Apparently, the early presidents of the United States want me to buy cars, furniture and clothing. Lots of it. And all on Monday. Why are they hounding me? Why are they so materialistic? And here I thought it was all about life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.
Ask Leahpeah
Question from the comments:
Hi Leah,
This isn’t about knitting, actually. My name is Caitlin and I’ve been reading your site for the past few months. Sorry for lurking, I just never know how to say hi. Hi! Probably just like that. I have not experienced multiple personalities but I have experienced a lot of what you describe in your archives, which I hope you don’t mind that I read. It helps so much to know that there are people out there with lives that are just fine who suffer in some of the same ways I do. I have always been fascinated by your blog tagline: “Flawed but authentic.” One of the things I find most beautiful in your writing is that you do try do embrace flaws as human. And you certainly seem to be striving each day towards an authentic life. Here’s my question: How do you do that??? 😉
I suffer from depression and anxiety disorders and am learning that there may be a large part of my childhood that I have blocked from memory. My biggest struggle is trying to be authentic. With mental illness, how can you even find you self in there to be authentic to? If you have the time, any advice would mean the world to me.
Thank you for you writing, compassion, and beauty.
Hey Caitlin,
The archives are there for the reading. Please feel free to help yourself. I don’t think I feel comfortable answering your question as an authority of authentic-ness since I’m just barely getting by these days. Seriously, I just keep getting up every day and trying my best. I do, however, have some really awesome readers that are super authentic despite depression, illness and sometimes mental disorders. I’m hoping some of them won’t mind chiming in with any tips.
Take good care of yourself.
xo
Magical Disappearing Cervix
Everything tastes off. My sore throat went from being vaguely hurty the past few months to being an actual genuine owie.
You’ll be happy to hear that my pap smear is over for another year. I hear your cheering. I won’t mention that my cervix was hard to find. I have a magic disappearing cervix that pops in and out of sight. Hello! I’m your cervix and now I’m over here! I can’t remember this ever being a problem before. I also won’t mention that she had to take out, insert and crrrrrank open the speculum FOUR times to find it. I mean, why mention that? It might make you uncomfortable.
Beyond the pap, my physical included a tippytap on the cleavage side of each breasts not lasting longer the .4 seconds, a visual peering moment at my neck and the question ‘Are you regular?’ I asked her ‘Do you mean pooping?’ No reflexes. No breathing deep. No looking for swelling around my ankles. No groping to find lumps in my breasts. Not even a tickle. No looking in my throat or actually, you know, touching it. Or in my ears. No asking how I feel. Because she knows. She read my lab results so she already knows that I’m fine. Even if I’m not, she knows I am. I’ve decided she must have super powers. She can see inside my body with her ultrasonic vision and hear my heart with her supersonic hearing. When I asked ‘So, that’s it? That’s the physical?’ She laughed and did a soft-shoe out the exam room door. Ya-cha-cha-cha-cha.
From her complete and thorough looking at my neck, she decided I no longer needed an ultrasound on my thyroid. I mean, she totally looked at it for like 2 seconds. With her eyes because you look with your eyes, stupid, not your hands. I asked her if I could get one anyway, since I actually used my fingers to touch my neck and it has been sore for so long and she said, ‘No. You don’t need one. Last week’s blood tests showed you are back within range. You’re good.’
Well, thanks! Awesome! I’m .2 within the top part of the range and so I’m good. I then told her I’d like a referral to an endocrinologist to which she frowned and looked doubtful. I did my best, listing off all my siblings and my extended family history in an effort to help her understand that I REALLY WANT TO GO TO SOMEONE ELSE. She nodded, pretended to listen, jotted down ‘family history thyroid’ on my chart, um-hummed a few times, checked her watch and said, ‘I’ll request it and see if you qualify for one. Don’t get your hopes up.’
She’s my favorite. With or without her referral, I’m going to someone else. It’s just that ‘with’ we still get to eat food. Not being able to afford food – not so fun.
Screw republican, democrat, independent, black, white, female, male or vegetable. I’m voting for the person with the strongest medical reform in their platform.
Happy Valentine's Day
Oral Compulsion
I think I figured out why crocheting for hours while in the car, watching TV or hanging out with friends works so well for me. It’s smoking. My hands are busy, I’m laughing and talking and drinking and my hands are doing something. I’m just not actually inhaling dark death into my lungs. Everybody wins. It’s the same reason I eat sunflower seeds at every game we go watch the kids play.
And here I thought I had quit.
Anyone want to buy a hat?
Two Things*
Since I’m spending a whole lot of unsupervised time feeling like the identical twin of a large lumpy splat of mashed potatoes, I’m sending you to two other sites that talk about doctors and body image.
1. Jen linked to Meg Fowler yesterday. The post is long but oh, so worth it.
2. Did you say crappy doctor? Yes, Mimi did.
*Bonus: here is a phrase my son said last night. I’m going to keep it totally out of context because it’s much better that way. “You know, Mom, I’m just not comfortable yelling vagina the same way I do penis.”
ABCs
Oh, I’m learning so much. For one thing, when you go in to get your blood drawn, make sure that the person that is about to remove 5 vials is an expert blood retriever and not someone new. I am not a good practice person with lots of available blood just teeming to the surface. I am a person with very hidden veins that are deep and roll within my arms. This rolling and deepness is something I’ve known for years. I tell people this on the onset and warn them that I’ve broken perfect stick records before and so don’t feel bad if you don’t get it right the first time. I think the record number of sticks is 8 before switching arms. Yes, that was a beautiful bruise. What I didn’t know, was that if someone says to a fellow lab tech, ‘Hey – you should do this one.’ that they are really speaking in code for ‘This lady has really deep and rolling veins. You should use her arm for a practice dart board.’ I assumed, and that was my problem, that they were getting someone MORE experienced than them to save me pain and green bruising. Sadly, no.
I have an ultrasound next week to check my neck for nodules attached to and near my thyroid. Super fun. My throat has been sore for so long I can’t even remember when it started. And it’s larger than it should be. And bonus, I get a pap smear on Tuesday. You can’t have more fun than that. That appointment is with the nice lady. You know, the one that yelled at me? Looking forward to it. But, I am going to take all y’alls advice and write a list before I go in along with an excel sheet I started that has my blood results from a year ago and little boxes to write the new ones and the next ones and the next ones. I love shit like that. It makes me feel organized. And if she is mean again? I’m going to find a new doctor. But I’m probably getting referred to an endocrinologist anyway, so I don’t know if I’ll need to.
Finding people that have walked this walk is kind of a quest right now. In every situation I go into, the more information I can find out about it before hand, the better. It’s how I find safety and peace. One of my best friends from childhood had cancer in her thyroid and had it removed two years ago. I called her and it was fun catching up, but it was really great to hear how she manages her care. She’s the head coach for a Colorado college girl’s basketball team, so she’s got to keep her energy up. Knowing she’s made it work gives me hope.
I also called all my siblings and my parents. All 9 of them. And jotted down everyone’s medical history as it pertains to me. It was pretty enlightening to find out that all 4 of my sisters have thyroid issues but only one is on medication because her levels were the only ones that finally went out of the ‘normal’ range. The one sister that does take meds takes Armour instead of the synthetic one because osteoporosis runs in my family and the synthetic hormone is supposed to increase your bone loss quite a bit.* My sister that is 44 has the bone density of an 80 year old women, if that gives you an idea. My mom was at one point diagnosed with Grave’s disease, but she rejected it because she thought she could get well by eating right. And one brother has Chronic Fatigue, which in my opinion is really just a thyroid issue. So, there you go.
On the net, I’ve really enjoyed reading both Queen of Spain and Radioactive Girl. Also, Jonniker has been quite enlightening. And all of you that have taken time to comment or email me support, THANK YOU so much. I’ve slept a lot and cried a lot but I do feel your support and it’s made it a bit easier. I’m really struck by how much the physical has effected the mental in my body. It’s something I’m slowly getting to understand and I think I might have some research and a book in me about it.
I’ve read a few books over the past few days and would recommend What Your Doctor May Not Tell You About Hypothyroidism by Ken Blanchard. The forward is by Mary Shomon whose book Living Well with Hypothyroidism is also great.
*Those for synthetics and those for natural are quite vehement. I don’t think I’ve quite figured out the truth yet. And the truth might just be that some do better on one thing and some do better on something else.
New Huffington Post Column
I talked to Melissa Summers from SuburbanBliss about her Today Show experience for my latest column, Melissa Summers: Not (So) Afraid Anymore and a Whole Lot Wiser.
My Heart
I think about him every once in awhile. Like picking a scab, tearing off the top layer just to make sure it’s still there and it still bleeds. It doesn’t hurt anymore. Not really. But seeing the red blood reminds me of when it did.
We drank beers together for three weeks. My punk, unkempt hair pushed out of my face with my right hand and my left hand’s fingers curled around a clove cigarette. Or a menthol, depending on who had what. Sitting at the table outside near the heater, his long, dirty blonde and wavy hair and intense blue eyes but mostly his Italian accent floating through the air, I thought I must be in heaven. That finally, I was safe. ‘Darling,’ he said ‘you are lovely.’ and I knew that soon I would tell him the secret in my heart wrapped under soft layers of rose-colored ribbons.
The next night when I showed up a few minutes late, my nose anticipating the musky scent of sweat, mud and grass on his shirt that I loved, I searched for his soccer socks, fresh from practice. I ordered a beer, sat outside and smoked alone while staring at the wrought iron fence. My chest turned slowly darker with every inhale and my tears dried on the exhale. The soft cushion surrounding my heart hardened into a brittle shell and then broke into a thousand pieces.
I look at the bleeding exposed spot of what was a few years ago, but feels like a hundred, and then my husband walks in, sits down next to me and holds my hand. His scent of aftershave and coconut shampoo combine in the air next to me and it makes me laugh. It’s the most delicious scent I’ve ever smelled. The feeling I thought was intense love for the foreign man was barely more than nothing. It was the shadow of nothing. And even though it felt like a skyscraper, it was a mud hut, but it took time to find that out.
My husband leans his arm into mine while we sit side by side on the couch. I’ve been crying, crying for no reason that anyone knows of, and he hands me the handkerchief he keeps in his pocket for just such an occasion. He turns and looks at me, in me. ‘You are lovely.‘ he says straight to my soul. And I know that right where I am is heaven. I know I’m safe and it doesn’t matter if I’m sick or not. If I’m rich or not. He loves me. It’s not a secret that I love him and daily he unwraps the ribbons laced softly around my heart.
Thyroid Things
A year or so ago I had a bunch of tests run and they found that my thyroid wasn’t working that great, but it wasn’t working that bad, either. Also, my heart and lung were having serious issues, so my thyroid took a bit of a back burner.
Fast forward to now. Since my endocrine system sucks, the news isn’t that big of a surprise. My blood panel shows that my thyroid is barely functioning (Hypothyroidism) and I have a very large amount of calcium in my blood (Parathyroid Disease). Both conditions cause things like feeling anxious, loss of energy, depression, not being able to concentrate, headaches. My doctor, (the one that got mad at me and then kicked me out of her office) prescribed Levothyroxine. During the 30 seconds that I spoke to her, she told me the diagnosis, that she wants to recheck the calcium in two weeks before doing anything about it and that she was prescribing me a drug for my thyroid. When I started to ask questions, she told me to talk to my pharmacist, since that is his job. Then she hung up.
When I went to pick up my prescription, I asked for the pharmacist and asked him about the drug and what alternatives there were and if there was anything natural that could take the place of it. He smiled, winked and said, ‘This is the stuff you want to take.’ Then he walked away.
I realize that our medical system is messed up. But isn’t it pretty sad that neither one of them have time to answer any questions? And since I don’t have much of a choice of who I go to, I feel stuck. Where are people supposed to go that want more information? I can research on the internet just like the next person, but it would be nice to talk to real, live humans. I’ve never been one to just ‘take their word for it’ so I’m a little torn on starting a medication that I know next to nothing about and that once started, should be taken the rest of my life. On the other hand, what choice do I have?
Online I’ve learned that Parathyroid Disease is more intense in that I might need a surgery to correct the issue. I’m glad she wants to recheck my blood before moving ahead with that, but would it have killed her to say that to me? Also, neither of them mentioned that soy inhibits the absorption of the medication and that I shouldn’t be drinking/eating it. Or that antidepressants, the ones that she didn’t want to prescribe me that someone else is supposed to, screws around with absorption as well and it’s suggested that they shouldn’t be taken together. But, hopefully, with my thyroid getting fixed, I won’t need anti depressants anyway. And does this mean I need to find a multivitamin without calcium for the time being?
So many questions, so few people to answer them.
Things Family and Friends Have Said To Me (Or About Me) That Suggest They Think I Might Be Crazy (Or Dumb)
“Mom, if we keep driving around like this forever and we get lost and can’t get home, I wouldn’t eat you even if I was starving. I don’t want to get Mad Mom disease.”
“I think you should stop looking at me. But if you must keep looking at me, do it from over there. On the other side of the door.”
“Oh, thanks for answering the phone! I was worried you’d never pick it up again after our conversation the other night about brain harvesting and emus. Have you slept yet?”
To my husband (a year and a half after we were married): “Are you sure you don’t want to look at other marriage options?”
“Can you tell me what colors you mix together to make orange? You can pick from red, yellow and blue.”
“You know when someone tells you ‘You’re so crazy!’ but they’re kidding? This is not one of those times! I need my shirt back. And the fire extinguisher.”
“I did tell you, but you were mumbling something about erasers so you might not have heard me.”
“That is so….pretty the way you organized the thumbtacks into 20 different containers by color shade and size.”
“But did you ever ask yourself why most people /don’t/ carry a raw potato in their purse with them everyday?”
“Do you always keep your phonebook in the fridge?”
“Rubber bands are not really evil. The devil is evil. Rubber bands are useful tools for people to keep papers bound together. Do you see the difference?”
“Is it ok if the green beans are touching your fruit salad or would like you like me to built a mini-fort with the mashed potatoes to protect them?”
“No, I don’t go up and talk to whoever is there even if I think they look interesting. Normal people don’t do that. They just go there to do their laundry.”
“Please stop singing. And if you don’t wash the paint off your hands before we leave I’m going to make you wear my ski gloves to dinner.”
“When I look at you, I feel a little bit better about myself. And I feel so much smarter.”
Good Times
Know what’s fun? Going to the doctor and having them scold you for getting off medication 3 and a half years ago. Then having them refuse to give you any now because, dude, you are crazy. How do you know what you need if you are crazy?
Instead she ordered a blood panel, which is fine since I wanted one anyway. It could be hormonal, this crazy I have. No kidding.
So, how about that. I finally got enough courage to go ask for some meds and I was told no. But I can call a psychiatrist that is covered under my plan and wait for three weeks for a consult. And then maybe I’ll get some. Awesome.