It's been over a year since I've blogged here. I've only written in my journal a few times since then as well. A lot of things have happened on the world stage, as well as my own personal theatre.
The earth's population is living through a global pandemic. I've read about these from the past - the Black Plague, the Spanish Flu - I never in a million years would have guessed that I'd be living through one. Covid-19, it's called, The Coronavirus, Sars-CoV-2... It blows my mind that it's so political, and how opinionated people are about things that shouldn't even be up for debate. Wearing masks saves lives, but people don't want to wear them because they think it's just another way for the government to control us. Vaccines work, but people don't want to get them because they think that they don't work, or that the government is using them to implant tracking devices - hello, we have those on our phones!
The world, but particularly the United States, is engaged in racial battles. It's been building for a long time, but black people are not only not treated equally, still, they are targeted and hurt. In addition, because the pandemic originated in China, there have been all kinds of hate crimes against Asians, too. And, unfortunately, anti-Semitism is alive and well. There is civil, racial, and religious tension in many places in the world, Myanmar is actually dealing with a civil war that is much worse than even the Rwandan conflict from 30 years ago. I don't even pretend to understand any of what's happening, I just know that people are getting hurt and it makes me more sad than I know what to do with.
Then there's my own personal stuff. I'm still dealing with the long and lasting effects of CPTSD, anxiety, depression, and, recently officially diagnosed, ADHD. I'm still trying to wrap my head around everything. Even now, as I'm typing this up, I can't seem to understand anything, or see a clear path, or even a clear step onto a path, forward. So, I'll do what I usually do, and tell my story. I'll tell the things that have happened to me. Getting it all out of my head will help me see patterns and goodness (I hope), and maybe someday it will help someone else.
First, and I don't want to spend too much time on this because everyone has their own pandemic stories, teaching right now is a complete nightmare. It's exhausting and the students are not handling it well. I'm teaching the naughtiest class I've had in my entire teaching career, and I truly believe it's because my students don't see a future. They don't have plans or hopes because they don't think there's a reason to, so they just want to feel comfortable and happy right now. That means that if there's an assignment they don't like, or struggle with, then they just don't do it. It also means they don't care about the consequences. I only mention this, because I know that teaching has exacerbated everything else that I'm going through. So let me tell you what I've been going through.
For me, everything was just floating along, I was mostly safe from Covid - staying isolated and being diligent about mask wearing and sanitizing everything. My husband and I even took a trip to Moab last summer, and it was marvelous. I was doing my best to stay on top of school, and take breaks. We'd stopped going to church because of the pandemic. And, for the first time in my life, I stopped praying. I was angry and disappointed, and I thought I needed a break. After General Conference last October (2020), though, I realized that this was not helping me, and I needed to mend my relationship with God. I started reading the Book of Mormon, almost every night I'd listen to a few chapters, and praying every day.
Then, in November, I was sure that things were going to be different. I started feeling really queasy and had some other symptoms, and timing wise it worked out. So, Thanksgiving morning I took a pregnancy test and it was positive! I was so excited! I was certain that this was God's plan. I just knew that having a baby would help to restore my husband's faith and we'd be able to get sealed in the temple and have a family. I was sure that we were having a girl. Pedro wasn't excited. He was sure that something would be wrong with the baby. He did not get his hopes up. I called the doctor, and insisted that I been seen right away because of my age and weight making me high-risk. Even though they don't usually see patients until twelve weeks, they got me in that week.
My first appointment did not go as planned. The embryo wasn't visible on the ultrasound, and it should have been. My HCG levels were not as high as they should have been. The doctor told me that I probably miscalculated, and maybe I was only 4 weeks, instead of 6. We scheduled another ultrasound and another HCG test for the next week. Things were still not where they should be, so we scheduled tests again. On Saturday, December 12, my doctor called with the news that the pregnancy was not viable, and I would probably start bleeding soon. A few hours later, she called again with the news that the radiologist report said that there was a very good chance that the pregnancy was ectopic, and I needed to go to the emergency room to be treated. My doctor, the radiologist, and the attending physician at the hospital said that I was very fortunate that I went in when I did, because if I'd waited until week twelve, I could have died from a ruptured ectopic.
To make matters worse, as if anything could be worse than that, five days later I had what's called a decidual cast. It's where the lining of the uterus hardens and then exits the body in very big chunks. It was painful, disgusting, and very scary. I ended up in the hospital again, because I didn't know what was happening, and I thought I was having a heart attack. They told me it was a panic attack. In spite of the scare, I found hope. I'd been told that I couldn't get pregnant at all, and I had. That meant that my body could do it again. There was a light, the door was open just enough to see a light!
Christmas came, my sister got Covid, and we thought she had exposed us, too. We got tested, and it was negative. She was very sick for about a month.
In the meantime, I was still having morning sickness, and other symptoms of pregnancy. I couldn't eat very much, and certain foods made me very nauseated. I did my best to celebrate New Year's and Pedro's birthday, and put the tragedy of miscarriage behind me. But I was still devastated, and I was still feeling very sick. When I finally stopped bleeding, I was still having belly pain, so I went to the doctor and they told me that I probably had developed diverticulitis. They gave me some antibiotics. When the antibiotics were done, I still felt sick and had belly pain, so they gave me more antibiotics that made me very nauseated. Then we did a CT scan, and turns out I didn't have diverticulitis.
January passed in a blur, I was just feeling sick and weak and tired all the time. Valentine's Day came and I had another panic attack. I made Pedro take me to the emergency room because I was certain that it was a heart attack. It wasn't a heart attack. Three days later, I went to the emergency room again. They said that because I'd been three times (counting the December one) that I should probably follow up with a cardiologist. So, I did. We scheduled a stress test and I had to wear a heart monitor for two weeks. Turns out there was still nothing wrong with my heart.
Then it happened at school. I was teaching class, and I felt that I couldn't breathe, my chest hurt so badly. I went to the office and they called 911. I was taken to the hospital by ambulance. Turns out that I had blood clots in my lungs. All this time I thought that something was wrong with me, and I kept being told that I was fine, but I actually had a life-threatening condition. After several more doctor visits, trips to the ER and even a follow up with the cardiologist, I've been told that nobody is sure where the blood clots came from and I will likely need to take blood thinners for the rest of my life.
Blood thinners for the rest of my life means that if I have a fall or get hit in the head, I need to go to the emergency room right away. It means that I can't take certain medications or eat certain foods. And, this is the one that kills me, I can't get pregnant. Just like that, the door has slammed shut, the light is gone, and there is no more hope. Pedro doesn't understand how I can be so sad about this because he'd already given up the hope. But now, every time I see a mother with her child (or children) I cry. I can't help it, this loss is so great, and people don't see it because I'm grieving over losing something that I never had to begin with. It hurts so badly and I... well, I just hurt.
I'm super scared all the time, too. In the past three months I've had two life-threatening conditions that could have killed me if I hadn't insisted on being seen. So now, every time something hurts, or I feel just a little bit off, I panic. I've been to the emergency room seven times this year, and by this year I mean since January 1st, and today's only March 29th. Even as I'm typing this, I'm super concerned because my legs have been swollen today, and I don't know if that's something that I need to be worried about. I feel mostly OK, but what if it's a sign that I have more blood clots? What if it's a sign that my heart isn't working right? What if it's a sign that my circulation is failing?
It's really hard to find faith when you're so filled with fear. I've been trying to pray. I've been trying to listen to my Father in Heaven. I've been trying to trust that there is a plan and things will work out. But I don't want to die. I don't want to leave things unfinished. I feel this sense of urgency to get things done, but I'm still sick, and have not energy to do things - clean my basement, pay off bills, finish the book I started writing 3 years ago... I'm tired, sick, sad, and scared, and I don't know how to find anything else right now.
