Ok, guys. This one is solely for cathartic purposes. I could just write in a diary that no one sees, but I have yet to regret sharing my experiences in hopes that someone else can relate and find healing in it somehow.
I’ve become such an open book on my blog site and social media pages, that it feels almost natural to spew my current anxious thoughts out, here.
I’m currently amidst yet another gallbladder attack, and the reason I can even write this right now sans horrific pain is that I’m about three shots into Bombay gin, which honest-to-God is THE only thing that takes the edge off the pain.
I think I made a video about it once; how it seems to almost act as a sort of Draino for the sludge in the gallbladder. 🤷♀️
That combined with the numbing effects and we have ourselves a winner! 🏆
If only it weren’t for my addictive personality, it’d be no big deal, but I’ve spent a lot of time and effort trying to rid myself of addiction, and depending on booze to ease this pain is far from ideal.
This time, however, I asked my husband to please pick me up a small bottle of liquor so I can rely on it for this purpose and only have enough leftover for the next attack.
This brings me to the part where I know many of you are thinking, “Why not just have your gallbladder removed like every other sane person would do?”
It’s not a risky surgery and more often than not these days, it can be done laparoscopically. In fact, my lovely sister-in-law had hers out just yesterday, and my other SIL did several months ago!
It‘s quite a common surgery, especially among women, but I will do everything in my power to prevent it coming to that for me.
Aside from not wanting to have surgery unless absolutely necessary, I am, in all honesty petrified of anything that requires anesthesia of any kind, after some re-traumatizing experiences while ‘under’ in the past.
The last time I was placed under local anesthesia was for an endoscopy and colonoscopy to be performed the same day. This was several years ago, before any trauma healing had taken place.
I can recall being relieved that (what I told myself and had heard through the grapevine was the worst part), the prep- was over with.
As the nurse wheeled me in where the procedure was to begin, we joked about how this would be the best ‘sleep‘ I’d had in a long while. I had no real nerves going in, regardless of how much I *hated* any medical situation or having anyone’s ‘hands on me.’
I have always had a terrible aversion to doctors. I didn’t understand exactly why until much later.
The next memory I can recall is of someone screaming bloody murder and the nurse patting my arm and saying, “You’re okay, honey. I’m sorry, but I can’t give you anymore... You’re okay..”
“The someone screaming was me.”
The someone screaming was me.
After that I recall being in a restaurant with my husband as the anesthesia tried to work its way out of my system.
Later he told me that they were unable to carry out the full colonoscopy procedure because I was screaming & writhing and they were unable to get me under no matter how much stuff they gave me.
He told me that they said they had given me well more than usual and couldn’t safely administer more without risking my health.
They said, “We aren’t running a torture chamber. Bring her back when her blood pressure is under control.”
See, my blood pressure had been an issue for years, and one that no doctor or award winning facility could figure out.
From rare adrenal tumors to kidney disorders, I was tested for everything imaginable in relation to sudden and inexplicable hypertensive crises resulting in severe tachycardia in addition to the B/P that wasn’t shy about spiking to dangerously stroke-inducing levels.
I had been hospitalized numerous times for the sky high blood pressure, alone.
They would administer medications that failed to bring it down, along with my jack hammer heart rate.
I was an ‘enigma.’
I was an ‘enigma.‘
For 2 decades, we researched and searched for answers, sent from one facility to the next.
The answers never came.
Not until after I began the trauma healing process 3 years ago and discovered that each and every attack on my body; each and every ailment, was caused by effects of the trauma.
D’oh!!! 🤦🏼♀️ (Insert Homer Simpson visual).
I hadn’t known that I was being triggered left and right, multiple times per day and especially in any medical situation.
Oh, the irony.
Here we’d been going to every doctor we heard about and trying to solve this mysterious medical malady, while being unaware that being at the doctor was most triggering of all and causing these hypertensive episodes and the domino effect of ill health, or rather, seriously contributing to it. 🤦🏼♀️🤦🏼♀️🤦🏼♀️
Oh dear. I still can’t believe it now. But it makes so very much sense, looking back.
Hindsight is 20/20. No doubt.
Jumping ahead to this moment, as I lie here with a castor oil pack covering my abdomen and a heating pad over that, I once again have to chuckle at the absurdity of it all.
The physical symptoms were so very real, as were the insomnia and brain fog.
So real and so convenient so that I wouldn’t have to face the truth: that abuse and trauma from childhood were the root cause of every. single. health issue I was having.
Our minds are incredible and will do whatever it takes to spare us from enduring the horror of certain traumas.
Mine chose dissociation while I was being abused, because it was easier than being present.
“..Lifelong fight or flight..”
The trouble is that if it doesn’t come up and out sometime, it will fester and lead to physical and emotional ailments. Addictions. Depression. Suicidal ideation. Lifelong fight-or-flight leading to endocrine disruption and hormone imbalance and sheer misery. Sometimes even cancer.
The thing is, it can be healed.
You can get your life back.
I finally did and I could not be more thankful.
..And once again, writing out my thoughts has brought me to a realization:
Maybe now that I’ve healed so much, surgery won’t be so scary.. 🤯💡
But still, of all of the things I fear (aside from my child suffering), me having to have surgery is the worst.
The loss of control...
...That’s about it. 🧐
It might seem so silly to some, but to me it is a hideously frightening idea. One that I’m going to have to make peace with, especially as I now realize how much better I’m doing after all the hard work of healing and transforming the trauma.
Maybe surgery will be a hideous disaster.
..Or maybe I’ll be put under with no issues, no blood pressure crisis and no torture chamber scream scenarios...
Maybe I’ll be A-ok.
After all, I guess we are always all okay. No matter what... 🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼... 😘
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