Dropping a bombshell

I have been nothing but open and honest here about all aspects of my life. Well most of them. Some parts involve family members who wish to not be talked about. And that's hard as some of that really shaped and changed me. But I'll respect that.

Anyway, I considered not writing this entry. I thought long and hard about it. I felt I had to tell my family first.

So what is the bombshell? Well, last week I had a miscarriage.

I didn't even know I was pregnant. Let's face it, I'm nauseous 24/7 anyway, so I didn't notice a difference. My body is always sore, and I'm always moody. I got a period like normal, but that doesn't mean much. My mom told me she had her period the entire pregnancy she had with me.

Anyway, this was a hard loss for me. Yes, I hadn't know I was pregnant. So it's not like I had painted a nursery and picked out names. But to find out in the same day that I had a baby and it was gone was a lot to take in.

I want to be a mother. I know I'd be good at it. But I also know that I'm not ready. My physical and mental health makes it so I'm not in a good place to have a baby. But I mourned just the same.

I was put on bed rest, which sucked because then I had all the time in the world to just sit there and think about the baby I lost. I tried to lose myself in stupid tv shows. And sometimes it worked. But other times, it didn't.

I'm still torn up about it. Still a little heart broken. Talking with my mom helped some though. When I told her, she felt my pain. She showed up at my door with chocolate cake and took me shopping. We talked about why I didn't tell her right away. I didn't want to bother her, she has so much going on. I also just didn't want to talk about it in general. I wasn't ready to admit it to myself, let alone anyone else.

But here I am, again pouring my heart into this blog. I am human. I make mistakes. And I ache. I get kicked down. I feel bad for myself. But then I get up again. I'm not standing just yet. But I will be. And when we are ready for kids, I'm going to be a damn good mother.

The physical battle

I struggle from physical ailments as well as the mental. And I know this blog is supposed to be about my mental health. But how I feel physically affects how I feel emotionally.

I feel my body failing me. Day in and day out. The healthcare system is also failing me. Be it finding health insurance or a doctor who actually gives a damn. And that's quite a strain.

There are very bad days. Such as today. Where I just keep crying about it all. I am tired of being sick. Tired of not being able to do what healthy people take for granted. I start to think the worst. About dying. I can't handle getting worse than I already am. I don't feel emotionally strong enough to feel any worse. Losing control of my body is scaring me. It's tearing me apart. It's breaking me.

But every day, I get up and I face it again. I wake up feeling sick each morning, and all I can do is take my meds and pray I'll feel better. Well enough to do something. Anything. Clean or cook or maybe go out shopping for food. Those are my small victories. Going to the damn grocery store. I celebrate my ability to do just that. What life is this when that is something to cheer about?

And if I manage to go a whole day without crying, I feel I've experienced a miracle.

I thank you all for your support. Those who know me and those who only know my stuff on DA and these words here. I am not alone in this. And I will keep reminding myself of that. So I can get up again tomorrow and try to achieve one more small victory. Every time I can push my body to function like a normal persons' body, I will rejoice. At least a little. And I'll keep battling. I'll keep striving. I'll keep on. But I'll be honest, some days I don't want to. But I will.

The end of fairy tales.

Reset

I find myself with regrets. Searching for that reset button so I can take the chances I should've taken once before. Ones that no longer exist. Ones I will punish myself for letting go. My health and circumstances won't allow such do overs. And only one or two people who read this will know what I'm talking about. About a particular "what if" that will forever haunt me because I let it go and lost that chance forever.

Wild Horses. They couldn't take me away. But they took you away didn't they?

Pets, breakdowns, and love

I had quite the break down 2 nights ago. And it's been hard even considering writing about it. But I've been nothing but open and honest here. And in turn, you have done the same.

I was surrounded with much sorrow on Monday. Starting with watching a tv show where a tragic death of a main character rubbed me raw. Then there was the usual sickness that I endure each evening after dinner - nausea, panic, pain. I was in the middle of trying to get back to normal, when my fiance left to go drop off something at my sister's house.

When he was there, he rescued a beautiful parakeet from a cat. The bird looked bad. Be it sick, wounded or even having a heart attack. Who knows. He rushed home to bring me the bird so I could work my usual magic when it comes to rescuing animals.

Sadly, the bird did not make it. He died just around the corner. My sister had warned me of the bird and so I was all ready for it. I had a soft towel, water dropper, things to clean it's wounds, had made a list of food to pick up for the guy, and even the emergency vet clinic ready for us, should the need be. All this, I managed in ten minutes.

But it was not to be. We opened the box, and his little birdy body was lifeless. I scooped him up anyway. I rubbed his neck, held him close to my chest. I rubbed his stomach, I lifted him to my ear to listen for something, anything. We both held him and we cried. We held him till his body started to stiffen, then wrapped him in a towel and placed him in a box. We've been trying to find his owners (as he was a pet, parakeets don't normally live wild here) in case they want to bury him. But haven't heard anything, so we'll find him a nice spot in the backyard.

This of course, left a bad feeling with us for the rest of the day.

A couple hours later, we noticed that my dog has been coughing quite a bit lately. So at 11pm, we take her to the emergency pet clinic. They think she has kennel cough, though they didn't test for it. It could just be a cold for all they know. But we've got her on antibiotics and cough meds, and she needs to be isolated from other dogs for a week. How she got it, I'll never know. It's highly contagious but only from dogs or people with sick dogs. As far as I know, my dog hasn't come in contact with either.

While were at the clinic, a family came in with their cat. The sounded truly in distress. And then the wailing started. Not the cat, the cat's owner. And my heart sank. As we were sitting there in an exam room, being given fairly good news considering (it didn't spread to her lungs, she'll be ok) and we're listening to a woman mourn. Her cat did not make it.

I got flashes then. Of when we put down my 16 year cat (Kelli) with kidney failure. She was angry as all get out when they gave her the shot that would put her to sleep for good. I hated knowing in her last moments, she was so angry. I held her as she went limp and watched the light go out of her eyes.

Then there was Sasha... My dear Sasha. A chow chow shepard mix. Only 4 years old. She injured her knee and needed surgery. This was maybe 8 years ago. But to this day, I still cry and beat myself up over what happened next. Her surgery went well, but they said she was peeing blood. She was not to walk up the stairs to my room. She hated that. So I slept with her on the floor downstairs. In spite of the dr's orders, she taught herself to walk again that first night home.

But she got sick. So sick. She threw up everything. Water, her pills, one bite of food. She kept trying to pee and nothing would come out. I constantly bugged the vet about this. They figured the pain meds were just making her nauseous. No one listened to me.

Exactly one week after her surgery, she died. Just like that one. The night before, I had desperately wanted sleep. So I went upstairs to my room. Sasha wanted to follow me so badly. And the look in her eyes... God, she knew. She knew it was her last night, and she wanted to be near me. That look haunts me, even today.

The next thing I know, my mom is waking me. "Sasha won't get up and she's breathing funny." Then I hear my sister's voice ring out, "Sasha no! No! God no! Breathe!"

I tore down those stairs, hating myself for having not been near her. For abandoning her. For not doing more. My baby girl, who always had to be touching me to sleep, who always guarded me against even flies, was gone.

I still feel guilty. And I've also become hyper vigilant about my pets now.

The vet office also felt bad, so they did an autopsy for free and found her stomach had burst. Turns out this is a possible side effect of one of the anti inflammatory meds they gave her before her surgery. They also cremated her for free and donated money in her memory to a pet research center.

Sasha went first. Then Kelli years later. I cremated her as well because it felt right to honor her the same as Sasha.

So of course, these memories came rushing back to me after returning home from the clinic. I went into the storage room and started ripping open boxes and throwing things all over the place. I was on a mission. To find Sasha and Kelli. The box with their ashes and favorite toys and collars and such. I drank Jack Daniels like it was my salvation and I cried.

Now here's the thing, as much as it hurts to lose a pet, I will continue to rescue and raise them. Some people find me crazy for putting myself through it. The loss never gets easier. And maybe it'll keep adding on and keep building up until my heart shatters so hard that it can't be put back together. But I keep on letting animals into my life. I have too much love to give them. They need homes, they need love, they need a good life. And so, even if it hurts, I will keep on taking in rescues. I will give them forever homes. And I will love them even after they are gone. They need me. And I need them. And even tho the mourning hurts like a bitch, the good memories and the love makes it all worth it.

On the road to healthcare

I received a letter telling me that I have been accepted for free healthcare. This is very good news. But my coverage doesn't start until May 1st. I am finally heading in the right direction towards a healthy me. But it's going to be a very long journey. And part of me lacks hope. It's hard to be excited about finally getting health insurance when I have little idea if it'll be of help.

First, my coverage will kick in. Then, I'll have to see a new general physician covered by this healthcare. She will then (hopefully) get the ball rolling on referrals to specialists. There will be those initial appointments, then the tests. After the tests, who knows. Perhaps treatment, perhaps life long medication. Perhaps I'll finally find out what has been ailing me for years. I fear that part. It could be something minor. Something easily treated. Which would be irritating, as it would mean I've been suffering for years for no good reason. But what if it's something worse? Something life long? Something that will change my life.

I hope for the strength to continue this journey that stands before me. It seems so daunting now. But I'll put one foot in front of the other and just keep going.

Purple Anguish

I am so tired of the every day struggle....