I am 24 years old, about to turn 25. My journey with Thoracic Outlet Syndrome started around age 19, with vague symptoms beforehand leading up to it. At that age, you wouldn't see me on the couch or in bed. I was driven, hard-working and motivated with every activity.
Since surgery, I have envisioned the next couple of months. I picture myself healed. I picture myself kayaking for hours, only leaving the water as the sun sets. I picture myself up at 6 a.m. ready for my workout routine, going to work, coming home and doing laundry while making my dinner and even have time to clean the turtle tank. I picture myself active once again.
The reality is that there is no timeline for healing with my body. I'm not sure when that 'feel-good' moment will happen and it's beginning weigh down my happiness. I'm scared that once I start physical therapy, it will take a very long time for me to get back to where I used to be. I was already stir-crazy before my second surgery, and completely fed up after my first surgery in 2014. The searing pain starting in my ear and running down the back of my head and neck finally ending in my shoulder blade is enough to make me want to rip my hair out. My inability to lift over 5 pounds makes me feel weak. Asking my boyfriend to do my dishes is demeaning and having energy to do them one moment and then not the next is confusing.
I've woken up during the night after dreaming of doing yoga. I dream of climbing mountains and swimming vast open waters and taking a midnight jog. My smile is content, hungry, eager for more. I look strong and motivated. I look healthy. I usually wake up in a pool of sweat and pain as I roll over to get comfy. My mind races as I try to venture back into dreamland.
Today, I would like to go back to work. I talked with my mom about it many times. My fear is that I will get there and it will be too much. I'm scared I will over-work myself and cause too much pain or even worse: not work hard enough and look lazy. With chronic pain, it's one end of the spectrum or the other. So I've decided I'm not quite there yet. I want to feel confident going back that no matter what the outcome, it won't affect me mentally.
However, staying home all day with little human contact is strange. I'm so stir crazy that I want to move to the other side of the world thinking that I can run away from TOS and go back to my normal life. I know it's silly; thinking I can run away from my pain and problems. Normal people want to run away from job stress, money problems, relationship struggles. I just want to be pain-free so I can join society once again as an independent, strong working woman. I want to feel confident about the work I put into each and every day. I want to count my blessings as I head to the gym after a 10 hour work day. I want my parents to be proud of the strong young woman I've become. And I'm not at that point as I am nearing 25. I don't like it, and I can't wait to change it. Although my body isn't the strongest, my motivation is. It's the fire that fuels me. It's the fire that makes me get up still every single day, with pain or without, challenging me to become a better person. It's the fire that is going to get me back to good, but even better.
Equanimity,
Kelsey
Tuesday, February 9, 2016
Tuesday, February 2, 2016
Winter Recovery
I've always hated the cold.
I've always despised shivers. Numb feet and hands. Raw nose.
But I've always loved the crunch of fresh-fallen snow under my boots.
The outlines of every branch highlighted by a light dusting in the morning.
Building snowmen.
I try to find the good in everything. The colder Wisconsin months out of the year usually wind up giving me pneumonia or bronchitis. It's not Winter's fault! At least that's what I try to tell myself. It's my suppressed immune system from the depressing thoughts in my mind that translate to a weakened and fragile state. But it's not Winter's fault. It's just a coincidence I get sick every year.
This year I was hoping to not catch the bug. Three weeks post-op and here I sit sniffling, wrapped tight in a fuzzy suede-colored blanket, reaching for a roll of toilet paper on top of the coffee table. I blow my nose hoping to get whatever mucus is left glued tight in my sinus cavity. I angrily throw the crumpled up tissue into the trash bin while trying to decide if it's time for more cough medicine. I can't remember. I can't even remember the dosage my doctor told me while I sat on the exam table trying with all my mite not to sneeze or cough in his face. My eyes were watering; that's all I remember. A respiratory infection. Swollen Lymph Nodes. Whatever. My body can't focus on two things at once, what did I expect? My immune system is trying to figure out why the fuck it's down a rib and then this bug strolls in undercover, looking all cool with dark shades and a trench coat so my mind doesn't think otherwise. I wouldn't have alerted the authorities either with a cool demeanor like that.
Today, I am writing out of sheer anger, bored-ness, and loneliness. There's a void I have that can only be filling with writing. To you. My chronic darlings. Are you out there?
Recovery is such a silly thing. I went into it thinking it was going to be a breeze. I've been sitting on my butt already for the last couple years wishing and waiting. What's a few more weeks? But I was wrong. I should have prepared myself mentally. The pain I can handle. It's the constant sadness that gets to me. Is this what postpartum depression feels like? The event of surgery was so great and big and everything that led up to it was emotional, spiritual, complicated. And then all of the sudden nothing. I knew I wasn't going to be healed instantly; but did my mind fully understand that?
It took having my mother wash my 24-year old self in the bath tub while wearing a swimming suit to hit the rock bottom of emotions. I was sick to my stomach. My pride was hurt. Everything that happened within the last few years from all the doctors, tests and diagnosing to a failed surgery and failed relationships and one failed friendship just instantly came back and slugged me in the stomach. It hurt to breathe knowing what I've all gone through. What I've lost. What I can't get back no matter how fixed I became. While my body is repairing itself and recovering, my mind is still lost at sea.
I hate feeling helpless. I've already hurt myself a dozen times lifting things I shouldn't and this and that. The doctors give you restrictions to abide by, and a list of things to avoid. What they don't tell you is if you're alone all day and most nights like me, you're screwed.
I had to start scheduling my showers when my boyfriend was over so I wouldn't fall, or he could help scrub my hair. I tried not to use a lot of dishes because they would sit for a week until someone would hand-wash them. Whether snowed in or not, the first couple weeks I was trapped, unable to drive myself anywhere or blow off steam. These things were hard to adjust to but alas, I handled it.
The hardest part of my recovery is the hours and hours alone without human contact. I've gotten cards and get-well packages and they made my days a lot easier. But being a social person, nothing is fully grasping my needs. Netflix is boring, books are tasteless. There is an allotted amount of time you should be talking to your animals, and I've exceeded it by plenty.
If I could go back before my surgery to change anything, it would be to devise a plan post-surgery. I know I can fix it still (which I have been) but it's still difficult with a foggy mind and less energy. Here are a few tips to make your post-surgery better:
1. Seek out a 911 buddy.
Not as in 'I need to go to the hospital 911,' but instead the 'I'm feeling the blues and I need to talk.' Even someone to check in on you from time to time. Yes, I have my boyfriend and some closer friends, but I didn't establish that I needed help before my surgery so now it's weird to admit. I'm a stubborn person, so it will take an army for me to admit that I need help.
2. Plan light trips.
Have an idea for that empty space on the wall in your dining room? Look for ideas on Pinterest, grab a friend and go to Hobby Lobby. Although you may not be able to complete it for a few weeks (without the help of your significant other, relative etc.) it's something to get your mind running and looking toward the future positively. Another idea is science museums, art museums, matinee movies; anything that will satisfy your mind.
3. Buy a self-help book.
Whether it's for depression, healing, moving on, or a book about weight-loss, prepare yourself for post-surgery blues. This is one thing that has been helping me tremendously. I focused in on two people that I look up to: Toni Bernhard and Chelsea Handler. Yes, two completely different people, but both on healing-ish paths. Toni Bernhard has two books, "How to be sick" and "How to heal" that gives her own examples on self healing as well as things she has learned from the spiritual Buddhism route. Anything I find helpful to me at the time, I highlight or underline. Chelsea Handler has inspired me because she is just as stubborn as I am. She has a few books documenting her screwed-up childhood and her rise to fame. She also has a netflix series called, "Chelsea Does" that talks about certain subjects that interest her. Her life along with her humor and passions fascinate me and it makes for good down-time if I'm ever feeling depressed.
4. Start writing.
You don't need to be Shel Silverstein or Dr. Seuss or even Ghandi to write. And it doesn't have to be a book. Hell, it doesn't even need to be a paragraph. When you're mad, write down that you're mad. Express why you're mad. Express your exact feelings. Then crumple it up and toss it in the trash. When you're happy, write down exactly what is making you feel this incredible mood. No one ever needs to read these, or if you want to share with your loved one, you may. This is more of an emotional release for your mind. Sometimes when I am angry, I can't think straight. I go on bouts of not being able to write because of the anger. It scrambles the words and thoughts in my head and creates a foggy haze over my creativity. Writing down my emotions (like I am today) releases my creativity back into the clouds that eventually drops it into your hands.
5. Tell yourself about gratefulness.
Express every single day why you're grateful to be alive. Express why you're happy to wake up in the morning. Even on the toughest days, try to shed light. I'll give you an example. Today, I woke up extremely sick, more sick than I was when this cold first barged in. I realized I needed to see the doctor which is twenty minutes away. I am still in pain so I avoid driving more than a couple minute trips. My parents or boyfriend couldn't take me so I went alone. Upon leaving the doctor's office with the diagnosis mentioned above, I noticed winter storm "Bucky" had already arrived, complicating my travel a bit. After sliding on the roads, not being able to get my medications from the pharmacy for an hour because my insurance number switched, I pulled into my garage in tears. I was so sick and exhausted from a 4 hour out-of-the-house stint. I got inside and took a deep breath and thought, "I am grateful because I got home safely from the doctor's office, and now I can take my medication to stop coughing, heat up some homemade soup from my dad and relax." Thinking about this as I sat down with my hot soup instantly changed my perception of the day. I shouldn't be cranky that all those unfortunate things happened, I need to be grateful for the medication and that I'm fortunate enough to be able to have medication at all.
Remember, there are plenty of free websites and hotlines for depression. Never be afraid to reach out for help. Here are a few:
http://www.yourlifeyourvoice.org/Pages/ways-to-get-help.aspx
http://samaritansnyc.org/24-hour-crisis-hotline/
http://www.dbsalliance.org/site/PageServer?pagename=urgent_crisis_hotline
It's not giving in to your dark side, it's letting a little light back in.
Equanimity,
Kelsey
I've always despised shivers. Numb feet and hands. Raw nose.
But I've always loved the crunch of fresh-fallen snow under my boots.
The outlines of every branch highlighted by a light dusting in the morning.
Building snowmen.
I try to find the good in everything. The colder Wisconsin months out of the year usually wind up giving me pneumonia or bronchitis. It's not Winter's fault! At least that's what I try to tell myself. It's my suppressed immune system from the depressing thoughts in my mind that translate to a weakened and fragile state. But it's not Winter's fault. It's just a coincidence I get sick every year.
This year I was hoping to not catch the bug. Three weeks post-op and here I sit sniffling, wrapped tight in a fuzzy suede-colored blanket, reaching for a roll of toilet paper on top of the coffee table. I blow my nose hoping to get whatever mucus is left glued tight in my sinus cavity. I angrily throw the crumpled up tissue into the trash bin while trying to decide if it's time for more cough medicine. I can't remember. I can't even remember the dosage my doctor told me while I sat on the exam table trying with all my mite not to sneeze or cough in his face. My eyes were watering; that's all I remember. A respiratory infection. Swollen Lymph Nodes. Whatever. My body can't focus on two things at once, what did I expect? My immune system is trying to figure out why the fuck it's down a rib and then this bug strolls in undercover, looking all cool with dark shades and a trench coat so my mind doesn't think otherwise. I wouldn't have alerted the authorities either with a cool demeanor like that.
Today, I am writing out of sheer anger, bored-ness, and loneliness. There's a void I have that can only be filling with writing. To you. My chronic darlings. Are you out there?
Recovery is such a silly thing. I went into it thinking it was going to be a breeze. I've been sitting on my butt already for the last couple years wishing and waiting. What's a few more weeks? But I was wrong. I should have prepared myself mentally. The pain I can handle. It's the constant sadness that gets to me. Is this what postpartum depression feels like? The event of surgery was so great and big and everything that led up to it was emotional, spiritual, complicated. And then all of the sudden nothing. I knew I wasn't going to be healed instantly; but did my mind fully understand that?
It took having my mother wash my 24-year old self in the bath tub while wearing a swimming suit to hit the rock bottom of emotions. I was sick to my stomach. My pride was hurt. Everything that happened within the last few years from all the doctors, tests and diagnosing to a failed surgery and failed relationships and one failed friendship just instantly came back and slugged me in the stomach. It hurt to breathe knowing what I've all gone through. What I've lost. What I can't get back no matter how fixed I became. While my body is repairing itself and recovering, my mind is still lost at sea.
I hate feeling helpless. I've already hurt myself a dozen times lifting things I shouldn't and this and that. The doctors give you restrictions to abide by, and a list of things to avoid. What they don't tell you is if you're alone all day and most nights like me, you're screwed.
I had to start scheduling my showers when my boyfriend was over so I wouldn't fall, or he could help scrub my hair. I tried not to use a lot of dishes because they would sit for a week until someone would hand-wash them. Whether snowed in or not, the first couple weeks I was trapped, unable to drive myself anywhere or blow off steam. These things were hard to adjust to but alas, I handled it.
The hardest part of my recovery is the hours and hours alone without human contact. I've gotten cards and get-well packages and they made my days a lot easier. But being a social person, nothing is fully grasping my needs. Netflix is boring, books are tasteless. There is an allotted amount of time you should be talking to your animals, and I've exceeded it by plenty.
If I could go back before my surgery to change anything, it would be to devise a plan post-surgery. I know I can fix it still (which I have been) but it's still difficult with a foggy mind and less energy. Here are a few tips to make your post-surgery better:
1. Seek out a 911 buddy.
Not as in 'I need to go to the hospital 911,' but instead the 'I'm feeling the blues and I need to talk.' Even someone to check in on you from time to time. Yes, I have my boyfriend and some closer friends, but I didn't establish that I needed help before my surgery so now it's weird to admit. I'm a stubborn person, so it will take an army for me to admit that I need help.
2. Plan light trips.
Have an idea for that empty space on the wall in your dining room? Look for ideas on Pinterest, grab a friend and go to Hobby Lobby. Although you may not be able to complete it for a few weeks (without the help of your significant other, relative etc.) it's something to get your mind running and looking toward the future positively. Another idea is science museums, art museums, matinee movies; anything that will satisfy your mind.
3. Buy a self-help book.
Whether it's for depression, healing, moving on, or a book about weight-loss, prepare yourself for post-surgery blues. This is one thing that has been helping me tremendously. I focused in on two people that I look up to: Toni Bernhard and Chelsea Handler. Yes, two completely different people, but both on healing-ish paths. Toni Bernhard has two books, "How to be sick" and "How to heal" that gives her own examples on self healing as well as things she has learned from the spiritual Buddhism route. Anything I find helpful to me at the time, I highlight or underline. Chelsea Handler has inspired me because she is just as stubborn as I am. She has a few books documenting her screwed-up childhood and her rise to fame. She also has a netflix series called, "Chelsea Does" that talks about certain subjects that interest her. Her life along with her humor and passions fascinate me and it makes for good down-time if I'm ever feeling depressed.
4. Start writing.
You don't need to be Shel Silverstein or Dr. Seuss or even Ghandi to write. And it doesn't have to be a book. Hell, it doesn't even need to be a paragraph. When you're mad, write down that you're mad. Express why you're mad. Express your exact feelings. Then crumple it up and toss it in the trash. When you're happy, write down exactly what is making you feel this incredible mood. No one ever needs to read these, or if you want to share with your loved one, you may. This is more of an emotional release for your mind. Sometimes when I am angry, I can't think straight. I go on bouts of not being able to write because of the anger. It scrambles the words and thoughts in my head and creates a foggy haze over my creativity. Writing down my emotions (like I am today) releases my creativity back into the clouds that eventually drops it into your hands.
5. Tell yourself about gratefulness.
Express every single day why you're grateful to be alive. Express why you're happy to wake up in the morning. Even on the toughest days, try to shed light. I'll give you an example. Today, I woke up extremely sick, more sick than I was when this cold first barged in. I realized I needed to see the doctor which is twenty minutes away. I am still in pain so I avoid driving more than a couple minute trips. My parents or boyfriend couldn't take me so I went alone. Upon leaving the doctor's office with the diagnosis mentioned above, I noticed winter storm "Bucky" had already arrived, complicating my travel a bit. After sliding on the roads, not being able to get my medications from the pharmacy for an hour because my insurance number switched, I pulled into my garage in tears. I was so sick and exhausted from a 4 hour out-of-the-house stint. I got inside and took a deep breath and thought, "I am grateful because I got home safely from the doctor's office, and now I can take my medication to stop coughing, heat up some homemade soup from my dad and relax." Thinking about this as I sat down with my hot soup instantly changed my perception of the day. I shouldn't be cranky that all those unfortunate things happened, I need to be grateful for the medication and that I'm fortunate enough to be able to have medication at all.
Remember, there are plenty of free websites and hotlines for depression. Never be afraid to reach out for help. Here are a few:
http://www.yourlifeyourvoice.org/Pages/ways-to-get-help.aspx
http://samaritansnyc.org/24-hour-crisis-hotline/
http://www.dbsalliance.org/site/PageServer?pagename=urgent_crisis_hotline
It's not giving in to your dark side, it's letting a little light back in.
Equanimity,
Kelsey
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