So I gotta say, for someone not on anxiety medication or taking any other pyschoactive substance I guess aside from marijuana, it does suck to once again know I have a broken heart again. It's the thing I am trying not to let dominate my thoughts, but when I was sitting in bed earlier with my hands falling asleep, I realize I have had that happen a few times over the past few weeks. Then there is the sometimes sharp pain I have felt for a minute I usually coach myself out of terrorizing myself further because it is the wrong time given I have no health insurance in 5 days.
I told the surgeon I wasn't ready to do it now because of insurance, but ultimately I need to get it done so if I can hold off until next Spring...they are doing the next scan in December--so it's either I have 6 months or a year or 16 years to live, maybe. Though you gotta admit the positives to waiting might exceed the negatives, though clearly the valve could get worse and make the replacement even more complicated. All I know is he said it was ...
I still do those what I used to think were clever plays on words though most people...of course I was going to write most people do not give a fuck what I write. Of course most people don't, my god. I am not some hero, but rather an antagonist in some situations and I guess a breath of fresh air in others.
I ended up in the ER yesterday, and if you know me, you know I don't like the ER, but I make a point to never go unless I have no choice or the pain is that bad. I was there from 8 to roughly 5 and harassed my husband awake after sleeping 2 hours in 36 because I was in a lot of pain and don't shut up sometimes. And I wanted to go home.
I thought I was having a heart attack because who knows. I had a left numb arm, and ripping pain across my shoulder blades. I googled it thinking, yeah, these symptoms match that and so I made him take me in. I still have them all, but nothing could be found to cause it all.
Now I had not gone in for like ...
Well guys, that thing I mentioned I might elaborate on later came to fruition, sending me into a bit of a tailspin.
So my experience with my first surgeries and the like traced back to that rowdy month, October 1995 when my first dissections ripped through my body and altered my path forever. When I first came to, they were trying to find the why because it was a teaching hospital after all. Marfans was thrown around a bit, and some other connective tissue disorders I didn't really fall directly inline with--they thought I had Marfans but when I didn't develop much aside from the dissections, well then it became a, well it probably is a genetic thing, and thinking about what I did know, being Dutch and all, the natural evolution of my thought was that it was my mother's side that had the faulty genes. She had a story of a great uncle that had probably died of one, and she was kind of gangly and had too long arms for her body so some of physical affects outward didn't totally deter me from thinking the Dutch side was directly responsible for the gene issue.
Now fast forward almost 25 ...
