3 yellow pills

3 yellow pills

a Walgreens' vial stares at me from across the room
its contents await patiently
as the appointed hour looms
against the white kitchen counter
yellow pills stare up at me
pleading and begging to swallow all three

their chalky taste make a promise again
of electric pulses not to send
i put my faith in them, i have no choice, i must
but the misfirings begin
another broken trust

neurons gather like armies of ants
agitated and angry, on and on they rant
colors become brighter, emotions out of control
my sense of being, no longer whole

please quell the fires
you said you’d stop inside my head
the thought of more of you, i absolutely dread
liar, liar, liar, you make me ill

3 nasty, chalky, little… yellow pills

Welcome to Wacky Wednesday!

Ologist-Outed...

I’ve had it. I’m done. I wish I could quit you all, but the sad reality is I can’t. I’m only 41. Aren’t I still considered too young for all of this?

It all started my senior year of high school when I acquired the first of the ologists. My gynecologist— my mother’s to be exact. Dr. Feldman. I didn’t think it proper to have a man touch me in places no other man had before. I found my own—a female— when I left for college.

I was safe for a long time and could deal with the cold stirrups on an annual basis. I pretty much was ologist-free in my 20’s. The trouble all began as soon as I hit my 30’s or what I refer to as my mid-life crisis years. Thankfully, I finished with them a few August's ago.

After a routine visit with my gynecologist, she noticed blood in my urine and referred me to an urologist. What was he going to feel when I coughed? A misdirected urine stream? I endured tests and was told nothing was wrong.

Nothing wrong that is until my years of Southern California sun worshipping urged me to seek an ologist on my own—a dermatologist. My body checked out fine except in places where the sun had never set its eyes. Two office visits later, my ass resembled Swiss cheese. I only shudder to think how the rest of me will look as time marches on.

Not many months after the Swiss cheese episode, I discovered a lump in my breast during an early morning shower. Back to the gynecologist I went. Days later I saw a radiologist. A week later, my breast tumor was removed. Back to the gynecologist for a post-surgery follow up. I think you get the drift of how I spent my early 30’s

Hold on, I’m not done yet.

Nine years ago, I began having seizures, migraine headaches, infertility issues. I just wanted to become a mother and I went from one puzzled doctor to another. I had an MRI. A radiologist read my scans and less than 12 hours later, I was assigned a neurosurgeon. I had a baseball-size meningioma brain tumor, which required immediate surgery.

I survived the surgery, but my drilled-into psyche didn’t. I added a fifth doctor, a neuropsychologist, to help me cope. He didn’t offer ologist coping strategies though, which in retrospect, would have been helpful.

I healed and life went on. I bore the daughter I was told I couldn’t have. Her arrival brought great joy, but not in terms of the seizures I started having again.

I added neurologist to my growing list of ologist docs. This one gives me drugs and they don’t come cheap.

Five years ago, miracle child number two came along and with that, a knock-me-down fatigue I’d never experienced before. Back to the gynecologist who makes referral to expert endocrinologist. I donate vials of blood and am diagnosed with funny sounding disease—Hashimoto’s—to be exact. My thyroid is slower than a turtle’s pace. More drugs, but these come much cheaper.

And even though I do have hemmorhoids—a lovely souvenir two pregnancies gave me—I don’t think I’m quite ready to go down the proctologist path.

I am now on a first name basis with my pharmacologist. My yearly planner is pre-booked with annual visits to gynecologist, dermatologist, radiologist, neurologist, and endocrinologist.

Luckily, I was able to break up with the neuropsychologist without any hard feelings.

Mind Over Meningioma

This entry is in response to KiwiGirl's query about any healthful changes I've implented in my life since meningioma excavation as I like to refer to it. Naturally one would think I'd jump right back to my normal routine after brain surgery. Of course that's easier said than done.

Ironically I was in the best shape of my life prior to my tumor finally being discovered. I worked out, ate relatively healthy, got enough sleep...And who would have predicted that three months into my recovery I'd spring a CSF(cerebrospinal fluid) leak and require emergency brain surgery? Then there's my pregnancy (despite being told I couldn't conceive naturally) another five months later. Baby #2 followed by hypothyrodism diagnosis and what little energy I did have, I reserved for naps and napping. I think you know where I'm going with this.

My husband, a retired althete, reminded me how energized I felt after we used to work out together. But hun, I'd plead, how can I work out when I don't have the energy to in the first place?!

Not even turning 40 motivated me to step back into a gym. I guess you could say I was still haunted by the memories of walking the treadmill and lifting weights while unbeknownst to me, I was harboring a massive meningioma brain tumor. Yes, I could justify I was getting plenty of exercise chasing after two kids.

So what did it finally take?

The day before my 41st birthday I took a personal inventory of my physical health. I was tired of being tired--one of the permanent residual deficits from brain surgery as well as the medications I'll remain on for the rest of my life. The anti-seizure medication I take daily also compromises bone health so wasn't that a compelling enough reason on its own? Hello, osteoporosis. I was eight years out, what was my excuse?

Excuse no more.

The morning of my birthday I took a walk. Was I winded! I took another, followed by another... I'm proud to say that while I've never been one of those daily exercise junkies, I've stuck to a plan of improving my health for five months now. But's not just about breaking a sweat and firming up my floppy muffin top. What's worked best for me is the following simple plan:

Anyone can find 30 minutes in his or her day. Think about how much time you can spend mindlessly surfing the internet. Those minutes quickly add up! Pen it in like you do your TO DO LIST. Grocery shopping, pay bills, fire up your heart...

I've never been one to diet and am thankful for great genes, but I know that I can't eat my favorite food group--cheese--six meals a day! Instead, what I've done is swap out chips for almonds or walnuts. What a boost in the afternoon when that proverbial slump hits. I also don't believe in restricting favorite foods. In fact, two of my eating goals for 2009 are to eat dark chocolate every day and enjoy a glass of red wine (which for some uncanny reason is the only elixir that eases the daily facial pain I live with. More on that in another post!) with dinner. So far, so good.

The most important change I've implemented since kicking-meningioma-to-the curb is simple even though it took me years to accept and fully embrace:

I've learned to tune into my body and accept my newly defined limits as frustrating (not feeling up to walking my kids to the park, which is heartbreaking) as it is.

Those who know and understand me accept that when I make plans for any future date they are always followed by the caveat of SUBJECT TO BEING CANCELLED. And many a last minute cancellations I've made.

I nap nearly every day and research has proven that even a 12 minute nap can reset your sagging productivity levels.

Speaking of sleep, I require at least 8-9 hours to function the next day. And timing matters for some inexplicible reason. For example, nine hours from 10:30 p.m. to 7:30 p.m. is more restorative than say sleep from midnight to 9 a.m. Just another one of those post-surgery quirks I guess! I used to have the stamina to pull all nighters, but it is no longer to be. Thankfully I finished college before I was even aware of my unwelcome upstairs roommate.

Finally, what works better than any ellipitical session or decadent chocolate is unplugging my mind. Losing myself in a foreign film, visiting my favorite beach during a visit home, hiking a new trail...all on my own.

Mind over Meningioma.

Thank you for this thought provoking quest for healing. Would love to hear what works for you!