My hysterectomy was in late May, almost three weeks ago now. The surgery went well, and I’m slowly recovering. A lot of the pain has gone (as long as I don’t try to do anything). But my head still feels stuffed with cotton wool. The brain fog is less like fog, and more thick, black mud. Thinking is slow going. Writing is slower still. But I wanted to get this down, while I still remember it. It’s part of my life. And maybe, one day, it will help someone else with theirs.
I’ll write about my recovery, when I can.
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Hysterectomy: day 1
When I arrive at the hospital in the morning, I tell the nurses that Mum and Mr Happy are my entourage. They smile understandingly and let them accompany me everywhere, almost right up until the surgery itself. It helps, having them there. Sitting in the waiting room, we joke about the products being promoted on midday television. Rice cookers and vacuum cleaners and exercise gear. My husband is incredulous that anyone would watch those ads. My Mum tells him of a retired couple who once watched them all the time. The elderly gentleman bought so many (unneeded) things from those advertisements, his wife nearly had to confiscate the credit card!
Continue reading “Hysterectomy: day 1”
It’s been over a month since my last blog post. I didn’t fall off the face of the earth; I just received some news that I needed time and space to process. I still haven’t finished processing, but I’ve reached a place where I’m more able to talk to people about it. Yet, despite reaching that place… I still haven’t blogged about it.
I realised that part of the reason for that was because I was afraid of all the big buts.
Continue reading “The problem with your but (it’s not what you think!)”
One morning, several years ago, Mr Happy went to put on his shoes, but got ‘stuck’ with excruciating back pain. He had to lay on the ground, cancel work, and call a friend to take him to the doctor. He was completely disabled. But when he painfully limped into our doctor’s office and explained his symptoms, the doctor just shrugged and said,
“This is normal now that you’re getting older. Take some Nurofen and you’ll be fine.”
Mr Happy was only 27 then – hardly ‘getting older’! So we went to our chiropractor for a second opinion. He ordered a scan, which showed a severely bulging disc that was pressing on the nerve.
At the time, Mr Happy was fit and healthy, and so had had little experience with the medical world. He was stunned that a doctor could be so dismissive, so uninterested in finding out what is wrong, and fixing it. After all, isn’t that the purpose of a doctor? Continue reading “Out of the mouths of doctors”
A lot of newly diagnosed patients have just joined a dysautonomia support group that I’m part of. Seeing their posts got me thinking about when I was first diagnosed, and the emotions that caused. When it comes to chronic illness diagnosis, everyone’s experience is different, and everyone processes their experiences differently. So I don’t want to tell anyone what they should be feeling, or how they should deal with it. I just want to share my personal experience, in the hope that others might find it helpful.
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For me, being diagnosed with a chronic illness was an emotional time.
I was confused: What is this illness? How did I get it? WHY did I get it?
I was hopeful: Maybe now that they know what I have, they can treat it?
I was afraid: How will this illness affect my life? People aren’t going to understand… All the dreams and plans I had – am I ever going to be able to do them?
There were so many different feelings all swirling around inside of me, fighting for recognition. But relief and grief were the two emotions that stood out. Continue reading “Relief. Grief. Repeat.”
I promise my blog isn’t going to turn into a poetry corner! I actually hardly ever write poetry. Waterfall just kind of burst out when everything in my life felt totally overwhelming, and I was exhausted, and couldn’t stop the tears.
But today, I have something important to tell one of the gorgeous young women in my life.
Earlier this week, she shared with me something some ‘friends’ had said about her looks. I wanted her to tell her that they were wrong. I wanted to tell her why they were wrong. But at the time, my brain was mush. Trying to find the words on the spot was like wading through quicksand…I wasn’t eloquent.
In the days afterwards, this poem slowly took shape, as I fought to express myself clearly. It was important to me that those ‘friends’ didn’t get to have the last say: that their lies weren’t the final impression on my young friend’s self esteem.
So I wrote.
Took a tiny piece of my heart out, and shaped it into words on paper.
I hope it will be enough.
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Continue reading “You. Are. Beautiful.”
A single dark cloud
Rolls across the sky
But swiftly it grows
Into a terrible storm
The dam quickly fills
Higher and higher
The water rises
Become giant waves
Pounding against the wall
The pressure builds
The barrier trembles
The wall begins to crack
A single damp tear
Rolls down her face
But swiftly it grows
Into a waterfall
Note: If you haven’t read part 1 of my spider apocalypse experience, you can do so here.
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I woke up early on Friday morning.
Continue reading “Spiders (Part 2)”
I’ve become allergic or intolerant to a lot of pain medications, but haven’t yet organised a referral to a specialist to talk about pain management. So when I developed an epic migraine on Wednesday night, the only thing I had at home that I could take was Panadol.
Which worked about as well as swallowing two grains of rice would have. Continue reading “Spiders (Part 1)”
My recent post called Why do I blog? might fool you into thinking I’m an actual blogger. But, in reality, I’m only a newbie, still learning the ropes. I keep expecting someone to burst in at any moment and shout, “HEY! What are you doing?! You can’t be blogging! Who do you think you are? You’re not good enough!”
So I was both shocked and honoured when Living a Lung Life nominated me for The Liebster Award. Continue reading “The Liebster Award”
“What do you want to be when you grow up?”
I was one of those crazy people who knew the answer from a very young age.
I wanted to be a teacher. Continue reading “Life is not a highway”