissect and analyze an alien there. 

When NP Slaughter (my nurse practitioner was named Slaughter… classic) came in, I was ready and looked very calm, even though on the inside I was burning with unbridled, frenzied rage, the likes of which I don’t even have a word for. Like, I was so irate that I was giggly. You ever been so angry you laugh? You ever been so angry at GOD and your cervix that you laugh? I have. Anyways, NP Slaughter, brought the vitals nurse to assist, as well as a Czech NP from another department who was learning how things are done in Gynecology. (I know she was Czech because we were talking about schools at one point and she went, “I went to communist Czech school…”) She went over what would happen, and who was in the room. I’d done a colposcopy before, so I wasn’t that concerned. 

A colposcopy is a lot like a pap smear, in the sense that someone is going to jam a speculum into your vag and crank you open. I mean, if you’ve been cranked open once, you’ve been cranked open a million times. Where it differs is that instead of taking tissue samples, they coat the cervix in vinegar and iodine and then stare deep into your cervix to see what it tells them. Why? Because cancer cells absorb vinegar faster than normal cells. The iodine helps you see what’s going on, as well as sterilizing the area. So, they swab me up, and NP Slaughter is staring deep into my womb, when NP Slaughter, the nicest NP I’ve ever met in my life, asks if the Czech NP can view my cervix for educational purposes. I agreed on the grounds that I could take a snap of all of them peering into my vagina. They thought I was kidding, but I definitely took and have that picture.

I used Snapchat to distract me from most of the procedure. I have a deep set cervix and a narrow pelvic bone opening… Meaning getting the speculum jammed that deep in there hurts, and cranking me open hurts. The whole fucking thing hurts. They do their best, but you can’t really prevent most of it. So they’re looking around and identify the probably problem area, and that’s when something happened that’s never happened to me in a colposcopy before. She took biopsies. I know that in reality it was like a 10 minute procedure, but it felt like she was in there digging out tissue forever. It hurt. It felt like I was being stabbed deep inside myself. It’s a Lovecraftian kind of pain; I would not have flinched if suddenly a door to another dimension had opened inside me and I was swallowed up into eternal pain or something. 

In the past, my doctor has looked at my cervix and told me I’m fine before sending me on my way. This time I was told we’ll know if I have cancer in 5-7 days and sent on my way in pain. I was told that I’d probably bleed from the biopsy for about 7 days, and that the stuff they use to help stop the bleeding was also gonna come out and look like coffee grounds. It was revolting to hear… later it would be worse to see…  I made it to my car before I broke down crying in pain. I called my mom and told her about the biopsy and how much it hurt. She said to take my time coming back to work, maybe get lunch, but I just didn’t even feel like playing hookie for a few hours to recoup. I made it back to work, but as the pain increased I realized I couldn’t stay at work. It was too painful. So, since I drove both mothership and I to work… I called Chris.

This man, my suspiciously supportive, thoughtful man, drove out to my work, picked me up, AND HE BROUGHT COCA COLA FOR ME. Then he let me hold onto his arm the whole way home. He didn’t even blink at coming to get me. To his credit, he’d also offered to go to the appointment with me. If I’d known we were taking biopsies I’d have let him. He took me home and I went to bed with a Percocet. 

So it wasn’t a great day. I might have cancer. I’m in pain. I had to miss work. My coworker and friend who took me to Vegas, Cat, has noticed I’ve been to the doc a lot recently. She’s now worried I’m dying, and going home in visible pain today did not help that. But… I have Chris… and he’s great. I love him.


In other news, my meds have changed again. I felt okay on 20 mg Cymbalta and 1/2 a Wellbutrin, so we decided not to get rid of the Wellbutrin. With that, I’m now on Ritalin. As my doc put it, I’m the dosage for an 8 year old. So it may or may not do anything. I FEEL like it’s doing something, but I can’t be sure yet. 

Forgets The Blood

History remembers the battle, but forgets the blood.

-Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter

My favorite quote from a book. Is it a ridiculous book? Yes, obviously, but… it’s a good quote. It’s a true quote.

Let’s extrapolate.
I can tell you what I know about WWII… but I cannot relate to you the buckets of blood spilled during it on all sides (something like 80 million lives). I can tell you that around 40 million people died in World War I, but you and I cannot really fathom such a number. I can say that 45,000 people in the US committed suicide in 2016, but that number doesn’t reflect the weight of what happened. Just last year 58 people died in the Las Vegas shooting by Mandalay Bay, and 851 were injured, but while that event rocked the whole US and gave us all pause, I fly out to Vegas on Thursday evening for my 30th birthday.

You see, as soon as something isn’t happening, it’s not real anymore.

This is true in your own life. At least… I know it’s true in mine. I’m finally at a place where everything with me, emotionally, is kind of okay. I’m not depressed. I’m learning to do things I used to love doing. I’m able to invest time in a relationship I’m happy with. I don’t want to sleep until I die… Things are better than they’ve been in a really long time. While it was only a few months ago that I was so incredibly low I didn’t even know what to do with myself, I’ve already forgotten how that felt. Yes, I can tell you I was depressed, that I felt tired all the time, that nothing brought me joy, that I binge-ate all the time just to feel a satisfied fullness, that I thought I might be better off dead, that I gave up things I loved because nothing mattered, that I neglected myself in exchange for taking care of my animals, and that I was barely living (more like surviving). When I think about that, though, I don’t feel the agony I know I felt then. I can’t put myself back there.

I’ve fought really hard to get where I am, and I know that. Still, when I think about it, I’m like “that wasn’t so hard.” It was. It was the hardest shit I’ve gone through in my whole life. I know that, but I can’t FEEL that. You know? I remember the battle, but I’ve forgotten the blood. So much blood.

My point is… if your meds seem off, it’s worth getting them adjusted. You’ve forgotten the blood.

Started Cymbalta today. Shrink is trying to get me off Effexor. It’s making me reflective… also sleepy.