You could probably argue that my body has been "broken" for most of my life. I started wearing glasses at the age of 6. I have suffered from depression from high school onward. I was diagnosed with Poly cystic Ovarian Syndrome which cause fertility issues in my late 20's. This developed into anxiety problems probably pairing up with my depression. I was diagnosed with Binge Eating Disorder which I'm sure goes hand in hand with the depression/anxiety. Most of these do play into this story and will be told throughout but this story...this moment...where I felt that all was lost, hopeless and nothing more was to ever be gained started in early 2010. This is where we begin our adventure.
I have a running joke. It is a play off a famous comedian's set. I call it "You might have a broken body..." If you wonder, what is a "broken body"? How do I know I have a "broken body"? I say that you know because when you say certain things to another person and they shake their heads in agreement but others look puzzled...you both probably have "broken bodies." So one of the running jokes I have is...If you can recall all the significant dates of important medical events of your life but you might misspell your name or forget your birthday during the same half hour, you might have a broken body. So, on that note, all dates in here are fairly accurate but I might misspell my name. LOL
I had quit my teaching job in July of 2008 to go to work as a service coordinator to have more time with my preschool daughter and to just switch jobs. I was traveling more. Towards April of 2009, I was having some memory issues but started having migraines but attributed it to the job. It continued to get worse. In July of that year, the migraines, memory issues, depression, anxiety was horrible. At the request of my medical doctor and counselor. I made the decision to quit my job. I left it in August of 2009. Thinking that was all I needed to get better, I started to substitute teach and do temporary jobs. There were other things that made my stress levels high and things did not improve much.
Always one to try to improve myself, I tried to exercise more. Helped some but not much. I had problems with the one school district and was never really asked to sub again. I couldn't pass the one validation test for the temp job and wasn't asked back there. I was so frustrated. What was going on with me? Stress? Life? Me? Migraines were becoming common place. Depression was of course an issue. So, I decided in March/April that I was going to try baking. I asked my aunt for some recipes. She sent me her recipe for her Rave Review Cake.
I made the cake. It is a layered cake filled with nuts. The icing has nuts in it and then you brown coconut and place it on the icing as well. It is a true masterpiece when it is done. I made it the weekend of April 19th and I enjoyed a lot of that cake. By Monday, I was sick. Very, very sick. I hurt on my right-hand side of my stomach. We won't go into detail of the other grossities that were going on. I knew it wasn't my appendix because it was taken out during my 20th week of pregnancy with my last child. I went to the ER. Test were ran. They gave me medicine. They said it was the flu and sent me home. Told me to keep taking Ibuprofen. This is important because it plays into the story. By Tuesday, I was hurting so bad that I saw my regular doctor. I couldn't keep anything down (or up). He scheduled me for a gall bladder test for the next day. I got home only to get a call from the hospital. Do to the volcano erupting over Iceland they couldn't get the radioactive isotopes they needed till Thursday. I'd have to wait till then. UGG! I just kept taking the Ibuprofen and trying to stay hydrated as best as I could.
Thursday finally got there. The first hour of the test was uncomfortable but not a problem. Then the poor tech lady put the stuff in to "mimic" eating an equivalent of a cheeseburger and fries. Within seconds I screamed "JESUS KILL ME OR HEAL ME!" She had to calm me down but it was excruciating. I saw the surgeon the next day. My gallbladder was functioning at 5%. He would do surgery ASAP. We talked and I thought we were going to do it the next week. He started asking the basic question. Got to "When was the last time you took Ibuprofen?" I said, "Today." I knew the minute he looked at me that it was a huge problem. He said, "We are going to have to wait at least 10 days to do the surgery because you might bleed out if we don't." I started crying at that point. I hurt sooo bad. However, I am a big girl and pain is pain. He said he could give me Vicodin for the pain if I could wait it out. I told him I would. We scheduled the surgery for May 3, 2010.
The Vicodin did help. I was able to live with the pain. Looking back, the pain at that time was nothing but I thought it was worse than being in labor. It was also my initiation with Vicodin. It helped with the pain but I also realized it changed my personality. I realized that on Vicodin I become very hateful and spiteful. I'm not sure what is worse being hateful and in pain or having the edge taken off from medication and being hateful and spiteful. I just know I didn't like who Vicodin made me become. However, I was naive at the time and thought that after the surgery all would be perfect again. Just hold on, I'd think, better days have got to be ahead.
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