I am completely over the hospital. I was certain I had put it behind me for quite some time and then I landed myself there again over the weekend. I have truly never been the person that gets sick, the person who needs repeat medical attention, or any of that. However my track record over the last year is forcing me to admit I have in fact been that person of late for reasons totally out of my control. I'm not into it. I didn't even want to write this blog post because I felt like everyone was shouting "SHUT UP about a hospital already!" (because that's certainly what I've been shouting to myself), but then Jeremy helped me realize that it's a pretty universal and hopefully relatable phenomenon to be bored silly with the cycles we find ourselves in ...so I wrote it anyway.
After calling my primary care doctor and visiting an urgent care clinic in my neighborhood and having both physicians sternly urge me to go to the ER, I (very unwillingly) conceded. The symptoms I was having coupled with recent surgery, a genetic clotting disorder, and having been put on post surgical estrogen patch all were too indicative of a pulmonary embolism to ignore I was told. So I went. I did the blue jammy dress thing, I got poked in the arm not once, not twice, but thrice (I can already tell I am headed for arm bruises that would make even the most consummate heroin addict blush), I submitted to test after test to rule out pulmonary embolism and visualized the dollars and cents draining from our bank account with every one.
In the end, everything came out clear. They can't fully explain some of my symptoms, which is uncomfortable to sit with, but they were able to rule out the life threatening things they were worried about and that is a relief. The whole thing got me thinking once again about how it's not so easy to leave the reproductive trauma of the last year behind (as if i needed more reminders, but they just keep on coming). It tends to follow you around in the most annoying and unexpected of fashions (just like all of our baggage does). Everything links to everything. That experience lives inside me emotionally as well as physically and so I never know when it is going to emerge and stir up some trouble.
The Universe likes to remind us that we are never fully in the driver's seat even when we begin to feel that we are. This can make us feel very stuck as it did to me as I sat there in the ER feeling stripped of my autonomy, but it can also be freeing depending on how you look at it. We're not so very powerful. We can work hard to move forward, we can bring as much positivity as possible into our lives, we can fiercely love the ones that are dear to us, but ultimately we can't control much else. As I laid there in that ER bed, I thought to myself, as unpleasant and annoying as this is, I feel lucky to have people in my life are that are continuously willing to wade through these rough moments with me. I know my support system loves me and they know I love them (I probably make that overly clear at times), and right now, that's the best remedy I can think of. There are going to be moments where we inevitably get stuck in the same old garbage and then all there is to do is fall back on that foundation--the work, the positivity, the love--to pull us out again.
After calling my primary care doctor and visiting an urgent care clinic in my neighborhood and having both physicians sternly urge me to go to the ER, I (very unwillingly) conceded. The symptoms I was having coupled with recent surgery, a genetic clotting disorder, and having been put on post surgical estrogen patch all were too indicative of a pulmonary embolism to ignore I was told. So I went. I did the blue jammy dress thing, I got poked in the arm not once, not twice, but thrice (I can already tell I am headed for arm bruises that would make even the most consummate heroin addict blush), I submitted to test after test to rule out pulmonary embolism and visualized the dollars and cents draining from our bank account with every one.
In the end, everything came out clear. They can't fully explain some of my symptoms, which is uncomfortable to sit with, but they were able to rule out the life threatening things they were worried about and that is a relief. The whole thing got me thinking once again about how it's not so easy to leave the reproductive trauma of the last year behind (as if i needed more reminders, but they just keep on coming). It tends to follow you around in the most annoying and unexpected of fashions (just like all of our baggage does). Everything links to everything. That experience lives inside me emotionally as well as physically and so I never know when it is going to emerge and stir up some trouble.
The Universe likes to remind us that we are never fully in the driver's seat even when we begin to feel that we are. This can make us feel very stuck as it did to me as I sat there in the ER feeling stripped of my autonomy, but it can also be freeing depending on how you look at it. We're not so very powerful. We can work hard to move forward, we can bring as much positivity as possible into our lives, we can fiercely love the ones that are dear to us, but ultimately we can't control much else. As I laid there in that ER bed, I thought to myself, as unpleasant and annoying as this is, I feel lucky to have people in my life are that are continuously willing to wade through these rough moments with me. I know my support system loves me and they know I love them (I probably make that overly clear at times), and right now, that's the best remedy I can think of. There are going to be moments where we inevitably get stuck in the same old garbage and then all there is to do is fall back on that foundation--the work, the positivity, the love--to pull us out again.
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