Well yeah, but...

This has been accepted as an article for The Mighty. As they edit for length and content, here is the full piece just in case anyone is curious.

Gratitude is a beautiful feeling. It connects us to the people and things in our lives in a way that can be hard to put into words. It allows us to show compassion for those who don’t have the same things to be grateful for, and a little bit of it can go a long way.

Normally, I use Thanksgiving to recount all of the things I’m grateful for. I don’t make an official list or anything, but I look back on the year and give silent thanks for the people and things in my life. This year, though… Well, it has been anything but normal.

It goes without saying that this has been a rough year. Obviously, it has been far harder on some than on others, but I don’t think 2020 will be getting a “Best Year Ever” mug. Certainly not from me (though if anyone knows where I can send a strongly-worded letter to the universe, please feel free to pass that information along).

As manageable as my depression has become over the last few years, this time of the year is always a little extra tough for me. Add to that a global pandemic and an election for the ages, and the last couple of months have not exactly been all rainbows and puppies.

When I sat down with my Thanksgiving meal this year and tried to come up with what I was thankful for, my mind was instead flooded with negativity. Just a few weeks ago I was struggling to find any kind of joy in my life; if joy was barely within reach, how was I supposed to manage gratitude? Maybe if the idea was to list all the things that have helped make this year such a train wreck, that would be far more doable.

So, that’s what I did: I let the negative thoughts and memories fill the space in my head I was trying to save for gratitude. I thought about the things that had caused me pain. I recalled numerous times I had cried and plenty more when I was thisclose to crying. I remembered heartache, grief, frustration, anger… I probably could have gone far into the night if I’d kept at it, but at a certain point, I found myself thinking, “Well yeah, that sucked, but…”

That’s when the light bulb flickered to life. “Hey, wait!” I thought (or likely said aloud to myself, as I am wont to do). “I bet there’s a ‘well, yeah, but…’ for a lot of these things.” As someone who often encourages others to look for silver linings, it seemed like a good time to follow my own advice. 

With this in mind, I came up with a number of “wellyeahbuts” to offset some of the gloom and (plot twist!) they look suspiciously like gratitude. For example…

Negative Thing: My Grampa passed away early in the pandemic. It wasn’t COVID-19, but coronavirus is what kept me from going to see him or my family. I was trying to do the safe thing by staying at home and I lost track of how many times I changed my mind about what to do. I also lost count of the emotions I went through. It wasn’t easy to process.

Well yeah, but… The facility Grampa was in let immediate family visit before he passed, and my mom was able to give him my love for me. Ultimately, he was with people who loved him, which is the most important thing of all. And as for me, I will always have my memories of him and the knowledge that he loved all of us so very much.

Negative Thing: I started seeing someone in January, before the world went crazy, who I fell for. Hard. We had this amazing connection and so much in common, and I felt so good when I was with him. I thought he felt that way, too. Until he decided to move across the country. Even then, I held out some hope, at least for friendship. Two weeks later, he unfriended and unfollowed me, and didn’t even text me to explain himself until my best friend called him out. It all made me question everything he’d ever said and everything I thought I’d felt. We haven’t had contact since May and it still stings to recall.

Well yeah, but… We really did have some amazing times together. (If it hadn’t ended so poorly, those memories would be a lot rosier, but I digress.) Even if the connection wasn’t real to him, it was to me. So, theoretically, I could find a connection like that again with someone for whom it’s mutual and who will respect me and communicate with me. That was also the strongest I’d felt for anyone since my divorce and it’s nice to know that maybe there’s hope for me to feel that in the future.

Negative Thing: Seasonal depression hit especially hard this year. I didn’t really feel it coming on so much as I suddenly realized that I just didn’t care about doing anything and that I would rather nap than anything else. Eventually, it progressed to crying myself to sleep with no idea why I was feeling so awful, breaking down mid-day for no apparent reason, and even more naps.

Well yeah, but… With a little encouragement, I reached out to my doctor to ask if an increase in my antidepressants would be an acceptable path forward. I got the green light and it hasn’t been long, but so far, so good. I also have an awesome therapist who is able to talk me through some of what I’m dealing with and offer some suggestions to help. And I have amazing friends and family who check in on me and have reached out to me when they felt I might need a hand.

Negative Thing: Self-quarantining/staying ‘safer at home.’ I’m introverted to boot, but I used to visit my parents probably once a month (or once every other month, at least) before this; during the pandemic, I have seen my mom twice and have only seen my dad briefly via video chat. I live alone (save for my two dogs) and work from home, so staying home means being alone (as was the case this Thanksgiving). I can count on one hand how many people I’ve hugged since March, and I had to cancel two separate trips to visit my two best friends. Basically, it all sucks.

Well yeah, but… I’ve managed to stay healthy through this, as have many of the people in my life. Oddly enough, the pandemic has made me more social in some ways. I now have regular video chats with friends and family and have been particularly active in a few Facebook groups. I miss hugging people and spending time with them (especially my parents), but I find some comfort in knowing that I haven’t somehow contributed to the spread of the virus and that I’m doing my part to help keep everyone as safe as possible.

In the end, I came up with a fair number of “wellyeahbuts” to counter the negatives, and I’m pretty grateful for that. Things look more than a little different this year, so to those who have been struggling with gratitude or counting their blessings as I’ve been: try looking for some “wellyeahbuts” to help put a spin on things. You might not be able to come up with much or you may feel afterward it was just a waste of time. Well yeah, but… at least you tried.  

To those who think the shooting of Jacob Blake was justified: I'm sorry.

I'm sorry that you believe that resisting arrest or noncompliance is grounds for homicide. Yes, I know that Jacob is still alive (potentially paralyzed, but alive), but you don't shoot someone multiple times just to subdue them. Shooting someone seven times in the back is attempted murder. 

I'm sorry that you feel like anyone you deem to be a 'criminal' deserves to be treated with violence. Never mind the whole 'innocent until proven guilty' concept our system is supposed to be founded upon; even criminals are human beings. And though it is also broken and fails people far too often, we have a whole system in place to determine the punishment for criminal activity. That's not for an officer to decide.

I'm sorry that you are more hurt, more outraged by the destruction of property than the destruction of a person's life. What is happening in Kenosha is horrible and it's true that most of the people affected by the damage being done likely don't deserve to go through this. But a man's life will never be the same, nor will the lives of his children, his friends, his family, nor anyone else who witnessed the incident. Buildings are much easier to rebuild than someone's life.

I'm sorry that you probably won't read this, or if you do, that your mind won't be changed at all. You have every right to believe what you choose, as do I. You might feel like we don't have "all the facts" yet, but I struggle to come up with a 'fact' that could possibly justify the action taken against Mr. Blake. He could be evil incarnate, but if no one's life was in immediate danger, then it is my belief that there was no reason to shoot. 

Most of all, I'm sorry we can't agree on this. It doesn't mean we can't be friends or that I love you any less, it just means that we see the world, and its people, very differently. 

Caring For Your Erika: Depressive Episodes

EDIT: I just wanted to preface this by saying it was meant to be part tongue-in-cheek and part serious, as is kind of my style. I don't expect ANYONE to 'take care of' me when I'm depressed, but should someone want to help out or better understand what I might be going through, here you go.

No two people are the same. I mean, you can be scarily similar to someone else, but there will always be differences. The same goes for mental illness: no two individuals' mental health struggles are the same. Symptoms, triggers, reactions, needs... they all differ based on the person.

Every so often, I find myself bawling and feeling worthless for no known reason. This is part of what I define as a depressive episode, and when it gets to that point, it's really hard to just suck it up and keep on keepin' on. About a month ago, I called into work because I couldn't stop crying and spent the day on the couch with my dogs. I was never in any danger, and I've certainly been through worse, but this one was like a sneak attack and I was completely unprepared for it. As I just went through something similar again, finishing this post seemed like a good idea.

I'm lucky to have a few really excellent friends who have seen me through some really rough times in my life (feel free to go back and read about some of the fun) and continue to be here for me. But even the closest of friends, those who have been through the worst of it with me, sometimes aren't sure what to do when an episode hits, or might not be aware that I'm in the midst of one. So, ladies and gents here is a quick guide!

Caring For Your Erika During a Depressive Episode

Part 1: Identifying A Depressive Episode

How exactly does one know if their Erika is experiencing depression? It's a good question and, unfortunately, there isn't an easy answer. Sometimes your Erika will tell you straight out that it's happening; that's usually a pretty clear indicator that an episode is occurring. But if your Erika is playing a bit coy, here are some things to look for:

• Your Erika may be quieter than usual. Her responses may be shorter and carry less emotion than normal, or she may take much longer to respond in the first place (both when speaking face-to-face and via text/message). This is often an early warning sign, though be sure to rule out sleepiness and 'hanger' as possible causes.
• Your Erika may not be eating. If stressed, Erika has a tendency to overeat, but in the throes of an episode, she is much more likely to skimp on food instead (and what little she eats is unlikely to fall into any major food group).
• Your Erika may be crying. This sign is much easier to read in person but can be a strong sign of a depressive event.
• Other indications may exist and should be reviewed on a case-by-case basis.

Part 2: What To Expect

Once you've determined that your Erika might be having a depressive episode, what can you expect to happen?

• Crying. You may think your Erika's tears have dried up. She may go minutes, even hours, without so much as a drop. Do not assume that this means your Erika is done crying. She's not.
• Neediness. Even more than usual, your Erika may seem to lean on you. She may even come to resemble ClingWrap in her efforts to ensure that you are not leaving her in her time of need. Whilst uncomfortable, rest assured that the effects are usually temporary.
• More crying. See above.
• Pushing. Contrary to the above, you may actually feel your Erika pushing you or your attempts to help away. This does NOT mean she does not want or need your help. In fact, she may need it even more than you know.
• Self-deprecation. Your Erika may begin to doubt her awesomeness during this time. She may feel unworthy, make negative statements, and feel all around bummed about herself. 
• Yet more crying. How many tears can she possibly have?? Only time will tell.

Part 3: How Can You Help?

So, how can you best help your Erika when in the midst of a depressive episode? There's no tried and true method that will work each and every time, but there ARE a few things that are likely to help.

• Let her cry. It might make you uncomfortable, but trying to stop the crying is not going to work. Let it happen. If you prefer not to be cried on, sit a safe distance from your Erika and have plenty of tissues handy. Asking or telling her to stop crying is not advised; you've been warned.
• Reassure her. Even if she doesn't ask for it, even if you feel like a broken record, even if you don't understand WHY you're reassurance matters... Give it a try. Remind your Erika that you are there for her - if and when she needs you - and that your friendship is not so fragile as to be broken by this episode. If she pushes too much, give her a break for a bit. She may just need some time to let your affirmation sink in.
• Assist as you are able.
• If you're nearby, you can offer in-person comfort. Does she need to talk? Lend her your ear. Does she need a hug (the answer is almost always yes)? Cuddle up or, if you're not the cuddling type, grab the tiny dog or a stuffed animal and let her hug her heart out. Has she forgone eating? Bring her a bite to eat (she responds especially well to ice cream and chocolate).   
• Not available or close enough to visit? That's fine! Texting helps. So do random memes and videos of adorable and/or funny things. Kindness has many forms and travels long distances with little effort. Just checking in with your Erika can be a major help.

Part 4: After The Episode

Unfortunately, these things do not always disappear as quickly as they have seemingly appeared. A depressive episode can wreak havoc emotionally, mentally, and physically. It may have passed and your Erika may be feeling a bit better, but odds are good she is a bit exhausted in some capacity. She may need a nap or some extra chill time before facing the world again. It's possible that some plans will have to be adjusted or canceled to allow her to fully recover. Sometimes recovery takes a few hours, other times it may take a day or two. Try to be patient with your Erika during this time; she knows it's a pain in the ass and feels bad about it. Trust me, she'd rather just be feeling better. Give it time.

Notes & Tips

These little tidbits didn't really fit in with the above-outlined parts of the episode but may be noteworthy nonetheless.

• Offering help is much appreciated, but your Erika is unlikely to speak up and say what she needs or wants because she feels so undeserving. She may view any offers of help as insincere or as being borne out of pity. Likewise, she will often feel unworthy of requesting anything on her own, assuming it would be a burden or seen as an act of selfishness. 
• Depressive episodes, even within the same person, can vary. Your Erika might get through one episode all on her own, but be nearly incapacitated by the next. Unfortunately, she won't know how it will play out until she's smack in the middle of it. Isn't the unpredictable nature of depression exciting?
• Depression is NOT a choice. And your Erika is doing things regularly to cope with it, such as daily medication and regular therapy sessions. Hell, even writing this all out is a great outlet and coping strategy! 
• Last, but not least, a reminder: No matter how hard it is in the moment, remember that this is temporary. Your Erika has been through a lot, and yet she's still here. She's stronger than she thinks and braver than she knows. She might not see that in the face of darkness, so remind her that she has the tools to get through this. And if all else fails, offer her a flashlight.

Text Anxiety: Why I Overuse LOL, Punctuation, and Emojis (And Secretly Wish Everyone Else Would, Too)

A couple of months ago I wrote a post about texting with anxiety. It felt really good to get it out there, to give some insight into what goes on in the depths of my anxious mind and maybe reach some people, perhaps even people who have experienced text anxiety themselves. If it went over well, I was even going to submit it to The Mighty; maybe I can help heal the world, one post at a time!

It got 4 views.

Eh, better than nothing, right? Nevertheless, here I am, writing another post about my anxiety and texting. Because reaching 4 people is still something.

The last post was largely about sending and receiving texts, which is obviously step one. By no means does the anxiety stop there, though. There's the anxiety of crafting a good message. And the anxiety of waiting for a response. And, for me, the effects of anxiety on my interpretation of a response. This post is going to be about the latter.

As an empath, I'm usually pretty good at reading people in person. There are times when I struggle; if my own emotions are particularly strong in a given moment, they can sometimes taint the 'signal' I'm getting from someone else. For example, if I'm feeling particularly low/sad, and someone I'm with delivers a dry, sarcastic remark (which I'm usually all about), I might mistake their tone as hostile or annoyed instead of joking. Many times, all it takes is a moment to look at them, to absorb facial cues and body language, as well as remind myself that most people are not inherently mean and my mind loves to play tricks on me, and I can usually reassess and figure out that they're kidding. Phew!

The issue with texting then, as you likely already guessed, is that I'm missing all of those clues: tone, expression, body language... all out the window. Imagine an entire conversation in which the person you're speaking to has a blank face, doesn't move, and remains monotone throughout. Would you have any idea what they were feeling? Probably not. So what do you do?

If you're like me, you project. I think of it like watching black and white TV. At a certain point, my brain just kind of fills the color in for me. Not in a conscious way necessarily. I mean, I don't literally start seeing colors in place of grayscale. But my imagination makes suggestions, and if push came to shove, I could tell you what I think the colors are or should be.

Reading texts can be similar - without being able to hear the actual tone intended for a statement, my brain comes up with a tone in order to assign additional context and meaning. And often, I imagine it's dead wrong, but short of asking things like "How did you mean that?" or "That was a joke, right?" after every text, there has to be at least a little bit of guesswork on behalf of the recipient.

Likewise, I fear that whoever is reading a text from me is going through the same struggle. What if I don't properly convey my emotional response in this brief interaction? What if they think I'm being a raging bitch-monster when I'm just trying to be my lovable, snarky AF self?! It legitimately makes me anxious just thinking about it.

And I know I'm not alone here. Think about the 'evolution' of LOL. Remember what that actually stands for? Laughing OUT LOUD. Unless we're all a bunch of hysterical hyenas, we are NOT reserving it for just those times. These days its use is, more or less, intended to convey some kind of tone. Sometimes it suggests, "I'm gonna say this thing, but I don't want you to take it too seriously." Or maybe, "I'm just responding positively to your humorous statement/gif/whatever; I don't actually have anything to say but I don't want you to feel ignored." Or my personal favorite, "I don't want shit to get awkward if we're not on the same page here, so I'm using these three letters as my own personal safety net."

It doesn't stop at LOL either; I, personally, have several ways of trying to inject tone or emotion into messages. Punctuation and capitalization are probably the most obvious (which is why I overuse the hell out of exclamation marks), but there are others. Extra letters, for example. If someone tells/shows me something and I like it or am impressed, 'nice' becomes 'niiiiiiiiice.' The more disappointed or displeased I am, the more Os get added to the word 'boo' or 'no.' And when I'm excited, the number of Ss that get tagged onto the end of a 'yes' or an occasional 'yas' can vary from a few extra to "Did her finger get stuck?"

The most polarizing way to establish mood/tone/whatever, though, has to be emojis (or emoticons; yes, I know there's a difference, but shut up). As we all know, some people love the little dudes to the point of overuse. Some people aren't fans of using them at all, except in extreme circumstances. Others find them downright obnoxious. Personally, I think they're pretty helpful, not to mention kind of fun to use.I'm 99% sure that my friends think I'm just an emoji whore, but it's more than just a cute little image to me. Emojis help me express the sentiment of a statement, and they REALLY help me interpret the tone of someone else's, especially when the text is a one-word response. 'Okay' is not a particularly warm word. We know it represents an affirmative response, but that doesn't mean it's always a POSITIVE response. The same goes for words like 'sure' and 'fine' (which many argue almost always means the exact opposite). Check it out.

Person 1: Hey, you wanna catch a movie tonight?
Person 2: Sure

Obviously, the response is affirmative, but the individual doesn't sound super excited. As Person 1, I'd be reading into that WAY too much (because it's what I do). Do they REALLY want to go to the movie, or are they just saying yes for the sake of saying yes? Am I bugging them by asking? Should I back out of it to let them off the hook? The mind races, and inevitably I'm assuming the absolute worst when all they really meant was 'sure.' BUT, add a smile in there, and...

Person 1: Hey, you wanna catch a movie tonight?
Person 2: Sure 😀

As stupid as it might sound, that little yellow dude grinning like an idiot makes me feel immeasurably better about Person 2's response. Like, aha! They're happy to be asked and happy to say yes. This is good and fills me with much happiness of my own. Huzzah!

I'm working on trying NOT to read so much into simple messages, but it can be pretty rough sometimes. If I just used a plethora of smiley faces and exclamation marks but your response ends in a period (dun dun DUN!!), it's hard to redirect my brain from immediately thinking you clearly hate my guts and never want to talk to me again. Or, at the very least, that you're obviously not as jazzed about the topic at hand as I am and probably think I'm kind of a goober.

So, if you don't worry about this kind of stuff, you've probably determined that I am all kinds of certifiable. I'm not saying you're wrong. Maybe I am crazy. But maybe you like me anyway. And maybe you know OTHER people who think/feel similarly (perish the thought!) and want some insight to help you communicate better. On the other hand, if you DO worry about this kind of stuff,  now you can cue up 'You Are Not Alone' and bask in the knowledge that someone else is your brand of crazy! 😊

The Myth of the Rational Empath

I've written before about being an empath. Not of the supernatural variety, but of the highly sensitive, deep feeling, empathetic to a fault variety. It may be why I startle easily. It probably contributes to my over-apologizing. It absolutely causes me to feel things differently than others. And, like anything in life, it has its good parts and its bad parts. 

This is a subject I have a hard time with because I fear judgment. I want others to think that I'm strong and capable and sane, and I worry that my empathicness (is that a word? It is now!) is more likely to be seen as a weakness, something that makes me somehow less capable and less rational than others. 

And so I've put this off. I've started it again and again. Drafts have been deleted or rewritten to no avail (pretty sure I started drafting this iteration at least 3-4 weeks ago). Then I was reminded of this: 

With my semi-recent #sorrynotsorry challenge (which went well, for the record!) and the looming thoughts surrounding my own insecurities about being an empath and HSP (highly sensitive person), this tweet opened the floodgates. I still didn't write it all at once, because I'm easily distracted this time of year, but here we are getting it done (finally).

The big thing to know is that I feel things deeply. Sometimes unnecessarily so, or to my own detriment, but it's just how I've always processed emotions. And it's not always a bad thing!

It's why I enjoy putting thought and energy into giving gifts to people (even strangers - I loved being a part of Reddit's Secret Santa this season!) in hopes that it'll bring them a smile. It's why I don't really like cooking or baking for just myself because the real joy I find in it is when someone else enjoys what I've made. It's why I get weirdly attached to characters in shows, movies, and books (like when I cried because Weebo "died" in Flubber) and go through a brief mourning period when I end a particularly good series and why I like to rewatch and reread those series so I can visit those characters over and over. Whether we're lifelong friends or new acquaintances, if I feel like we've connected, then you're part of my circle - that means you have my friendship, my respect, and my loyalty (even if I don't have yours).

On the other hand, it's why when my depression starts spiraling, it often happens so quickly that I can't even recognize what's going on until it's too late. It's why the thought of my friends or family in pain makes me hurt - sometimes physically - especially when there's nothing I can do to help them or nothing I can say that will ease that pain. It's why things that may cause small amounts of anxiety in some people result in me having panic attacks (or damn near) out of the blue. When my heart breaks, it takes a long time for me to pick up the pieces, and I've probably even lost a few bits along the way. 

I wear my heart on my sleeve for all to see and, in doing so, it gets scratched, snagged, and scarred along the way. My heart is easily bruised and sometimes that can be really hard. But I believe that having my heart at the ready also means that I can more easily find great love and appreciation for even the smallest things. It often means that I don't have to dig deep to find my compassion. And though I'm not always happy about it, one rarely has to guess how I'm feeling - it's all out there to be seen, whether I like it or not. 

And I'm not sorry for any of it. I would rather feel things too severely than not at all. Numbness may seem easier, especially when things get bad; trust me, I've been there. But to experience positive emotions as strongly as I do? It's worth every sob session, every soul ache, every piece of my heart I've left behind on my path through life. 

What I AM sorry for is the lack of understanding others seem to have regarding empaths and HSPs. It's easy for people to just see that part of someone and make assumptions. People frequently have this notion that the higher one's emotions run, the less rationally they think and act. And for some empaths, maybe even the majority, it does work that way. But as with any group of people, assuming we're 'all the same' is useless at best. Being sensitive and feeling things intensely does NOT mean I am an inherently irrational person. 

Are there times I act largely based on what I feel? Of course. Are there times that my emotions - or the emotions of others - hit me so hard that I get overwhelmed? Yep, that happens, too. Nonetheless, strong feelings and a tender heart don't mean I'm incapable of thinking rationally and reasonably. Logic and emotion are not mutually exclusive, nor are they inverses of one another.  

Maybe we need to stop seeing everything as one thing or another. Maybe we can challenge the ways in which we think of people - including ourselves - so that we stop believing in limitations that don't have to exist. Maybe we can stop judging those we barely know and instead focus on learning more about them and finding who they really are.

Or, maybe I'm the exception to the rule. Maybe I'm a mythical being: The Rational Empath, she who is the veritable "riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma." The elusive creature of great beauty and wisdom, who will bring you good luck if you catch her!

But probably not. I'm pretty easy to catch...

*Tevye Voice* Tradition, Tradition!

I am a huge fan of tradition. Actually, that might be an understatement. Let's try again.

I am whore for tradition. Nope, a little too much. One more go.

I am a Tradition Nazi. Non-PC, but doesn't imply the exchange of sexual favors for tradition. Perfect. 

According to my dad, I should logically be a Republican; I dislike change and will do anything to uphold traditions. It doesn't quite work that way, but I get what he meant. Traditions are part of my DNA, and my love of them helps make me who I am. Mess with that and... well, we'll just say the outcome is undesirable. 

Christmas, of course, is a time chock-full of tradition. It's not my favorite holiday (Halloween FTW, obviously), but the parts of it that I love, I really love. And those parts all consist of traditions. Like, my favorite meal of the year is Christmas Eve dinner. My mom always makes prime rib and I always eat too much of it. (Seriously, even the 5 years I was a vegetarian, I still ate prime rib on Christmas Eve. My body HATED it, but it was so worth the pain.) A tangential "tradition" is my dad making some joke about how Mom's making filets or turkey or something this year, and would that be alright with me? It doesn't phase me anymore, but as a kid, I would legitimately get upset thinking my traditional meal was being mucked up.

I grew up with a plethora of traditions surrounding Christmas. Like decorating the tree the day after Thanksgiving with my 'sister' and playing the ornament game. Picking out our family tree from the lot. Baking cookies with my mom, singing along with John Denver & The Muppets. Playing games with my family on Christmas day. Going to the Jewish deli the day after Christmas to exchange gifts with my sister. So many traditions, so many memories.

As often happens in life, though, circumstances change and, as a result, traditions change. Or end. I don't live next door to my sister anymore. And I don't live with my parents. And the deli is closed now. 

So new traditions are created! Especially when one starts her own family. And that's what we were - a family. Me, my husband, and the dog(s). We picked out our own Christmas tree at the same lot every year. I decorated during the day and hid certain ornaments for my husband to find. There were 3 Christmases - one with his mom's family, one with his dad's family, and one with my family. Those became my new traditions, the things I came to associate with my holiday season.

Two years ago, those traditions came to a pretty abrupt stop. I had no tree. Decorations largely stayed boxed up. I only had one Christmas. It was difficult, but I still held on to hope and that got me through (along with the support of my friends and family). Last year, there was renewed hope and a few traditions tried to make a comeback. I decorated a bit, and I was invited to, but didn't attend, a second Christmas. But the possibilities for even more to be restored in the future sustained me. 

This year, it's just me and the dogs. The only decorating I've done is re-doing my Halloween tree with Nightmare Before Christmas ornaments. While I'm looking forward to the traditions to be shared with my family (I can't WAIT for prime rib!), I don't really have any that are just for me. My traditions tend to be based around other people because I like doing things for those that I love and hold dear. 

And that hope for a future to reestablish my traditions, the hope that propped me up through the last two holiday seasons... doesn't exist anymore. I don't mean that to sound despondent, it's just a matter of fact. As happened with others along the way, the traditions I was holding onto, that I was hoping to resurrect, are now over.

Now... now it's once again time for new traditions. I need traditions to uphold for myself, regardless of who or what comes or goes from my life. That sense of tradition, of some kind of routine or constant, is important in helping me realize the holiday spirit. It doesn't have to be big or flashy. Maybe I'll start a tradition of wrapping presents while listening to my offbeat Christmas playlist. Maybe I'll spend the weekend before Christmas having a movie marathon of some sort while cuddling with the dogs. Or maybe I'll get myself something off of one of my wishlists, just for the hell of it!

Why? Because I like doing things for those I love... and I love myself. 💚

My #SorryNotSorry Challenge

I have spent far too much of my life feeling like I'm in the way or like I'm a bother. I wrote about it in the context of calls and texts yesterday, but it goes beyond that. And it's time to really admit that I have a problem.

My name is Erika, and I am a serial apologizer.

For example: Many "empaths" have a strong startle response, and I'm definitely one of them. (And by empath, I mean someone who is highly sensitive and empathetic, rather than the paranormal kind. I'm not discounting their existence as a possibility, there's just nothing paranormal about me.) Just last week, I opened the door to go into my apartment building and someone was on their way out. It startled me. I jumped a little and gasped, and before I knew it, "Sorry!" had already escaped my lips. Yes, I apologized because I was startled. Wasn't the first time, probably won't be the last.

If I almost run into someone at the store? Apology. If someone almost runs into ME at the store? Apology. If I think I've caused any kind of upset or annoyance? Apology. If I think you're mad at me, even if there's no reason for you to be? Apology. If I step on my dog because she's walking underneath me? Apology. If I think I've made an assumption or too bold a claim? Apology. FFS, I've been known to apologize for sneezing. "Sorry" might be the word I use the most in everyday life.

It's not all about saying sorry, though. It comes in many forms. Backpedaling from a confident-sounding statement because now I'm suddenly unsure how true it is or whether I'm putting words in someone else's mouth. Backing down from an argument because I never meant to upset anyone in the first place.

I used to write a lot of it off as politeness (after all, I am just trying to make everyone happy and be the least inconvenient I possibly can be), but the unfortunate truth is that it more often comes from a place of deep-rooted insecurity and self-esteem issues. My ex was the first to point out to me that when I pass someone in an aisle at the grocery store, I don't just say 'excuse me' (which, BTW, there's nothing wrong with), but I also drop my head, physically lowering myself as if my presence is what I'm excusing (which, BTW, there definitely is something wrong with). So that's fun!

I shouldn't be apologizing for being... well, me. And the rational part of me is well aware of that. But a lifetime of anxiety, depression, and low self-image takes its toll; when your internal narrative has been negatively focused for so long, you can't just change it at will. It's not like some switch you flip from "pessimistic self-loathing" to "confident self-assuredness." It takes time and effort. It takes practice. It takes strength. And it is a challenge.

Tell 'em, Demi!

So, here I am, challenging myself. I'm calling this my #sorrynotsorry challenge. For the next week, I am going to focus on identifying those times when I'm being unnecessarily apologetic or insecure, and I'm going to try to ask myself if I'm truly sorry, or if that was a knee-jerk reaction from a lifetime of conditioning. I'm betting that a LOT of the time, it's the latter. Thus sorry, not sorry.

This week, I'm going to really try (keyword, folks - TRY) to be unapologetically me. And it might be a lot for some people to handle. You think I post a lot on social media now? Imagine what I'll share if I'm not worrying whether it's too much or if anyone cares. Think I'm too emotional? Phew, I got news for y'all... most of you ain't seen nothin' yet.

I am goofy. I am passionate. I wear my heart on my sleeve. I find humor and happiness in strange things. I love to share with people. I am nerdy. I am sweet. I am fierce. I am cute AF. I am fun. I love to be lazy. I have strength even I didn't know I had. I am weird by some's standards and too normal by others'. I am easily excited. I care deeply. And I love even more deeply. Basically, I'm pretty awesome.

And for this week, I'm not going to be sorry for any of it. Starting... now.

The Unfortunate Double Standard of Texting With Anxiety

Right off the bat, I want to start by pointing out that I can only speak to MY experiences. Not everyone with an anxiety disorder or who fights with anxiety has the same thoughts or feelings. Someone may read this and think, "Yeah, some of that kinda sounds like me!" Someone else might read it and go, "Damn, that's messed up. I have anxiety and I've never felt like that!" It should go without saying, but not everyone with anxiety is identical in how their anxiety manifests, how they handle it, how they think about it...  But I digress.

We won't even get into rotary phones...

I've never been huge on phone calls. Sure, I did some of the teenage girl thing where I'd be on the phone for hours at a time talking about nothing at all, but it was never comfortable or natural. I paced a lot, which is a lot harder when you have a corded phone. (If you're too young to have experienced this, just imagine that your cell phone had to be plugged into the wall charger ALL THE TIME - the horror!). Once I got a cordless phone, I would wander outside and hop on the swingset or just wander around the house. Sitting still wasn't really an option if I was on a call that lasted more than about five minutes.

It's also worth pointing out that the vast majority of these calls were made TO me, not BY me. I'll get to why this is important later, but very rarely have I ever gone, "Man, I should just call up what's-her-bucket and chat for a while!" Odds were also good that one of my parents answered the phone first and handed it off to me; the only time I answered the phone of my own volition was when no one else was home and I was worried it might be a call about my parents, which is another part of my childhood anxiety we don't have time for in this post.

("Why not let the machine get it?" you may ask. Easy. My parents believed that "if it's important, they'll call back" so it was FOREVER before we even had one. Like, we skipped the whole type of machine that had the tape you had to rewind. Our very first answering machine had multiple "inboxes" and was completely digital. And while my parents said it was more about dad's work, I still think that the biggest reason we got one was that I kept using *69 to find out if anyone had called for me while I was gone. Again, if you're too young for this reference... I don't know, go find someone who was alive and using phones in the 90s and ask them to regale you with stories of the world of old.)

I got my first cell phone when I was 20 and I'm pretty sure I sent my first text that very day. Kids, this was back in the day when not only was texting a major pain in the ass, it was also pretty costly. Phone plans gave you a certain number of texts each month and anything beyond that cost extra. I'm here to tell you that a phone aversion + pay-to-play texting = money problems. In fact, my phone bills were a big reason I couldn't put enough money away to return to school back in 2005 and led me down my

While not my 1st phone,
I totally had this bad boy
for quite some time.
#RIPcingular

current life path, so... Stay in school? No, that's not the point here. Moving on.

Texting was expensive and I was, well, not exactly swimming in excess cash. So once my text limit was reached each month, I got used to taking phone calls with certain important people in my life. Again, they mostly called me instead of the other way around, but the freedom of being able to wander while talking allowed me to work out some of that nervous energy and I was able to stand it for a bit.

These days, texting (or any version of "instant" messaging) seems to be just part of daily life for the majority of us. (Hell, my parents text, and my dad is the guy who used to pride himself on the fact that all he knew about our home PC was how to turn it on and off.) And while I'm much better about using the phone these days (yay therapy!), texting is still my preferred method of communication.

Remember when I mentioned that most of the time people had/have to call me instead of the other way around? (It was several paragraphs ago, so if you don't remember or don't want to go back that far, just take my word on it.) I constantly worried that I would be interrupting something or that my call would be unwelcome or annoying in some way. Basically, I didn't think anyone wanted to hear from me, because if they did, wouldn't they have called me? Yes, I'm aware of the flaws in that way of thinking. Yes, I'm aware that most people just don't answer right away if they're inconvenienced or don't want to talk. But for some reason, my anxiety convinces me that I'm going to be a bother to whoever I'm calling.

The same applies to texting. With VERY few exceptions (mostly my bestie and my sister), I am extremely hesitant to send an unsolicited, unprompted text message to most people I know. Circumstances make no difference. We could literally have been texting up a storm the day before, but today is a new day, and maybe today you don't want to deal with me, so... I should probably just leave you alone. The rational part of me goes, "Dude, if they're busy or don't want to chat with you, they'll just ignore it. It's fine." Then anxiety comes back with, "But how do I know if they're ignoring me because they're busy or if it's because they don't want to talk to me anymore?? If I don't text, then I don't have to worry about that!"

Yes, I realize how fucked up that is.

So, what makes texting such a double standard for me? The fact that I LOVE getting messages from the people in my life. Nothing puts a smile on my face like hearing from people I care about. I don't care if we haven't spoken in months; if you send a random AF text, my heart will be oh so happy. It doesn't even have to be like, "OMG, it's been too long and I miss you. We should totally talk sometime soon!" Honestly, it could just say, "Sup?" and I'd be genuinely psyched just to hear from you.

2 words can say SO much more

Plus, I worry. I know that's beyond obvious, but sometimes I think people underestimate the levels of worry that I can reach. And, my apologies to those of you in my texting circle... the more frequently we send messages, the worse the worry can get. For example, if I don't hear from my bestie in a few days (or, sometimes, a few hours), I start getting concerned. Is she okay? Did I say something to piss her off? Is her family okay? What did I do wrong? Are we still friends? WHAT DID I DO?!

Alright, I know that seems a little (or a lot) crazy, but that's anxiety. On a bad day, I can end up doubting that my bestie even wants to be friends with me anymore just because I haven't heard from her. This is my hetero lifemate. My person. My piece of corn (sorry, that one's an inside joke). Of fucking COURSE she's my friend! She's my BEST friend. Thankfully (yet, unfortunately), she understands the insecurities and insanity of anxiety and never hesitates to remind me that I'm a dummy if I think she's going anywhere.

And yet, ask her if I've ever apologized to her for "bugging" her with a message. Or saying something like, "Sorry, I'll let you go. Didn't want to bother you." Because the answer is yes. I haven't done it so much lately (we made a deal where we're not allowed to apologize to one another for such things; I'm doing my best to stick to it), but I absolutely have said sorry for texting MY BEST FRIEND. And at the same time, I would NEVER want her to apologize for messaging me, no matter the context or content. How could she ever be a bother to me?

There you have it. I'm constantly worried I'm bothering people with my texts, but my own heart soars when I hear that little ding. Someone's thinking of me! Someone wants to talk to me! Someone likes me enough to engage me in conversation! YAY!! I'm trying to turn that thinking back around; mightn't other people be happy to hear from me, just as I'm happy to hear from them? It's really hard to challenge negative thoughts, but I am actually trying.

Just the other day I was worried about bothering someone who was having a rough day, but then I thought, "Hmmm, if I was having a tough time, I'd really appreciate a text..." And so, I texted. A small but important victory, IMO. (Okay, so I've already since apologized for bothering the same person with a different text... baby steps, Bob! BABY STEPS!) Someday, I won't need to talk myself through that; for now, all I can do is keep trying.

Phew! This got a lot longer than I meant, so if you're still reading... Well, I won't apologize. You made the choice to keep reading, and I appreciate it. Thank you. :)

A Tale of Two MRIs, Part 4: 'Tis a Puzzlement

Recap

Seeing as it has been so long, you're probably better off just skimming through Parts 1, 2, and/or 3. But since that's sort of a shit-ton of reading, thanks to my long-windedness, here's your TL;DR version:

• I've had this bump/growth/whatever along my jaw for at least a decade. No pain or anything, just kind of... there.
• In August 2017, I thought it got bigger, so I brought it up with my dentist.
• Several scans/tests/specialists later, I didn't really get any answers, but the overall consensus was that it didn't look bad, so... Everything's probably good?

Moving on...

Lord, a lot has changed and happened since I last wrote about this. What happened immediately following Part 3 is not nearly so fresh in my mind, but let's see what I can recall.

My second of the two MRIs in this tale took place at a nearby hospital since my normal doctor's office wasn't equipped for what needed to be done. My mom was nice enough to come in from Madison to go with me so I wouldn't be alone again. Just knowing she was in the waiting area put me a little more at ease during the process, which made it easier to get through. 

What lump?

What DIDN'T make it so easy to get through was the guy running my MRI. He decided that since I was going to have to do both with and without contrast dye, he'd just go ahead and put the IV port in from the beginning. In Part 3, I mentioned how my veins like to hide and only the best of the best seem to be able to locate them... This dude was NOT the best of the best and ended up going through the back of my hand. So I had to lie there the WHOLE TIME with the damn thing sticking out of my hand, even though the dye didn't go in until about 2/3 of the way through. To say it was uncomfortable would be accurate; it actually started to hurt after a while and I had this tender, bruised lump where it had been for a day or two after the MRI. Ow.

The rest of the MRI wasn't terribly memorable. Once it was done, I got back into my street clothes and grabbed my mom to go. We managed to get lost in the labyrinth that is the basement of Aurora St. Luke's but eventually got some assistance from a staff member who could quite clearly tell we were from out of town and took pity on us. Thank you, kind stranger!

I can't tell you much more about that experience except to say that the results were apparently pretty blah. My doctor was not at all concerned about whatever the MRI was for in the first place, so... yay? A "clear" MRI comes with mixed emotions, in my experience. On the one hand, there's an incredible sense of relief that nothing out of sorts was discovered. On the other hand, WTF? I just spent a decent chunk of money on these tests (not to mention my PTO) just for someone to tell me that whatever they saw wasn't noteworthy after all. Cool.

After that experience, I put the lump/bump/fascinoma out of my mind for quite some time. Right up until about 2 months ago when I thought I felt it growing again. What. The. Actual. Fuck? Fine. This time I decided I'd go straight to the source. I called up the oral surgeon's office and asked if I needed a referral. I did, so I sent a message over to my doctor's office and had a referral by the end of the day.

I went back to see the surgeon and got a couple new CT scans for good measure. He poked around a bit, took a picture of it (that I'm glad I never got to see; not my most flattering angle), and sent all the info to another specialist. A week later, I went back in to see what we had learned. And... nada. We still had no idea what it was. So we scheduled me for surgery! Huzzah!

Boo, Facebook. BOO.

These days, I live alone (well, not ALONE alone - I still have the doggos), so I had to figure out transportation. Luckily, my parents are pretty awesome and they said they would come into town to chauffeur me to and from (since, you know, driving on Valium is frowned upon). They even came in the night before and treated me to dinner (free food!), so that was a win-win. That same night, my ex stopped by to pick up the dogs so I wouldn't have to try to care for them while recovering. The apartment was so very quiet without them, but once I took the Valium, I was pretty chill about everything. Apparently, the stuff makes me feel "fuzzy" which I found terribly amusing, especially the next morning when I took my second pill and Facebook told me that fuzzy wasn't a real feeling.

My surgery went well, though I remember next to none of the experience. I was under moderate sedation, but my family has kind of a thing for getting completely knocked out no matter how "moderate" the sedation. I know I got an IV (in my hand, sigh) and I was trying to breathe deeply just to calm my own nerves. The next thing I really remember is setting up a follow-up appointment (which I managed to get into my phone's calendar... correctly!) and heading out to the car. I texted a few people quickly on the ride to let them know I was out and doing well, and I even snapped a selfie or two for good measure.

Thumbs up!

When we got home, I hung my purse up and put my keys in the key bowl, a feat that was made possible either due to the recent practice of consistent adulting and self-sufficiency or my OCD, but nonetheless impressed my mom. I headed straight for my bed and crashed for a few hours.

My mom had originally wanted to take me back to Madison with them for the weekend, but once I had napped, I was pretty self-sufficient, just tired and sore. That's the nice thing about oral surgery - it hurts, but it doesn't really impede your movement. Eating... well, that's another story. Suffice it to say I lived off of ice cream and ice cream products for a good 24-48 hours (the horror!). Regardless, I was clearly capable of taking care of myself, so my parents headed back to Madison and left me to my own devices.

I could barely contain
my excitement

Surgery was early on Friday morning, so I spent the weekend (Friday afternoon through Sunday) having a Harry Potter marathon since I'd be missing a HP-themed Halloween party that Saturday (and I was under orders to "take it easy" for the weekend). I made it through all 8 movies and even had some company for one of them. :)

Otherwise, I was basically just a big, lazy blob on my couch. I went to pick up the dogs on Sunday night (and I will say that not having to take care of them also made it a lot easier to just chill for the weekend - I actually got to sleep in!) and was back to my regularly scheduled program on Monday. Not too shabby!

As for the results of said surgery? Doc's still calling it a fascinoma.

Here's the official diagnosis:

"Sections show multiple fragments of fibro-granulation tissue demonstrating a focal area of either bone or cementum embedded within one of the fragments and
a focus of refractile foreign material in another fragment."

Basically, there was a tiny piece of bone or something similar (like the acrylic they use in orthodontics), as well as some unidentifiable material, embedded in the tissue. Whenever I thought it was "growing" the tissue was likely irritated and becoming inflamed (as suggested by the abscess also present at the time of surgery). Doc's best guess is that something from my days of orthodontia got trapped in there and just kind of hung around for funsies, but we'll never really know for sure.

'Tis a puzzlement indeed. 

Hello Darkness, My Old Nemesis

2+ years since a post here. Daaaaaaaaang. In my defense, I was blogging elsewhere, and I was going through some shit, so... Wait, why am I defending myself? Moving on!

For many of us, the change in seasons - particularly as things get colder and darker - brings about other changes. And not the fun, happy kind of changes that brighten your day and put a bounce in your step. Nope, quite the opposite, actually.

That's right, kids! It's another post about depression! Wooooo!

While I have not been diagnosed with Seasonal Affective Disorder, I always tend to struggle a bit this time of year. Between the colder weather and the early darkness (especially now that we've "fallen back" an hour... Seriously, why do we still do that?), I think it can be difficult to get motivated to do things. Especially things outside, because, well, yuck. We had snow for Halloween this year, FFS. Totally uncalled for.

Anyway, I'd actually been doing really well for quite some time, but last week I had a minor depressive episode in which I found myself swallowed by darkness. It came on quickly, and because it hadn't happened in a while, I kind of forgot how to fight it. I forgot I had my flashlight (ahhhh, shameless self-promotion!). Thankfully, my bestie was around to chat and we got my brain back on the right track and I hopped right on out of the hole. Huzzah!

Then yesterday happened. Nothing was particularly different about it. It was a Tuesday. I was working. Listening to music. Chatting up my bestie. All the normal things that I do. But for some reason, this loneliness crept up out of nowhere. It started with thoughts like, "Man, I really wish I had some people out here to do things with" and "It's been so long since I've seen fill-in-the-blank, I miss her/him."

Then it started escalating, and instead of my voice, I heard THAT voice. You know, the one that says things like, "Well, of course it's been so long. Why would they come just to see you? You're not worth a whole trip out here!" and "You'd think you'd be used to being alone by now, wouldn't you? Better start now."

I decided to try taking a nap, hoping that the voice couldn't break through the sleep barrier, but I couldn't fall asleep. Instead, I literally just laid in bed and let the voice attack me. I cried. Not a ton, but enough to make me feel even more pathetic than I already had been feeling. The voice said some more nasty things, and I just took it. The depression and crying had drained me; I had no fight in me at that point. I couldn't even muster of the energy to adequately cover for myself and told someone, "I'm fine."

Maybe it goes without saying, but the phrase "I'm fine" really means anything BUT that about 99.9% of the time. But it just came out and I didn't have it in me to try to backtrack or explain myself. I just let it ride.

Eventually, it came out that I was clearly not all that fine, and I tried apologizing. For what, exactly, I'm not sure. It's just my default to be sorry. For being sad. For being no fun. For being needy. For bringing someone else down. For not taking care of myself. For trying to cover it up. For not doing a better job trying to cover it up. For my mental illness. For being the kind of person who apologizes for their own mental illness. For being... me.

So there I was, sitting on my kitchen floor waiting for my frozen pizza to be ready - because honestly, my other default is to eat, and while not the greatest habit to be in, it's a hell of a lot better than crying in bed - and I had a talk with myself.

Erika. You're having a low day. And it sucks. But that voice? That voice is an asshole. It knows every button to push, every thread to pick at, every pain point imaginable. It knows you. But you also know it. It lies. It hurts. It feeds off insecurity and despair. So stop feeding it! Eat some food, watch some TV, get some energy back, and be YOU. Because YOU are awesome. 

I'm paraphrasing, but you get the point. I was giving myself a pep talk. And it worked, at least a little. I got my pizza, went and watched some TV, and felt a little better. With some energy restored, I was able to get up and make a Target run, and then I felt even better yet! And by the time I got home, I didn't even need the pint of ice cream I'd bought. (Oh, I still had some, but I didn't eat the WHOLE thing. Progress, y'all.)

This might all sound pretty unnecessary to some people. Either because they've never had to get out of a depressive funk or because they think what I was experiencing was too minor to be such an ordeal or because blah blah, whatever logic or reasoning seems sound enough to them to write this off or call me a drama queen. But if you've been in it, if you've experienced that darkness, you know that the amount of evidence and prodding it takes to convince your brain otherwise is frequently disproportionate to the trigger or matter at hand. (You know, like dropping a box of macaroni and crying for an hour.)

In the end, the trigger isn't nearly as significant as the episode itself. That's the nature of depression. Some days, you get lonely and you just go, "Hey. Chin up! It's all good!" Other days you have the same thought and end up crying in bed in the dark with a couple of very confused dogs.

My point (yes, I have one... I think) is that it's a lot harder to get out of a hole than to fall into it. Whether you tripped over your own feet or someone bumped into you or you dove headfirst... It doesn't matter so much how you got in there as it matters how you get OUT. Don't let your focus be on the trigger or the fall; let it be on making it out and moving on. Let it be on your victory in the face of darkness. Let that be your next flashlight.

A Tale of Two MRIs, Part 3: Tell Me How I'm Supposed to Breathe With No Air

Recap

In August I found out that the mass in my mouth wasn't what I'd thought. An appointment with my normal dentist led to an oral surgeon, which led to an MRI. Oral surgeon didn't see much, so he sent me to Endodontics (root canal guy). Endodontics found no need for a root canal. Supposed next step was a referral to an Ear, Nose, and Throat specialist.

In addition to the mass in my mouth, the MRI showed two other masses: one on my thyroid and one on/near my clavicle. I would need an ultrasound for the thyroid and an MRI for the clavicle.

Back to the story...

Hubby and I managed to have a really nice weekend away for our anniversary. We stayed at a cute place in Bowler, WI and took a day trip to Green Bay to check out the NEW Zoo and hit up Lambeau Field. We had dinner at a supper club, checked out some geocaches, and spent a lot of time together in the car, which is one of our favorite things to do.

On our anniversary proper (9/18) we went to dinner here in Milwaukee. If you've never been to Lake Park Bistro, I highly suggest it. It may be one of the more expensive meals you'll ever have, but also one of the tastiest. Plus the staff there is wonderful, there's a great view (or so we hear; we've only ever been at night), and the restaurant is beautiful. Oh, and since our anniversary fell on a Monday, the majority of the other patrons were other couples celebrating their anniversaries! :-)

The next morning I went in for my ultrasound. I had an 8 AM appointment, which meant getting there at 7:45. Thankfully this was still done at the same clinic as my primary doctor's office and the MRI, so it was all of a 5 minute drive to get there. I checked in at Radiology, in the basement, and was instructed to take the elevator to the second floor, go down the hall, and enter the last door on the left. So off I went. I walked through the door I had been instructed to seek out, but no one was there. Literally nobody. Reception desk? Empty. Waiting area? Empty. I just kind of stood there for a minute, going over the instructions in my head, wondering where I'd gone wrong. Was it a left turn at Albuquerque? Or a right? Damn you, Bugs Bunny!

I didn't have to wait long. A door across the hall opened and a woman said, "Erika?" I nodded and she beckoned me over. "Thanks for coming early." OK. I didn't have much of a choice, but you're welcome? She led me down the hall and into a small exam room. I took a seat on the table while she readied the ultrasound machine, then she tucked three or four napkins into my shirt collar and asked me to lie back.

This was not my first ultrasound. I've had three others. The first was to check on a lump in my breast (turned out to be nothing). The second was to check for a blood clot in my left leg (nada). The third was to confirm that a lump on my right thigh was a lipoma (yep). So I know the procedure pretty well and I thought I knew what to expect. And I did... mostly.

This guy, amiright?

What I didn't consider was the exact location of one's thyroid. So while I knew that the wand was heading toward my neck, I didn't really anticipate the pressure it would place on my windpipe. You know what's hard to do? Relax (and breathe) when someone is cutting off your oxygen supply. And of course, despite the mass being on the right side of the thyroid, we had to get pictures of the whole damn thing, so when I thought I was done, we were only half done. Yay.

Now, in all fairness, it didn't take very long at all. In fact, I was done with the ultrasound before my appointment time even rolled around. But when you have someone actively obstructing your only source of air, it feels like a lot longer. Also, my throat was super slimy from the jelly afterward. That was pretty gross. But at least it was quick and it was over.

Since I had some blood tests waiting for me, I headed back down to Radiology and signed in to get that out of the way, too. This ended up being an interesting experience for me as well. The nurse asked me some questions and then as she went to look for my veins I told her that she may have to go through my hand.

"Does that happen a lot?"

"Well, I've had two MRIs in the past year and both times they've had to go through my hand for the dye injection. Apparently my veins like to hide or something."

She poked at my left arm for all of 3 seconds before saying, "Really? What's wrong with this one right here?"

I was floored. "Uh, well, that's a good question..."

She got me prepped and said, "Yeah. See, that's the difference between it being their part-time job and it being my full-time job." I watched as she quickly filled two small vials with my blood and then sent me on my way. I've always had mad respect for nurses and I think they deserve far more recognition than they usually get. This woman completely reinforced those beliefs. She was professional, courteous, and good at her job. I can't tell you how much I appreciated a pain-free experience that morning. (It was also nice to confirm that I do actually have veins in my arms as well.)

The results from the ultrasound came in the following day. I have two small nodules on my thyroid. One is a cyst and we don't need to worry about it. The other doesn't appear to be anything concerning, and isn't large enough to warrant a biopsy, so we'll do another ultrasound next year (yay) just to make sure nothing has changed. This was good news, but I still had another MRI to worry about and I was worried my luck was going to run out.

To be continued...

A Tale of Two MRIs, Part 2: When It Rains...

Recap

In early August, I found out that what I thought was a perfectly normal mandibular torus was NOT a mandibular torus at all. What is it? We don't know!

A dentist appointment led to an oral surgeon. The oral surgeon led to an MRI. Back to oral surgeon, who didn't see much of anything in the MRI. Oral surgeon referred me to Endodontics. 

Based on other findings in the MRI (another mass), my doctor was checking with Radiology to see if I could have an ultrasound in place of a second MRI.

Back to the story...

When I left off, I had just been told I was being referred to Endodontics, which turned out to be located upstairs from the oral surgeon. The assistant I'd been working with, Chuck, was nice enough to walk me upstairs so I could get started on paperwork. At this point it was around 10 AM.

I handed in my paperwork to the receptionist. She told me that they had me scheduled for 12:30, but said that if I stuck around for a few minutes she would check to see if the doctor could see me earlier. I waited. About 10 minutes later I was told I would have to come back at 12:30. So I drove home (about 15 minutes) and worked from about 10:30 until noon. Then I headed right back to the very same building where I'd sat just hours before and sat some more.

I got called back pretty quickly and got a few more x-rays (this would be the third set of x-rays, for those keeping score). Then the specialist came in and talked to me.

"I hear you've been in and out of appointments and machines." Yep. Sure have.

"Is there a plan for what happens next?" I told him about the oral surgeon's suggestion of a referral to ENT if this didn't yield any results. He seemed to accept that and got to business poking around my mouth. Then he explained what was coming next: the root canal test.

Allow me to explain this quickly for the uninformed. Basically, they make the end of a long Q-tip extremely cold (like, liquid nitrogen style) and then touch it to a tooth. If you feel something - anything - you raise your hand. Once the feeling goes away, you lower your hand. Repeat on the surrounding teeth.

I got worried when I didn't feel anything on the first tooth, but I definitely felt it with the rest of the teeth. (It didn't hurt, thankfully, but it's not a particularly pleasant sensation either. Not so much an "Ouch!" as a "The f*ck is that? That's weird. I don't like it.") Apparently that was all it took. The specialist said I didn't need a root canal. I had all the right reactions, my bone and root structure look strong and healthy... No problem from an Endodontic perspective.

While most people are probably relieved to hear they don't need a root canal (and trust me, part of me definitely was), this was just another appointment, another test, another set of results that showed nothing. For everything I'd been through, there were still no answers for me. I started to tear up and said, "On to ENT then!" I took a breath and calmed myself down so I could get going.

Just before I got out of the chair, this doctor (who is clearly doing well for himself; the Endodontics office is REALLY nice - fireplace in the waiting room, sculptures and art everywhere - and the beautiful Corvette in the parking lot may very well have been his as well) looked at me and said, "Since you're not having any work done, I'm just going to comp this appointment."

What? As in, you aren't going to charge me? Well that did it. Tears welled up anew. I was floored by his kindness, and so (SO) grateful. One less charge to worry about? You better believe I'll take that. I thanked him again and again before finally heading out. So I left feeling a little upset that this appointment hadn't given me any answers, but the greater feelings I had were gratitude and relief.

On my way home I was almost in an accident (a guy turned out in front of me and I had to lock up my breaks to keep from hitting him). Then a few blocks later I witnessed an accident (a head-on where one of the vehicles spun into a building) and got to call 911 for the second time this year (and in my life). Aside from the asshole behind me who was honking and gesturing for me to move (despite the fact that there was an accident right in front of me, I had my blinkers on, and I was on the phone... with 911), I made it through the experience pretty well (which is saying something for me!).

When I got home, I was taking things out of my purse when I saw the copy of my MRI results. What the hey, I'll take a look at it, review it on my own. I was reading through it, trying to remember what my doctor had told me the week before... And that's when I figured out that I had misunderstood my doctor. Badly.

After my appointment with her, I had come away thinking that they had found an additional mass during the MRI. But there were three separate things noted on the report. The first, of course, was the original bump. The second was a mass on my thyroid, for which I was referred an ultrasound. The third was a mass near my clavicle, for which I was referred another MRI. So it wasn't a matter of having the ultrasound instead of the MRI; it was whether I'd have to do both the ultrasound AND another MRI.

If the accident hadn't erased my good mood, this certainly had. Hubby and I were just about to go on a weekend away for our 7th anniversary, and here I was staring down one or two more tests for two more unknown masses. If the ultrasound would suffice for both, though, that would really help. I kept a good thought.

Friday, on our way out of town, my doctor called: the ultrasound and MRI were both going to be needed. Yay.

To be continued... 

A Tale of Two MRIs, Part 1: The Fascinoma

When is a trip to the dentist more than just a trip to the dentist? When you're me, apparently.

Background

I went something like seven years without going to the dentist in my 20s. It wasn't some kind of protest, nor did I have a bad experience, I simply didn't go. Mostly because I had moved from my hometown and didn't know how to seek out a dentist of my own in a new area. Adulting is hard.

About 6 or 7 years ago I was finally worried enough to look into things. Sort of. I had these bumps in my mouth and I knew my husband was going to the dentist soon, so I told him to ask them if that's a normal thing. When he came home from his appointment, he told me that I now had an appointment of my very own. Yay.

At that appointment, I was told about mandibular tori. Basically, they're extra bone growths that are perfectly normal. Sweet! I assumed that accounted for both the bumps I was worried about, so I stopped worrying about things. For awhile.

Current Day 

This August I went to what should have been a normal dental exam. When asked if anything was bothering me, I said no, but that I was curious if there was anything I could do for jaw clenching. See, I carry my stress in my upper back, neck, and jaw. Always have, probably always will. This results in frequent clenching of my jaw, even when I don't realize I'm doing it. Also, I have no idea how to actually relax my jaw. (If you've ever been in choir or anything similar, you might remember being asked to relax your jaw and then move it back and forth with your hands. I had to fake it. I literally do not understand how to make my jaw relax like that.)

My hygienist asked if there was a reason I was asking, and I told her that I thought my bump might have grown in size. I had read online that this was a possibility with bruxism (teeth grinding and/or jaw clenching), which she confirmed. She decided to take a look so we could discuss getting a custom mouth guard.

While poking around she seemed to be a bit perplexed. She did a few extra x-rays and called the dentist (who we call Doc) in. The bump didn't show up in the x-rays like a normal torus (singular of tori) would. Actually, it didn't really show up in the x-rays much at all. To make sure everything was OK, I was referred to an oral surgeon.

Fast forward to the oral surgeon's office a week or so later. The assistant there asked me some questions, took a look, and started talking about tori. Another set of x-rays led to a quick CT scan. The CT scan led to a referral for an MRI. See, tori, as I've explained, are growths of bone. A CT scan would pick up a bone growth pretty easily, but my scan showed nothing in that area. The oral surgeon took to referring to it as a "fascinoma" - it's fascinating, but no idea what it is. He sent the referral to my doctor, who set me up with an MRI in early September.

As I've already talked about MRIs and the super amount of fun that they are, I won't go into that this time. Here are the highlights of the experience:

• I went all on my own. Thankfully, it was in the same building as my primary doctor, so I was familiar with the place.
• They had to administer the dye through the back of my hand again. Bastards.
• This MRI was MUCH shorter than last year's (which is likely because last year's was 2 MRIs rolled into one). 

It just so happened that I had my annual check-up with my doctor the next day, so when I got to that appointment, she already had my results. She told me that nothing looked bad or suspicious about the "fascinoma" and that generally if it were a problem (we avoided the C word, but it was implied) then the area around it would show warning signs, but everything looked good. Then she went on to mention that there was another spot they found during the MRI. Wait, what? No, I was just here for this one, thanks. Please no. :-( She told me they recommended another MRI, but that she would talk to Radiology and see if an ultrasound would suffice (since they're MUCH cheaper and faster). She said she'd get back to me when she had an answer.

In the meantime, I went back to the oral surgeon about a week later. He looked at my MRI. He looked in my mouth. He showed me the MRI and gave me a copy of the results. And he said the same thing as before: still fascinating, but still no idea what it was. He came up with the following plan. First, a referral to Endodontics (root canal guy) in case it's a dying/infected root. If that's not it, then a referral to an Ear, Nose, and Throat specialist. If there's still nothing at that point, then he would say as long as it's not causing issues, leave it alone. He mentioned that if I wasn't placated by that and wanted to get it biopsied, he'd be happy to go in and get some of it for me (no thanks), but if all these specialists looked at it and saw nothing, then it really probably wasn't anything to be concerned with. Since that more or less echoed my doctor's thoughts, I was fine with that, and off to Endodontics (which was just upstairs from the oral surgeon) I went.

To be continued...

Lucky to Be Alive: Dad's Accident (Part 1)

There's really no nice way to transition into this, so let's just get down to it.

On October 18th I got a phone call from my mom. This in itself is a bit of a rarity, and I have frequently told her she needs to call more often, because she seems to only call with bad news. I need to be reconditioned not to expect negative things when she calls. (You know, like how you take your dog for car rides so he doesn't automatically assume car = vet.) But I got blindsided on this one. First, she called from my dad's phone, and my dad is a billion times more likely to call me for something random (like to tell me he's 20 minutes from my house, and would I mind if he stopped by). Second, she started the conversation so normally that I suspected nothing. (Sneaky woman, she is...)

And then she hit me with it.

My dad was in a motorcycle accident on the night of October 17th. He was on his way home from a softball game (he plays in a Fall Ball league when he's able) and was worried about hitting wet leaves on the street he normally uses to get home. Instead, he went one street down, nicked the median (we think), and went down. 

The table was still set for Monday's
dinner when I arrived on Wednesday night.

My mom had been waiting at home for him. Over an hour after he should have been home for dinner, the hospital called my mom to let her know Dad was there. After explaining that his injuries were serious, but non-life-threatening, she got off the phone and headed straight to the hospital.

It wasn't until late Tuesday morning that my mom called to tell me. I immediately requested the next two days off from work, planning to go to Madison as soon as possible. I ended up spending Wednesday doing chores to get caught up at my house and then headed to Madison that night so I could spend Thursday at the hospital with my parents.

Wednesday night, Mom filled me in on the details of his accident, including the laundry list of injuries he sustained. Both bones in his left leg were broken, which included a compound fracture (bone came through the skin). His left thumb was partially dislocated (subluxation) and two of his fingers were broken. He broke his sternum and 20 ribs (he likes to boast that he was going for the record). The bridge of his nose was broken, leading to some nice bruising that made it look like he was rocking purple eyeliner. He had some relatively minor road rash, as well as some other bumps and bruises. And he hit his forehead enough to need some stitches and have a mild concussion. Seeing as he wasn't wearing a helmet, he is insanely lucky that was the extent of the damage to his head (and that he's here to tell the tale). 

As for the accident itself, the details were - and still are - pretty sketchy. We know he was making a left turn when he went down, and was less than two miles from home when it happened. Other than that... We're just not sure. There were a few witnesses who gave statements (one said she saw a car run him over, but the others didn't mention anything about that), and Dad has some flashes of memory from the accident (he thinks he remembers seeing the bike sliding away from him). Mostly he remembers a woman who sat with him while they waited for the ambulance. He says she was wonderful. She made sure someone called 911 and she stayed calm through the whole ordeal. He has no idea who she was (he couldn't really turn his head or body to look at her as she sat with him), but he'd love to thank her. So would I. 

There's a LONG road to recovery ahead of us. I'll share some details of that journey later. For now, just know that he's going to be OK. That's the only part that matters.

Aftermath

Well, here we are. 

It's November 9th. The election is over. Donald Trump has won and will become our next president. 

Am I happy about this? Not particularly. Am I worried by the outcome? A bit, yes. Do I feel regret over how I voted? Not at all.

As I mentioned yesterday, I'm well aware that I - along with all other third party voters - am going to be blamed by some for the outcome of this election. In fact, it has already begun. Here's a sampling of what I'm seeing from people on my own Facebook friends list:

"How are you feeling, third party voters?"

"I blame... 3rd party voters."

"If you voted 3rd party... shame on you."

"If you voted for Johnson, just smack yourself - why bother voting?"

There's more, mostly in the form of memes and shared posts, but the general consensus re: third party voting is that I should feel terrible, shamed, and shouldn't have even voted.

And now, my response.

How am I feeling? I'm OK, thanks. Not great, mind you, but I'm hanging in there. I really thought Gary could get to 5%, so I'm definitely upset that he didn't, that there's no guarantee that 2020 will be any different. And I can't say I'm really looking forward to Trump's presidency, but it will be interesting to see where this takes us as a country. I want to see how people step up to fight against, or support, a Republican-run America. There is so much anger and sadness today, and that hurts my heart, but I also hope it pushes people to take action (appropriate, positive, non-dangerous action). Our votes are our voices, and last I saw, Hillary edged past Trump in the popular vote. That means that more people voted for Hillary, more people's voices screamed her name and wanted her leadership, yet Trump becomes our president-elect. This is how the system works, and clearly a LOT of people are not happy with that. So speak up about it. Keep using your voices until you are heard.

I will accept your blame if it helps keep the peace. I shouldn't accept it; I'm not truly to blame. You think that if I hadn't voted for Gary Johnson that surely my vote would have been for HRC, and that's why you're blaming me. You believe my vote would have helped your candidate, and that Johnson stole my vote away. Here's the thing about that: It's simply not true. Hillary never had my vote. Nor did Trump. Had they been the only two choices, I would have abstained from voting completely. Are there people out there who might have voted for Clinton if a third party option hadn't been available? Sure. But I'm not one of them. Nor is my Hubby. Many of us would have preferred to NOT vote rather than vote for "your" candidate. So you can blame me all you want, and I'll take it. I'll shoulder that for now because you're hurting and upset, because - particularly if you're my friend or family - I love you and I'm willing to do that if it will help ease the pain. 

Accepting your blame is one thing, but I refuse to feel ashamed of my vote. By telling me I should be ashamed of myself or by trying to shame me for my choice feels no different than bullying. Shaming me for voting for someone I believe in and admire? Shaming me for using MY vote for MY voice? Shaming me for not voting YOUR way? I've been raised to believe that voting is a duty and an honor. If I had voted any other way, I would have been doing myself and my country a disservice by letting my voice be silenced by those who are now trying to shame me. I voted for the person I truly felt was best suited for the role of president. In doing so, I have done nothing shameful or of which to be ashamed. I've taken your blame, but keep your shame. You may need it.

I "bothered" to vote because it's my right as a citizen of this country. Just as it is your right to vote for HRC, it is my right to vote for Gary Johnson. When I say, "Get out and vote!" what I mean is "Get out and vote!" Apparently, when some of you said "Get out and vote!" what you meant was "Get out and vote for my candidate!" You made it sound like you were encouraging me to exercise my right, but my right is to vote for whomever I choose. And yes, it is also your right to (try to) blame me and shame me for my decision. You are using your voice to convey your disgust and desperation, and you are entitled to do so. But here's a question for you to consider: Why? Why chastise me for voting third party and not almost half of the country who actually voted for Trump? Why use your voice to beat me down instead of using it against the party you're actually against? Why ruin friendships and burn bridges when you could be embracing an opportunity to engage in dialogue and hear different views? I "bothered" to vote because I wanted things to change. Now that the results are in, might you agree with that?

Donald Trump will be our next president, but don't blame me... I voted for Johnson.