Positive

From Sometime in September:

I stared at the little pink plus like it was an alien. 

Even though I already knew. 

What else could it be? 

I almost didn't do the test. Mr. Blue Eyes had been after me to take the test and call him all day. What kind of lunacy is that?! Take the test and call him? Seriously?! 

Sir, have we met?! Hells, no, I am not missing the expression on your face when I tell you that I am carrying your child! 

He was so ecstatic when I finally told him that I thought his face might break. 

So far, I haven't had any unusual food cravings. I have had plenty of repulsions. Oh, wait. Except for pepper. I can't stand pepper. Hate the stuff. Red pepper and especially cayenne pepper don't count because they are good. But black pepper.... I'm getting itchy thinking about it. Except that I'm not. I want it. Which is weird.

And my boobs are killing me. "Breast tenderness" was described by someone who has 

a) never had it or

b) wants to trick women into thinking that they can put up with the insanity of willingly having a parasite grow inside them for nine months. 

-PS- if you ever want to upset your baby's father, just call the mass of cells in your uterus a parasite. It works wonders. 

So yeah, my boobs hurt. And itch. And make me want to cry when I roll over in the middle of the night. 

And my pants don't fit the same. 

Who gains weight only in their stomach? oh... right. Gotcha. 

At this rate, I'll be packing a double-wide by the time this kid gets here.

We can skip the part where I am pretty sure my intestines have been replaced by a series of balloons tied in torturous knots as though they belong in the balloon animal freak show.

Also? How did I miss the part about being soooooooo tired?! 

This is not like normal tired. This is more like mono tired. 

This is more "I've been up four hours, now it is time for a two hour nap" tired. 

I am absolutely terrified as I have no idea how I will ever make it through my clinical rotation. Nights. That's when I, being a somewhat normal human, sleep. 

Not work. 

Sleep. 

I am so screwed!!

Bliss

We met on the track at the high school by my house. I was going for a "workout" (if anyone could call the way I slug around a workout!) on the track since it is flat. I totally forgot about the group that runs on Saturday mornings being there. David, the leader of the group, shouted at me from the track. As I made my way down the bleachers to greet him, I saw a man in a blue shirt that made his piercing eyes look even more stunning. He was laughing at something, and his eyes crinkled up in the corners. I quickly decided to ignore him as I was afraid I'd end up on my face.

David talked me into doing my "warm up" laps with him. "C'mon, we'll just do two laps" he said, probably not realizing that I was thinking two laps may be the extent of my workout. During our slow plod around the track, David filled me in on how everyone was running, and how this new guy came out and how great he was. After the two laps, I was seeing double and begged off. As I gasped for air, I caught sight of those eyes again, sitting on the bleachers. "Come meet Mike", said David, heading in their direction before I could respond.

The short story is that an hour and a half flew by faster than it should have.

An hour and a half. 

(A person can do a lot in an hour and half. Stuff like get a massage, wash and dry a load of laundry, play Scrabble, paint a room, clean the bathroom, visit a museum, take a bath, take a yoga class,change your oil, get a haircut...)

When I finally got home, I couldn't stop grinning.

When David mentioned Mr. Blue Eyes' name on bookface, my grin grew. When Mr. Blue eyes sent me a friend request, I about peed myself. When he sent me a message, I dropped my phone. When he asked me to dinner, I ran around the house screaming like a high school girl. And then I pulled myself together and met him for dinner in under 45 minutes. 

After the restaurant closed, we sat on the back of my truck, talking, until three in the morning. The only thing that caused me to go home was the promise of a date the following morning.

I have been stumbling around in a state of ridiculous bliss since that Saturday.

Holding Pattern (July 23)

For three days I couldn't concentrate on anything but the doctor's lips as the words "rule out tumor" repeated over and over in my head.

On day 2, something snapped. If this is a tumor, I'm not going down without a fight. I'm not going down like this. Sure, I'm bone tired, and tired of being tired. And tired of being lightheaded and short of breath while doing something I was able to do countless times only a few months ago.

So I did what I've always done when I get upset: I ran.

I ran and walked (no way I could run the whole time! I'm too out of shape!) for three miles.

And I am. SO. SORE.

I was sore Sunday and so decided to jog two miles, just to relieve the aching in my muscles.

The shock of actually running caused me to forget that fantastically lovely sensation of thighs rubbing together (Yes, they do that now. Le sigh.), the sound of my breath heaving mightily in my chest, and the odd everything-is-jiggling-to-its-own-beat/everything-is-out-of-rhythm sensation I get when I haven't run in a while.

I thought about running all week.

12 hour clinicals and tests prevented me from running again until Saturday, when I (on a whim) ran/walked the SheMoves 5K. 

It was awesome! I have bronchitis and was coughing, I was uncomfortable, and my thighs were relentless in their jiggling and my lungs screamed needily. But I did it.

I don't know exactly where to go from here. I mean, how to train. Do I do Couch to 5K? Do I jog when I can, as long as I can?

I really don't know. The lightheaded-ness seems worse on days I exercise. I go back to the cardiologist in 2 weeks and the endocrinologist in three. Do I wait for test results to make any plans? I've been in this holding pattern...

154 days

It's been approximately 154 days, six hours and forty- seven minutes since these shenanigans began.

I've had a CT of my head, more blood work than I can count, a tilt table test, a stress test, a Holter monitor, five visits to cardiology, two to the ER and one to endocrinology.

And no one knows what's wrong with me.

I want to scream until there's no air left.

I'd like to say that this surely means there's actually nothing wrong.

But I know there is.

I was hoping it was thyroid disease. Manageable, carry on with life, run of the mill, boring old thyroid disease. And today, when doctor #1 said my antibody count was over 400 (anything over 35 is diagnostic of thyroid disease), I thought I'd found my answer.

But doctor #2 said no. It was not thyroid disease.

Doctor #2 said the same thing all the others have said. 

"I don't know what's wrong with you; you're a medical mystery." 

(As though that would make me feel special. Or better.)

"I really don't know what's wrong with you." she said.

And when she said something to the effect of "rule out tumor" my head started spinning.


Let the screaming commence.

Scientific Process

From the part of the scientist, changing one variable in an equation is a logical, reasonable way of deducing an answer. My analytical mind totally understands this.

My human parts, the ones that are frustrated and scared and confused, wonder why this process is so slow and tedious and if there are viable alternatives.

When I started having these symptoms in February, the first doctor I went to suggested we rule out heart issues first. If that produced nothing, we'd look at neurological issues.

After yesterday's test, I can comfortably say there is nothing wrong with my heart.

I'm not sure what to think about this news.

I mean, I'm grateful to have a fully functioning heart. Very grateful.

I'm happy to know what the problem isn't.

But what the heck does that mean?

Like many people in their early twenties, I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life. I used to joke that I was figuring out what I wanted to do by figuring out what I didn't want to do. I quickly realized that this was a very slow way to get nowhere.

I feel this whole experience is a bit like that philosophy. Isn't there a faster way to figure this out?

I feel like Frustrated Dwarf. 

Oh, wait. Maybe that was all the dwarfs when Snow White wouldn't give them the time of day.

I did learn something very valuable yesterday: the importance of being one's own advocate: I asked what my next steps should be while I was at the clinic yesterday. The nurses starred at me blankly.

The hospital staff does not live with my problem.

They don't feel the daily frustrations I do.

It's not that they don't care; it's that they have a zillion other things. 

This whole experience has been frustrating and exhausting and I'm thinking of finding someone to advocate for me because I'm sure I'm missing something. 

And frankly? I'm tired.

And I'm tired of being tired.

So I'm gonna call the doctor.

The Tilt Table Test

After months of not running exercising at all, I still have no real knowledge of what is happening to me.

I walk up steps, or across campus or into the kitchen, and get really light headed. Oh, and I can't breathe. Not in an asthma kind of way. It's more like an "I just ran really far really fast and now I'm out of breath" kind of way. And so I sit down and wait for it to pass. This happens every day. Sometimes several times a day. Fun, no?

I can't go back to boot camp until I get this figured out. I can't go to clinicals until I figure this out. And screw running. Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever run again.

(Although I've gotten very fast in my dreams. Which basically means I'm going to die when I can run again.)

Two weeks ago I returned to see the cardiologist for a tilt table test (the only thing I knew about it was that I'd be strapped to a table that moved; it didn't sound hard). A bunch of blue hairs eyeballed me repeatedly (I guess when you reach a certain age discretion goes out the window?) in the waiting room. I felt like raw meat.

Things didn't get better from the waiting room. A tech stuck an INT in my arm (basically, it's IV access with no IV attachment) and then left me alone with the door open while he went to find a tilt table. I could hear the nurse asking if the amiodarone was ready. Two minutes later she asked again. I wondered who else was here and what happened to them that caused a shock state. Two minutes later, the nurse asked again; this time she asked if it was ready for me.

 What the hell kind of test was this and why did they think my heart might stop!?!?!?

At the same moment, the tech came back with a portable EKG, strapped it to my chest and strapped me to the table. The table rose to a vertical position. 

Six sets of straps held me to the table. Wires cris-crossed my chest. A box that housed the wires was strapped to the center of my chest.

I stood there while a doctor, nurse and tech looked at me expectantly. It was awkward to say the least. For twenty minutes, they waited.

And then they remembered that I was a runner.

"Oh, she's not going to faint like this! She's a runner!" said the tech.

"Put this under your tongue and let it melt."said the doctor as she handed me a nitroglycerin tablet.

"Is anything happening yet?" asked the nurse.

"It should have by now..." replied the doctor.

"I'm fi..." my voice trailed off. 

My head exploded inside itself. 

"Heart rate 110" called the tech.

"150. Blood pressure 90 over 60."

"Now 70 over 50. Heart rate 170."

My heart felt like it was vibrating in my chest. I couldn't feel a single individual heartbeat.

I grimaced from the crushing pain in my head and started to feel bile rising in my throat.

"Heart rate 190. And BP.... 47/35... no... 42/33..."

"Stop the test!" cried the doctor.

As the table returned to a horizontal position, the crushing pain in my head subsided.

"Had we continued, you would definitely have fainted."

She continued, "The good news is that we can give you medications to keep your blood pressure up. I just want to see if Dr. Dollar wants to give them now or wait till after your stress test."

I wanted to cry.

42/33? So that's what the amiodarone was for...! 

42/33? That's not a blood pressure. That's more like a football score. No wonder I've felt so awful!

I go for the stress test Monday.

I'm kind of terrified.

Push

Holy hell.

My body hates me. (Not that that's the biggest surprise to anyone who has read this blog, ever.)

I returned to boot camp today since I have no real reason no to. And I miss it.

Yeah, I said that. No, I wasn't paid. No, there's not a gun to my head.

I actually (gulp!) like getting up at 5am to kick my own ass. And on days I don't feel like doing it, someone else will. All I have to do is show up.

So I showed up today, unsure of what to expect, unsure of what my body could handle.

Turns out, it could handle encouraging people. So thanks, M, for letting me push you. Thanks, D, for eye daggers. They helped me do more than I thought I could. 

See, in pushing you, I had to push myself. 

And I learned that I am totally out of shape!

All the hard work I've done over the last 9 months: gone! These exercises hurt!

I think I'll go cry now, if that's ok.