And I cursed the sky and begged the sun to…
It’s been one of those weeks where I feel like this:
The Flyers lost in game 7 last night against the Rangers, and I’ve had doctors appointments, tests and blood work every day this week.
Sunday, about 40 minutes before Flyers/Rangers game 5, I was sitting on the couch watching the pre-game show, when I got an intense, stabbing pain in my right lower abdomen. What. The. Fuck. I can handle my pain, but this had me in the fetal position within 30 seconds. From where it was, I figured it was my appendix, and hoped that it wouldn’t perforate before the Flyers game was over.
Steve found me curled up on the couch, offered to cancel the gathering at our house, and I quickly stopped him from doing that. I was watching this game, dammit. And watch the game I did, in utter silence, sitting in the fetal position in a corner of the couch while my friends yelled and cursed at the TV (the Flyers looked like a bunch of degenerates on Sunday). I couldn’t even partake in friendly Facebook banter with all my Rangers fan friends from north Jersey. But hey, I’m a trooper, watched the game, and when everyone went outside to enjoy the sunshine, I crawled in bed with my heating pad.
By this time I realized the pain was far too low to be my appendix, and imagined the spawn of Satan was somehow gestating in my out-of-order baby maker. Pain on my lower right side, radiating down my thigh and around my back. Extra strength Tylenol and Aleve didn’t touch it. Convinced I was having an ectopic pregnancy (a risk after having a tubal ligation), a few hours later I made Steve go to Rite Aid for pregnancy tests.
Steve suggested the ER, I said fuck no, took a cocktail of Percoset and Benedryl which barely made a dent in the pain, but my brain felt fan-freaking-tastic.
The pain was horrible on Monday, but began to subside more and more, and now I feel fine. The culprit? An ovarian cyst on my right ovary ruptured. You would think after having my fallopian tubes tied up like one of Christian Grey’s submissives, the doctors would be able to make some kind of magic happen down there so things like ovarian cysts don’t occur. According to the doctor
I paid the insurance company paid good money for me to see, her remedy for the type of cysts I have is to “wait until the extra fluid is resorbed, and the pain will resolve.”
Google told me that Sunday night, why the hell did I drive 25 miles to the doctor on Wednesday?
Monday, loopy on a Percoset, a nurse from the radiologist’s office called to inform me the radiologist looked at the CD from my breast MRI, and wants additional testing before he goes ahead with the biopsy on Friday. The good news? I can have it all done the same day as long as I come 3 hours earlier, and don’t eat or drink anything 3 hours before that.
I don’t even know what the hell to think anymore. And no, that’s not the Percoset. I’m trying hard to remain positive, but everything has been a total shit show lately. If it’s not my lump in my boob, it’s a lump on my ovary, if it’s not my lupus, it’s the lupus medications doing things they aren’t supposed to.
Last week after my meltdown upon hearing I needed to see a breast surgeon, Steve opened a bottle of wine and I more or less (read: more) drank the bottle. I don’t normally cope that way (I’m serious!), but I didn’t want to be able to think straight. And luckily, I got silly, I got control of the radio, and I kept making Steve motorboat me “just in case I have to get my hooties cut off!”
I was happy (read: drunk), and Steve got boobs in his face. It’s a win-win as far as I’m concerned.
Tuesday early morning blood work followed by the funeral for Steve’s Uncle Anthony. The service was beautiful, and although sad circumstances, nice to see Steve’s family. I was blessed in the in-laws department, and the Italian Catholic family I married into isn’t so different from my Jewish brethren after all; after a funeral, we gather, get loud, and chow down on delicious food!
Wednesday found me at the lady bits doctor, and today I get the drippage of poison into my port and a visit with McDicky. Hopefully he can get me back on a medication regimen that doesn’t make my white count plummet.
Friday has been designated “B( . )( . )B Day” The mass in my breast is approx. 1 cm x 1.5 cm, and I can only hope the needle doesn’t slip and accidentally take my nipple. If that’s the case, I’m demanding a double mastectomy, getting big, fat fake ones, and not have to worry anymore.
Hey, if Angelina Jolie can do it and be deemed a hero, so the fuck can I!
For the past couple of years, May 1st has resonated within me. In 2011, my marriage was in shambles, and the tension in our home was palpable. As spring turned into summer, we pushed each other farther and farther away, until I finally moved out after a blowout on my 30th birthday. The thought of being alone and starting over didn’t scare me, but, deep down, the thought of losing Steve did. Even with all the hurt and anger on both ends (I was just as much to blame), I knew what I had with Steve was not worth throwing away. Instead of heading to what I thought may be greener pastures, I cleared my head, and decided to water the grass.
May 1st, 2012 was my first official day of disability. I would have never guessed I’d still be at home wondering if this is as good as I’m ever going to feel again. Having said that, I’m happy. Is home where I essentially want to be, no. But, these past two years have taught me a lot about myself and those in my life, allowed me to connect with wonderful people from all over, and do things that I wouldn’t have been able to do otherwise.
And this day last year, I was on the operating table at CHOP getting a cardiac catheterization, wondering if Dr. Rome was going to have to give me a new pulmonary valve, place stents in my pulmonary arteries, and if I’d wake up in the Cardiac ICU with a diagnosis of pulmonary hypertension. Anyone who’s been reading for awhile knows that by the grace of God (and an incredible cardio-thoracic surgeon in my childhood), I woke up in the CPRU with no additional hardware, or a scary diagnosis.
And today, it’s gnawing my brain (ice weasels, Brie) wondering if my early May good luck has run out, and come Monday or Tuesday, I will be told I have breast cancer.
Yeah, yeah, stay positive and all that jazz. I’m trying, I swear. But, if it is what I don’t want it to be, it will be another obstacle for me to overcome, grab by the balls (errr… boobs, as the case may be), and say, “I got this, bitch.”
Thank you all for the love, laughs and support. It means the world!
Let me end with saying…
HAPPY LUPUS AWARENESS MONTH!!!
During the month of May, all of my blog posts will be about lupus. Well duh, jack-ass, that’s the title of my blog. But, I’ll use this month to spread some knowledge on this terrible disease, and by the time I’m done with you, y’all will be lupus experts.
Watch out Dr. House!
Please note Friday, May 16th is PUT ON PURPLE DAY!
For my blog friends, wear purple and post it on your blog that day, and for my real-life friends, post it to Facebook or email me a photo! On the 19th, I will have a huge collage of all my purple wearing, lupus supporting friends!
PUT ON PURPLE DAY 2013