So, I just do not do emotions well ... yet ... and had a terrible meltdown in Walmart today. So terribly overwhelmed. I tried to shop on the way home from the cardiologist appointment. At first, I was ... managing. Then I started shaking and weeping and ended up hiding in a corner after pulling a rack of baked goods in front of me.
I actually called the counselor. Twice. After leaving two incoherent messages, I longed for someone to come rescue me, to come lead me out of Walmart and on home to Amos.
I should get a gold medal for getting to the cardiology appointment and another gold medal for being a confident advocate and clear communicator. The things I wanted are very much in line with the care the cardiologist believes in, but the rub is that it is time for a pacemaker. SIGH.
I was very excited about his three-prong plan: 1) put in a pacemaker to address the bradycardia from NCS; 2) start blood pressure medication to blunt the high spikes in blood pressure and heart rate (which I cannot take without support for the bradycardia); and then 3) stop the theophylline and get me back on regular asthma medication (including having emergency meds once more). It is a good plan that I laid the foundation for by first sending him the BP data he asked for and, second, bluntly blurting out that I have such a love/hate relationship with theophylline.
Gosh, even typing this the shakes are starting again and the tears.
Help me!
It is a good plan, especially because he believes the the theophylline is exacerbating the palpitations and my blood pressure is too erratic. I might even be less fatigued. I will still faint and still have BP plummets do to my blasted vagus nerve, but I could possibly have a true increase in quality of life. I want that.
I do not want a machine in my body.
I do not want wiring in my heart.
I do not want something in my chest that has to be examined regularly.
I do not want to have to stay in the hospital for 2 days.
I do not want to have to be unclothed in the hospital.
I do not want to be alone in the hospital.
I do not want to still be so understand about salvation and belief in the hospital.
And I most certainly do not want to be away from Amos for two days.
Oh, I just cannot fathom getting through this, but if I could, I would have it tomorrow. If I were brave and strong and fearless ... and unashamed.
But I am not.
Any of those.
Counseling yesterday was rather difficult, but it was also ... distracting. With the refreshing lack of drama this past week (no dead bodies or wretched doctor appointments), we moved from talking about chronic illness to more about abuse. I was telling her about sailing lessons that were not so much sailing lessons as further lessons on the depravity of man. Perhaps it was not coincidental that PTSD had come up before, because as I talked I was right there back in the boat seeing what I wish with my whole being could be unseen and experience the sadly familiar. I was reliving instead of retelling. Needless to say, it was not a good moment for me.
Then on the heals of that moment, I connected one of the most hurtful things said to me to ... well ... it doesn't matter. I finally understood the whys and wherefores of the words flung at me which increased the wound of them.
With little time remaining, we ventured onto the topic that drives all else in my life: shame. It is not as if we waded in nor am I ready for that, but it is seemingly impossible that I might one day be free of shame. However, the counselor said something that has me pondering.
She said that shame is different for everyone, to some degree. And that we would need time to understand my shame. But she also said that shame can serve a purpose. One of those purposes can be safety. If that is the case, then it is doubly hard to move way from shame because of feeling as if moving to a more vulnerable space.
For me, I always think of shame as a negative thing. In a way, I am ashamed to be ashamed. And yet my first thought was how Bass and Davies teach in The Courage to Heal that all coping mechanisms that helped you to survive are good in that you did not become a victim to abuse (lost the battle and died). The key to healing is to recognize the coping mechanisms that can still serve you and those that no longer serve you well. It was as if I caught this tiny glimpse of the possibility of healing.
Too many thoughts.
Too many memories.
Too many emotions.
Too many bits of difficult news.
Becky, dear woman, seeded my herbs and seasoning stash. So, my way of dealing with this very long, very difficult day was to cook a bit. After all, I spent the late evening battling not one, not two, but three blood sugar crashes! ARGH!!
I found these Pickled Carrots to be just what I wanted. Perhaps a tiny bit on the sweet side, however, I only tasted them warm. I am looking forward to having them cold. I also wonder if the extra sweet is because I did not simmer the marinade enough ... got it hot enough. That is an afterthought at the moment. When typing up the recipe, I realized that I did not see the directions to simmer it. I heated it. Does the difference matter?????
Totally exhausted and thankful that I am ending my day....
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