Just Breathe...
Prior to starting this blog, I had briefly touched on my mental health, via Facebook. Please note that I consciously make these blog entries as light and easy to read as possible. That being said, with certain subjects comes minimal laughter. Mental health can be one of those sticky subjects, so I am just going to wing it and speak from my heart, as always.
I have struggled with depression since long before I was finally diagnosed at the age of 18; that is no secret of mine. I have never been ashamed of having to take medication or see a therapist. I recall being in college and having a fit because of something stupid (in hindsight); I could not stop crying. I had no idea that depression and a few other mental health issues ran on both sides of my family. I didn't know that you could feel hopeless for no logical reason other than having inherited a chemical imbalance. After that crying freak out, I was put on an antidepressant and it literally knocked me on my ass. I was missing class at Penn State, Delco Campus (HOLLA), and it was starting to affect my grades. Thankfully, one of my professors at the time was also a therapist. He reached out to me to see how I was doing because he had not seen me in class. I told him what was going. He suggested that I stop using the medication I was on and try another one that he felt better suited my needs. Thank goodness he did! Prior to switching medications, I had been struggling to get off of my couch - I finally felt a sense of relief. Shortly after receiving my clinical depression diagnosis, I remember going to the movies with a large group of friends - we went to see The Sixth Sense. One of my asshole friends was yelling out my name in the theater when the kid in the movie picked up his bottle of antidepressants (his attempt at being a wise ass). I obviously wasn't too ashamed if I had told people but, nevertheless, I still slumped down in my seat (just a little).
Isn't it funny how he brain can store some things and completely forget others?
Getting back to the story, I continued to take that same medication for years, but I was never too keen on talk therapy. Don't get me wrong, I had tried it and figured some things out, but it never really stuck, ya know? Years down the line, I felt as if I did not want to be on meds for the rest of my life. I thought that I had "gotten over the hump" and would be ok without them. Initially, I felt great. I was getting out and being super positive about life, in general. I am still shocked that lasted as long as it did. But, eventually, I went back to the same medication to steady my chemical imbalance. At that time in my life, I finally had a boyfriend (I had never really had a serious, committed boyfriend before that). I was so happy but so depressed at the same time.
I moved in with the boyfriend and his parents (back when we were 25), as we saved money to buy a house. Depression was no where on my radar, so how was it possible to be both elated to have found who I thought was the love of my life, but also depressed? It got so bad that I was not able to function normally anymore so I decided to get back on my medication. Thank GOD he and his family were (and still are) so understanding. Looking back, I felt like an asshole, I still have some guilt for the way I left that relationship (Good Lord! Wouldn't a blog post about my love life be a PISS?). I honestly did not feel I was capable of changing until I restarted my meds....so that's exactly what I did! I could not risk screwing the relationship up because of something that I could manage with medication and/or talk therapy (I bit the bullet and ended up doing some of that as well). Obviously that relationship did not last (womp womp) - I am STILL single (hook a sista up).
Over the years, jobs came and went, as did my health insurance. Once again I discontinued the meds, but this time due to a lack of insurance. I made every effort to keep my depression symptoms at bay; I would consciously breathe through things when I would begin to feel symptoms of depression coming on. Then, FINALLY, I got another job that offered health insurance - who would have thought it would be that hard to get a job when you have a Master's Degree and a pile of debt from it...certainly not me. I thought that I had all of my shit under control (I will go into the idea of control in a future post). But then IT happened.........
BREAST CANCER.
What the fuck? I thought I felt something in my right breast back in 2013, so I had a baseline mammogram and an ultrasound - both were clear. How did I have cancer now. But wait, 2 months after my initial diagnosis, I had my first scans to see if my cancer had spread to any other parts of my body. I knew that it was in 11 of the 13 lymph nodes that were taken out during my Sentinel Node Biopsy, which was performed during my double mastectomy.
STAGE 4 METASTATIC BREAST CANCER.
Excuse me...what hun? In my head, I was (and still am) a kid. Who the fuck made me an adult? I never signed up for this shit (blog topic). Ironically one of the medications I was given was the very same depression medication I had taken over the years, but this time it was for HOT FLASHES. Who knew that my current medication, Effexor XR, doubled as a medication prescribed for hot flashes, related to medically induced menopause. It was meant to be (at least that is what I tell myself). The medication definitely helped with the flashes, but I had this new feeling that I could not explain.
It started right after my diagnosis - I would compare the feeling to a large animal, perhaps an elephant, sitting on my chest for elongated periods of time. I would think to myself (never out loud), "am I feeling this way because I have tumors in my lungs?" That was really bizarre because I NEVER wanted to blame anything on the cancer, especially since I am in this for the long haul. I never want to be recognized as the "woe is me" type of chick. This, by no means, makes me a hero or special. Don't get me wrong - I am floored when I hear compliments like that because I know the person saying it truly means it. However, how do I qualify? I may be a "take it by the balls" kinda broad, but I am only doing what I have to do to keep going.
I am in SURVIVAL MODE.
If you have heard me say that this has all a blessing or God gave me this disease for a reason, please do not think that I am trying to make my terminal diagnosis sound like a walk in the park; IT HAS BEEN DEAFENING. However, I had to cling on to those beliefs to make my life worth living. It may not work for you - I GET IT - do you, boo boo. But, I will share my secret to survival with you. Are you ready? Please note: I am saving you some serious coin by giving you this info so...YOU'RE WELCOME.
.
.
.
.
.
.
FAKE IT TIL YOU MAKE IT.
Yup, that's it. Just because I look like I have it all figured out or my attitude is deemed super positive, does not mean that shit doesn't get to me. Ask those that are close to me - they know the truth. I had one, maybe 2 (depending who you ask LOL) instances where I actually scared myself - when I hit my breaking point. I believe those close to me knew it was coming, especially since I had not truly mourned the life I thought I was going to have - marriage or a life partner (perhaps), kids (I thought I had the option but I was wrong), etc.
With my diagnosis came a mandatory, medically-induced menopause. I had been given a shot called Lupron, for about a year, to suppress my ovaries. I have always hated taking medicine, in general; I make every attempt to prolong my life, however I have to do it (it is a no-brainer to me). I made the conscious decision to have my ovaries and tubes removed on April 24, 2018. No, that was not an easy decision, but I knew that was the best thing for my health. You see, I have Estrogen and Progesterone Receptor Positive, HER 2 Negative Breast Cancer - any hormones that were possibly my system were definitely feeding the bad shit in my body, and I could not take that chance. I knew, from a previous consult with a Gynecological Oncologist at Penn, that I was not going to have my eggs frozen. Not only did it cost a shit ton, I would have had to feed my body a course of hormones to produce the eggs that I was trying to retrieve - I could not chance spreading my cancer any further. So, that was that. I had spent all of those sexually active years trying NOT to get pregnant, to get to 38 years old and become barren. I look back and feel like I blinked my eyes and my time was up. If I am being honest, I started to feel cheated.
Sidebar for those with any "terminal" diagnosis - you are eligible for Total and Permanent Disability Discharge for your student loans - https://disabilitydischarge.com/. This is one of the first things I did once I was approved for Social Security Disability. I like to assume the government figures this is the least they can do because they aren't gonna get the money back anyway.
This is not meant to make you sad or feel bad for me.
I remember waking up from that surgery, just sobbing. I was 38, in menopause, and there was no turning back. Shit got a little wacky after that:
I have struggled with depression since long before I was finally diagnosed at the age of 18; that is no secret of mine. I have never been ashamed of having to take medication or see a therapist. I recall being in college and having a fit because of something stupid (in hindsight); I could not stop crying. I had no idea that depression and a few other mental health issues ran on both sides of my family. I didn't know that you could feel hopeless for no logical reason other than having inherited a chemical imbalance. After that crying freak out, I was put on an antidepressant and it literally knocked me on my ass. I was missing class at Penn State, Delco Campus (HOLLA), and it was starting to affect my grades. Thankfully, one of my professors at the time was also a therapist. He reached out to me to see how I was doing because he had not seen me in class. I told him what was going. He suggested that I stop using the medication I was on and try another one that he felt better suited my needs. Thank goodness he did! Prior to switching medications, I had been struggling to get off of my couch - I finally felt a sense of relief. Shortly after receiving my clinical depression diagnosis, I remember going to the movies with a large group of friends - we went to see The Sixth Sense. One of my asshole friends was yelling out my name in the theater when the kid in the movie picked up his bottle of antidepressants (his attempt at being a wise ass). I obviously wasn't too ashamed if I had told people but, nevertheless, I still slumped down in my seat (just a little).
Isn't it funny how he brain can store some things and completely forget others?
Getting back to the story, I continued to take that same medication for years, but I was never too keen on talk therapy. Don't get me wrong, I had tried it and figured some things out, but it never really stuck, ya know? Years down the line, I felt as if I did not want to be on meds for the rest of my life. I thought that I had "gotten over the hump" and would be ok without them. Initially, I felt great. I was getting out and being super positive about life, in general. I am still shocked that lasted as long as it did. But, eventually, I went back to the same medication to steady my chemical imbalance. At that time in my life, I finally had a boyfriend (I had never really had a serious, committed boyfriend before that). I was so happy but so depressed at the same time.
I moved in with the boyfriend and his parents (back when we were 25), as we saved money to buy a house. Depression was no where on my radar, so how was it possible to be both elated to have found who I thought was the love of my life, but also depressed? It got so bad that I was not able to function normally anymore so I decided to get back on my medication. Thank GOD he and his family were (and still are) so understanding. Looking back, I felt like an asshole, I still have some guilt for the way I left that relationship (Good Lord! Wouldn't a blog post about my love life be a PISS?). I honestly did not feel I was capable of changing until I restarted my meds....so that's exactly what I did! I could not risk screwing the relationship up because of something that I could manage with medication and/or talk therapy (I bit the bullet and ended up doing some of that as well). Obviously that relationship did not last (womp womp) - I am STILL single (hook a sista up).
Over the years, jobs came and went, as did my health insurance. Once again I discontinued the meds, but this time due to a lack of insurance. I made every effort to keep my depression symptoms at bay; I would consciously breathe through things when I would begin to feel symptoms of depression coming on. Then, FINALLY, I got another job that offered health insurance - who would have thought it would be that hard to get a job when you have a Master's Degree and a pile of debt from it...certainly not me. I thought that I had all of my shit under control (I will go into the idea of control in a future post). But then IT happened.........
BREAST CANCER.
What the fuck? I thought I felt something in my right breast back in 2013, so I had a baseline mammogram and an ultrasound - both were clear. How did I have cancer now. But wait, 2 months after my initial diagnosis, I had my first scans to see if my cancer had spread to any other parts of my body. I knew that it was in 11 of the 13 lymph nodes that were taken out during my Sentinel Node Biopsy, which was performed during my double mastectomy.
STAGE 4 METASTATIC BREAST CANCER.
Excuse me...what hun? In my head, I was (and still am) a kid. Who the fuck made me an adult? I never signed up for this shit (blog topic). Ironically one of the medications I was given was the very same depression medication I had taken over the years, but this time it was for HOT FLASHES. Who knew that my current medication, Effexor XR, doubled as a medication prescribed for hot flashes, related to medically induced menopause. It was meant to be (at least that is what I tell myself). The medication definitely helped with the flashes, but I had this new feeling that I could not explain.
It started right after my diagnosis - I would compare the feeling to a large animal, perhaps an elephant, sitting on my chest for elongated periods of time. I would think to myself (never out loud), "am I feeling this way because I have tumors in my lungs?" That was really bizarre because I NEVER wanted to blame anything on the cancer, especially since I am in this for the long haul. I never want to be recognized as the "woe is me" type of chick. This, by no means, makes me a hero or special. Don't get me wrong - I am floored when I hear compliments like that because I know the person saying it truly means it. However, how do I qualify? I may be a "take it by the balls" kinda broad, but I am only doing what I have to do to keep going.
I am in SURVIVAL MODE.
If you have heard me say that this has all a blessing or God gave me this disease for a reason, please do not think that I am trying to make my terminal diagnosis sound like a walk in the park; IT HAS BEEN DEAFENING. However, I had to cling on to those beliefs to make my life worth living. It may not work for you - I GET IT - do you, boo boo. But, I will share my secret to survival with you. Are you ready? Please note: I am saving you some serious coin by giving you this info so...YOU'RE WELCOME.
.
.
.
.
.
.
FAKE IT TIL YOU MAKE IT.
Yup, that's it. Just because I look like I have it all figured out or my attitude is deemed super positive, does not mean that shit doesn't get to me. Ask those that are close to me - they know the truth. I had one, maybe 2 (depending who you ask LOL) instances where I actually scared myself - when I hit my breaking point. I believe those close to me knew it was coming, especially since I had not truly mourned the life I thought I was going to have - marriage or a life partner (perhaps), kids (I thought I had the option but I was wrong), etc.
With my diagnosis came a mandatory, medically-induced menopause. I had been given a shot called Lupron, for about a year, to suppress my ovaries. I have always hated taking medicine, in general; I make every attempt to prolong my life, however I have to do it (it is a no-brainer to me). I made the conscious decision to have my ovaries and tubes removed on April 24, 2018. No, that was not an easy decision, but I knew that was the best thing for my health. You see, I have Estrogen and Progesterone Receptor Positive, HER 2 Negative Breast Cancer - any hormones that were possibly my system were definitely feeding the bad shit in my body, and I could not take that chance. I knew, from a previous consult with a Gynecological Oncologist at Penn, that I was not going to have my eggs frozen. Not only did it cost a shit ton, I would have had to feed my body a course of hormones to produce the eggs that I was trying to retrieve - I could not chance spreading my cancer any further. So, that was that. I had spent all of those sexually active years trying NOT to get pregnant, to get to 38 years old and become barren. I look back and feel like I blinked my eyes and my time was up. If I am being honest, I started to feel cheated.
Sidebar for those with any "terminal" diagnosis - you are eligible for Total and Permanent Disability Discharge for your student loans - https://disabilitydischarge.com/. This is one of the first things I did once I was approved for Social Security Disability. I like to assume the government figures this is the least they can do because they aren't gonna get the money back anyway.
This is not meant to make you sad or feel bad for me.
I remember waking up from that surgery, just sobbing. I was 38, in menopause, and there was no turning back. Shit got a little wacky after that:
- a few deaths around me
- a beautiful wedding
- a sad breakup
That is when the deep depression hit. It was not just one thing that was weighing on me, but a compilation of all the STUFF. It's ironic - through the years I had known my South Philly/South Jersey girlfriends (the "what huns" or "HBH bitches), they had talked about this magical place (kidding) Hall Mercer . They would say that they were going there to "check in" (it is a mental health facility at Pennsylvania Hospital). How ironic that I was walked over to that very place, Hall Mercer, by someone from my Gynecological Oncologist's office after my follow-up appointment (I don't remember doing it but somehow I still took a picture of the sign, just prior walking in).
I needed HELP!
After I was released, I began seeing a therapist. She became a welcome part of my cancer team - I never thought I would say that. I would HIGHLY suggest that anyone facing a terminal illness look into 2 things:
- Connect with people that "GET IT" - support groups, Facebook groups, etc.
- Check in with a Mental Health Professional - I made this a quarterly practice (at minimum), just like getting scans and seeing my Oncologist.
What is the point of all of this - DON'T BE SO FUCKING HARD ON YOURSELF!
We all have STUFF that we need help figuring out. It took me over a year, post-diagnosis, to realize that all of my STUFF was a little too heavy for me to carry on my own. However, I am still learning when and how to ask for help. All of this vulnerability is new to me; I am finding it to be very cathartic. Get out of your comfort zone, even if it is in the comfort of your own home, writing a blog :)
All love...KEEP LIVING YOUR DASH!
Andy xoxo
All love...KEEP LIVING YOUR DASH!
Andy xoxo
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