My body has spent the last five months throwing curve balls at me.
Curve balls that are only really caught after they’ve already hit me hard, and the time of impact involves yet more to actually catch it.
A week and a half ago, I got to take my first break from the hormone pills, then start up again on the lower, normal dose. After three days off, and three days back on, I knew things weren’t stellar, but I was like look, your body has been through a lot in the last few months–let it adjust. So I called the doctors’ office on Monday just to be sure things were okay. His assistant agreed that it was probably a normal response, but she scheduled me a same-day appointment anyways.
I am thankful I went with my instinct and went in. I’m pretty sure I said about three sentences and my doctor immediately increased my pills back to twice a day for another two months, confirming my thoughts that we lowered my dose too early. Gave me the real lowdown–you might bleed through this whole pack of pills. We might need to do another D&C. Sent me to the lab for a CBC.
Gave me yet more reasons to trust him.
Trust is something I realized two weeks ago that I’ve been having a hard time with lately–trusting my own body, primarily, and trusting the people taking care of me. Every time I think something is getting better, things crash out around me–every time I think we are making a good treatment choice, things fall apart. Because as much as this whole thing can mess up my body, it can totally mess up my mind, too.
I am ready to stop feeling like a grenade waiting for the next explosion. I am ready to not only feel like I can trust things, but like people can trust me. Because this last one? That curve ball hit me hard. Even if totally irrational, there’s an overwhelming guilt that can go along with a variety of medical problems–and when my problems mess up somebody else’s plans–like it has done this time–this guilt feels so familiar.
I’ve discussed the 2013 soundtrack. Invariably, I put a song in there, and I let the playlist cycle through, washing me through all of the moments of this year. And this time, the guilt kicked in and I could barely get a new track in there fast enough.
The guilt, even over what I cannot control? I feel it..
i’m lost at sea / the radio is jammin’ / but they won’t find me / i swear it’s for the best / and then your frequency / is pulling me in closer till i’m home. / and i’ve been up for days / i finally lost my mind and then i lost my way / i’m blistered, but i’m better / and i’m home.
i will crawl / there’s things that aren’t worth giving up i know / but i won’t let this get me / i will fight. / you live the life you’re given with the storms outside / some days all i do is watch the sky.
this room’s too small / it’s only getting smaller, i’m against the wall / and slowly getting taller here in wonderland / this guilt feels so familiar and i’m home.
i think i, i could use a little break / but today was a good day. / and it’s a deep sea in which i’m floating–still i seem to think that i must crawl
there’s things that aren’t worth giving up i know / when you can’t bear to carry me i’ll fight / you live the life you’re given with the storms outside / some days all i do is watch the sky.
[today was a good day]
watch the sky, something corporate
I have yet to reach that good day in this round.
The thing is though, without trying I found hope three minutes later when the first song on the soundtrack cycled up. Light in all the darkness.
But this? This makes me know it is coming–cycling back to fresh beginnings . . . someday.
there’s a lot that i don’t know / there’s a lot that i’m still learning / when i think i’m letting go i find my body it’s still burning / and you hold me down / and you got me living in the past / come on and pick me up / somebody clear the wreckage from the blast
i’m alive / but i don’t need a witness to know that i survive / i’m not looking for forgiveness / yeah i just need light / i need light in the dark as i search for the resolution
and the bars are finally closed so i’ll try living in the moment / till the moment it just froze, and i felt sick and so alone / i can hear the sound / of your voice still ringing in my ear / i’m going underground / but you’ll find me anywhere i fear.
[some stories i will never tell… and i’m almost home]
and you hold me down.
the resolution, jack’s mannequin