On February 2nd I started what was to be a humorous and delightful post about my love affair with all things British. You might have noticed I never posted it. That would be because I haven't finished it. I haven't even halfway finished it. What I have done is written and deleted the first two paragraphs about a dozen times over the past five weeks.
You might be thinking "Oh no, there goes that anxiety monster again" but in this case, it's actually been my body and not my brain that has been putting the brakes on not just my writing but on a huge chunk of my life.
Stream of consciousness writing seems to be a little easier for me these days than actually, like, making shit up (some people call that creativity, Melissa.) So I thought this might be a good time to go public with some of the things I've been trying to get a handle on over the last several months.
Spoiler alert: It's probably kind of boring if you're not me. Honestly, sometimes it's kind of boring if you are me. Often are the times I think "Are we talking about this again?" But it's sort of a big deal in my life right now, so I'm gonna go ahead and talk about it anyway.
About five years ago I noticed I was tired pretty much all the time. Not "It's been a long and productive day and I'm ready for a good night's sleep" tired but bone deep freaking exhaustion with no discernible cause. At first, I was able to power through it. I drank a lot of coffee and took a lot of naps and was able to live a fairly full life in spite of this constant fatigue.
In 2013, everything changed. For the second time in two years, I experienced several months of severe uterine bleeding which resulted in extremely low hemoglobin levels. I was eventually sent to a reproductive endocrinologist who diagnosed me with polycystic ovarian syndrome. He performed a DNC, prescribed Provera and Metformin ... And then pretty much launched me out to sea to navigate the waters of PCOS on my own. His exact words? "Your primary doctor can monitor your medication and you'll see me once a year."
At the time, I remember feeling so relieved. I thought surely my heavy and frequent periods had been the reason for my fatigue and wholeheartedly believed this diagnosis would bring about major changes. It did . . . But not the ones I was hoping for. In the months that followed, I found that my periods of fatigue were getting worse instead of better. They were also accompanied by chronic muscle pain that was sometimes so severe it left me in tears.
Over the last four years, these periods increased in frequency and duration until this past spring when they ceased being periods and evolved into a constant state of being. I'm always exhausted and always in pain. Along with that has come some supremely annoying issues with my memory and concentration.
In the interest of full disclosure, sometimes this dearth of mental alacrity is entertaining, even to me. But more often, I find it frustrating and dispiriting because it interferes with my ability to engage in the things I love. The woman who used to read two or three books a week is now lucky to finish one book in two to three weeks. Writing has become a struggle because my brain isn't firing on all cylinders. Like right now, for instance. I want to end this paragraph with an intelligent, well thought out observation ... But all my brain is coming up with is "BLARGH!!!"
I'm going to keep plugging away at that post on British awesomeness ... But in the meantime, I'll try to do more posts like this so you know I'm still around and I haven't bailed on this blog yet again. Until next time, in the words of Bill and Ted "Be excellent to each other."
