So here I go again, talking about whiny complainy things. I want you all to know, I’m really not that big of a whiny complainy person in real life. I suppose, in part, the reason I whine and complain so much in my writing is because that allows me to NOT whine and complain in real life. For the most part, I’m tough. I’m strong, really… actually, I guess I really am. I mean, you guys tell me that all the time, but yeah, I guess maybe I am. I try to be, anyway. I don’t always feel that way though.
DOGS ARE AWESOME!
I spent much of this morning with my head buried in my dog’s neck, while he sniffed and licked my ears. I love my dog. I love dogs in general. I think puppies are the best, and my Jake is a good 85-pound, three year old puppy boy. He’s a great dog. He’s the best dog I’ve ever had, and I’ve had some really good dogs too. I love him. When I’m down, he knows. He learned early on to be ‘gentle’ with mama, so when he comes up to me, he doesn’t jump up on me like he does everyone else, but rather, jumps ‘next’ to me. When in bed, he doesn’t come running and p9ounce on top of me like he does everyone else. He gently comes and sits next to me, then slides onto my chest and eats my face, nose and all. He licks tears when I’m sad. I am very grateful for my dog.
Yesterday morning, I spent most of the morning in tears. A couple of days before that, I was angry. Today, I’m a little numb, sort of depressed, just not myself.
WHINY RANT WARNING!
I can’t help but think about how fast my life has changed with the health problems I’ve been having. My BNP is down, but I’m still well within the congestive heart failure range. My right leg looks deformed and the skin has lost almost all its elasticity. My left leg is swollen and it will follow the way of the right leg soon, if things don’t turn around. I’m sick of Lasix making me have to pee every 10 minutes, because getting up and going to the bathroom every 10 minutes really sucks.
I should have gone to the hospital the other night. I had a horribly high fever (102.9) and it wasn’t coming down and my leg was read, angry and swollen. But I just could NOT bring myself to go. I just couldn’t do it. I did not want to spend another week in the hospital, getting poked, not being able to eat or sleep when I want, having to deal with people.
Not the least of which was that my dog cannot go to the hospital with me. Seriously… I miss him so much when I’m gone. Hell, I think I miss him more than I miss the kids.
I’m sick of the oxygen tubes being a leash around me, tripping over them, the sound of the concentrator always in the background. It’s quiet, for what it is, but when it’s off, the house feels so much more peaceful. I hate being limited on how far I can walk with it (50 feet), and sometimes it gets stuck on things or around things and I have to unhook it or throw it off and get someone else to unhook it. I don’t like it. I don’t want to have to wear it any more, but without it, my sats still drop too low. I need it. It makes me feel better, think clearer, you name it… it’s also saving organ damage that can occur any time the oxygen sats are below 92 for any length of time.
I’m all about prevention…
I’M STILL QUITE ANGRY
Which is where my anger comes from. For several years, I had this swelling in my feet and hands and sometimes my face and abdomen. I went to the doctor about it. We specifically asked my PA at the time why I was swelling and retaining fluid. Her answer was, “I honestly don’t know…” But she never referred me. She never looked further into it. Just give me the meds and send me on my way. What if that was a warning sign all these years that could have prevented me being where I am now? Why was it ignored?
And then the number of times I sought treatment when the sats began dropping, unable to breathe, legs swollen so badly that a size 13 men’s shoe would not fit and I was relegated to wearing house slippers everywhere, because I could not fit my feet into any shoe. I couldn’t put on my bra, because it hurt too badly to have it squeeze around my chest. I could barely breathe, couldn’t walk at all, had gained a lot of fluid weight very rapidly (and had that documented), and had salt water leaking from my eyes. And not a single doc I saw put me in the hospital, even when I was willing to go. Shame on you, Dr. Nancy Hughes – you should have helped me. You saw how bad I was. I saw you just a week before I was finally admitted to the hospital, and the only thing you talked to me about was that maybe I needed to go to a weight management clinic. I had bilateral massive multiple pulmonary embolisms, an active DVT, pulmonary hypertension and congestive heart failure, and you sat there and heard me tell you that, though my weight had not been a problem before the fluid retention started, you have the audacity, the nerve, the outright gall to suggest that all my problems would be solved if I just lost a few pounds? Really? And then patted me on the hand and said, “It must be incredibly hard for you.”
You have no idea how angry I was at you that day. How angry I still am at you today. I nearly died, and it actually would have partially been your fault if I had. How dare you dismiss me like that. YOU were the doctor. YOU were the one who was supposed to know better. Your office still sends me a bill every month, and I do not intend to ever pay it. Ever. Take me to court, file it on my credit, but you’re not getting another red cent from me or my family.
But even though your clinic says it’s a general practice, internal medicine, chronic disease management clinic, we know what’s important to you when we Google your website and the title comes back with lipo-ex, botox… yup, I guess my swollen fat ass must have looked pretty grotesque to you and your upscale botox injecting clientele. I wonder how beautiful I would have been dead?
So yeah, angry.
BUT ALSO SAD…
But also sad. Sad that I did everything I was supposed to do and still ended up like this. Sad that it’s not fair. Kid Rock has a line in the song, “You get what you put in, and people get what they deserve…. still I ain’t seen me. I ain’t seen mine. I’ve been giving, I just ain’t been getting….”
And that makes me seem so ungrateful, because I don’t do the things I do expecting anything in return. I’m not about karma points, but I’ll take any you have spare to give me. I just want to know in what universe the things that are happening to me are considered fair. Why do I deserve this? What lesson am I supposed to learn from this, because I’m ready to learn it.
And that makes me question my faith. Do I believe in God? Do I believe someone can heal me? Do I believe in universal energy that can be manipulated and controlled? Do I believe… do I believe… do I believe in anything any more?
And the answer is: I don’t know.
WHAT ABOUT GOD?
I know that the God I want to believe in should be more approachable to me, more real to me. I can’t feel Him in my life. I pray sometimes, but wonder why I do it. I talk to God, sometimes, but I have never felt anything in my heart that makes me think He has heard me or is listening back or even gives a flying f-word about me and who I am.
Friends do Reiki on me, and while the thought is sweet and I do believe there is something to this Reiki stuff, my sats haven’t changed or have gotten worse, my BNP is slightly better, but still bad, my breathing sucks, my weight is up, the fluid retention is up, I’m still feeling lousy… it hasn’t healed me.
I removed a friend from Facebook the other day who kept telling me that God had spoken to him and there was ‘nothing wrong with you’, and to ‘accept my healing and good health now’. Screw you. I’ve been trying to accept my good health and healing for several years now, and it hasn’t happened, so I don’t think your coming on Facebook and praising Jesus for healing me is making much of an impression on me right now.
I guess what I’m saying is, I’ve tried lots of things and nothing really is working. I’m open to it working too, man. You have no idea how much I want something to work. But nothing has. I keep getting my hopes up. Keep hoping. Keep praying. Keep wishing. Keep trying.
I have always believed that everything in the universe is connected, that everything we do affects everything else. That one person can make a huge difference in a very small way. That there is a reason and a purpose behind and for everything. That there is a bigger picture we cannot see and are not privy to.
But some days, especially recently, it all seems so random. Spinning off into entropy.
And that sort of scares the hell out of me, because, if THIS is all there is, what’s the point?
IT’S ALL SO VERY SELFISH
I just want my life back, is all. It’s all about me and what I want today. I’m selfish and I want to feel better, be better, now. Right now. I want it to be as easy as claiming it and saying, “My health is mine, now… I want it; it is mine.”
And it’s not that easy.
Then there’s the deserving part. There are kids who die from cancer. They are more deserving than I, and yet they die. There are people who suffer torture and pains unimaginable to most, so what right do I have to claim my health and ask for this healing? It’s crazy. None of it makes sense.
It’s all so very random…
And I’m losing my faith.
I guess right now, I’m going to lose my blog and go read my Kindle. I’m into a good book right now, and losing myself in a good book sounds very inviting at the moment. Then maybe a nap. It’s pouring rain outside, and I love this weather. Maybe I’ll make the kids do a crockpot chili today. I’ve been teaching them how to make simple and easy meals and crockpot chili is one of the best.
Thanks for listening to me whine. I’ve been bottling things up and not writing recently, and I really needed to get this out so I could move past it.
I love you all.
Love and stuff,
So I think I’ll keep a-walking, with my head held high. I’ll keep moving on, and only God knows why. Only God… Only God… Only God knows why…