Saturday, October 6, 2018

Find Your Words

It hit me today at my post-op appointment. My doctor said, "You're gonna have to come see me every six months, you know, because of that early cancer." And it hit me just a little. I keep thinking that cancer didn't affect my life because it came and went without so much as a hello. It was there and it was gone before I could even think about it because I didn't even know about it till nearly two weeks later. What do I have to think about? To mourn about? What is there for me to contemplate? It came, it went, it's pau.

And it might be pau forever. I might never be affected by this again. The worst of it might just be the inconvenience of seeing my Ob/gyn every six months instead of twelve.

I've lost about fourteen pounds since the surgery. You'd think I'd be ecstatic. My clothes fit better, which is great. I have a decreased appetite and I find less joy in the actual eating of food, so that sucks.

If you recall, Dr. Chelsea prescribed some anti-depressant, but I haven't started those yet. I want to find emotional balance without resorting to drugs. I don't think she prescribed them without thought-- she knows me well enough to remember I won't swallow a pill unless it's really necessary--and I know she wants to see me well again.

Shouldn't I be happy? I'm not bleeding anymore. I wasn't planning on having any more children. I don't feel like a shell of a woman without my uterus. I've lost weight and I feel physically great-- why am I not happy? After Dr. Chelsea described that mini-menopause stuff, I've since read a couple of articles, like this one, about how even a partial hysterectomy can result in menopause-like symptoms. That article I linked to says that "hormones work on feedback loops, the uterus contains many important hormone receptors that communicate with the ovaries. When the uterus and cervix are removed, these receptors are removed, too." So, I believe Dr. Chelsea. That's only one article that has supported what my doctor said, but I believe there's something going on physically with my body that I can't see or feel that is making me an emotional wreck, I just don't know what to do about it.

Dr. Chelsea had me start a gratitude journal (pictured below), which I did with earnest. It's a great exercise. I've done it before. I bought a lovely new journal from the bookstore, some lovely markers, with the intent of making my entries as pretty as possible to encourage a cheerful disposition. I also keep what my sister calls a Fuck You journal or what Lucy calls a mad journal (not ever to be pictured anywhere, ever). It's one in which you might write the nastiest things you can think of about yourself, the world, the people around you. You write things you never want anyone to ever see. If you haven't tried this before, you should. The effects for me are very fleeting, ending as soon as I put down my pen, but so worth it. The key, I think, is to remember that no one should ever read what you write and that you're attempting to purge those negative feelings through writing. It isn't meant to be kept as a record of every junk thing anyone has ever done to you, especially those in your tightest friendship circles.



I don't know that I'm actually depressed. I know things aren't completely normal. What I feel feels real. I'm not making it up, I'm not looking for sympathy, it's not fun for me. I've contacted one therapist today to see about getting some professional help. That makes me hopeful. Even if she can't see me or if we're not a good fit, maybe she can point me in the right direction. Because I hate how I feel, I hate being so sad all the time, I want to be happy again. I want to enjoy my life. I want to feel strong and capable, multi-dimensional, and interesting. I'm beginning to hate myself just a little. And isn't all of this just so attractive?

No comments:

Post a Comment

Not to be dramatic, but omg, WUT?!?!

My greatest fear if I survive the initial attack of the zombie apocalypse is limited or no access to reading glasses. No joke. I've watc...