Showing posts with label anxiety. Show all posts
Showing posts with label anxiety. Show all posts

Thursday, June 3, 2021

Texts from the pedi dental office.......

5/19, text message comes right in the middle of reading a gastric resection:  Hi, this is Lori at *** Pediatric Dental! We have Punky scheduled for an appt June 2nd at 8:00am. Please reply to confirm. Thanks!

......._stops working_ _opens work calendar_.......oh good, I'm not covering anything early that day, I can take her.....but *should* I take her?.......she's out of school and her father is home........but she always does better at things like that when I go.......and her father does need a break......he's been home with her for 1.5 weeks and camp doesn't start for another 1.5.........put it in the family calendar so you don't forget......oh, wow, I actually somehow remembered to do that back when it was scheduled, shocking........but make a reminder in your phone so *you* don't it for two days before so you can get mentally ready.........ok, back to this damn stomach case, stupid tiny signet've done this hundreds of times, just get back to it........I know we hate these, just get to the lymph nodes, the worst part, the rest is straightforward..........._office phone rings_..........eff, quit bothering me!!!!.........hello, this is UnluckyPath..........okay, I'll be right over...........damn, another freaking frozen???............I just want to sign out my cases...........

45 minutes and 3 ENT margin frozens later:  okay, let me get back to this damn stomach..........oh wait, crap, did I remember to order the IDH1/2 and MGMT promotor methylation testing on that GBM earlier?........damn, I can't remember..........what was that case number?.........._digs case out of stack, types in to Epic_..............oh yeah, I did order it, but I forgot to link it to the freaking path case, ugh.........done...ok........I *will* finish these lymph nodes is this coffee gone already??......

24 minutes later, gastrectomy case is done, ypT3 N2:  okay, I'm going to sign out some easy crap now to decompress........GI biopsies will be good........_phone rings, EFF!!_..........hello, this is UnluckyPath......yeah, we do have to put in one per cm.......yeah, I know it's 17 cm, just shove like three pieces in each cassette......ok, thanks, bye........oh shit, did I remember to confirm that dental appt?.......of course I didn't........._hits 'C' to confirm_.......

5/26, text message comes right in the middle of the morning immuno ordering rush:  We have Punky confirmed for an appt on Wed, June 2nd at 8:00am at *** Pediatric Dental. See you soon! crap, right..........did I put that in the calendar?........oh, would you look at that, I totes did, high five!.........ok, I still have a week to figure out if I'm taking her.......oh wait, I'm off Monday?.....weird.....that makes no sense..........a holiday?.....what holiday?......oh, it's Labor Day.....wait....what month is it?......oh, right, it's Memorial Day....that's cool, I need that day off......oh, but wait......the cleaning lady comes the day after that, ugh......good lord that's an ugly breast cancer.......damn, guess I need to make sure it's I have to?.....asked the question, better do it........look at history first dummy........_opens Epic, looks for cancer history_.......okay, no other cancers, no melanoma........I guess I'll get a CKAE1/3 and.......wait.....the last time I only ordered that on this kind of thing it came back negative and I had to get the other one anyway, get much tissue is there?'s a fat core, get's from the main hospital not ***, they always give good tissue, thank god.......ok, get HMB-45 and, wait, SOX might be positive in ugly breast, won't help.......HMB-45 and Melan-A.......and I guess CD45 in case it's a weird lymphoma.........I'll order the biomarker panel now, though, I'm sure it's just an ugly primary, save time.......crap, Punky's birthday is coming.......when do I have to order a cake?.........oh, I've got time, grocery store only needs a couple weeks.........damn there are a ton of breast biopsies today........ooooohhhh, a fibroadenoma, love an easy one............okay, so I'll have all day off Monday to pre-clean the house for the cleaning lady, so that's good........and Wednesday night isn't a workout night, so it's okay if I get home even later.......and it would be nice to spend a little time with her before work......ok, I'll plan to take her to the dentist......

6/01, text message comes right after finishing an exhausting HR-type meeting with a PA who is really sucking right now:  We have Punky confirmed for an appt tomorrow June 2nd at 8:00am at *** Pediatric Dental. See you soon!

.........MOTHERughhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!! I don't want to have to go to that!!!!!...........I'm so. Damn. TIRED........dementia dog had me up all night........hubs never wakes up for that creepy all night........and then 7:30am meeting to discuss a bunch of super painful shit......seriously I got like 1, maybe 2 hours of sleep.......GAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH.......I am so tired of talking to people and doing things for people, I just want to sit alone in a dimly lit room for like two weeks.......why can't I just do that once?..........and the facility pending queue has 348 cases in it!!!!!!!!!................stupid long weekend, wtf................I'll never get all this crap done.............I haven't left before 7:00pm in like two weeks, ugh..................ooooh, I really need to sign out that lung bx before people start calling me.............yup, it's squamous like I thought...........damnit, I forgot to run the Roomba before the cleaning lady came..............when will fully automated cleaning robots be a thing?..........geez I hate it when she comes to the house...........I *really* need to find a good anxiety drug, ugh...........okay, I guess I'll still take Punky in the morning..........I promised her and I can't go back on it.........really can't do that....ugh, always disappointing that kid...........okay, I'm definitely taking her.........need to finish every case tonight so I have as much time tomorrow for new cases............ugh, and a 3:00pm meeting, crap..........

6/02, 8:35am, driving to drop Punky back home before turning around to go to work:  "Mommy, that was so fun! And he said the Tooth Fairy will be coming really soon, that's so awesome. Almost as awesome as seeing you before you go to work. Do you think she will leave the gold coins under my pillow, or somewhere else?

.............definitely made the right decision to take her...........freaking Peppa Pig and those gold coins........I'll have to tell her that the US Tooth Fairy uses dollars........or doll hairs......hehe, she loves that joke........would you like to have twenty doll hairs?.........OMG I'm not going to get to work until 9:30...........I'm so screwed............but she's happy, so that is awesome..........

6/02, text message comes just after finishing yet another freaking HR-type activity instead of real work:  Thank you for visiting *** Pediatric Dental! We're so thankful to have you a part of our family. We love feedback, so please let us know how we did by clicking the link below. Thanks again!

Wednesday, December 18, 2019

Expectations and Realities

I will finally sign out that last autopsy that is due in 9 days so that this time I don't wait until day 60.
*I call my husband on day 60 and tell him I'll be staying really late to finish an autopsy, but I'll be home for Punky's bed time, for sure; she gets to bed 30 minutes late.

Tonight I get home from work before 6:00pm and I'm definitely going to wash my makeup sponges and re-order whatever stuff I'm low on from Sephora.
*A friend texts with a work crisis and I write back-and-forth for 45 minutes until I have to break for bath time.

For sure this time I will buy our plane tickets for our holiday travel at least three months ahead of time to save money.
*Three weeks before the trip I'm scrambling for the last three seats on the plane, surely paying at least $200 more per ticket. Again.

After Punky's bath tonight, I am definitely going to change her sheets and thin out her clothing that she's outgrown for donation.
*I spend that 25 minutes recording (for posterity) the funniest conversation that she and I had about unicorns vs. mermaids while she was in the bath.

Today will be such a good day at work; I have been off for a week and I am back and refreshed with an empty queue to start.
*43 new cases in the queue, Pedi GI calls and asks for a stat run on a liver biopsy for possible atresia, three separate colleagues come in with "sorry, I have a few quick cases that need review, and they're kinda old" and then the outlying problem hospital calls to say that a surgeon is screaming about a lost specimen and I need to call him NOW.

I will be the first one to sign up for what to bring to the next pre-K class party; I will definitely get paper plates or napkins this time!
*The list comes out when I'm on call and can't bring Punky to school or pick her up for a week; I cut an array of colorful fresh fruit for 1.7 hours at midnight and arrange them into an appealing rainbow configuration in an act of self-flagellation.

I will schedule a nice, easy play date with Punky's school friend that has the really nice and friendly mom to bolster my only child's social skills.
*I finally text her 14 weeks after I first committed to it in my mind, schedule them to come to our house for the upcoming Saturday, spend three hours the night before cleaning the house,  and then drink a mimosa beforehand to ease the path to small talk. It goes fine. The anxiety regarding the next play date begins immediately after the front door closes behind them.

I will work extra hard to keep up efficiency today and just work on my cases, one after another, until they are all completed before I do anything extra because I know that I'm too far behind already this week.
*I work steadily for 45 minutes, then make a doctor's appt for myself that I've been putting off for two years, make sure bills are paid, finally order Christmas gifts for my oldest friend's five kids so they get there in time (converted from birthday gifts, because I decide to face it, remembering five extra birthdays annually is essentially never going to happen), and make that rage donation to Amy McGrath (because Moscow Mitch did something heinous *again*) so I don't forget to do it later. Only half of my cases are signed out. Crap.

I really want to spend the 20 min of Punky's bath time doing color-by-number on my iPad.
*I fold two more baskets of other people's laundry and force myself to put away the clothes.

Tonight I will definitely clear off the clutter from the kitchen table that we never use for eating, because I know that my husband hates this state of affairs.
*I put approximately four pieces of paper into recycling, photograph 16 pieces of artwork for Keepy and throw them away, then realize that I need to answer my MOC quarterly questions now since the thought just popped into my head and if I don't do it I'll miss the deadline.

This year, I will wrap presents as they come in to keep caught up.
*I place gifts in reusable cloth bags on a random midnight a few days before Christmas in place of sleeping.

I will definitely complete all four of the reminders I set on my phone for internet errands today.
*At 1:23 am, I sigh and change the dates on all four phone reminders to tomorrow's date. Well, technically *today's* date.

I will work on that amazing wooden puzzle tonight after putting Punky to bed and eating something.
*I scroll thru my Facebook feed for 1.75 hours reading the news, getting angry; I see a couple of cute kids and I feel a little better.

It's been weeks since I've had a work day off with the kid in daycare, I will definitely knock out at least four of my running to-do-at-home jobs off the list I keep on my phone, including setting up the Roomba that I bought two months ago which is sitting in it's box in the corner of the utility room.
*I drop off Punky, "stop in" to World Market for 1.4 hours, then head over to Target to wander around for another two, finally getting home at 1:45 pm and folding laundry/hanging clothes in the closest while listening to podcasts and scrolling Instagram until I have to pick up Punky at 5:30pm; the Roomba remains unopened.

I will make sure that this year, we get our family photos done in October so that I can get the cards completed in November.
*I panic and realize that the weekend before Thanksgiving is the last of the semi-decent leaf color and implore my husband to check out that spot that he's been meaning to look at for photography; cards are completed on December 8th and mailed on December 15th.

I will definitely go to bed in the 12:00 hour tonight; I really need a couple extra hours of sleep this week.
*I jolt awake at 2:34am, scroll back through the Schitt's Creek episode list to figure out exactly how many episodes I missed on auto-play, and finish cleaning up the kitchen before brushing teeth and falling into bed.

I will set a recurring reminder in my phone to write a blog post for MiM at some point so they don't kick me off the site.
*I sit at my desk at work at spew this out instead of signing out cases or validating immunostains, because, well, it's just time.

Thursday, December 21, 2017

'Watching Your Toddler Drink Bathwater From a Hotel Tub', and other sordid tales of OCD exposure therapy

I've always been slightly more than casually OCD.  Not the flip-the-light-switch-seven-times-then-tap-dance-thru-three-choruses-of-I-Could've-Danced-All-Night-before-leaving-the-house kind, but more like the picks-stray-hairs-from-my-pillow-before-laying-down-and-always-on-the-lookout-for-dead-bodies kind.  I can't explain away the hair thing, but you try working for the body pickup service contracted to the medical examiner's office of a major metropolitan city for a year and *not* look for corpses on the side of every road and behind every hydrangea.  They're there, people.

Now, this has always been sort of quirky and cute to most that know me, and those that may have thought otherwise have largely been kind enough to at least refrain from open mockery.  "Oh, that TheUnluckyPath, she sure is hilarious, over there picking microscopic lint fragments off of her dinosaur print Boden top".  But let me tell you, shit got real when Punky arrived four weeks early.  I had what turned out to be straight up post-partum OCD/anxiety that might blow your mind.  I had no idea that this was even a thing.  You learn some (but not near enough) about post-partum depression in med school.  But I swear I had no idea that you could get heightened OCD associated with the perinatal and/or post-partum period.  It was absolutely heinous.  I've never been so terrified in my whole life.  I spent the first eight weeks of my daughter's life expecting to find her dead, in any and all manner of common and/or obscure/tragic/horrifying/violent ways, every single time I left her for a snooze.  And, presumably because I've seen some serious things in my life, I could picture in excruciating detail every single aspect of the fictional scene.  I became nearly-paralyzed by stairs, where I would clutch her to my body and get an iron-grip on the banister like I was free-climbing Half Dome every time I walked out to the garage (down four steps.....just four).  I would imagine that she, at four weeks old, had somehow freakishly developed musculature, climbed out of her crib, and rolled underneath only to suffocate on a blanket that she had carelessly wrapped herself in.  I visualized her tiny electrocuted body lying next to a wall outlet, no joke.  My heart was repeatedly broken day in, day out, every time that I left her and cautiously returned to see what I would find.  Because, even though she was perfectly fine every time I came back(if not sometimes poopy), I imagined her dead in more ways than anyone could ever believe, and it felt so real to me each and every time.  And a little bit of me mourned her faux death, so many times a day.

But that actually wasn't the worst of it.  The worst of it was that, in the majority of instances, when I imagined her death, it was me inflicting it.  It was me hurting her in all of those ways every time.  In the bath tub.  In the kitchen.  In her nursery.  It was so, so shocking and terrifying to have these scenes playing through my fractured, sleep-deprived mind.  The shred of myself that I was still clinging on to still knew that I did not ever want to hurt a single tiny spiky hair on my perfect little peanut's head, but it was so, so hard to reconcile this with the visions that I was constantly having.  I was beyond terrified.  I was so afraid to tell my husband about any of these things, for I didn't know if he would be afraid to leave me alone with her.  A few weeks in to this guilt-and-shame-filled struggle, I remembered an episode of the podcast Invisibilia that I had listened to the year prior.  It was called The Secret History of Thoughts, and it had made quite an impression on me at the time, especially the story about a young, just-married couple.  They had a relatively carefree and easygoing life, until one day out of the blue the guy started having obsessive thoughts of his wife being stabbed to death in their kitchen.  And he was the one doing it.  On one hand, he just *knew* that he had no desire to harm his wife in the least.  But on the other hand he was terrified that he must want to kill her, on some subconscious level, else why would he have such terrible visions?

Turns out, he had a specific subtype of OCD called Harm OCD, in which "an individual experiences intrusive, unwanted, or distressing thoughts of causing harm, and this is inconsistent with the individual's values, beliefs and sense of self.  These obsessions typically center around the belief that one must be absolutely certain that they are in control at all times in order to ensure that they are not responsible for a violent or otherwise fatal act." (that's a nice definition provided by the website of the OCD Center of LA)

So, I went back and listened to the episode again, and I felt an immediate sense of relief.  I remembered identifying with it to some degree the first time around, and feeling so deeply sorry for the poor bastard experiencing this terrifying thing.......but now I was was reasonably sure that I had become that poor bastard.  However, at least I had some hope that perhaps I could fix this somehow.  So I committed right then and there to myself that I would admit that I was having these thoughts to my lovely, compassionate therapist at my next appointment.  And, I did.  And doing so was the first step in my journey toward recovery from my post-partum Harm OCD.  And now that Punky is 2.5 years old, I'm back to my slightly more than casual OCD, right where I'm comfortable.

And that brings me to watching my daughter drink hotel bathwater in a borderline sketchy extended stay motel during our cross-country move a few months ago. Having a toddler is a long-haul treatment course of exposure therapy for OCD, which turns out to be very effective for me in dealing with my issues.  Identify the intrusive thought, analyze it and decide if it's valid and why/why not, then accept it or dismiss it as it's happening.  Gives me the sense of control that I need to feel comfortable and safe.  And then I can go about my quirky day.

Watching a toddler eat peanut butter off the floor of an airport.  Standing idly by while my daughter puts her hand in the toilet to retrieve a toy that needed a quick and refreshing swim.  Suppressing a scream as the kid covers the wall in crayon, grinning and singing with unabashed joy.  It's a constant barrage of borderline-horrifying acts of depravity, packaged in an adorable little bundle of cuteness and light.  And on that day a few months back, as I sat back on the yellowed and cracked tiles of that supposedly clean bathroom, I forced myself to let her be a toddler, feeling her way through the world around her and delighting in the new experience.  It was a super gross experience, but she thoroughly enjoyed it nonetheless.  And the reason that I finally got around to writing this five months after the fact is that it dawned on me a couple of nights ago that I haven't checked my pillow for stray hairs before falling (mostly happy and always exhausted) into bed at night since we moved to this new job and house.  There are tons of other stressors in life, including some new ones about kind of hating this new city, but overall life is pretty damn good.  And the older I get, the better of a handle that I have on my weird brain.  It's actually pretty interesting in here most of the time.........  :0)