Honestly, the past two months have been as crazy as the weather around the States. And honestly, I don’t know how many people will even read this anymore, but I feel like I owe those who do follow me – be it Twitter or Facebook – an explanation for my mysterious statuses/tweets.
That’s internet courtesy, right?
The past two months, I’ve been in fights. Fights that have tested me as a person, tested my relationships, and most of all, tested my body. I had to fight with a doctor to take the pain I was feeling seriously, a doctor who didn’t return calls or make treatment plans, a doctor who turned her head in faux sympathy, handed me a tissue box and told me she “didn’t know what was wrong with me” or “what else she could do”. I had to fight with the disappointment of giving up a race. I had to fight with the fear of whatever the hell was going on with me (something, if you know my history, I’m not unfamiliar with). I had to fight to keep my relationship afloat, fight to keep my family from worrying when I was worrying myself, fight a depression that blanketed me as I wobbled back and forth between being able to do what I love and being bedridden.
All I can really say is, starting May 3 I experienced excruciating pain that accompanied a week-late period. God knows what kind of landslide that caused, with me peeing on three pregnancy sticks, my neglectful doctor making me pee in a cup twice and drawing blood, the main assumption being some botched pregnancy (sorry, family, if you read this). Seriously, I knew that wasn’t the issue. So they chalked it up to a cyst. Like most OBGYNs do for females. And sent me on my way with some Vicodin and orders to start back on birth control once I have my period again, despite the fact that my period disappeared for 2 months after that.
Well la-dee-da, I’m on my way knowing I can’t run my marathon in June on my birthday but still trying to get my exercise in and enjoy my summer. Except the pain comes back, Jack. Like you won’t believe. And I have to quit my job as a cycling instructor because I can’t teach. And I’m unreliable at my internship because some days the pain’s so bad I can’t focus and I feel like I’m going to puke, and in the setting I work in, that won’t work.
And my doctor doesn’t return my calls. And I’m taking more and more pain pills and spending more and more time in bed and sinking deeper and deeper into feeling like I’m a nut job.
Finally I switch doctors and next thing I know I’m under the knife, adding laparoscopy to my list of surgeries.
Which is the fight I’m fighting now.
I spend the second day post-op vomiting up an unfortunate meal from a restaurant I usually enjoy in reaction to the pain pills.
Today, the fight is a little easier.
But my main struggle – and will be for the next few weeks if not a couple of months – is getting back to where I was. My legs are mush. I have weight around my hips. My abdominals are non-existent (considering they’ve been cut open).
And I’m scared shitless of how I’ll get back into this.
I’ve been at the bottom before. I’ve gone from a 99-pound stick to a marathon runner, but I have to find that again.
Maybe this blog will help. It usually does when I try to start back up. Also, I have a wonderful support system of family, friends, and loved ones.
I have an obstacle zombie run in October, and a full marathon in January. Maybe I’ll pick up a half somewhere in there as a marker.
But God knows, I walked a couple miles tonight and felt it.
I’m fighting to not feel useless, hopeless.
The next few days I have some downtime as the wounds in my stomach heal, so I plan on making a nutrition/exercise plan to get back at it (and so I don’t try to bust my ass the first week).
Oh, the diagnosis? Well, something the doctor has never seen before of course: my bowel bone was connected to my ovary bone. In order to help my father understand, the doctor compared it to having one of a man’s testicles strung up and pulled on slightly. For two months. Isn’t that some fun shit? I thought so. The good news is, it may be something I’ve been dealing with for years that’s finally been solved. All those GI problems may have been because of this. Or not. But we’ll see.
So. Training schedule tomorrow hopefully. And here’s your explanation. Oh, and my gross picture:
Bloated from the gas they pumped into me, but luckily the incisions are small.