A Month of Reflection: Day Seventeen
I write about my migraine being the worst thing in the world, and the world showed me a constipated baby and overflowing husband. Funny, funny.
This has been quite the week. At risk of sounding extremely basic, it’s scorpio season. Me and her…we just don’t seem to mesh well. I want to love it. I want to be all for the spooky season. I am not cut out for it.
Starting off Sunday with the constipated baby, followed by my Tuesday migraine. Wednesday through Friday brought us three colds in three days. And for the grand finale Cole was spewing from both ends at 1am while I was desperately trying to put down a baby going through a sleep regression. It was exhausting. And I am in reflection mode, so my mind has been running wild about it.
Obviously, it is impossible not to feel anything physical in this world and not also feel the pain of others around the world. Those who are in much worse situations. Those that will not recover with fluids and rest.
Whenever I have a head cold or sinus infection I always have a moment where I think “I will never take being able to breathe through my nose for granted again”. I am very grateful for my physical body and all that is able to do for me everyday. I am also grateful for my health.
I have been fortunate enough throughout my life to be in good heath. My chronic migraines are my only recurring issue. You know, besides mental health stuff. I have also for some reason, felt like…I will not always be. I worry that I will “write something into existence” which may sound silly.
It’s true though. Since I was very young I have been worried that I would die young. Specifically from some kind of illness. It’s part of the reason I was drawn to nursing. I wanted to be ready, whatever that means. I don’t think it’s a Munchhausen’s situation, because I am too terrified to actually get things checked. Well, kind of. I do get them checked, but I tend to try to avoid it or handle it myself. Some stereotypes are true, nurses make terrible patients.
For instance, I have orders for bloodwork in and I have since September. I have no reason to be worried about them coming back anything but normal, yet I still haven’t gone because I am scared that maybe this will be the time. I will get this done this week, I am being irresponsible.
The problem is I never know if it is just my mental health telling me it’s my physical health. I have bad anxiety. I also have body dysmorphia as well as difficulty with interoception, which is like understanding my body signals such as hunger, thirst, temperature. It’s a fun sensory thing I deal with. The mix however, really makes me over think every single feeling that I do feel. So right now it’s this slight tinge of pain in my upper right quadrant. So I am convinced it’s my liver.
I have always been this way. I didn’t realize that I was doing it so much, but I was.
As a child I remember having this vague feeling of impending sickness so I would…prepare. Which sounds crazy, but I wanted to be able to handle it, emotionally. Dying early. It’s just something we have no control over and I fuck so much up, I really don’t want to mess up dying. Especially if I have to do it young.
So I would lie in bed and feel my body all over. I would do body scan after body scan trying to figure out if what I was feeling was pain, just an ache, or maybe a growth. I would hyper fixate over my moles or my heart rate. Counting it over and over. Then when I was really tired I would lay in bed and imagine myself in a hospital bed. I would imagine my loved ones coming, or the lack of who would show up. I would tell them I loved them and try not to leave anything out. I would apologize to those I hurt. I sound fucking nuts…am I being to vulnerable and weird?
I don’t know, is it like a narcissism? It doesn’t feel like that…it isn’t about controlling my dying, it’s that I know I cannot, so the one thing I can control is myself. I want to be ready.
It wasn't just my death I would prepare for. It was my parents, siblings, friends, boyfriends. One of my biggest compulsive thought patterns is planning my father’s funeral and writing his eulogy. It’s morbid as fuck I know, I often end up really upset. I honestly haven’t done it as much lately, since healing and learning coping mechanisms and all that stuff.
When my brother first joined the army it would happen all the time. I’d lie in bed waiting for the phone call that something had happened. This was a bit dramatic because he never went into combat, but…I don’t know, death has always been an obsession of mine. I know now, it’s a fear.
So when my husband, who never throws up, began practically projectile vomiting in the early hours of the morning, my mind immediately went there. Then it went to my daughter. Her catching whatever this is. Her body not handling it and us losing her. And that is when I know I need to reach out to my therapist…because I cannot go on if I allow myself to obsess about her death. If I allow myself to ruminate at all about that or the “ifs”. It’s weird, no one has ever been “off limits” before for my obsessive compulsive brain before. I worry I won’t always be strong enough to be able to do so.
We are feeling better though, and I will get my bloodwork done tomorrow. We will all be okay and my nose will be unstuffed someday soon. I am grateful and I am lucky.
I will be back with some much better writing too. I apologize for the little bump in the road during this month of reflection, alas, life is imperfect as am I.
Links for Liberation:
GoFundMe for Fadi's Son's Medical Expenses
GoFundMe to Help Save Mohammad's Family
Operation Olive Branch: One-Click Email List