Sinus Surgery - Part Two - Days One through Five

Squick warning, particularly for day five.

Day One-  Woke up blearily when Wendell had to leave for the matinee.  I couldn't breathe through my nose at all because of the packing, so my mouth/throat were extra dry.  He took my dogs out and told me to go back to bed.  I took yet another shower, rinsed my sinuses, changed the bandage for the fifty-billionth time, and texted my sister to come over around 1p instead on noon.  I woke up around 1p.  Took another shower did a sinus rinse, and grabbed some gauze but didn't tape it in place because my skin was becoming unbelievably irritated.  Then stumbled downstairs and threw some leftover frozen waffles in the toaster over.  I took my antibiotics, steroids, more Tylenol, an ice-pack for my nose/eyes (Nurse Helpful had thoughtfully given it to me on my way out the door and it definitely did help stop the bleeding as she said it would), and stumbled to the couch with my back-pillow and blanket.  My sister showed up around then and made herself at home on the couch next to me.  She had a big bio-chem test she was studying for.  She grabbed me the waffles and some water when the timer went off.

I put on Ever After while she studied and I was buried in my dogs and cat.  It was pretty great.  After the movie, I dozed off for awhile.  My head was more painful that the previous day, but my throat was way better.  The packing in my nose made "M" and "N" noises all but impossible to say and my speech was all clogged up and stilted.

After I woke up Shea told me Carl was coming over after work and bringing Jimmy Johns, which quite frankly sounded amazing.  We held off putting on another movie until she got there.  We had dinner, and then watched How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days, which was fun.  My sisters were both great, though Carl is a bit squeamish.  But still, they grabbed me things when I needed them.  The only reasons I had to get up were to go to the bathroom from my extensive fluid intake and to rinse my sinuses.  It was actually nice.

When Wendell got home at 11:30 (the show ran long, which I wasn't thrilled about) I was seriously starting to hurt.  My head was killing me.  My eyes were killing me.  I was so dizzy and weak from the anesthesia that I could barely function.  I'd been cheating most of the day by taking Tylenol every 3.5 hours and that had been enough, but it wasn't then.  Despite my worries about how I'd react to the Codeine laced Tylenol, I took it, and gradually my pain eased.  My face was a bit swollen, though I think not as much as most people would expect (I don't have a tendency to swell very much thankfully).  Wendell got me to bed, happily the drainage had stopped already so no taped in place gauze pad (Shea told me when she had her surgery she had this sling type thing that looped over her ears so she didn't have to tape.  I was jealous), and it took me forever to fall asleep (thanks steroids).

Day Two-  More frustrating that Day One.  I had Janey and Kate taking care of me, and they were lovely, but I know Kate is a bit squeamish, so even though she didn't ask me to, I tried to be more circumspect about the drainage.  I also felt bad about her walking my crazy excitable saluki, so I tried to take the dogs out some this day.  It did add a layer of stress I wasn't thrilled about.

We watched Road to El Dorado, which I all but dozed through and then Hunchback of Notre Dame.  I was way more tired than I had been the previous day and also felt weaker, shakier, and dizzier.  Janey got there after Hunchback and brough soup and bread and potstickers.  They managed my kitchen quite well and we ate while watching several episodes of iZombie.

They left shortly before Wendell got home from strike (of the first location's space).  He came home and it was fantastic to see him as always.  In general, the pain was better this day, but everything else was worse.  I took the Codeine laced Tylenol at the same time of night as the previous time, as a precaution.

I felt bad, but the next day was Wendell's only day off and he'd scheduled a dentist appointment and a doctor's appointment for his leg that has been crampy for about a month now.  He told me he'd cancel them, which I was also dissatisfied with.  It was pretty much a lose lose situation.  I desperately wanted him home, but he also had stuff he needed to do.

It took, once again, quite awhile to fall asleep.

Day Three- Wendell did end up cancelling/rescheduling his appointments, and I was so grateful he had.  This was my worst day.  I got woken up by a call confirming my post-op appointment on Wednesday, a call from a nurse checking in on me, and a call from my surgeon, before we actually decided to get up.  I actually don't remember it particularly well.  I was so weak and dizzy.  I could finally go the full four hours in between doses of Tyelnol, but that was about the only upside.  We spent most of the day on the couch watching Buffy.  We actually finished the series, which was rather exciting. I spent a lot of the day playing Kingdom Hearts Unchained, which Kate and Janey had introduced me to the day before.

I started getting clotting out with the sinus rinses this day and the one right before bed was extensive and freaked me out a bit.  The steroids did a number on me this day.  It took me 3+ hours to get to sleep, though once I was asleep, I slept in until 1.  I felt really bad for Wendell, who got to sleep significantly sooner, but also had to get up far far earlier than I did.

Day Four-  My first day alone with no one else around; also my first day with lessened dizziness and little weakness/shakiness.  I took yet another shower with sinus rinse, though this time I shaved, washed, and washed my hair.  My boss called me in the middle of washing my hair to see if I'd be back on Thursday as planned or not.  I told her that if I continued to feel like I was this day, then I would be.

She assured me that I could change my mind if need be.  I spent pretty much the entire day playing Kingdom Hearts Unchained and Wendell got home at 7.  We watched some Angel and then headed to bed.  This was the absolute worst night for getting to sleep.  It took me 4+ hours, and I needed to be up at 7:30 for my post-op appointment.

Day Five (Today)- Woke up after not enough sleep.  It was terrible.  Wendell drove me to the post-op appointment, happily at the campus that is only fifteen minutes away.  I got all checked in early and filled out the survey about how I was feeling in regards to my head.  My answers were mostly: feeling terribly obstructed and dizzy, which was unsurprising.  A nurse took us back and then my surgeon came in not too long later.

She asked me how I was doing and joked that she'd been waiting for me to call to see if I could get the packing out sooner.  She told me this would be the worst follow-up appointment, maybe even worse than all of the recovery from surgery.

It pretty much was.  She numbed my nose with a numbing spray and Afrin.  It tastes terrible (I remember from the first appointment I ever had with her), but I couldn't taste it because of the packing to keep my turbinates stiff as they healed.  She then clip the suture in my left nasal passage with forceps and scissors, which was this strange releasing of pressure.  She used forceps to pull the left packing out of my nose and oh dear god did it hurt.  The two packing pieces were attached via string, so when she pulled the left one out, the right one had to slide all the way up in my nose.  She then clipped them apart and pulled the right one out.

She let me have a bit of a breather then.  I felt like I was going to pass out, so she applied more numbing spray (this time I could taste it).  She then vacuumed out both sides of my nasal passages and said it was looking great.  It was so weird then, because I could suddenly breathe through my nose, and not just partially, I could breathe deeply and well (even with the left over drainage).  She told me that I could gently blow my nose from here on out and to continue irrigating.  The fact that my pain had been so mild was good and a bit surprising, she said.  Also, the turbinates had added significant difficulty to my recovery (which wasn't fun, but wasn't as bad as I'd expected), but she thought it'd be worth it.  The grossest part for me is that she warned me the clotting was going to get grosser for a few days and might even include bits of bone.

I made an appointment to see her next Friday and all was good.  My nose bled a little after I left, but not that bad considering the trauma it underwent.

We went home then (boy let me tell you was I grateful Wendell was driving) and went back to bed for a couple of hours, though it took me an hour and a half to actually get to sleep.  As predicted, the first sinus rinse was terrible, but they've been getting better since then.  I also got a message from a student I stage managed for forever ago, asking me about the turbinate surgery, which he needs to have done in the next few months.

I finally got to sleep for the last half hour of our nap and woke up when Wendell had to leave with my nose so dry and painful I was in tears.  He brought me saline spray which I used and it immediately helped.  I then turned off the fan and took an extremely steamy shower to humidify the room and that helped a ton.  I feel asleep again for several more hours, warm washcloth tucked against my nose, and I woke up feeling dry, but way better than I had.

Between the saline spray and nasal irrigation I've managed to keep it pretty moist and not that painful.  My weakness is almost completely gone and my dizziness is markedly better.  I mostly puttered about the rest of the day, though I did go get gas and pick up my tapering down dose of steroids.  While I was at the drug store I also picked up a travel sized humidifier, which has helped a ton.  I'm going back to work (thankfully follow spot and not crew) tomorrow and intend to bring it with me.  Wendell also bought me a special eye ice-mask, which helps an unbelievable amount.  So I'm going to look so stylish tomorrow.  So all and all, things are looking up.

Oh, and my doctor said I can take something to help me sleep, so my recovery is in an excellent place now.

The Year Long Sinus Adventure

During the last three weeks of the winter show last year (January/February 2015) I got my first ever sinus infect.  I took me probably a month and a half to recognize it and get antibiotics (so the antibiotics ended around the beginning of April).  The antibiotics worked great and I was actually back to hiking with my dogs.

Around June, I started getting chronic congestion; nothing bad, but considering I don't have seasonal allergies, unusual.  The first week of August, it all came to a head.  I was dizzy, congested, fatigued, had horrible sinus and ear pain and it all hit me severely over the course of two days.  I got antibiotics on the fourth day luckily, though it took a bit to convince my doctor that yes, it was in fact a sinus infection even though it'd only been a few days.  The antibiotics did their job.

Around September, only a few weeks after my antibiotic regiment ended, my chronic congestion came back.  And then in November, I got sick with a sinus infection, yet again. So antibiotics it was.  Right after I had ended them, I got the worst cold imaginable and actually had to get someone to cover my track at work.  My doctor said it was too soon to be another sinus infection and to wait and see if it held on.  But she did refer me to a specialist.

Well, my symptoms did get better, so it probably was a cold.  But in February I did get another full blown sinus infection, and this time I didn't hesitate, I called the specialist and got an appointment three days after my symptoms manifested.  Like my second sinus infection, my symptoms progressed quickly and by the time I saw the doctor I was a peak un healthiness and unhappiness.

The specialist was a saint.  She saw I was miserable and looked at my sinuses and saw they were inflamed.  She prescribed a three week, super heavy course of antibiotics, a steroidal nasal spray, and ear drops.  She also told me to use nasal irrigation at least once a day.  Then, after the sinus infection had a chance to clear up, I was scheduled for a CT scan and follow up.  And I followed all the instructions.  I took my meds every single day.  After the first three days, I felt better.  After five days had passed though, I started tech for my current show and I have never been so miserably sick in my life, including the cold from hell from the previous December.

I don't even remember most of tech.  I sat next to my (very very warm) follow spot, wrapped in a blanket, running a fever and barely able to stand long enough to execute my cues (we called the booth The Plague Ward for that tech because I had a sinus infection with added virus and the light board programmer had strep with an added virus).  Four days into tech, I was so bad I could barely remember my name.  I called the nurse's hotline and she told me I'd probably caught a virus that had been going around and that she was going to ask the specialist to prescribe me steroids to help.  Well, thankfully the doctor did prescribe me steroids, and they did help, and did get me through the rest of tech.  There was about a 36 hour stretch where I felt almost healthy.  But I was super careful not to overdo it, despite feeling better.  Then about a week later (still with one week of heavy antibiotics to go), I caught yet another cold, one that settled deep in my throat.

The day that my antibiotics ended, I went in for my CT scan.  They had me in and out in under twenty minutes which was awesome.  The technician asked if they were doing the CT because they thought I needed surgery.  I said that they hadn't explicitly said but I suspected that'd be the case.  He assured me it was quite a common case and procedure.  And indeed, I did suspect that I'd need surgery, since I was having the exact same symptoms that my sister had been having the previous year.  She had a sinus endoscopy and she's been healthy ever since.

So, three days later, I went back to the specialist for the follow up, so she could read my results.  She came in and noted I looked better and inquired what percentage I was feeling better and I said around 70%.  She then asked me when I had last felt 100% better and I told her, gulping to avoid tears, that I honestly didn't remember.  It was at that point that I hadn't even been able to hike or even go to the dog park since June the year before.

Depression Revisited

Depression is one of those things that's talked about frequently, but I feel like most of what I've read about it is from an outside perspective.  I've had family members and friends have it, but they always treated it like it was something not to be talked about.  And maybe for them, it was, and that's completely valid.  But for me, I feel like I'm lying by not talking about it, by not acknowledging it.

Last year was tough.  You're welcome to read my year in review post, which will give some context.  In short, a large percentage of my family was majorly ill and work stopped rewarding and recognizing my hard work.  I've been through tough times before, but this time it was extra triggering.  My family has always been largely healthy, and while I'm good with coping with crises, it does take a toll.  But what was harder was that I felt work had declared me incompetent.  They had been so complimentary and then suddenly they turned around gave me shitty assignments and no explanations.  It shook my confidence completely.

I've struggled with self-esteem before, but never in the way of believing that I was incompetent professionally.  And once I began to question that, I started to destroy myself with my doubt.  And so, as the work problems piled up, one after another, I sank further and further into depression. While I've read many descriptions of depression, my favorite being Hyperbole and a Half's which resonated with me, even before I got depressed, but none of them made it so I truly got it.  I don't think anyone who's never been clinically depressed can really get it, though they certainly can be empathetic without that.

It's not overwhelming sadness, which was an image that persistent, even after reading countless accounts detailing that wasn't what depression was.  Hopelessness and despair come the closest to describing it emotionally.  The image that stuck with me on my worst days was just standing among the utter wreckage of my life.  People did love me.  People did think I was competent.  But unless they explicitly said that to me, I didn't believe it.  Couldn't believe it  Even when they said it explicitly, my belief in the truth of their assertion was dubious.  I was incapable of believe that I was worth anything: worth anyone's time, love, effort.  I still am some days.  And that is just incredibly hard.

Going through this has made it so much easier for me to empathize and understand other people suffering from depression.  And it's just not a rational thing.  Some days I'll fail at something, more often minor than major, and it'll trigger my depression (luckily for me, just for a day or so, and sometimes, blessedly, less).  But some days I'll just wake up not feeling myself.  Not feeling much of anything aside from that I'm a failure.

So what do I do?  Anti-depressants nearly destroyed me in an entirely different way.  Everyone I've talked to says that it takes awhile to find the correct dosage and drug, but if the side effects and/or withdrawal symptoms are even half that severe, I can't subject myself to that again.  The side effects and withdrawal symptoms were the most unpleasant things I have ever experienced.  I should have talked to my doctor when things got that bad, but I wasn't even capable of picking up the phone some days, let alone going into the clinic.

The point?  I guess to just share my experience, but also to ask everyone reading this to pay attention to your friends, especially ones you think might be majorly depressed.  I guarantee no one realized I was as bad as I was.  And I was asking for helping.  I was talking about it as much as I could so that someone would just come over and sit with me.  But not explicitly and not as well as I would have had I been feeling myself in the first place.  And when you're already bad at asking for help, it becomes so much harder with depression.

Note: It's interesting reading my first post on depression, which was when the extremely low dosage (5mg) of the anti-depressant was actually working.  Though even that level of dose was tough to adjust to.  I desperately wish my doctor hadn't decided to up my dosage to 10mg. But what's past is past.

Another Year in Review

Having read my last year in review, I'm pleased with the format, so I'm going to use it again.

TL;DR Version: Fell off the face of the earth with my friends and felt extremely guilty about it.  Worked seven shows (crewed three, stage managed two, production managed two, production assisted two).  Adopted a new dog.  Got incredibly screwed over at work because of nepotism.  My union forgot I existed.  My family had three surgeries in eight months and I injured my shoulder badly.  I started dating the most amazing guy.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

January: Ran the show with flying people in it some more (show runs are really freakin long).  The show transfer went shockingly well and I had two lovely people to carpool with for my first show commuting from my new apartment.  Shea moved out of her apartment because of a mold infestation, which was the cause of her terrible migraines and sinus infections.  Didn't get the production management job, but got offered interim production manager for three months, which was the strangest phone conversation I've ever had.

February:  Closed the previous show.  99 shows, 7 flights per show, and no flights aborted or unsafe.  I'd call that an amazing track record.  Spent my first Valentine's Day alone in seven years, and by alone, I mean partying with friends, including my ex (my life's weird, okay)?  Started my stint as interim production manager.  I was production manager for the original staged reading, which I'd stage managed the year before and also for the spring kid's show (which I was also stage managing).  Office work was bizarre and not my favorite, although getting to set my own schedule was bitchin.  Also!  I adopted a seventh month old, smooth-coat, Saluki puppy named Ash.  I got to take him (and Argos) into the office with me, which was super convenient timing.  Started work on a massive sighthounds of the world poster.  Had my first sinus infection ever, which was awful.

March:  Started rehearsals for the kid's show I mentioned before.  I had the best asms anyone could ever ask for.  Opened the stage reading, which was as fantastic as the previous year's.  Although the second night of the reading, I had to go up onstage and address the audience because they were having technical difficulties with the sound.  Balancing production management and stage management while not going into overtime was nearly impossible, though I got better at managing it as the time went on.  I pulled Ash from the obedience class I enrolled him in, when the trainer basically told me that she wasn't willing to work with us (he's leash reactive (though not aggressive, to be very clear) and gets excited when there are other dogs around him and he's on a leash).  They fired my old direct boss (who I loved, but was going to leave anyway) but then didn't actually have proven cause (which the union helped prove) and so he left without technically being fired.  Riley and one of my ex-roommates (who I can't for the life of me remember the pseudonym for) started dating (again (this is the second time)).  I was a little freaked out and frustrated at first, but I think I did handle it maturely.

April:  Opened the kid's show.  It was a huge success, considering we had 42 people backstage in that tiny, tiny space (that's not even including the four of us in the booth).  We did have an epidemic of the flu hit the cast, and were worried that we might have to cancel shows.  The new production manager showed up the week of tech, which was terrible, especially because he's fresh out of college and doesn't know what he's doing at all; so basically I got to train him....that was awkward (the kids program manager did tell me that she didn't offer me the job not because I wasn't qualified but because she thought I wouldn't take it, and that I'd done amazingly in the interim, which assuaged some of the bad feelings).  Got offered production assistant for the first show (at the theatre I normally work at), props on the second, production assistant on the fourth, and props on the fifth (this information will become incredibly relevant).  We lucked out though and pulled through.  Went on a solo backpacking trip for three days with the dogs in between closing the one show and starting the next.  It was slightly reckless, but I took precautions and enjoyed myself thoroughly.  Started teching the final show of the season as props.  Went to the dog park and dinner with my ex-roommate who's dating Riley (must remember to look up pseudonym), which was lovely, and, I feel like, cleared the air.

May:  Injured my right shoulder while trying to operate an Austrian curtain that pulled above my head.  After I realized what was injuring be, we adjusted the pull to be below my head height, but I was in a whole lot of pain.  My track for that show was extremely difficult in a different way than normal.  I had to balance props with rail pulls, umbilical paging (making sure the cable umbilical attached to the motorized band platform didn't tear out), and Austrian curtain swagging.  The four very different tasks were immensely difficult to balance.  It would have been easier if I had been the one in costume, then I could have just balanced props and onstage set moves, but there was only one of us in costume and they wanted it to be a guy.  Started flirting rather heavily with the coworker I'd mentioned before who is a good friend (Wendell).  Also, I realized that my union status had lapsed due to hand-waving and bullshit, bullshit, grumble, grumble, reasons that never ever became clear.  Finally, I emailed back to accept the positions I was offered, but never received confirmation that I would be working them.  My other direct boss for crew work got promoted to a new position that they created just for her, and we all hoped that would make grand changes.  Shea had surgery to fix a deviated septum that had developed from breaking her nose twice the previous year.  They hoped it would help with her sinus infections.

June: Got involved with Wendell.  It was so so fantastic.  Being involved with a Dom is just exactly what I needed.  And it helps that we mesh so well in other ways too.  We really didn't intend for it to become "serious" or even "dating" initially.  Struggled through running the show with an injured shoulder.  Got an MRI and saw the first ever orthopedist that I've ever liked (I did extensive, extensive research).  He told me I'd severely compromised the acromion-clavicular joint (AC joint) and had developed Bursitis because of a calcification on the end of my clavical (which I'd also had (and they'd removed) on my left clavical).  Basically, it was just pain management, unless I wanted to undergo a very minor surgery to buzz off the calcification (which I didn't).  I emailed the union at least four times and got no responses.  Wendell decided to apply for the open boss position (which he is incredibly qualified for), which meant there was an open motor position, which I emailed both the production manager and stage ops supervisor (the new position that had just been created) to tell them I was interested. Oh, and because I don't mention her nearly enough, Wendell adores Fae (my kitty) and she adores him; it's adorable.

July:  Transferred the show to the new town.  Pulled my deltoid on my first rail pull and had to have someone sub in to do my rail pulls (which was awful).  My dad had a second blood clot that resulted in a pulmonary embolism, which occurred almost as soon as they eased him off the blood thinners he was on.  They kept him in for more extensive testing this time.  I continued to pester the powers-that-be about if I would get a motor position and was told not until they filled the two positions for my immediate bosses.  Also continued to harass the union and after many more emails and a well-placed call, I finally got an interview and a retest scheduled for the next month.  Wendell broke up with the other woman he was seeing, but they said they'd reassess in a month; though he still was/is seeing another woman under very specific circumstances off and on.  Wendell got the promotion and it was awesome and well deserved!

August:  Closed the show; the last weekend, I had a massive sinus infection that came on suddenly.  I was dizzy, disoriented, exhausted, headachy, and feverish.  I couldn't even drive, Wendell ended up spending the entire weekend helping me make it through the show and taking care of me.  A few days later, we ended up talking about where our relationship was going and he told me he loved me.  From there is was just a small step to dating ((So much for keeping it casual) yes, I know, my love life is weird (Wendell's is weirder though! Okay?!)).  I aced my union retest/interview and my status was finally finally above-board again.  Continued to get put-off by the stage ops supervisor about what shows I would officially be working, and whether I'd work motors, though she heavily hinted that she wanted me there. She did tell me that we'd talk during tech for the first show of the season. Started in rehearsals as production assistant (yay asisstant assistant stage manager (my favorite......) for the first show of the season.  It took awhile for the sm and asm to trust I knew what I was doing, but once they did, they trusted me and we worked well together.  Worked on my birthday, for the first time ever (it's normally in between seasons) and also my birthday turned out really poorly.  Wendell and his ex-girlfriend decided to start hooking-up again and chose the day after my boyfriend.  He'd promised her that he wouldn't see me the day before he saw her, so he wasn't going to come over on my birthday.  He was rather vague on all of those details, however, so I completely misunderstood and thought he was coming over and ended up feeling completely deserted.  He felt terrible, he did end up coming over, and we talked until the early hours of the morning, trying to make the situation better.  He admitted that he didn't really even want to hook up with his ex anymore, but had fallen back into old habits because it was easy.  They're still friends, but not more than that anymore.  That was really the biggest misunderstanding we've had so far.  Doctors finally discovered that my dad had a condition where a vein in his left leg was deteriorating and he'd likely need surgery.  Oh and my mom discovered that she had an extremely aggressive form of skin cancer.  They scheduled surgery for less than a week later.  (Oh wow, a lot happened in August).

September:  My mom had her surgery.  They took a huge chunk out of her arm and had to remove four of her lymph nodes to make sure the cancer hadn't spread.  The day before her surgery, Wendell's car broke down, so he ended up borrowing my car for a week and I borrowed my mom;s  We went into tech for the first show of the season and it turns out tech as a production assistant is really fucking boring.  Also the stage ops supervisor put off my meeting with her three times (I wasn't really surprised, but really fucking annoyed).  The last time I actually showed up to have the meeting and she didn't show up until an hour and a half after she said she'd be at the theatre.  I sent her an angry email basically saying I needed confirmation and she responded saying: props for two, production assistant for four, key grip for five (a demotion and pay-cut).  I responded that we needed to meet and we finally set a time.  We talked and what she had to say was a lot of temporizing and in many cases, insulting.  I turned her down for show five, and she said that she'd work on getting me a different offer.  Turns out they decided to hire the new master electrician's girlfriend, who had never crewed before with the theatre and never worked with or even really seen the motors in action before, as motor operator.  I'm still bitter and pissed.  Anyway, we opened the first show and I walked away because my job was complete and I started officiating high school volleyball again.  I began a very slow, but concerted effort to de-clutter my apartment (I actually adore the results so far).

October:  Stage managed the same fundraiser as last year.  It went extremely well and was a lot of fun.  Continued to officiate volleyball, which was mostly fun.  The stage ops supervisor got back to me with a new offer, saying that I could have props for show five instead (exactly what I was originally offered).  I said: fine.  I was working the opposite schedule from Wendell for this stretch, which really sucked.  At the end of the month, started tech for the show I'm currently working.  It was a fairly easy and straightforward tech.  Working with Wendell as my boss was a slight adjustment, but the biggest problem I had was how hurt and bitter I was with the company.  It didn't help that they'd budgeted extremely poorly for the crew hours and so Wendell had to fight them for every spare bit of time that we actively needed.  My dad's surgery was scheduled to be at the end of the month, but the doctor didn't submit it to insurance in time so they had to reschedule, but they didn't know that until day of (this meant I had to pick up the dogs in the middle of tech, which was pretty brutal).

November: This month was such a blur.  We continued to fight management about the amount of time we needed for our call.  They insisted on only four hours (not four and a half), for a three hour show.  The day they finally mandated that, I found out during dinner and sobbed the entire time.  Poor Wendell felt so bad for having to tell me the bad news (the props track generally takes the longest to set up, tear down, and maintenance).  We're making it work now.  Sorta.  But the crew is amazing and I really enjoy the show, so I'm feeling better about that.  My dad had surgery the day after that proclamation was made and in my depression, I completely forgot to show up to the hospital.  I felt awful about it, but he's recovering so well now at least.  Ash got treated for a bladder infection (it seems to be helping immensely).  I went to see my doctor for a physical and also to talk to her about the amount of depression and anxiety I'd been suffering from.  It's easy to list all these things that happened categorically, with no feelings attached, but the stuff with the union, work, and my family hit me really really hard.  It was just one stress on top of another and I wasn't myself at all.  My doctor (who I love), agreed that it was depression and prescribed for me a mild anti-depressant (so no more alcohol for me for a minimum of three, more likely six, months).  I also made the decision, that I couldn't emotionally handle working show five and scheduled yet another meeting with the stage ops supervisor.

December: My talk with the stage ops supervisor was at the beginning of the month.  I went into it with pages of arguments as to why she should move me to show four.  Turns out that I didn't need any of them.  I told her I couldn't handle working show five and she said that she'd switch me; that easy.  After everything I'd gone through, it was anti-climatic.  However, I have never felt so relieved.  Emotionally, things have been uphill since then.  The cold from hell went through the company and I managed to catch it, and the worst case of it, at that.  It was the worst regular cold that I have ever had (it was definitely up there with bronchitis, pneumonia, and the flu).  It manifested during the Friday evening show and got steadily worse throughout the weekend.  By the Sunday matinee, Wendell and the asm told me that they were calling in a sub to run the show that evening (she'd be running it dry, having never shadowed my track).  I felt so sick that I actually agreed without a fight, though I felt horribly guilty when the sub messed up and they had to hold the show. A week after that, my doctor upped my anti-depressant dosage my 5mg and it went so so badly.  I got so anxious in crowds and around people that my throat tightened up and I had a full on anxiety attack, which meant I couldn't even enjoy Christmas with my friends.

January: I'll save most of this month for next year's review, but after having two full anxiety attacks, one during work, I stopped taking to 10mg dose entirely.  This, predictably, sent me into withdrawals, which entailed terrible anxiety and depression, including suicidal thoughts.  It was terrible.  The most terrible thing I've been through.  But I got through, with a lot of support from Wendell; and though the depression has stuck around, it's actually more manageable than it was before and it's less frequent.

Misunderstood: In Defense of Myself

Every child, every teenager, goes through that: Nobody gets me phase.  Right?  I'm not fond of absolutes, so saying every is a toss-up to me, but I think that in general, that statement is pretty true.  Adults tend to laugh because "they've been there", of course the kid "is being dramatic", and "will be okay".

I've heard all of this so often throughout my life; it's no wonder I believed it.  Growing up, I felt like a stranger to everyone I interacted with.  As a child, I just wanted to be an adult, and wasn't afraid to tell anyone.  I generally didn't relate to other kids around me very well.  Sure, I made friends, but more often than not, I found myself explaining to them my thoughts and feeling; having to justify my view.  No, I'm not mad you went off campus for lunch without me when I had to make-up a test.  But, yes, I am hurt that you didn't tell me that you went, when I would normally have been invited..  The fine line, that fine distinction, I had trouble articulating as a kid/teenager.

Or, I would foul a pass in a volleyball game and the coach would tell me what to do better and I would respond with "I know".  It wasn't the most conducive or coachable response; I understand that now.  However, the coach's response of: "then why didn't you do it in the first place?"  always frustrated me.  I could never explain that I knew the theory of how to do it correctly, but just hadn't been able to get my muscles to do what I wanted.

In college I had this problem with Riley a lot, but rarely with other people.  I missed my high school friends and I hated being misunderstood, so my solution was generally to just avoid befriending people.  It's funny, in high school, I didn't start actually making friends until right before I transferred at the end of my sophomore year, when I know longer had anything left to lose.  Similarly, I didn't make friends until my senior year of college, when it didn't really matter if I was going to be misunderstood so I took more chances.  The pain of people just not getting me has been with me most of my life.

So when I moved in with my high school friends, the only people I feel like ever understood me up to that point in my life, I hoped it would go well.  It ultimately didn't and I feel for very much the same reasons as usual.  I had the opposite schedule of everyone, so I could rarely go to events.  When people would schedule events but not invite me/tell me about them and then I found after the fact, I would get upset.  More than once I came home unexpectedly early for some reason and found an empty apartment, not because they didn't want me at the event but because they knew I was busy.  My frustration stemmed not from the fact that they didn't plan events that I could go to (basically an impossibility) but from the fact that they didn't tell me about events that I couldn't go to.  And it reached the point where they stopped telling me about events entirely because they were afraid I would be mad I wasn't invited (again, not why I was upset in the first place); this logic always seemed circuitous to me.

When we lived in the apartment together, we had a dinner schedule and people signed up to take days.  But, when I was in tech and someone chose not to make dinner that night and I got home expecting dinner, I got angry.  I wasn't angry that there wasn't food.  I wasn't angry because I was hungry.  I was angry that they hadn't texted me and told me there was no dinner.  Not having food at home was a solvable problem, but I hadn't been given the opportunity to solve the problem because of lack of communication.  For me, it's always been those fine distinctions that people just don't seem to get about me.

I am constantly seen as being angry.  When I got left in a subway station in New York alone, when I finally caught up to my friends, I was told that I was having a tantrum and over-reacting.  My fear and hurt and anger at the situation was completely glossed over.  And even if I was over-reacting (which I'm not convinced I was), my emotions were declared invalid.  More often than not, people withheld information from me "because they were scared I'd be angry", which of course only upset me more.  I couldn't convince them that if they'd only given me the information up-front, I wouldn't have been angry at all.  So in that situation with my apartment, like my relationship with my family, I gained a reputation for be angry.  People began to treat me like I was always going to lash out at them and so it became increasingly difficult not to do something.  It's not to say that I don't have a temper.  I undoubtedly do.  I would also say that it is now firmly in hand though.

And my complex and guilt about anger now is almost crippling.  It's new baggage that I'm beginning to work through, with some success, I'd say.  But the first time I got truly angry with Wendell I just hugged myself and sobbed so hard I shook and felt like I would tear myself to pieces, trying to withhold my anger, to feel some other way entirely.  When I could finally speak, I stated my case in clipped tones and I apologized for being angry.  And Wendell complemented me on how well I had expressed myself (once I could speak again).  I was so shocked I stopped crying and couldn't only stare at him.  There has been one or two times where we've gotten angry at each other unjustly, but most of the time, I will explain while I'm mad and generally Wendell will say: you're right.  And I'll apologize for being angry and he'll say something like: no, you get to be angry when I do something that stupid.  I'm still shocked every time it happens.  And even when I am justifiably angry (which apparently is more of the time than I realized (?), I get near crippling anxiety.

The other reputation I seem to constantly get throughout my life is that I'm stubborn.  And like my reputation for being angry, it's not completely unjustified.  I was incredibly stubborn as a child.  If my parents told me to do something, I frequently wouldn't just because they had told me to.  But like with the anger, I've gotten better at choosing my battlefield.  I've frequently taken to saying (these days): "that's not a hill I'm going to die on".  But people still call me stubborn, because when someone does something I truly believe is wrong (morally/procedurally/legally/etc), then I am going to say something.  And if someone presents pressing evidence that I'm wrong, then I am going to concede.  I generally even try to say the words: "I was wrong" because someone, it's frequently just important for people to hear those specific words.

I said them to my mother the other day about something inconsequential and she joked that she need a tape recorder to record them because they shocked her so much.  And I turned to Wendell and told her that I say them all the time when I actually am wrong and he immediately and vehemently backed me up.  There's a fine line between being stubborn for the sake of pride and being stubborn because what's right needs to be stood up for and I'm trying hard to find it.

But that's the problem.  I'm changing constantly.  I've changed hugely and while my stubbornness and temper are things that will always be there, they're things I try to use and not let rule me now.  People aren't seeing the changes in me though.  They think they know me, when they either never did or no longer do.  And it is so frustrating and hurtful to me, because I am striving every day to be a better person.

So having Wendell just get me is the most incredible thing I could ever ask for.  To start explaining my motives and have him say "I know..." and then finish my explanation for me, demonstrating that he does know exactly how I'm feeling; that he exactly understands my motivations.  I don't constantly have to justify myself to him.  He's never assuming the worst of me.  The other night we fought (we do fight, but they've always been minor thus far) because I criticized a fix he'd made a work. While my criticisms were valid, he was hurt.  And his point that he hadn't had time to fine-tune his fix, in my opinion, made my criticisms unnecessarily cruel.  When I tried to apologize, he wasn't ready to hear me yet, and rebuffed me, so we both ended up feeling hurt.  By the end of the show though, we had talked through all of this to the point of understanding each other and ended the fight with thanking each other for being understanding.

That's a new situation for me.  It's an incredible situation for me.  I hate fighting with him and thankfully it's rare.  But I am so happy that thus far we've been able to talk through things not only civilly but to the point where we gain new insight into each other.

Maybe all I've ever needed was a single person to actually get me.  I'm not sure, but I'm more at peace with this than I really ever have been.

Though that statement isn't entirely fair.  Janey gets me and really always have and she's always been a wonderful supportive friend.  She's just in the middle of two groups of people that she understands both of but whom don't understand each other.

Depression

About a month ago, I started taking extremely mild anti-depressants.  About a month ago, my work troubles and my family's health problems finally took a turn for the better.  I'm not sure which one has helped lift my depression, but I'm so grateful.

Between my mother's cancer, my father's two pulmonary embolisms, and my sister's chronic and plaguing sinus infections and headaches, there's been a lot of family stress.  Between trouble with my standing in my union, being passed over for a different position by someone new who had less experience, and by being saddled with a position I'm not fond of, there's been a lot of work stress.  And these two sources of stress have, together, created a nigh irrepressible weight that I'm constantly struggling under.

As with everyone person, I've struggled with self-esteem throughout my life; believing that I am competent, capable, and worth other people's time.  Generally, I've mostly gotten to the point where I do believe that most of the time.  So, when people tell me that I'm not good at something, I can evaluate their opinion critically to see if I believe them or not.  The situation at work, with the new and less experience people be promoted above me (and several other coworkers) shattered my confidence.  And once it was shattered, the depression settled in, and I just couldn't regain my confidence and belief in my self-worth.

That's what I've found with the depression is that it isn't just sadness, as I've read in so many articles by people with depression.  For me, it typically manifests in this inescapable and irrepressible sense that I'm not worth anyone's time.  And where normally my self-esteem would kick in at that point and logically point to all the evidence to the contrary, with the depression hanging over me, I found that none of that evidence meant anything.  The feeling was going to remain and it was not going to let me shake it.

I'm personifying the depression, but that's not for literary effect, that's because it's how it felt; how it feels.  It this thing I live with that I can't escape or run from or hide from.  It imposed an overwhelming sense of futility and while it never, thankfully thankfully, got to the point where I didn't see the point in life, it definitely got to there point where I could see how people could get to that point.

And the overwhelming guilt I felt when burdening my boyfriend with all this baggage was one of the hardest parts.  We've been friends for awhile now, so he's seen me without the depression.  But the depression started right around the time that we got involved and so we've never really been together without it looming there between us.  He didn't leave though.  After my breakup with Riley and the fallout that caused between my friends and I, I was truly terrified that I'd scare him away.  I told him that and he laughed and told me he still liked me and that I didn't always have to be good company.

And when I told my family, they were shocked.  But they didn't run away either.  They didn't necessarily help either, but they didn't run.  If they had run; if my boyfriend had decided that while he loved me, the depression was too much, I truly wouldn't have blamed him, but I don't know what I would have done.  This thing stripped away every defense I had against doubting myself.  If I hadn't had that external support, getting through, surviving (and I do mean that in the least dire way) to get my on internal support back, wouldn't have been almost insurmountably harder.

So I'm grateful.  Endlessly grateful that they have helped me.  And understood that I can't always do this on my own.

A Year in Review

I haven't blogged much in recent years, that's been no secret.  I'm so busy, it's hard to find time and it's not like I'm really writing for an audience anyway.  But I guess I just want to take the time to go over my year.  Since my party plans were spoiled by a mild concussion, it's something to do (though it's made harder by a dog and a cat and a laptop trying to fit in my lap).

January- Working one of my favorite shows. It was tough show just because it was so mechanically difficult, at this point, I'd already been working the show for almost two months.  The city transfer was super rough, but I got through it.  I had the flu for the first time in my life, but managed to get it while everyone seemed to be busy, so I suffered through it alone.

February- The show from before finished up. I went to Canada for Valentines Day, which was really fun.  I started rehearsals as stage manager for two shows: and original staged reading and a famous Disney kid's show.

March- Kid's show continued, keeping up with two rehearsals is tough.  The stage reading went over great! I was super impressed with the musical the teenagers who were writing it managed to create (certainly better than another new work I saw in March).  I adopted a six month old puppy named Argos.  He's Italian Greyhound/Chihuahua mix and is the speediest thing on the planet.

April- Three tech weeks in a row: the staged reading at the end of March, the kid's show which ran for three weeks, and then another show as props at the theatre I normally work at.  On opening of the kid's show, a scenic element managed to break my pinky finger...that was fun. The last of those productions was probably the toughest track that I had ever run (and certainly the toughest up until that point). The crew was absolutely amazing. I miss them.

May- Opened the show.  Boyfriend broke up with me after six and a half years.  I'm fine now.  I was mostly fine then.  The hardest part was actually the schism that was created between my other friends and I, made worse by the fact that I wasn't sure what I'd done or how to fix it.  I moved out of the apartment, taking Argos with me.  My parents were incredibly gracious and supportive and let me stay with them for three months (the rest of the show run plus a bit) till I found an apartment.

June- Continued running the show in the first city.  Tried not to mope too much.  I spent a good deal of time biking.

July- Transferred the show to the second city.  I was only there for the first week, during which time I was training my replacement.  I got pulled to asm a small Equity show (my first as a stage manager), so I wasn't available anymore.  I did get to fill in for the asm the previous show one day though, because the normal asm was sick.  That was fun.  Started rehearsals for the show I was asming.  Became rather close with one of my coworkers, he's still a good friend.

August- I nearly amputated my left index finger and crushed my middle finger.  I managed to slam it in a heavy metal framed window that was propped open and shouldn't have been (see a previous post).  I ended up with five stitches in my finger.  I was lucky that for once, as asm, I wasn't allowed to touch scenery while backstage.  The production process for that new work was a bit of a bitch, but I loved the show, and it turned out pretty nicely.  I moved to my new apartment at the end of August.  I now live with more fish than I care to admit, my dog, and my cat (who had been living with my family for two years because of my roommate's allergies).

September- I had no shows immediately, which hadn't happened to me since I started theatre.  I refereed high school volleyball, though it wasn't the same.  This month was really hard because theatre had been my buffer since my breakup.  As long as I kept busy, I didn't have to think.

October- I stage managed a small fundraiser, which was high stress, but low time commitment and continued refing volleyball.  The last month of October we started flight rehearsal because in my current show, we're flying people.  I'm props again, but since our crew is small, I help with almost all the flying (it is both a cool and as dangerous and as difficult as I expected).

November-  I basically ran the show.  I don't get along with the crew on this show as well as most at this theatre, there are a bunch of new people.  I have a very difficult track, but it's fun, and keeps me from getting bored (which is one of my least favorite things ever).  I started hanging out with my coworkers more.  We go out the the bar after the last show Sunday.  It's fun.

December-  First, the good: I'm applying to a production management job with the children's theatre company that I work with frequently.  Now, the bad: My youngest sister ended up in the hospital with terrible head pain.  They thought it might be something life-threatening.  I think that's probably the closest I've come to missing a show.  Luckily, it ended up being a terribly migraine (which she'd never had before).  She didn't have aura (the black spots and neurological symptoms) so doctors were extremely confused.  But hers manifest the same way mine do.  Migraines suck, but I'm so glad it was relatively minor. Exactly a week later, my dad ended up in the hospital.  A massive bloodclot in his leg, broke off and made it's way to his lungs causing a pulmonary embolism.  At first my family told me it was relatively minor, but the more the doctors probed, the worse they realized it had been.  He was lucky he didn't die.  It hasn't exactly been a good month.  Today, I managed to minorly concuss myself while running a complicated props handoff sequence.  

So, here I am, sitting at home on New Year's Eve, not able to drink.  It's not that big of a deal honestly; it's just so typical of this fucking year.

Here's to a better one.  I hope with everything I have that it will be better than this one.

Injuries

And now, in the less distraught world...

I've been injured fairly seriously twice in the past year.  I tore a tendon in my wrist and I nearly decapitated two of my fingers on my left hand.  Oh, and now that I think about it, I broke the pinkie on my left hand (in an entirely separate accident).  Physical pain is almost trivial at this point, I practically forgot that I broke a bone.  Which is not to say that I've broken many bones, but over the course of my relatively short life, I've actually had a lot of physically painful injuries.

When I was younger I sprained my left ankle three times in one summer and my right ankle twice.  I was out for less than a week for sports each time.  I iced, took advil, taped my ankle and was back a few days later.  That's just how I handled pain, even from a young age.  I think I was eleven that summer.  I did end up wearing ankle braces for several years after that while playing soccer, because my ankles were weak, but it wasn't a big deal.

I think my first truly serious injury, at least in my mind, was I had a second degree tear of my right MCL, which is the medial ligament in your knee.  I was a freshman in high school and playing on both junior varsity and varsity for volleyball.  During practice with JV, I went up for a block and the middle hitter on the other side of the net went up to joust with me .  As we came down, she came under the net and bumped into me.  I landed on the heel of my right leg, which hyper-extended and twisted, tearing my MCL.  I went to the trainer, she told me the probable diagnosis, gave me some ice, and wrapped my knee.  I think I was one crutches for a day, maybe two.  It was my first and only time on crutches.  I wore a borrowed brace that entire time.

It took me nearly two weeks to recover.  Never in my life had I sat out for so long.  In fact, I think that's the only time I ever just couldn't practice.  The pain was always completely manageable, but what scared be was the instability in my leg.  I would sometimes just take a step and, even with a brace, my knee would start to buckle and hyper-extend.  To this day, that tendon still gets sore in I spend too much time in a position where my knees are bowing in (for instance focusing lights in box booms).

Playing club volleyball that winter, I cracked ribs on the right side of my body.  I dove, got the ball up, but landed too hard on my ribs.  I didn't hear them crack the first time, but even breathing was painful.  I, being the stubborn idiot I am, never even missed a play that day.  The last vestige of pain from the injury I remember being fall of my senior year.  I re-cracked them at least twice.  I know at the Reno National Qualifier I re-cracked them.  They were almost healed, but then, sophomore year, shortly before I injured my shoulder, I was passing a ball and the teammate in front of me reached back to play a ball that wasn't hers.  Her fist went right into my ribs and that time, I actually did hear them crack.  I think that was the only time I ever swore on the court or field (not that I think anything of swearing these days).

I have an entire post devoted to my shoulder injury.  But in short, during practice my sophomore year of high school, I came down from a block and then my teammate came down after me and her elbow collided with my collarbone.  I ended up with impingement from that immediate encounter (which again, the trainer at my school diagnosed correctly (it took orthopedists 5 years to believe me)).  I think my grandparents were the only ones who realized quite how chronic my pain was.  There were times when I couldn't jump serve, particularly after a long tournament, it was just too painful.  I abused advil to no end.  I think at it's worst, I was taking five advil to cut the pain.  I switched to another pain killer and still couldn't get a doctor to believe that I was in pain from a serious problem.

By the time I convinced an orthopedist I wasn't faking, I had not only impingement, but bursitis, a torn labrum, a 33% tear of my rotator cuff, and multi-direction instability in my tendons, meaning they had to shorten them all.  I was in a sling for two months and then not even close to recovered until two months after that.  I am daily thankful that the surgery fixed everything.  I knew I was in constant, chronic, relatively severe pain, but I didn't realize what a drain it had been on me till it was gone.

From there, I didn't have any injuries for quite awhile.  Stage management isn't exactly the most dangerous profession.  A few months after I started at Starbucks, I developed carpal tunnel.  It wasn't painful at all, but my hands went numb, which is mildly terrifying when serving boiling beverages to people.  I got a brace and that seemed to fix matters, but then, nearly a year later, I was working 80-90 hours a week between the two jobs and, during an easy pull (bringing in scenery on the counter-weight system), my wrist was just suddenly agonizing.  I taped it immediately and then added more tape and more tape.  It helped, but not nearly enough.  I added my wrist brace over my tape and that seemed to help.

I couldn't do anything without that brace.  I slept in it, I worked at Starbucks in it, and when at the theatre, I taped, used a sleeve, and a brace.  I started developing problems with my right shoulder because I was trying to compensate for my pain and limited mobility.  I'm fairly certain, that if I hadn't found a solution, in relatively short-order, I would have torn my rotator cuff, this time in my right shoulder.  It was affecting my work enough that my co-workers were starting to worry about me.  Completely honestly, the pain and repetitive strain on my wrist and shoulder is why I quite Starbucks.  Like my shoulder, the pain was chronic enough and severe enough that I was worried this injury wouldn't heal on its own.  I went back to my orthopedist and he sent me off to do a nerve conduction study, thinking it was still a strange version of carpal tunnel.  I doubted his diagnosis (surprise), having done a little research, but off I went.

The study revealed I had moderate carpal tunnel, but not enough to account for my pain.  When I went back to my orthopedist I finally convinced him to focus on the ulnar side of my arm, where the pain was (as opposed to the radial side, where carpal tunnel usually manifests).  He realized I had a major tear (I could stick my index finger in the gap between my carpals and metacarpals, one of the tendons was basically severed) in my TFCC (triangular fibrocartilage complex) and gave me a cortisone injection in the joint.  For two days, my wrist was virtually unusable (I also had the flu that weekend, so I was just completely miserable), but after that, my wrist clearly started to heal and now it's completely better (I thoroughly appreciate ligaments and tendon that can heal, even when basically severed).

The wrist injury was November to February.  In April, I broke my pinkie finger while moving a set piece.  The stupid actor I was working with knocked a heavy ship's steering wheel off the piece and it fell on my pinkie.  I didn't hear anything break, but I looked down and saw it was crooked.  I straightened it, threw on a pair of gloves, and finished my last six curtain pulls of the night (unfortunately, I was literally the only person who could do them).  The pain didn't really kick in until the curtain pulls, I think it was entirely shock up until that point.  Again, I'm an idiot, and didn't go to the doctor.  Ultimately, they wouldn't have done anything for me that I hadn't already done.  I splinted it, iced it, took pain meds, and drove myself home.  When I injured my left hand later in the year, xrays confirmed that I'd broken my pinkie.  I don't really regret my actions too badly.  My pinkie bends and straightens normally, with only slight stiffness, which is increasingly less.

I got through my entire next show without an injury (two minor pulled muscles, but those hardly count), which is fairly amazing because I've never worked so hard in my entire life.  It was the show that I was assistant stage managing (my first actor's equity contract), where I almost lost the tips of two of my fingers.  I came into rehearsal and started my usual prep, I needed to make coffee, hot water, make copies, and fill up the water pitcher.  Someone had propped one of the heavy 4'x8', metal framed windows open with our water pitcher.  I went to reclaim it, vaguely wary of the window, having dealt with them before in the other rehearsal room.  Well, in the other rehearsal room, they don't just slam shut when unpropped.  This window did.  I went to hold the window up with my right hand and take out the water pitcher with my dominant left hand.  As I'm sure you've guessed, the metal window slammed against the metal frame, and caught my left index and middle finger.  I'd had time enough to pull them back a little (probably what saved them), but not enough.  I remember yelling wordlessly, not because it did hurt, but because I knew it was supposed to.  I stood there for a second, clutching my fingers, instinctively applying pressure before I even realized I was bleeding.

I think I scared my stage manager and director more than I scared myself.  My director was screaming "Oh my god, are you alright?! Are you alright!?!"

I remember managing something like, "I think I'll be okay. I just need a second."  It was then that I looked down at my finger and realized that no, I really thoroughly was not alright.  Blood was all over me, mostly contained by my right hand which was still applying pressure.  I ran to the bathroom, going through the stage management office, to alert the sm, to get there.  The stage manager and director followed me from a distance, completely shocked and unsure what to do.  I got to the bathroom, grabbed paper towels and clamped down on my fingers as hard as I could.  At this point the full pain had kicked in.  As it turns out, when I'm in that severe and acute of pain, I cry.  I can't help it.  It's like getting hit in the face with a soccer or volleyball and your eyes start to water.  Except in this case it was more than watering.  Having dealt with a hand injury before, I knew that I would probably pass out if I stayed standing, so I knelt by the sink, so the blood that seeped through the towels would only get in it and not on the floor.

The stage manager called my mom, who immediately knew something was wrong when my voice wasn't the one she heard at the end of the phone.  After a few minutes, I had the bleeding stopped mostly and was able to talk to my mom.  I remember my voice shaking and hating it, but not being able to stop it (much like the crying).  I tried to wrap gauze around my fingers to bind the paper towels in place, failed miserably, and the stage manager finally had the presence of mind to help me.  The director had gone off in search of our boss, who wasn't on the premise, and when he came back I informed them that I needed to go to urgent care and he took me.  I has prepared to drive myself.  I would have done it and I'm fairly convinced I would have been okay, but it was smarter that he took me.

I had the world's worst receptionist, who tried to make me fill out L&I paperwork with my non-dominant hand while in the the worst pain I'd ever experienced (which was saying something).  Needless to say, it didn't work out so well.  I finally dictated to the director what needed to be written.  While he was filling out the rest of the paperwork I was called back and had a nurse look over my fingers.  Now, understand, the pain was radiating, it was extremely hard to tell which fingers exactly were affected.  I'd wrapped the index, middle, and ring fingers; turns out the ring finger only had a minor bruise.

But, when I got in there my conversation with the nurse went something like this: Her: "Nice wrap job...." (extreme sarcasm I will swear to the death I did not imagine). Me: "Well I had to stop the bleeding and it's what I had on hand!" Her: "Well it works I guess.  What fingers are hurt?"  Me: "I don't know. It's hard to tell.  The index and middle fingers.  Maybe the ring."  Her: "Have you have a tetanus shot in the last seven years?" Me: "I don't remember."  Her: "Well I need you to remember." Me: "I'm not in the best condition to remember much right now, I'm sorry."  Her: "Well I don't care what kind of condition you're in.  I need you to remember."  Me: "Look, I'm sorry, but I don't.  Just give me the tetanus shot."

The dull ache of the tetanus shot reminded me that I'd had a shot five years previously, but oh well, no harm done.  In retrospect, I should have had them do the tetanus shot in my left arm, even though it was dominant, because it's not like I was going to be using my left hand any time soon.  Luckily that nurse left at that point and didn't come back.  My mom showed up and they gave me some numbing gel, which helped some.  Then they gave me pain pills, which I swallowed dry, because I was too impatient for them to fetch water.  They took an xray and shockingly, nothing was broken.  They cleaned the deep cuts on both sides of my index finger, which (aside from the cut itself) was the most painful procedure that I experienced that day.

On my index finger, I had a cut that ran to the bone on my palm side and a cut running parallel to the other one, almost to the bone on the back of my hand.  As the doctor told me, I was extremely lucky that I didn't lose the tip of my finger, which would have been awful, because it would have sliced diagonally through the joint.  I got five stitches on the palm side of my index finger.  She would have stitched the back of my index finger too, but there wasn't enough skin to work with.  My middle finger was more crushed than cut.  I had a very shallow cut, but more painful was the blood blister that formed under the nail.  The doctor burned a whole through the nail and let the fluid drain, which also immediately relieved the pain.

It's been almost two months now and my fingers are mostly healed.  I had bad damage to the nail matrices of both fingers, so the nails are growing out a little weirdly.  Surprisingly, the cuts to my index fingers barely have visible scars.  There is a lot of scar tissue present that I'm trying to loosen as time goes by.  But unless something strikes the scar just right, there's pretty much no pain anymore.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

So why all these stories?  I don't know, really.  The other day at costco I saw a mother just wailing because her small son had fallen and skinned his nose.  At first the little boy wasn't even crying, but as his mother flipped out, he got more and more frightened and was shortly inconsolable.  It mostly reminded me how some people just freak out over minor injuries, and I guess it makes sense.  If you've never had an injury, if you've never had sports medicine or first aid training, then I guess it makes sense why you might freak out.

I tend to underplay my injuries and pain, not really because I'm trying to be macho, but mainly just because I need other people not to freak out.  I function well while in pain, but I frequently still need help from other people.  And also because I have an extremely high pain-threshold (in case you haven't noticed).  This is helped immensely by the fact that I don't swell almost ever.  I get some heat in my injuries sometimes, but not always.  No swelling means I heal quickly and much of the pain people feel is caused by the inflammation in the injury.  I think it's part of the reason that my fingers were so shockingly painful, because I got the full brunt of the nerve damage and actually injury, inflammation didn't really play into the picture.  So, coming from this perspective, it's fascinating to watch and help people with their injuries (and from treating all my own, I'm pretty decent at treating injuries).

I don't think of myself as clumsy, though probably more careless than necessary would be accurate.  I have had a lot of injuries...10+ sprained ankles, so so many pulled muscles, pulled hamstring +2, pulled quads +2 (in a different category because hamstring and the like are more debilitating), pulled gluts, pulled hip-flexor, countless jammed fingers (every joint at least once), 5+ sprained wrists, rotator cuff tear, impingement, labrum tear, bursitis, tendon and ligament instability, torn ulnar tendon, torn MCL, cracked ribs, broken pinkie, severely cut and crushed fingers....yeah...we'll go with careless.

How do I move on?

I wish I could stop crying.  It's not every day anymore, but that's mainly only because I've learned how to keep myself so busy that I don't have time to think.  Well, I've had time to think today, and as it normally does, that's led to tears and a break down.

I have never felt so trapped in my life.  The advice you always hear is: talk to them.  Well fine, yes, that's all very good, but what about when talking is more destructive than constructive?  What about when you go to someone, put yourself on the line, and say: "I'm hurting", "I'm broken", "I don't know how to function anymore".  And they tell you: "you're overreacting", "you're taking it too hard", "it's not that big of a deal", "just move on", "you shouldn't be feeling x".  Well yes! In an ideal world, I'd accept this all and just walk away!  Don't you think I want to?  If I could move on with my life, I would.  If I knew how, I would.  But I don't know how!  And worse, I don't know how to get to that point.

I don't know what I did.  I genuinely don't.  We used to get along.  And now we don't.  We didn't drift apart.  That I understand.  That, I've been through before.  That's not what this is though.  "What did I do to bring this on?"  I don't understand!  I've asked and asked, in those exact words, but I've literally been told: "you didn't do anything".  If I didn't do anything, then why am I being treated differently?  If I did do something wrong, why didn't you just tell me so I could fix it?  So what if I'm upset?  How is that even relevant to me needing to know the information so I can become a better person?

I need comfort.  I just want to be held and reassured.  Maybe I shouldn't need reassurance.  If you're secure, you're not supposed to need it, right?  But I do.  I don't care if I'm not supposed to, I do!  I need people  Life is too lonely without them.  I need people to care and hug me and tell me it's alright, they love me.  Why is that wrong?!  Why is needing other people wrong?  And why are people going to tell me: it's wrong to need reassurance instead of hugging me and telling me it's alright.  How does that reaction help anyone?

So what do I do?  I've tried to talk to them.  I honestly have.  I can't be the one who reaches out anymore.  It's killing me.  So I walk away.  But how do I do that?  I don't know how to walk away.  I have a deep need to understand my life.  And I don't.  If I understood, I could walk away, would know how to walk away.  But I don't understand.  And the understanding doesn't seem to be forthcoming.  Every time I try to talk to someone, every time I try to put myself on the line even once more, some how I never come away with more information.  And afterwards, every time, I break down a little more.  I need to understand what I did.  I need to understand so that I can get better and be a better person, so this never happens again.

Maybe I was too reliant on you.  Maybe it was unhealthy.  Maybe it was codependent.  I don't know!  But loving people isn't wrong.  It isn't!  And being hurt when someone you love no longer seems to care for you isn't unreasonable.  I'm hurt.  I'm broken.  And I just need a friend to throw me a lifeline and say: "I do care about you, despite everything, I do care about you."