Today's Success: I'm Not Crazy

When people ask me how I'm doing, I usually say, "I feel nearly 100%!" Which is true. Physically, I feel great. There's no pain, hardly any discomfort, and the adhesive on the incisions have nearly faded away completely. I wish I could go swimming and work out like I mean it, but those are just some of those things that I have to trust I'm not ready for just yet.

I try to be honest sometimes and say that while I feel physically hale, emotionally, I'm kind of a wreck. Exactly one week after surgery, I started to feel melancholy. The week after that, I still felt sad and was responding to conflicts with unreasonable amounts of emotion. This past week, lots of crying and lots of loneliness. It wasn't until this past Friday that I kinda started to think that maybe my emotional excesses weren't just me being needy and lonely. Maybe there was something going on with my body.

That's when I found tons of articles about post-surgical depression. Apparently, loads of people suffer from this and it's not something surgeons warn you about. I can see why, but I wish I'd known to expect something like this. What's "this" you ask? It feels a lot like postpartum blues. I don't feel like hurting myself or others, and I don't necessarily have trouble sleeping. I'm just SAD all the time, I cry all the time, and I'm almost always fighting a growing panic/worry about the future. This also makes it very awkward for me to be in large groups because I don't know if I should be hiding my emotions and faking happiness (fake it till you make it, right?) or make everyone uncomfortable with my silent brooding. And like anxiety, I'm never sure when I'll start to feel unstable and want the safety of my own home.

So, Friday. I was crying since I woke up that morning, but at least I ate something. I made myself breakfast, sat in front of the tv to eat, and then bawled all over myself. I got up to wash dishes, I'm a weeping willow. And actually that's misleading. It sounds like I was weeping femininely into a hanky when in reality it was ugly crying. For what? I couldn't tell you. I felt lonely, for sure. I felt upset that we hadn't anticipated this isolation and planned for it. I never would have believed you, anyway, because I generally enjoy doing shit by myself.

The crying was concerning to me, and after reading a ton of articles, I finally made an appointment with Dr. Chelsea, my PCP. Charlie called her office back and made the appointment for sooner. When I saw her, she explained to me that even though I still have my ovaries and so NOT plummeting into menopause, the uterus also produces hormones that I'm no longer getting because, duh, no more uterus. In other words, I may be experiencing a sort of temporary mini-menopause that should even out over time. She asked if I was feeling hot flashes or if I was experiencing mood swings, and it's been so hot that I can't tell about the hot flashes, but most definitely on the mood swings. So, she's given me some stuff to do and some meds to take, but the best thing that happened was that she listened to me, answered my questions, and explained stuff to me. I felt heard and seen and taken seriously and I didn't feel bad about unburdening myself.

Being honest about our feelings is complicated. Do we fake? Should we be honest? Find some in-between balance? And it's easy to tell folks about physical discomfort and recovery-- no one flinches when I say my incisions still hurt or that I can't lift anything more than a few pounds or that I can't swim in the ocean for another few weeks. But many people don't know what to say in response to emotional pain, and I'm more inclined to hide it to avoid making other people feel uncomfortable. They can't tell you to take a pill or drink more water to fix the problem. Ha! But, apparently, a doctor can.

We'll see if we can nip this in the bud. I'm lucky because Charlie has also been supportive and loving and attentive. He encourages me to talk about how I feel, he reminds me that what I feel is legitimate, and he comforts me always. I'm used to (trying to) tackle challenges on my own and to feeling independent, so it's hard to need someone else. It's hard to rely on other people because they could let you down, and when you're feeling as vulnerable as I have been, another let down can do a person in. No can handle.

I ask that you be patient with me. I ask that you remember that though my body looks and feels almost the same as always, inside, I'm not so tough. Inside, I'm struggling to be that same person. Generally speaking, I'm an optimistic person: I have faith that things will get better. I believe that even now. But it's not always easy. Be patient with me.