Mental Health

Throughout a lung transplant and then a kidney transplant (not to mention other conditions that have popped up through the years), I have always made it through with a positive attitude and smile. This last bombshell, that my lungs were failing, seemed to send me over the brink. All of the sudden, after the murder of my dogs followed a month later my CMV, pneumonia, and a pulmonary embolism, I realized I needed help. No matter where I went or whom I was with, I was not able to be happy. I couldn't laugh. I couldn't eat and have subsequently lost twenty pounds. My hair has been falling out due to lack of nutrition. My skin isn't the same. I felt achy and tired all the time. There were days I would barely move. I felt as if I had sunk into the deepest of depressions. Was it possible I just couldn't take so many crippling blows in my short life? That eventually one was going to knock me out and make take away my will to even keep fighting?

I was suffering, people around me were suffering. And that's why I made the difficult decision after 11 years of being chronically ill to finally seek some help for my mind and my soul. I had to go through several doctors and several unsuccessful medications before I met someone who actually listened. I was prescribed something for my trouble sleeping and for major depressive disorder. After almost two weeks, I am sleeping almost a full night and I can feel the joy returning to me, even in simple ways, like the tone of voice I use on the phone. I still have a long way in the treatment process, but I feel like what improvement I have experienced thus far is somewhat of a miracle. I am slowly emerging from that dark hole I had isolated myself in. As a usually private person, I am only posting this because I feel a lot of people, especially young adults, have trouble for asking for help. No one wants to be labeled as crazy or feeling they need pills to function. But if you or someone you know has lost that spark to live, please encourage them to look into treatment. Do not see it as a long-term reliance on a drug but rather a stepping stone to get back to a happier place in your life. I am a perfect example of this. Nothing has changed in my physical health. I'm still very sick and may or may not get better. But I smile more, I laugh, I try new things. It wasn't always my lungs holding me back from living my life. It was also my mind. Now I am beginning a sense of freedom that I haven't experienced in months.

Please send this on if you know someone who you think they may be depressed. It can be SO MUCH BETTER! Otherwise, God bless and thank you for reading my rambling thoughts.

A Little Daily Thought.

Some people feel guilty about their anxieties and regard them as a defect of faith but they are afflictions, not sins. Like all afflictions, they are, if we can so take them, our share in the passion of Christ. - CS Lewis

Welcoming Peace

The past week has given me such respect for The University of Texas. They have made my medical withdrawal process more quick and painless than I could have ever imagined. People in my department whom I have never met have sent me their thoughts and prayers. It has been one less stressor in my life that I am waving good riddance to. When I was in school, I didn't mind the class attendance (unless of course, the weather was less than perfect). I didn't like studying. I did it though. I got good grades. And I miss getting closer to accomplishing something as amazing as a degree from this great university. But for now, I need to focus on my health. Anything else just feels like clutter.

My physical and mental health has become my top priority. I'm reading a book to help me manage being constantly short of breath. Also, I just got another in the mail about learning to be at peace with chronic disease. I have always prescribed to Dennis Prager's theory on happiness which is basically: Act happy if you don't feel it. However, that is much easier to do when you're having a bad day. Having a tragic six months and facing the idea of major surgery and possibly death is very different. It is hard to understand God, the universe, and the people around you when something so unfair is happening and you are suffering so slowly. What I am trying to do is be content in my good days and grateful for the amazing people in my life who are going through this right along with me.

Another is to use some very liberal scissors and cut out everything in my life that is causing more grief and anxiety. Obviously, the first thing was school, tests, and papers. Focusing on any type of timeline when you're unsure of your own is simply impossible. Secondly, I hate to say it, I have had to cut out people. There's people who are there for you, even when you wanna be alone. They're the ones who push you to go out and live your life even when chow mein and Sex and City reruns seem like the only appealing thing on Earth. And then there are people which are the opposite. There's people who will let you fall down into that depression you're constantly fighting. Toxic people need to go. Even if it's only for a few days, or weeks, it has to be done to keep your own sanity in tact. Being ill, you already feel like time is against you. The last thing you wanna feel is that people are also against you.

By cutting out the pain, stress, and worry in some parts of my life, I think it's only natural that I'll feel physically better. Obviously I won't be healed, but I will be more healthy to pursue this path ahead of me with less anxiety. It's exciting to think I could get some pieces of me back while in this limbo stage before treatment and transplant evaluation begins. It's like I'm reading ahead on how to get better. And I really can't wait to see what I learn.

This week, for now.

I've had a lot of things come up in the past week that made some major changes to my plan for the semester. My next attempt at going to class was another miserable experience. I laid on my bedroom floor, feeling that I couldn't move. My breathing became so labored that it reminded me of the weeks following my blood clots. My stomach was churning. I felt it was physically impossible for me to even move. All I could think about was not throwing up. It became clear to me this was a problem that was not going away. It took hours for the feeling to subside. The panic attacks come on so strong and the onset is so unpredictable that it's become a worry that the next attack is around the corner, in a crowd, or around people who simply won't understand and will think I am insane. If I was a celebrity, this whole panic attack thing would be considered chic. Doesn't it just sound better? Oh, She's in her trailer having a panic attack. She will be out in a bit. See? Reason #938592085 that I need a reality show.

Tuesday was my all day appointment at University Hospital Transplant Center. First begins with check-in at admissions, and then labs. Labs used to be simple until they poked, prodded, and ruined all my veins. Now I take a trip to the Oncology wing of the hospital. A PIC specialist takes an ultrasound machine and along my arms. Once he finds a vein, we use a large needle to get deep into the vein. We got all of the important labs before the vein blew out.

The next trip is to the Pulmonary Function Lab for PFT testing. This basically consists of normally breathing into a machine for several seconds, then taking as deep a breath as you can and pushing it out of your airway for as long as you can. They are painless, but my whole appointment rides on these things so it's easy to get anxiety about them. The results were better than 2 weeks ago (though only slightly) which made me smile and not so hesitant to go to Radiology.

Radiology at this hospital is like a black hole. Some of these people have probably been in the waiting room for days, watching soaps, not even realizing that it's a different day of the week and it's snowing outside. I am always getting normal chest x-rays so I get called pretty quickly. I always have the discussion about putting the gown on or not. I wear a tee shirt and a tee shirt bra for a reason. I'll slip the bra off for the x-ray if you want to be really careful, but don't make me totally undress into a gown that is meant for someone 600 lbs (aka your normal sized patient). Once that battle is solved, the real war begins begins. THE PREGNANT/ NOT PREGNANT discussion.

You tell them that you are not pregnant and their first reaction is to say "you know, you can tell us, we won't tell anyone" . So you say it again "I'm not pregnant" and you have to write the date of your last period and sign that you aren't lying. I imagine most girls are like me and just make up a day. Like, I don't know. It's one of the few things NOT stored in my iPhone. Not to mention, the way I look and dress for these early morning hospital visits, I don't see why the technicians are thinking I'm getting impregnated every time I turn the corner. WOOF!

So I finally get into seeing the doctor. The famously helpful, Dr. Luis Angel. It's pronounced Ang-el (like "the" in Spanish) if you're wondering. I expressed to him all my problems and I am happy to say that he sat and listened, really listened to all my pains and complaints, both mental and physical. At the end of our conversation, we had the beginnings of a game plan. It was stressful to think of the new treatment I will be starting and having to put school on hold (AGAIN), but also so comforting to know I am in the hands of a doctor who truly believes that I am determined to get better, motivated to have a life after this illness, and smart enough to make a difference in this world, given a chance to get back into the game of life. If a man who has seen hundreds of sad and hopeless cases to says that I am not one of them, who am I to second guess him?

I'll post more as I know more. Hope you are all staying warm as Abel and I am!