Category: The Misc…

Not OK

I’ve been trying to hold it together for months now. I’ll admit that I was in a state of denial that my generalized depression had returned. I should have spoken to my doctors sooner; I was such an idiot for waiting. I started by calling my transplant team in Utah and although they have prescribed me antidepressants before the Psychiatrist just didn’t feel comfortable prescribing what he had before (a low dose of Prozac) without seeing me. I live in Wyoming and he’s in Utah so I asked for a phone consultation and he didn’t feel comfortable with that either.

I feel like I’m circling the drain and finally reached out for help and all I get in return are barriers. I finally called my local doctor, who as usual wasn’t available. His nurse could see me but she doesn’t listen to me and is generally rude and quite frankly in the state I’ve been in I didn’t want to break down in front of her. Thankfully a nurse practitioner for another doctor in the practice agreed to see me and without hesitation prescribed me what I had been taking post transplant; I even brought in the bottle. She was also kind enough to give me a refill for my Xanax, which I’ve using more lately than any other time in my life.

I internalize my anxiety so to the people I live with or know me have no idea I’m a hot mess on the inside and just a nanosecond away from collapsing into tears. I’ve been extremely tired which is probably a combination of the depression and the hemolytic anemia I’ve had since the transplant. Together I could sleep 20 out of 24 hours of the day. it will take awhile to get the depression and anxiety under control, but there is no reasonable treatment for the hemolytic anemia.

This COVID-19 pandemic has me really scared. I fall into the high risk group because of my compromised immune system. I’ve been self isolating for awhile now and it’s lonely; when I’m awake. I hate sending anyone our to buy groceries in fear they will bring the virus home with them and we can’t have groceries delivered right now because all the stores have been picked apart by hoarders. I think the next couple of weeks are going to be tough.

I had hoped that opening up would help ease some of the anxiety and depression, but it hasn’t. We talk a good game on supporting people with mental health challenges but in reality no one has time to really listen or really help. We all have our own issues and don’t have time to help others. Ironically I was trying to help a friend going through a hard time and they totally turned on me and stopped speaking to me because they couldn’t handle that I have issues I need to deal with as well and couldn’t be there for them 24/7.

I feel like I’m on my own.

Another DNA Test

Thankfully I got a phone call (see previous post) and it went pleasantly and surprisingly well. He will be doing a DNA test just to confirm, but based on the DNA results we have so far we’re pretty certain he’s the one; man, I hope he is! Talk about polar opposite to almost every “father” type person in my life, the exception being my grandfather, but the rest fell short in so many way. I’m not saying the one I found, who I think is actually the “baby daddy”, isn’t flawed, we all are, but he at least made an effort to speak to me. He didn’t run away, make excuses, express doubt, etc.

He asked me when I was born, the beginning of March 1972, and we did the math and I would have been conceived the summer of 1971. He seemed to think that time line was pretty accurate and it could be possible he might be the one. Now we just need to wait for the DNA results. I don’t have any predictions, I’ve learned my lesson on that one. We’ll wait and see and if he is, thank God I found him, if he’s not, then my search continues.

I’m thankful he chose to pick up the phone and call me.

Maybe it’s too soon to say…

I feel like the heartbreak is already starting to settle in. I thought I was prepared for all the possible outcomes, but now I can’t say that I am. It’s been almost a year now that I’ve know that the man I thought fathered me, did not. Honestly, it wasn’t a huge upset, before the DNA results he had little to nothing to do with me. Being abandon and fatherless is something I’d become use to so, finding out he wasn’t the one shouldn’t have hurt so much, but it did, more than I thought it would. A second DNA test to see if another might be the one was fruitless as well, and equally as hurtful. I felt like I was careening toward not just metaphorically being fatherless, but to the idea of that becoming quite literal.

Being fatherless isn’t something very unique, there are millions who don’t know who one of their parents is. I thought I knew though, for 47 years I thought I knew. And even though I had nothing to do with it I felt a sense of responsibility for not knowing. There was no big lie or deception on anyone’s part it was simply a mistake, a lack of knowledge, young people not knowing what they were doing, and what the consequences might be. In this case the consequences were the creation of a human being, me.

Maybe the sense of responsibility came from the abandonment I’d felt my whole life. Almost every significant man in my life had abandon me in some way or another. Either it be physical or emotional it feels the same. When so many come and go you must ask yourself, is it me? Of course, as a grown woman, I know it’s not me, it was them. It was their lack of ability to commit to a little girl who needed a father. And maybe that’s why, when I received the postcard confirming the certified letter I sent the one I’m sure it is came in the mail yesterday, a sense of dread came over me. What if he rejects me too?

What a shock it must have been for him to receive it. Surprise it’s a girl…you didn’t even know you had; with a girl you may not remember. Maybe it’s too soon to say how he’ll respond. The ball is in his court now and all I can do is wait. But I can’t help but feel like the longer I wait the less he wants to know me and that’s a terrifying thought, being truly fatherless is a terrifying thought. To be rejected on a parental level is a special kind of pain that doesn’t go away easily.

But like I said, maybe it’s too soon to say…he needs some time to digest it all and then maybe he’ll pick up the phone. I can only hope!

To Dance

7 Months Post Transplant!

I can’t even express how amazing it was to be in a dance class this weekend. It’s hard to believe that it’s been just about seven months since my heart transplant and I’m able to do things I haven’t been able to do in more years than I care to count. I can’t thank Wyoming Dance Arts enough for offering an adult class and Aaron Wood for being a wonderful and thoughtful instructor. I’m counting the days until Saturday so I can do it again! Meanwhile I have yoga on Monday and Wednesday; I just need to keep moving and working on my flexibility. More than ever I know what I need to do…DANCE, and dancing is going to help me heal.

Finding a New Normal and Redefining Boundaries

I’ve been home in Wyoming for almost a month now and it’s been a challenge to find a new normal. I’m still tired, my sleep schedule is off, and I’m generally feeling sad, I guess. I have a lot of things I’d like to do, and I can do them, but I’m so overwhelmed by all of it I don’t know where to start. My house isn’t my house right now, my garage is full of not only things we brought back from Salt Lake City, but also most of the contents of my oldest son and daughter in-law’s apartment; they are living with us temporarily. The old fat cat is back to living in my office, and generally being a pain in my back side with her crankiness. That means my office is a hot mess instead of being a place I can go to decompress.

Nothing is where is should be, or at least that’s how it feels right now. Things don’t stay where they belong, or things are just left where they are set down and left for someone else to pick up. Then my husband likes to tell me about, and sometimes even shows me pictures of, the infractions of the other inhabitants of the house, which makes me feel responsible. I could tell him to handle it himself, but there is a part of me that doesn’t trust that he’ll do it in a way that won’t make things worse. As my oldest son would say “that sounds like a you problem” and it is my problem.

Are there things my husband could do different, of course, but at this point I simply don’t possess the patience for him to figure it out; it’s easier to do it myself. Spoken like a true control freak some who know me would say, but no less true right now. Emotionally I really can’t handle much more. My plate is full dealing with my own inner dialog and trying to help maintain the emotional stability of others around me. It can be emotionally draining a lot of the time. So much there are days I’d rather just stay in bed and sleep the day away and let everyone just fend for themselves and stay out of the drama.

Of course, burying my head in the sand and not dealing with my surroundings isn’t helping me move forward. After speaking with my therapist this week, I realize I need to set some clearly defined boundaries and expectations, then follow up with consequences if those around me chose to over step. The boundaries and expectations aren’t the hard part, it’s how do I impose consequences for the adults around me who really should know better.

Right now, I’m feeling like I need to just take a step back and take care of me for a little bit and do the things that make me feel better. If anyone wants my opinion, I’ll be happy to give it, but there will be no more unsolicited advice from me, not that any of them have ever listened to me anyway, so, why waste my breath. If you’re not living in my home, I don’t have anything to say about how you live your life. In my home is a little different story since I have to live here after you move on.

I tried to address the boundary conversation with my husband today and unfortunately it didn’t go very well. It kind of makes me dread having to broach the subject with the other folks in the house. I know it needs to be done, I just don’t know where to start.