QUITTING

For years now I’ve put off quitting smoking.  I quit cold turkey when I found out I was pregnant with Alex, but started back up shortly after he was born.  It was as if my craving neurons knew I could smoke again without guilt and kicked into high gear.  Obnoxious high gear.  So, I just told myself I would quit when I was good and ready.  It had to be for me, not because something or someone was making me.

Let me start by saying it is a huge decision.  It sound so ridiculous to admit that.  However, it’s true. Once I started having a list of health issues come up all seemingly at once, I decided I might as well get myself prepped for quitting.  What sense does it make to get my insides healthy if I’m just going to continue polluting them?  Sort of silly.  I asked my doctor for Wellbutrin to help me on my path.

I’m 4 days into being smoke free.  Four miserable days.  The medication did it’s job by dulling the cravings significantly.  A few days into the medication, I realized I was having frequent headaches.  Debilitating headaches.  I wasn’t surprised the meds were the cause.  Today is my first day in nearly 3 weeks I am not taking the drug.  To be totally honest, it doesn’t feel any different...sans headache.  So I guess that would make it better.

Today I have worked VERY hard at not heading to the store to grab a pack.  I even went to the store to pick up some other stuff and I completely avoided the temptation.  Therefore making the trip to the store a success.  Ridiculous that I have to play these kind of mind games with myself, but seriously, I’m actually making headway.

Last night was the hardest yet.  The majority of my smoking habit took place after sun down and the kids were in bed.  It was ‘my’ time.  Now that I don’t have that set me time, I’m restless.  I’m playing excessively on my iPad and doing my best to keep my head and hands busy.  My irritability is intense.  I’m working tirelessly at keeping my mouth shut.  I’m no saint, so yes, I snap a little bit.  But the irritability is the equivalent of hearing someone scratch cat’s claws down a freshly cleaned chalk board.  Everyone in my house is lucky I’m not screaming at the top of my lungs sporadically.  I guess that’s the perspective I wish them to take.  While it’s easier said than done I am drifting into a smoke filled room at least once an hour in my brain and basking in the thing I’m depriving myself of.  SMOKE!

I know this is the best thing for me to do.  I know what smoking does to my skin, lungs, hair, nails, breath, teeth, etc.  But man do I enjoy it.  A couple times I’ve said aloud, “I just want one.  Just one.”  Knowing good and damn well that would be the biggest lie.  That one would instantly turn into a few, then needing to buy a pack.  Lying to myself is absurd.  

Even as I am writing this, my innerds are clamoring for a cigarette.  I’m reminded of a Chantix commercial about a guy sitting on a dock repeating to himself aloud, “Cigarette.  Cigarette. Cigarette.”  Suddenly a huge great white shark leaps out of the water and latches onto the man’s leg.  Uninterrupted, the man repeats his mantra.  After a few more iterations, he realizes a huge shark is eating his leg and he then reacts accordingly.  It’s actually pretty funny.  But holy crap is it something I can now relate to.  The catch phrase or tag line was, “Quitting sucks.”  AMEN!

Sierra Vista Health Care Professionals=Oxymoron

Yesterday I went to my doctor to follow up on the Upper GI I had done on the 1st.  Turns out I have a 7mm duodenal ulcer.  While I’m certainly glad to have a reason for the pain and discomfort I’ve been experiencing for quite some time, I was looking forward to gaining more perspective on what this actually means.  Apparently my expectations were beyond realistic when I went in to see my doctor.  

The office seemed a little amiss when I got there.  The staff was flustered and the time it took for me to be taken back was longer than usual.  I’ve been in this office 3 times in the past four weeks.  The receptionist didn’t even ask me my name, I’m assuming she recognized me.  Clearly the doctor didn’t have a similar memory.

He asked me questions about what’s going on with me as if this were the first time I’d stepped foot in his office.  He asked me what medications I was taking, specifically odd was that he asked me if I was taking a prescription he had written for me only last week.  I was more than annoyed at his attitude and demeanor.  He made me feel as though I was a hinderance rather than a patient.

At the end of the ‘follow-up’ he referred me to a GI specialist.  He gave me nothing to go on as to the results of my Upper GI.  Call me nuts, but I think ulcers are fairly common.  Before I’d even been told I had one, I had done some homework about what the potential causes were of my symptoms.  An ulcer was one of the first things that popped up.  When I initially went in to see him about this issue, I was extremely detailed in what I’ve been dealing with.  I tried to be as thorough as possible so I didn’t hinder the solving of my internal organ’s mystery.

I’ve done a full blood panel.  I’ve been tested for Hepatitis.  I’ve had a sonogram.  Finally, I’ve had an Upper GI.  I would think those tests would shed some light.  As soon as he got the results of my liver being fatty from the sonogram, he started to treat me differently.  He passively recommended I go to see a specialist, but to go ahead and have the Upper GI done.  I now have two tests conducted and two follow-up appointments and the same conclusion.  Go see a specialist.

I respect the fact that doctors reach the limits of their expertise.  I do not respect charging me and my insurance for two visits that were clearly unnecessary and ultimately delaying my treatment.  Today I made an appointment with Tucson Gastroenterology.  I’m going to have an initial consultation and then possibly face another procedure being done.

Here’s the kicker.  After talking to my nurse best friend and our combined researching skills, we found that the leading cause of ulcers is an infection called H. Pylori.  Now that I know where my ulcer is located, I was given more affirmation that I have a 90% chance of H. Pylori being the cause.  What’s funny is finding out as to whether that is the cause for me is a simple blood test.  Curing it is as easy as an antibiotic for a few weeks, a follow-up blood test, and depending on whether the medication cured me or not another series of medication.

I’m not a doctor.  But what I found out took mere minutes.  Plugging the words ulcer and duodenal into a Google search told me all of that.  So why, pray tell, didn’t my primary care doctor not include that in my initial blood panel?  He was sure to make sure I wasn’t pregnant, but this didn’t cross his mind.

The list of complications in regards to ulcers is a short one.  Fortunately I do not have any symptoms indicating a huge problem.  However, I have no idea how bad this ulcer is.  I have no clue if I’m close to having a major problem.  Perhaps I need an endoscopy in order to properly assess that, but what if this regimen of medication takes out the need to even have one done?  If I end up having to pay the 20% for the GI consultation and then another 20% of an endoscopy, I’m going to be one pissed off person.

I hope the end to this process is near and I’m looking towards feeling better very soon.  My ultimate goal is to be well.  I’m tired of feeling like crap.  I’m tired of being tired.  I’m nervous to be anxious about everything because I now know I have an ulcer!  Sort of counter productive.  I’ve taken drastic measures already in my diet and it seems to be helping.  I’ve had more good days in a row than I have in a while and that’s nice.  There are still some underlying issues, but they’re not putting me in the fetal position.  At least not as frequently as they have been.

I wish Sierra Vista had a more competent list of physicians.  I realize this is a small town, but good grief.  Shame on me for expecting a doctor to be proactive in their patient’s wellness.  It’s not all as it seems on television.  But right now I think I’d give an actor portraying a doctor a shot at my problems.  Seeing as how I’ve probably diagnoses myself, it doesn’t seem like it would have been detrimental.

Lessons Learned 2011

As a thinker, I feel inclined to write frequently.  I read other works and find myself yearning for the ability to write something that will one day be quoted or inspire someone else.  Arrogance leads me to believe I have the capacity to do that.  I suppose when I read back on some of my own words I inspire myself.  Occasionally I’ll find what I’ve written to be a source of reassurance that things get better.  Or even on the even rarer occasion, I’ll find a new perspective.

Each year, I sit down at my computer and review the events of the months past.  I’ll dig into my emotional vault and rehash the epiphanies or pivotal moments and document what I’ve learned.  This year I find myself not only gaining a sense of calm but a little maturity as well.  I believe this past year might have been the year I’ve grown the most.  I’m not sure exactly how I’ve obtained this insight, but nevertheless, I find that writing this right now I feel more grounded than I’ve ever felt.

This was the year I learned the truest meaning of patience.  No matter how many times I feel as though I’ve reached the limits of my endurance, I always find several more yards of rope dangling beneath my feet.

Closure seems to be this metaphorical state of peace.  All the cliches that surround the grieving process have manifested themselves this year.  I’ve come to understand the meaning of closure.  Closure doesn’t necessarily mean you’re over it.  I guess it just means you’ve accepted the reality to the fullest of your personal comprehension.

I’ve been told so many times that I’m a strong person.  The past three and a half years have been increasingly annoying with that classification.  There have been many weeks over the year 2011 that I have felt nothing close to strong.  When I’ve had the hours of deep anxiety and sadness it’s damn near impossible to feel strong.  

For whatever reason I’ve gotten it in my mind that succumbing to emotional break down was weak.  Words from a counselor resonate in my mind.  Why do I feel like I need to fall to the floor in waves of tears in order to feel progress in my grief?  I suppose the philosophy I’ve created for myself is that you can’t build on top of rubble.  I’ve had the notion that I’ve needed to demolish the foundation and pour anew.

This year I’ve learned that what I’ve needed is to simply remodel.  Building around the grief creates character.  After all, don’t my experiences make me who I am?  Why try to erase those nuances that directly contribute to the strength of my concrete?  If I eliminate the strengthening compounds, the foundation eventually cracks and I’ll end up right back where I started.  

In a way I’m compromising.  I’ve come to terms with the things I cannot change.  I’m still learning to accept those things.  But I believe that is exactly what makes life, life.  I’m compromising my stubbornness in order to pave the way to acceptance.

I would be a buffoon to think I could sweep my pains under a rug and just move on.  There will always be this lump in the rug.  How do you ignore that?  So, I’m looking at an urn on my dresser as a piece of insignia or as a medal of honor.  It will never, ever stop being painful to see.  A piece of me is in that urn.  But without that urn I wouldn’t have this new perspective.  Growth.  Maturity.  Gain.

I made a promise to myself this year that I would tell my story.  For whatever reason I have this compulsion to be heard.  Whether it’s read by no one other than my own family members, I just want to have my experience felt in some way by another.  Without knowing this story about me, you can’t fully know me.

Learning that this year has helped me get to a far better place.  I now understand I will never fully stop grieving the loss of my son.  I now understand that it’s ok.  I put far too much pressure on myself to get to this movie like euphoria about it.  I thought there would be this grand score of music playing the moment I reached true acceptance.  If that was truly the way grief worked, it wouldn’t be painted so ominously.  Truth of the matter is, there’s absolutely nothing beautiful about grief.  It’s gory and ugly.  I suppose from all the debris and carnage the beauty is in the outcome.

I learned this year what marriage really is.  I learned the value in true partnership and the necessity of that partnership in order to experience marital glory.  For years and years I’ve allowed myself to believe marriage can be easy if both parties wanted the same thing.  Even with similar goals in mind, the constant personal evolution spouses go through individually, tests those goals.  Goals change.  People change.  The glory is in the compromises each make in order to stay on the same page.  So many people say marriage is the hardest thing.  I will never criticize the validity of that statement.  In 19 days my husband and I will have been married for 14 years.  There hans’t been a single year yet one of us didn’t feel exasperated with each other.  All 14 years have been uphill.  Sometimes at a 45 degree angle.

Is love enough to keep a marriage strong?  I’ve learned how much love contributes to the strength.  But I’ve learned that no it’s not enough.  Defining love has been attempted by everyone.  Either on paper displayed for the world to interpret or in one’s own thoughts.  I’ve learned you can’t really define love.  I think that’s why so many other words can be listed to similarly describe it.

I’m 31 years old.  I believe I’ll go to my grave never fully understanding love.  But, if I can leave my personal wisdom behind to contribute to defining a strong marriage, it’s only a few words.

Patience

Compromise

Respect

Faith

Apply those words however you see fit.  But if both a man and a woman can apply the fullest meanings of those words to their union, they’ll survive it all.  Being able to execute those words is so much harder than you’d think.  I’ve learned that when those things are combined with love, whatever love means, you’ve got yourself a perfect marriage.

I’ve learned the value of time.  This year has gone by so dramatically fast it is literally spinning my head.  Thinking about it actually makes me dizzy.  We started off this year with a flood in our house and walls being ripped away.  Our son turned 1.  Our daughter turned 13.  My siblings stayed with me for 6 weeks.  I took my son to Florida for 2 weeks.  Our daughter got into the most trouble to date.  I spent a very full 48 hours in San Diego with my amazing brother and his equally incredible wife.  My health reached new lows.  I’ve finally gotten to where I’m ready to quit smoking.  I’ve stayed home for an entire tax year and not worked.  This year has been very full.  But all those things I just listed feel like they happened weeks ago.

Life is short.  Cliche, I know.  But this year has confirmed it.  I’m going to pack my little lessons learned and move into the year 2012 a feeling more equipped.  I hope and pray feeling this sense of self doesn’t invite challenge.  But then again, who do you know that has gone through life without significant trial?  We all want it easier, but seriously, how boring would that be?