Yesterday, I posted this on Facebook:
In the spirit of sharing the bad along with the good (because rumor has it that Facebook tends to spotlight the perfect lives of perfect people), I want you to know that I spent much of my morning creating a spreadsheet chronicling nearly TWO AND A HALF YEARS of undiagnosed tummy troubles so I can present dates and tests and results to ANOTHER doctor tomorrow in hopes of turning up answers regarding the misery I feel in my gut. I have no idea what I should eat, I have no motivation for exercise due to discomfort, I am gaining weight, and I am nearing full-blown depression (if you talk to my mom and John, you may learn that I have already arrived). Still, I will continue trudging along this mysterious path. Someone MUST be able to help me. For now, I think it will be the person who gives me a pedicure at 1:00 p.m. (Oh, and although I can share this snippet of doom and gloom in writing, I will probably cry if you ask me about it. Just a warning.)
Then, I saw a new doctor, and this is what happened:
I met with a new primary doc who had the great vantage point of looking in the Shands system at ALL of my medical history. She saw every test and every result and every opinion of every doctor I have seen during the past 2.5 years, and as the doctor reviewing it all, she concluded that I have had more extensive testing than the average person with abdominal issues. There is only one test left to order, and she has ordered it—I will get a CT scan of my abdomen and pelvis. If this does not turn up anything conclusive, her belief is that I have irritable bowel syndrome (IBS), which is a disorder of exclusion, meaning that when everything else is ruled out, this is often what is left. She cannot rule out completely that chemo and radiation screwed up my insides, and if they did, well, then the damage is done, and I must live with it.
IBS is managed well by some people with fiber, so I will up my intake. It is also managed by identifying and minimizing triggers; some folks are triggered by certain foods, but I have been tested out the ying-yang for food allergies, and I have none. My trigger is most likely stress (yay to all the smart people who predicted this!). When I learn to minimize stress and/or manage well the stress that confronts me, I should feel better. I will start taking (again) an antidepressant to help me cope, I will keep eating a Paleo diet of small-portioned meals and exercising regularly, and most important, I MUST clear my plate of excess. I have too much going on, and I will work on limiting my responsibilities and increasing my attempts at relaxation. (Oh, I will also give up some blood for testing to see if anything is problematic with my thyroid, vitamin D levels, etc.)
I feel good about today’s appointment, and I feel super thankful for all the loving people in my life who have invested so much time and energy into supporting me through my physical and mental breakdowns. You have noooo idea how much your words have helped. Or maybe you do if you have ever been in a similar predicament and felt a wave of love wash over you. It is amazing.
Today, I posted this on Facebook:
A psychologist walked around a room while teaching stress management to an audience. As she raised a glass of water, everyone expected they’d be asked the “half empty or half full” question. Instead, with a smile on her face, she inquired: “How heavy is this glass of water?”
Answers called out ranged from 8 oz. to 20 oz.
She replied, “The absolute weight doesn’t matter. It depends on how long I hold it. If I hold it for a minute, it’s not a problem. If I hold it for an hour, I’ll have an ache in my arm. If I hold it for a day, my arm will feel numb and paralyzed. In each case, the weight of the glass doesn’t change, but the longer I hold it, the heavier it becomes.”
She continued, “The stresses and worries in life are like that glass of water. Think about them for a while and nothing happens. Think about them a bit longer and they begin to hurt. And if you think about them all day long, you will feel paralyzed—incapable of doing anything.”
Remember to put the glass down.
My new motto: Put the glass down.