Wow. I knew I hadn't blogged in a while, but I didn't know I hadn't posted anything in May.
To be honest, endometriosis and I haven't been on good terms lately. We're fighting. Hard. And it's made me not really want to talk about endo or my life with it because I'm just not sure how to process everything right now.
For the past three-ish weeks, I've felt like complete crap. I've been hurting in new places and new ways. I've been tired and crabby. I've been discontent and unsure what to do with anything I was experiencing.
And I knew that, inevitably, I'd have to confront the way I've been feeling because, shockingly, ignoring your medical problems rarely ever gets rid of them.
But even knowing this, even having years of experience in juggling symptoms, my recent response to handling my medical care has mostly been "I don't want to."
"I don't want to get tested for interstitial cystitis. I don't want to have a scope done. I don't want to go through more treatment."
"I don't want to go back to physical therapy. I don't want to give up hours a week and be even more sore and exhausted. I don't want to be poked and prodded all day, only to have it not even help."
"I don't want to go back to my doctor. I don't want her to change my medicine. I don't want her to suggest Lupron."
Don't worry. I was driving myself nuts, too.
I obviously know exactly what my experience will be when I try physical therapy again. Or when I'm diagnosed with another condition. Or when I visit my doctor.
Because I can see into the future and know exactly how things are going to play out.
Since I'm a psychic and I have nothing to learn from this world, I proceeded to be a complete pain in the ass for a few weeks while I whined about my body. I felt totally beat up after multiple weeks of traveling. My pain got in the way of my gym routine. I even lost my appetite for whatever reason, resorting to mostly eating stuff I could microwave in under one minute.
How does the quote go? "If you keep doing what you're doing, you're going to keep getting what you're getting." Or something like that.
However it goes, I needed to understand it long before I actually did. I wasn't going to feel better if I kept trying things that weren't working.
I think I finally had enough of myself because I asked a fellow endo sister for the name of her physical therapist.
I knew it was time for me to go back to a PT. I needed to stop putting it off and thinking I could self-manage my pain with exercise and diet. Yeah, both of those things help me a lot, but it was time to bring in someone who actually knew what they were doing.
So this week, I finally got an appointment, screamed at myself in a mirror for a few minutes to get myself psyched up and met with my new PT.
|Me, upon greeting my physical therapist|
I only had an introductory appointment, but I can already tell that I like her better than my last physical therapist.
Before, I didn't only dread physical therapy because it made me feel physically miserable. It also made me feel miserable about myself. I don't blame the PT's because they were obviously doing their jobs by helping me. But I felt talked down to and like I was having my hand held through the process.
Somehow, through that experience, I ended up feeling like my body wasn't my own. I felt totally removed from it, almost like I was rejecting it. I guess I was just so frustrated and defeated, and I wanted nothing more to do with it. I spent an hour a week being told what else was wrong with me, being put in more pain and feeling like this was as good as it was ever going to get.
Probably could have used another type of therapy at the time, now that I'm thinking of it...
Now, I feel like my PT and I are figuring this thing out together. It's a team effort more than a "Here are all the things wrong with you, Tracy. Please put up with me fixing you while you just hang out."
While I "graduated" from physical therapy, I didn't feel like the effects were long lasting. I'm sure a good chunk of that was my fault for not doing enough homework and at-home exercises. But truthfully, my heart wasn't in it. My brain wasn't in it.
Instead of viewing it as "Here's a way for me to feel better and be happier," the entire experience quickly turned into "I'm broken, and I need fixing."
No wonder I felt burnt out after a few weeks.
So now, I'm seeing my new PT twice a week, starting next month. I most assuredly will be sore and exhausted and, at times, defeated again. But I'm bound and determined to view it more positively.
(AND my physical therapist said I had a very strong six-pack muscle, so I'm already feeling pretty great about myself.)
That's, of course, not the end of it. I still have to confront my doctor. While my PT is pretty sure I don't have interstitial cystitis, there's still something out there that's making me feel so miserable.
This is the scary part for me. I like my medication that I'm on now, but I guess I need... something else? Something additional? I don't know.
My last ultrasound didn't show an immediate need for surgery. But it didn't rule it out. It's been almost two years since the surgery that diagnosed me, and a lot could have changed in me since then.
That's the part that really sucks about endometriosis. You really don't know what's going on, unless you cut someone open. And like I said in an earlier post, that's led me to wonder, "Is this it?" Just a lifetime of surgeries?
At some point, I have to accept the cards that I'm dealt. I have to admit that I can only do so much on my own. I have to surrender to the care of people who went to school for years and years to treat me.
And if I'm not getting answers, I have to keep looking. Stopping won't get me anywhere at all.
Hopefully, I'll be compelled to write more on this blog, despite being so frustrated and tired.
I'm leaving this gif of a beautiful Benedict here to encourage me.