Oh yeah... I have a journal here.
Criminies, has it really been that long? It's been a bad year for me. It's like when you take a day off from work because you're so miserable you just *can't* go in... and you stay on that day off for a year. The days run into each other, the frustration builds, the self-esteem falls. Bleh. I've gained monstrous amounts of weight. I've chopped off my 'signature' hair. I've pretty much given up on getting back into school before Fall... if ever.
It's hard to talk about any of this. It's hard to admit that I've let everything I spent so much time going on about get snatched right out of my hands, that I have failed. I'm still failing. I'm a disappointment. I've let everyone down - my kids, my family, my friends, 100 different people on the boards. And myself. Most of all, I'm letting myself down. I keep trying to do simple things that my body SHOULD be able to do, no problem. And every time, I end up taking pain pills, stripping off my clothes, and crying. I'd be really, really angry if I only knew who to be angry at.
All these trips to St. Louis, all that gas money, all that bowing my head and begging for charity with the hospital and doctors, and everyone kept throwing up their hands saying "I don't know. I don't know what's wrong with you." It numbs you with hopelessness after awhile. I thought if I focused on this problem, I'd have it licked in a month or three. Here I am, nine months later, and I'm still sitting in my nightgown thinking about what I should be doing, but can't. I'm sick of being a patient patient. I'm sick of waiting for my life to come back to me. I'm sick of explaining to everyone why I'm now a reclusive hermit who often doesn't get dressed other than to change into a different pair of soft pajama pants. I'm sick of the looks that say "Yeah, right. You're either a hypochondriac or a lazy assed bum who wants to watch soap operas." It's so frustrating to know what I want, what I'm working for and toward, but have to defend myself about my pain. "So what's wrong with you?" "Well, I don't know what's causing it, but it hurts, right here."
But on November 27th, I finally got a diagnosis. The docs ran every possible test at least four times in the last three years. I've had my gallbladder and appendix removed. I've suffered new, additional symptoms that make it even harder to leave my house. And now I learn that I have *drumroll please*... fibromyalgia. Yay. I know people on disability with that. But the doctor says that if I just take this inexpensive medicine every day, I'll be up and running within a month.
Inexpensive my ass. That medicine is $128 a month. But I'm working on that. As soon as we know for certain that this med and this dosage actually work, I'll apply for the patient assist program with GlaxoSmithKline. I already have the form filled out, the proof of income obtained. It's sitting at the doctor's office, waiting. You know, just in case the dosage needs changed.
And of course I've had a 12 day fight with Randy because I wouldn't snatch up $200 from him to buy the medicine I was prescribed. Long story, and god only knows how sick I am of even talking about that one. Let's just say that when two very passionate people get on opposite sides of an issue, it can be a bitch trying to work it out, sometimes. That man wanted to give me not only his last $200, he had told me not an hour before what that money in his pocket was earmarked for - it wasn't spare cash and I knew it. He wanted me to be well so much that he lost his mind with anger when I didn't take it from him, but instead chose to find another way - or at least try to get the price down somehow. I happen to know how many times he's given me money and told me he could spare it because he knew I needed something... and then I found out later he went hungry all day at work for a week because of it. He will literally give me the shirt off his back. I don't feel good about that. I love the fact that he cares so much, but the guilt I feel when he does without in order to provide something I need is just awful. I try to avoid it.
Well, another week or so and I will have been on the Wellbutrin XL long enough to know whether it's going to control my pain as promised. The pharmacist said it doesn't gradually get better, it just kind of "turns on" all at once somewhere around the three week mark. My fingers are crossed.
The Questran... well, I'm tired of describing what that one does, too. But anyone who types "Questran gallbladder" into a searchbar can find out all they want.
I am elated that there is a glimmer of hope for my life to return to some semblance of normal, whatever that is. I am also very disappointed that this did not happen soon enough for me to try going back to school in January. Oh, and let's not forget about worried... my memory has been doing some really weird things (and non-things) for the last year. It's getting worse, I fear. What if I get back to school and my memory is shot so that I can't remember anything I study, and I flunk my tests?
Don't tell anyone about that last one. I haven't said anything to my kids, my family, friends... no one. I'm scared if I say it out loud, it will make it more real. A little self-superstition I never knew I had, until now.
Know what I want? I want to be able to come to my computer and post about my night out dancing. I want to be able to dance. When I can dance without agony, I can do anything else I want to.
For now, I wait. I wait and I hope, and try to have faith that everything is going to be okay. Hey, you know what's funny? Right now I really miss the life I had when I was working the Pizza Place, and that life wasn't exactly something I'd call the good old days. I guess what I really miss are just some of the components: The ability to wear clothes, to work, to think straight, to feel like I was capable of taking care of my family, to dance and feel the joy of it.
I've had my hopes for a return to those abilities dashed so many times I'm kind of numb, and I hate to say it, but I'm fearful of this hope I'm feeling right now. I'm too young to feel this useless. I'm too old to be this scared of my own future. And I'm tired of pretending I don't feel all this for my kids' sake. I'm worn down.
2008 can't get here fast enough for me. I want this year to be over, I want something new and fresh and better to come along. I have more hope for survival of December without being evicted from our apartment than I did two weeks ago, and I cling to that to cheer me, to boost me to a better outlook. But it's a precarious perch. I'm too broke to afford December, too broken to mend myself, and too stubborn to properly give up.
I guess I just have to sigh, wait to see what tomorrow and next week brings, and try to keep my mind busy until my body can do it. Wish me luck. Lots and lots of the good kind.