Oh dear, sweet readers of Improbable Fiction, remember that one time I told you not to get ulcers in your eyes? I believe I mentioned the pain, oh the terrible, terrible pain. Well, I think I can actually top it. I also posted about my doctor throwing around two possibilities of diseases I might have. One was Endometriosis and the other was Polycystic Ovary Syndrome. About a week or so before my cruise vacation I had blood taken. And when I returned from my cruise vacation the lab results were in. I then went back to my doctor where she confirmed a diagnosis and gave me a prescription for some pills to help the problem. Well that was about a week or so ago, and I have been struggling as to whether or not I was going to post anything about my problems on my blog and there are a couple of reasons as to why.
First, I really hate complaining. Sure, I complain from time to time (who doesn’t), but generally I don’t like telling people over and over again all of my problems. I keep things bottled up and I actually used to get in trouble when I was younger because I wouldn’t tell my mother when I was feeling sick or had headaches or back aches or anything. (“HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO HELP YOU WHEN YOU WON’T TELL ME WHAT’S WRONG?!?!?) When friends come to me to talk I usually do the listening and the problem solving. You wouldn’t believe some of the things I have been told by my closest friends. But for some reason when they ask about me, I want to scream out every single problem I am going through, what I am thinking, how I am feeling, but when the time comes all I can muster up is a very unenthusiastic “Oh, I’m fine. But let’s get back to you. How can we help you?” I tend to take care of other people’s problems and then whatever energy I have left is spent of fixing me.
Second, talking about these things with strangers is very different than talking about them with best friends or family members. My two closest friends live very far away from me. One lives in Alabama, the other in North Carolina. Sure we have the occasional aim conversation but lately we don’t have the time to talk like we used to as one is engaged and works all the time, and the other just got back from a month long trip in India. Our lives are moving forward so fast we are having a hard enough time keeping up with ourselves, let alone each other. And my family has heard the news before (my mother was actually in the doctor’s office with me) so this brings me back to my first point. I don’t want to continually talk about this with them, as I am sure they will grow very tired of it very fast. That leaves you, the strangers that make up the world wide Internet. You don’t know me personally. Sure, you know about my adventures in England and the cruise to Mexico, and who could forget that magical night with Dave in France (*shudder*), but we have never actually met. We have never shook hands, hugged, nothing. There is this invisible line of what you need to know about me, and things I simply can’t share with you.
So why did I finally decide to share things with you? Well, to be perfectly honest and completely throw out my first point, I am lonely and don’t have many people to talk to lately. Like I said, my two best friends are so busy living their lives and I can’t seem to ask them to slow down and talk about me. I’ve tried, but I just can’t do it. I do consider my mother one of my best friends, but there is just a different element when discussing things with your mother and other girls your age. And I do love my sister, but sometimes it can be hard talking to her about these things. So I came here, to you.
Sure, you may not care. You may have no words of wisdom to share, or you may have encouraging thoughts. You may even be going through the same thing. Who knows? But I feel like I should post something about what has been going on, so here it goes.
When I went back to the doctor she confirmed her diagnosis of Polycystic Ovary Syndrome. What this means is all of these cysts have decided to leave their nice little homes and take up residence on my ovaries. And sometimes when the weather hasn’t been nice or the bills go unpaid the cysts get angry. And when they get angry they go crazy and burst. Just like that. No note, no phone call, no smoke signal, nothing. Just *POOF* and they are gone. When this happens I tend to break out in a cold sweat and hit the fetal position because those nasty little cysts are some pretty mean sons of b*****s. After they are done exploding I am able to return to my everyday life until the next episode. And I think the whole thing about POS is not necessarily the pain thing (though that is a huge factor) but rather the scared thing. I am terrified this is going to mess up my chances of having children. My mother thinks that since I am not currently in the process of attempting to have children and that we are treating it early it won’t have any lasting results, but I don’t share her optimism. (I mean, I do to an extent. But come on, this is me we are talking about. Worrying is my specialty.) It is seriously one of my life long desires to have children and the mere possibility of not being able to have them is emotionally crippling.
Also while I was at the doctor’s office I talked to her about Restless Leg Syndrome. This is something my father has and I heard it could be hereditary. I looked up some of the symptoms and realized I was experiencing them on a daily basis (even as I type this) so it could be a possibility. I told her how my legs feel, particularly when I sit for longer periods of time such as in class or in the movies. At first it feels like there are some sort of creepy-crawly things in my legs, then it movies to a sort of numbing pain, as if they fell asleep. But without warning there comes this sharp pain and if I don’t move my legs I feel as though I am going to go insane. A couple of times during class it was all I could think about- getting up and moving my legs or I was going to go crazy. I actually remember ever since I was little I could never sit still for long, and to this day when I am watching a movie I change positions about a million times. From the couch to the chair to the floor to the chair again, then I’m lying sideways in the chair and all the while my mother is telling me to JUST. STAY. STILL.
Lastly at the doctor’s I talked to her about another problem that has been going on since I was very young. I have always had a hard time catching my breath. Often when I am doing nothing- just sitting there, or having a conversation or whatever, it feels as though I am suffocating. I try to take a deep breath but just can’t catch it. So I have to force myself to yawn, and this usually helps tremendously. I always thought I had some sort of mild case asthma, but every single doctor I have been to about this tells me I will grow out of it. I kid you not; I sat in a doctor’s office in Florida, at the age of eighteen, and the idiot told me I would grow out of it. When I told him I have been having this problem since I was probably six or seven and I was CLEARLY not growing out of it, he outright ignored me. But seeing as I now have a competent doctor, she asked me in-depth questions and didn’t seem surprised that I was having this problem. She thinks I have sleep apnea, which is a condition where you stop breathing while you are sleeping. As you can imagine, this is a serious problem. I like breathing. It tends to keep me alive. I have trouble catching my breath because I have a lack of oxygen. Now, get ready because what I am about to tell you is going to blow your mind. She said one of the indicators of sleep apnea is…. are you ready? RESTLESS LEG SYNDROME. Go figure. My mother has actually been diagnosed with sleep apnea before, so I’m not terribly surprised I have it. My doctor did however say that she has diagnosed it in children as old as six years old before! So now I have to schedule a sleep study where I go and these doctors hook me up to lots of wires and things, and record me sleeping. And then wake me up every time I stop breathing. And you can certianly count on a full post about that, because it is going to be quite the experience.
So I think, to sum up, the moral of the story is I love you Internet. I can come to you with my problems and you can either sit here and read them, or click the little “x” and never look back. Either way, I have someone to talk to.
Oh, and don’t get ulcers in your eyes. Or cysts on your ovaries.