Category Archives: Everyday Life

March 26, 2013

Pulmonary Embolism – 4 months later

By terraluft

Remember that pesky trait I have of being an impatient woman? Yeah, it occasionally bites me in the ass. Like now. I like to think that I’ve been a model patient through this whole pulmonary embolism ordeal by being very involved in my treatment and following all of my doctor’s orders. When I got to stop taking Coumadin at the end of January (totally unprovoked with no whining or bitching on my part I might add), my doc told me to come back after a month for some follow-up blood work. I knew Hubby had to go in for his own blood work mid-March so I just planned to go when he went and calendared it without another thought.

I felt great in February, started training for my half marathon, kicked ass with my weekly yoga class and all around felt great. Then March hit and I started making excuses about mid-week runs, started putting off my long runs and just felt run down. I chalked it up to warming temps in Utah and the return of my seasonal allergies and didn’t think much more about it. I was still active, just not doing all that I had intentions of doing. It happens to the best of us.

My calendar – the secret weapon of my overachiever behavior – reminded me it was time for my blood draw two weeks ago so I stopped in on my way to work to open a vein. My insurance company has this cool tool where you can access your own health records online as long as your doctor participates, which mine does. Lucky for me since Monday night I was impatient to know the results – weird, I know – and logged on to see if they were back already. They were but I was devastated. My levels were still elevated and my doctor had made a note that he wanted me back on Coumadin. I immediately began stressing about what all this could mean and Googled what else could cause an elevated result on this particular blood test. Bad idea to Google anything health related I think in hindsight but hey, I need data!

The next day, stressing about possible cancer and liver disease and heart disease thanks to my friend Google, I got a call from the doctor’s office to schedule an appointment. I continued to stress about the possibility of being required to take Coumadin for the rest of my life on top of whatever else could be going on until my appointment on Thursday. When I finally got there I was reminded again about how amazing my doctor is and how lucky I am to have found him. I told him all the things I’d been stressing about which he was able to dismiss since I had started this whole ordeal with a full blood workup showing no heart disease or liver disease. We decided that we both wanted to know what exactly was going on in my lungs. I was willing to undergo and pay for another CT scan for real answers rather than assumptions that this elevated level was just because I *only* took Coumadin for three months initially. In true Terra fashion, I then negotiated with him on my treatment options. We agreed that if I still had the exact same clots, he’d be okay with only three months of Coumadin and if it turned out they were new clots then I’d give him six months without bitching about it. It was a fair deal that felt win-win for both of us.

Last Monday morning was very unsettling when I had to stop in the middle of yoga class because I was out of breath and wheezing. Considering I’ve been doing yoga since a month post-diagnosis I was super scared that my test later that day was going to yield far worse news than I hoped. Well, it turns out I’ve still got clotting in my lungs but thanks to being able to compare both of my CT scans we know for certain they are the same ones I originally had and that they are significantly smaller. YEAH for no new clots!

So, I’ve resigned myself to Coumadin for the next three months – without bitching about it – and all the crap that comes with it. Goodbye spinach and all my favorite green veggies.  Hello weekly blood testing and bleeding issues again. But truthfully if being on the stuff makes me feel well enough to run like it did in late January and February, it will be a welcome addition back into my life until these pesky clots are for sure gone. Especially since I’ve already registered and paid for my half marathon in June.

I have one last hurdle to complete from my follow up – my first mammogram this week. Apparently I’m of the age (yippee!) and since malignancy can cause blood clots my doctor says its a good idea to do it. I was hoping that all the recent controversy in the medical field about doing them in your forties was going to get me out of them for a few more years. But no, I’m not so lucky. Unless you count that I am still kicking and didn’t die from this insanity that I still marvel about happening in the first place. Here’s to the next three months passing quickly so I can finally put this all behind me for good!

1 Comment | posted in Events, Everyday Life

March 18, 2013

Evolution of Fitness

By terraluft

Last week I realized that my personal fitness has evolved, in part because of my irritating pulmonary embolism which still isn’t gone as much as I wanted to will it behind me. (More on all that later.) Like all evolution, little things got me to this current place where yoga has replaced running as my mainstay.

I’ve loved yoga since I first did it by myself in my basement about 5 years ago. At the time I was super self-conscious about “doing it right” and thus didn’t do it very often and never in public. Then a couple of years ago I started occasionally doing yoga classes at the gym when it fit into my schedule. I loved it just as much in a class with others as I did alone in my basement so I stuck with it. Remember my friend who I dragged to yoga last summer when I discovered how much I like hydro training? (You can read about it here) Well, she loves yoga – like LOVES it – and does it faithfully at the gym. It turns out she and I have a neighbor who is a yoga instructor and agreed to teach a class in our neighborhood once a week. A class I have faithfully been attending since December even though it happens at the ungodly hour of SIX AM on Monday mornings. Me, the worlds biggest night owl awake and somewhere by six a.m.on purpose and before coffee. It’s insane! Last week, this same friend who I introduced to yoga a mere eight months ago agreed to lead the class because our instructor was going to be out of town. She said something at the beginning of that practice that has really stuck with me. “There’s just you, your breath and your mat.” I think that’s why I love yoga so much. Even though you do it in a group it is such an internal and personal thing where you can push yourself to new limits and every time you do it something different happens.

One of the greatest things I’ve learned practicing yoga with my close friends is the realization that everyone is different and everyone has their own strengths. I tend to be so judgmental toward myself in comparing where I am with where everyone else is and this class spent with the same people week after week has become a full expression of each of us as individuals. Not in a negative sense but in a very positive one. I’m short and have super flexible hamstrings so I’m really good at down dog and I adore flip dog while there are other poses that I can’t even begin to get into like crow and hero that others of us excel at. I get to secretly gloat when we are in down dog and my heels are flat on the mat and everyone else is crying out in pain. Then they get to gloat when they do what they are good at and I’m struggling. This morning we had a conversation about finding “our” poses which also keep evolving the more we practice.

Last week I was on cloud nine after I did my first major inversion. It’s called shoulder stand and basically you lie on your back with your chin tucked into your chest with your torso and your feet pointing straight in the air. The first time I couldn’t even begin to get my torso off the mat let alone perpendicular. I was dejected but did the modified version instead while vowing that I’d keep trying and “someday” I’d be able to do it. Who knew that someday would only take a couple of months when I finally did it a week ago. It was visible and measurable proof of how much my body and all the muscles have changed. My posture has improved, my walking gait, everything.

Our instructor sometimes asks the question “where do you go when it gets hard?” and I’ve been thinking a lot about that lately. I think the answer also evolves over time. I used to say I wanted my health and my weight to improve but wasn’t willing to do any hard work that took me out of my comfort zone. Now I have to keep reminding myself not to push too hard because I’m still healing from that whole almost dying thing. I used to get dejected and simply give up when I couldn’t do something, now I keep trying until I’m finally successful. One thing I’ve learned is that it really is important to find something you love to do to stay active. It doesn’t have to be the same thing as the next person as long as it keep you motivated to keep working hard. I may love yoga even more than running since I never considered waking up early to run but am considering adding another couple of early mornings for yoga. It doesn’t mean I’m giving up running, but right now I get more joy and less frustration with my limitations with yoga. Perhaps when all the blood clots in my lungs are completely gone things will change yet again. That’s the beauty of evolution – you never know where things will end up. Some days you just hold on for the ride…

Leave a comment | posted in Everyday Life, Healthy Lifestyle, Yoga

February 9, 2013

The Lost Art of Organization

By terraluft

One of the keys to being an overachiever is being able to juggle a million responsibilities and commitments. After not having the energy or the drive to keep up with my life for a couple of months while I was recovering, I’ll never take this skill for granted. This week I’ve attempted – again – to instill this skill in Big Sister.

At eleven, she is failing miserably to keep up and meet commitments. She dances three nights a week and fifth grade homework is far more brutal than any year prior. She – again – is missing so many assignments that with two weeks looming before the end of the semester she’s in danger of failing fifth grade. Even with the looming threat motivation of knowing if she can’t keep her grades up she doesn’t get to keep dancing competitively, she struggles.

This must be one of those parenting lesson things because I’m at a loss. How can my kid – MY kid – not get it? She has a planner provided by the school and part of her grade this year is based on how much she uses it. Yet days go by that it doesn’t even make it home, let alone have notes in it to remind her of what she needs to do. Worse, I’d been lulled into happily believing everything was under control. After all we nipped this in the bud last semester and she’s been getting her math finished at school so there’s much less to do at night. Imagine my distress when I checked her online grade book – just to be sure – to find nineteen missing assignments. NINETEEN. Half of them math.

In true analytical style, I took a step back from the yelling mommy ledge and wondered if there was something bigger at play. Using a planner effectively assumes there is a foundation of organization already in place. And as much as it pains me to admit it, my kid is not organized. Her room looks like a tornado unless I’ve been mean mom and locked her in it for days and told her she can’t play with BFF until it’s clean. And then it only lasts for a couple of hours. Partly I blame myself and my OCD where until I got pregnant with Baby Sister I cleaned up after her and when the mess in her room got too big for me to handle I helped her by telling her where everything went. It was very hard for me to admit that I have anything to do with this issue but there it is. The queen of organization never taught it to her kid. *sigh*

So, we had a great talk – she cried a lot and I yelled less – and I explained the nuances of being organized. Where you have to find your own system of keeping track of things and your own little tricks to remind yourself to use your system until it gets ingrained. Reinforced by the knowledge that homework never goes away and as much as she cries and says ‘I wish there wasn’t such a thing as homework’ now is the best time to figure out how you’re going to manage it. Six words I fear I don’t say enough really hit home to her: ‘I know you can do it.’ I’m sure there’s a whole series of posts I could do on how I’m motivated to action by the exact opposite of my kid but that’s for another day.

Amazingly, I think at least part of it sunk in. I just looked up and saw her checking off a missing assignment on the list in the front of her binder after she filed it in the folder she’s decided is where completed work goes. Of course she’s been at the homework for two and a half hours with only two assignments completed because I have to keep reminding her that she’s supposed to be doing homework and not daydreaming/complaining/chatting/eating. But I’ll celebrate the baby steps and try to overlook the rest. This parenthood thing is hard!

Leave a comment | posted in Everyday Life, Overachiever, Parenting

January 27, 2013

Re-defining normal

By terraluft

I started off thinking this post would be titled ‘getting back to normal’. And while it is true that I’m getting there, it’s also true that normal for me has changed. It’s been three months since I almost died. (Is it wrong for me to get pleasure in the shock value whenever I say those very true words? I. ALMOST. DIED.) I’ve spent a good span of that time pretending – even to myself on some levels – that it wasn’t as bad as all that while willing myself to bounce right back to health. Well, I was wrong. It WAS a big deal. And surviving it made me appreciate all the little things I don’t usually stop and notice. This week I turned forty one. FORTY. ONE. It kind of hit me at the end of the day that I might not have made it to see this birthday if it wasn’t for my amazing doctor and a whole lot of luck that I didn’t die while denying there was something wrong.

While I was diagnosed and started treatment on November first, I look back and with perfect hindsight know I was sick and impaired for at least a few weeks leading up to that – thanks to my denial. Once I started treatment I could tell I was getting better every day – measurably so. But, it’s only been this week that I really felt like myself again and realized things were finally back to normal. I’ve had energy to clean my house and run around doing all the things that I need to do all week. Instead of picking and choosing the things that I thought were the most important and leaving the rest by the way side. I got my laundry done. All the way done instead of throwing a load in as an after thought every night and dealing with wrinkled clothes every morning.Most importantly, I have the energy to start training and writing again.

I have a half marathon I’m training for this summer. I’m running in honor of my amazing cousin who is fighting melanoma – again. I’m not the praying kind of person but while I’m training I’ll have lots and lots of time to be thinking of her and sending positive thoughts and energy her way to aid her in her battle. I mapped out my training plan – again – and this time I’ve started it, too. Instead of dismissing the appointments that pop up on my phone to remind me and thinking up some rationalization about why I can’t do it today. The days have returned where I wake up in the morning and one of the first thoughts I have is when I will get to run. I’ve resumed tracking food and making sure I’m eating the right balance of protein, carbs and good fats like my nutritionist taught me. And most importantly I’ve carved out time on my calendar for every single workout six days a week. Yes, truly back on my game.

And that novel I’ve been working on for years? The one that isn’t done yet? I’ve got a deadline with my writer’s group to submit the completed first draft in February for critique. And I’ve been working on it again. Thinking about it in the shower again. Scheduling time to write again. Back to normal again.

The best part of my new normal came in the form of a belated birthday surprise from my doctor. Part of the aftermath of my embolism has been daily doses of blood thinners which I have made little secret of that I hate. My initial treatment plan called for this to continue for at least six months. I had hoped to shorten that to more like three. But, when that day arrived I still didn’t have a stable dose and my weekly visits to check my blood levels continued because they would be fine for a week then go back down and we’d increase my dose and start over again. This week, it was even lower and I was dejected knowing I was going to have to take an even larger dose and prolong getting off. But then my doctor came in and surprised me. Told me he’d been doing some research and talking to colleagues who specialize in clot treatments. Turns out the latest research indicates that anti-coagulation medications should only be given three months or a lifetime. Anything in between provides no greater protection against further clots and only increases other risk factors for bleeding. Surprise! No more coumadin! And the return to my diet of all the things I love and will never take for granted again – spinach, salad, kale, broccoli, asparagus. Things I always ate but never appreciated until I couldn’t anymore.

My new normal includes more than appreciating my ability to eat whatever I want again. It also includes yelling less at my kids – or at least not yelling until after I explain the reasons why I’m asking them to do something or not do something. I want every moment spent with them one that would be worthy of being the last without having to have regrets if it turns out it is. And I’m living in each moment far more than I was before. Telling people exactly how I feel about them so there’s no question that I love or appreciate or miss them when they are gone. Being conscious that every moment in life truly could be anyone’s last thus leaving those moments where my life overlaps someone else’s mean more. Thanks for reading my blog – whether I know you personally or not. I hope the contribution it makes means as much to you as your participation means to me. Here’s to a fabulous year and many more ahead!

2 Comments | posted in Events, Everyday Life

January 14, 2013

Pause for a Winter Respite

By terraluft

I have not abandoned my blog… although it must appear as though I have, right?  No, I merely went on a twelve-day vacation.  TWELVE!  There is no better time to go to warm and sunny California than when Utah has single digit temperatures in early January.  I believe I am a genius for devising this plan and my family agrees right now.  Evidenced by the unanimous vote that Christmas TRIPS are better than Christmas GIFTS in the future.  I’ll be back with tales of my life once I’ve unpacked and dealt with the post-vacation bomb that has gone off in my house.  You know the bomb I’m talking about – where everything you took and acquired on vacation gets toted in from the car and gets dropped in the living room.  Yeah, that happened yesterday.  And today my inbox at work had 799 unread emails waiting for me.  Sometimes I wonder if going on vacation is worth it.  And then I remember sitting on the beach with my sunglasses and a good book with my toes in the wet sand, or running on that same beach.  Hell yes, it was worth it!

1 Comment | posted in Everyday Life

December 12, 2012

Everything changes

By terraluft

One of my favorite sayings is “Change is the only constant in the Universe”.  And recently it’s been particularly true for my life.  Fundamental things I thought would never – I mean NEVER – change, are changing.

Monday morning I got up at five o’clock.  That’s a time people usually have to remind me happens more than once in a day because I’m guaranteed to be sleeping through the AM version.  Why did I ON PURPOSE drag myself out of bed that early?  On a Monday?  For yoga.  YOGA!  And guess what… I found out how much I like to work out in the morning.  I felt so amazing all day.  Yes, part of that was because I did yoga which always leaves me feeling amazing.  But there was more.  I had no anxiety about when I was going to fit exercise into my crazy day.  No lamenting about the day having slipped by, taking my best laid plans with it, and falling into bed without having worked out.  Nope.  Instead, I’d already done it before I would normally have been out of bed.  Brilliant! And the best part: I had so much energy all day that I didn’t even feel sleep deprived.  Monday mornings now mean yoga at six o’clock AM.

Today I realized that subconsciously I’ve been changing my night owl activities all week.  I’m slowly training myself to go to bed a tad bit earlier so I can eventually wake up early and run before work.  Because, let’s face it, my days of working out during work have been gone for at least eight months with no promise of returning.  And that half marathon is just getting closer by the day…

Then there’s my writing…  No, no, I’m still doing it.  BUT, I think I’ve been writing in the completely wrong genre.  My first novel, poised for completion of the first draft after five long, grueling, frustrating, learning years is an urban fantasy.  Its the genre I have typically read the most so it must be the one I will write in, too.  Right?  Except that both of those stories I’ve got brewing in my head are NOT urban fantasy.  They are mainstream fiction, character-driven stories.  And I’m so much more excited about them!  So much so that I haven’t forced myself to write the conclusion of the first one yet because every time I sit down to do it, I find myself thinking more about the next ones and the writing is crap.  I refuse to abandon my first baby until I’ve written “The End” and have at least the rough story down on paper.  THEN I can put it away in a drawer to pull out and re-work someday when I’ve got several more under my belt and could truly make an urban fantasy work.

On the home front, Hubby found out he has off-the-chart cholesterol so the entire family is now eating healthier.  My carnivorous husband hasn’t eaten a cheeseburger in almost three weeks.  Even Big Sister has embraced wheat bread, although I’m certain her BFF who always thanks me prolifically for having white bread when she eats over will be sad.  The best part:  I’m no longer the odd one out when fixing meals because now I just fix what I’m eating for everyone.

So while I still can’t completely explain it, man am I loving this cycle of change…

Leave a comment | posted in Everyday Life, Healthy Lifestyle, The Novel Project, Writing

December 5, 2012

The NaNo that wasn’t

By terraluft

It’s happened before… getting to the end of November and not winning NaNoWriMo. But this time was different. I had prepared for this one far more than any before. I had a fully-plotted story – albeit rough and very high level – with characters and motivations and all the things that I didn’t have the times before when I didn’t win.  Yet I still stalled at just over twelve thousand words.

Yes, I know… twelve thousand words is more than some people write in an entire month – myself included some months.  But my goal was fifty thousand and it was attainable.  I was even ahead of the word count after the first weekend.

So what happened?

Well, there was that pesky pulmonary embolism I was diagnosed with on November 1st.  But in reality I could have labeled that any of a number of things.  And all those things can be lumped together and called “life”.  The lesson I’m taking away from this month of best laid plans, derailed by no control of my own, is that life happens.  You can either let it get you down or you can look at the bright side and take away whatever good there is to take from the situation.  My health had to come first this year; and while I don’t have a purple winners bar at the end of the month, I still worked every time I had the energy to do so.

One of the biggest unspoken fears I’ve been grappling with as I sprint *cough* crawl to the finish line of the first draft of my first novel is WHAT’S NEXT?  What if I can’t come up with another good idea.  What if I spent five years figuring out how to write a novel, finally finish one and then that’s it.  I’ll never have another idea.

I didn’t need to worry, though.  While I didn’t have the energy or the time to write amid all the craziness of my life during November, I did have ideas brewing.  And now I’m pushing myself to finish this monumental, FIRST novel so I can get to the TWO other stories I’ve got to write now.  Hello, I’m Terra and I’m a writer regardless of whether I won or lost this year’s NaNoWriMo.

Leave a comment | posted in Everyday Life, National Novel Writing Month, Writing

November 17, 2012

Two weeks later

By terraluft

Let me start by stating that unprovoked clots in your lungs – meaning there is no cause that can explain their presence – is truly a shitty deal.  I am the girl who wants answers to everything.  The girl who disassembled my curling iron in high school because I wanted to know how it worked.  The girl who needs to know everything about everything so I can project plan the shit out of it then make appropriate entries into my calendar like marching orders to follow precisely.  How else can I accomplish everything I ever want to in life? Not knowing where we go from here is truly fucking with my brain.

But I’m getting ahead of myself…

Immediately following my diagnosis I was focused on getting from day to day.  The shock of almost dying was surreal and I still don’t really know how I feel about how close I could have been.  My first goal was getting my anti-coagulation established.  Those super expensive injections I had to give myself twice a day hurt like hell and my first personal aspiration was to quit having to take them.  Which meant my INR test had to be above a 2.0.  Three times a week I stop in at my doctors for a finger prick to test this.  The day after diagnosis, I was .9.  A week and a half later I was above two after once having to increase my daily dose of Coumadin.  Finally no more shots!  That same week and a half had me feeling better with a bit more spring in my step every day.  Two days post diagnosis I couldn’t walk through Scheels without needing a bench to rest.  But, two weeks later, I went for my first run.  I could only run a couple of minutes at a time with stretches of walking in between but it felt like I was running my first race and accomplishing a personal record.  The smile on my face was ear to ear.  This was irrefutable evidence that the clots in my lungs are disappearing and I’m almost all better.

Now let’s talk about Coumadin and what it means to be anti-coagulated.  It sucks hairy-ass monkey balls.  I’m a bleeder now who bruises easily.  That hangnail I absently picked at during a meeting?  Oh, don’t mind me with blood dripping off my finger.  No, officer, my husband doesn’t beat me, I just ran into the bar stool someone left pulled halfway out and I’m anti-coagulated.  All those other bruises?  Yeah, I have no idea how they got there but I swear no one is beating me. Worse than all that is the dietary restrictions.  I can’t eat leafy green vegetables?  No spinach?  No lettuce?  No broccoli? No asparagus?  Are you fucking kidding me?  Do you know how hard it is to take a brain that is wired for nutrition and real food and then suddenly you can’t eat it?  At least three times in the last week I’ve gone to bite into a delicious meal only to realize it had something in it I can’t eat.  Thank god I didn’t have to alter anything about my coffee habits.  Had that happened on top of everything else I might be murderous rather than just bitchy.

Which brings us to the shitty deal I’m facing now that I’m out of the woods and getting back to my normal activity levels:  There is no end in sight for the Coumadin.  When I tried to nail down my doctor with a time frame to expect this to continue he said “at least six months but more likely longer.”  So now I’ll be a runner who can’t eat her veggies and who might bleed out if she doesn’t check her clotting factor twice a week and gets a bruise.  Ain’t that just grand.  And why?  Because no one knows exactly what caused my blood clots in the first place.  Even though I was taking birth control after the age of 35 which actually states it can increase the risk for exactly this to happen.  On the bright side, I can run again.  Oh, and I hit my deductible on my high deductible healthcare plan so now I can get that IUD that I couldn’t afford to pay for out of pocket and which started this whole fucking mess for free.  At least I can still run…

Leave a comment | posted in Events, Everyday Life, Healthy Lifestyle, Ranting and Ravings, Running

November 3, 2012

I have a what?

By terraluft

I’m not a sappy person so it won’t surprise you that not only am I not participating in the ‘thankful challenge’ that it seems half my Facebook friend list is doing but that I tend to scan over those posts as they come across my news feed.  Not that I’m heartless but that it is all the same thing: family, friends, other loved ones, etc.  In my world being thankful for those things happen and are expressed all year, not just the month of November in some new gimmick to twist the whole Thanksgiving holiday into something other than commemorating how we gained the trust of the Native American indians and then savagely stole their lands.  But I digress and that’s a rant for another day.

However, today I’m actually thankful to be alive because I literally almost died.  Here’s what happened so all the people expressing well wishes on my Facebook feed can have the entire story…

Like all stories, I have to start at the beginning which I didn’t know at the time was the beginning.  On October 20th, I ran a 5K with my friends who had both been training hard.  He for a third Ragnar this year, she as a new and committed runner with a set workout plan that this race was a milestone in.  I had been slacking hard and actually hadn’t run since the last race we had run together as a relay team the month before.  I figured the last time I’d run it had been six miles so a little three mile 5K shouldn’t be too hard since it was only a few weeks between races.  I knew she wasn’t planning on running the entire time because at that distance she still does a little walking so I could just stick with her and run at her pace and be fine.  We took off at the starting line and about thirty seconds later I thought I was going to die.  My heart rate was through the roof, I couldn’t catch my breath and my friend who I was supposed to be encouraging started pulling away.  Because running is a mental sport, I started lamenting about what a loser I was that this 5K was kicking my ass and thinking back about all the times when I had time to squeeze in a run and instead decided I was too tired or prioritized something else in my life ahead of my fitness.  Oh, and trying not to hate my friend who was a new runner and yet was running circles around me.  It was the single hardest three miles I have EVER run both in terms of physical and mental toughness.  I pushed myself to keep up, more or less, with my friend because I didn’t want to hold her back and impact her goals after she had worked so hard actually preparing for this race.  The whole way trying to ignore or not look at my heart rate monitor that said I was in the anaerobic training zone even though I was running slower than my normal pace and walking probably more than half the time.  *Hello, red flag number 1*  We finished together and laughed when we both – plus her twenty-something daughter who left us all in the dust at the start line – all placed in our divisions and got medals.  I left the race vowing to get a race goal on the horizon so I’d have something specific to train for and didn’t slip even further behind in my running performance since clearly you lose your base far quicker than I thought. I wheezed and coughed the rest of the day which isn’t abnormal since I’d just pushed myself super hard, right?.  *Hello, red flag number 2*

I felt fine after a normal recovery time after a hard race and didn’t think anything else about it.  Until about a week later when I was working in the garden and ran up the stairs into the kitchen to break up a fight between the kids or some other such emergency.  The little exertion had me out of breath.  I stood at the counter trying to catch my breath when this weird pain started in the center of my chest.  *Hello, red flag number 3 but the first one I paid attention to*  I stood there realizing I was experiencing “shortness of breath with chest pain”.  I panicked and quickly passed that heading straight for denial.  You see, my Dad has coronary artery disease as did my grandfather before him.  Dad had a quadruple bypass as a direct result of shortness of breath and chest pain that his doctor luckily investigated aggressively because of his family medical history before he had a heart attack.  I am a runner obsessed with making better than average food choices as a direct result of my insane fear that that shit is going to happen to me, too.  I stood there, taking deep breaths, collecting data and rationalizing that the pain was not on the right side of my chest but in the center and also kind of in the back.  Totally not my heart and probably just a fluke.  Told you, total denial fueled by panic.  Don’t judge.

While in the front of my mind I was denying that there could be a problem, the analytical side of me was hard at work in the background keeping track of little things that started not to add up.  Like it was harder to walk from my car to the building and vice versa at work, that I couldn’t take the stairs at work without sounding like I was a four hundred pound fat girl ready to puke after my first Biggest Loser workout, that I was lethargic at night and had started to just sit on the couch instead of accomplishing anything every night.  Part of me was still being really hard on myself for having put on a couple of pounds recently and feeling like a total fat girl even though I’m still in my same size clothes.  The inner workings of the female psyche at its worst right there.  When I had a second episode of chest pain a couple of days later *Hello, red flag number 4* I mentioned it to Hubby.  Although the part of me that was still in denial mentioned it offhand with a little joke about “hey, I should probably tell you just in case something happens . . ha ha ha . . . I’m probably making a big deal out of nothing because of Dad . . . blah blah blah”.  But I did tell him I was going to make an appointment with the doctor at some point. 

The night before Halloween I was going through Baby Sister’s night time routine which involves snuggling on the couch while she drinks her chocolate milk before carrying her to bed to tuck her in.  I stood up from the couch, carrying my petite twenty five pound almost three year old, and walked twenty three steps to her room on the same floor of the house.  And when I got there, I was so out of breath it took me almost ten minutes to catch it again.  (Yes, I just recreated the event so I could count exactly how many steps it was, why do you ask?)  *Hello, red flag number 5 which finally made me take action*

On Halloween, I called and made an appointment with Hubby’s doctor since this wasn’t something I could see my gynecologist about and that’s the only doctor I ever go to.  They could get me in the next day at 11:00 which in hind sight was probably because I told them I was having the “shortness of breath with chest pain” kiss of death symptoms.  At lunch, I was telling my same friends I ran the 5K with that I was going to the doctor because I’d been having problems and he said he’d noticed that he’d had more cardiovascular difficulty in his training since we’d all had . . . dun dun duuun . . . THE FLU SHOT.  Holy shit!  I did the math and that was the same time frame I’d been having issues, too!  I breathed a little tiny sigh of relief that there MIGHT be something else at play here than my impending need for a coronary bypass surgery which is what my mind was in full denial about.  I mentioned it to one of my besties while we were strolling the neighborhood trick or treating and was out of breath after having to save the eleven-year olds from a stuffed scarecrow on a porch.  We both laughed that wouldn’t that be the shits that I’d been forced to get a flu shot and then I have these symptoms even though that might get me out of it for next year.

The next day began like any other Thursday.  I’d been on call all night which meant I got to work from home.  I let my team know I was planning on taking a little longer of a lunch break because I had a doctor’s appointment but would be back in time for my afternoon support shift.  I got right in, met the doctor and started answering his barrage of questions.  Told him about my family medical history while I cringed inside because I hate that weakness looming in my gene pool like an unexploded, forgotten artillery round in a rice field of Vietnam waiting to go off at any time with no warning.  I had written out a timeline of all my running milestones and things I’d done that involved significant physical exertion leading up to the 5K which had happened four days after I’d gotten the flu shot and what I’d experienced since the flu shot because surely it wasn’t a coincidence that it all started then, right? 

After the question and answer period was over, the doctor said they were going to do an EKG and a chest x-ray and handed me a gown.  Are you kidding me right now?  With those words, the shit got real and all the denial was replaced with visions of exactly where the path was leading which ended with me lying in an ICU bed with tubes coming out of my chest looking like death already – just like my Dad did after his surgery.  Not going to lie, I was weepy and it took several minutes to pull my shit together before the first nurse came in to take me down the hall to the x-ray room.  The EKG was a trip because it literally takes more time to set up for the test and get all the leads attached than it does to do the test.  The doctor returned and said my xray was clear and the EKG showed that I had not had nor was I in the middle of having a heart attack.  Both very good news and I perked up.  Next steps: some blood work and a referral to a cardiologist for a stress test.  Sorry, but the flu shot wasn’t a factor at  this point.  Just what I knew they were going to say.  Damn my gene pool anyway!  The nurse came back in and drew seven – SEVEN – vials of blood and said they were sending them to the lab via courier so they would have results back today and would call me.  Everything seemed super routine now and I figured my next step would be hearing my blood work was fine – like it always is – and getting a call from the cardiologist to schedule my stress test.  I went home, ate some lunch and started my pager shift at 2:00.

Hubby was off that day so he was chatting with me and catching up on television when my phone rang at 2:30.  I answered it and heard the nurse tell me that I needed to go immediately to the hospital, that they were waiting for me to have a CT scan at 3:00 because one of my blood tests that indicated through chemicals in my blood that I’d had a heart attack came back abnormally high.  And that once I’d finished the test I was to stay there because there was a chance I was going to be admitted.  I didn’t say anything, just listened, and started crying uncontrollably, now certain that my vision of bypass surgery was inevitable regardless of what steps I had taken to eliminate the risk.  Hubby rushed over and was now panicked because clearly there was something wrong and he didn’t know what it was.  I had the sense of mind to repeat what I needed to do so I was sure I’d gotten it right before I hung up with twenty minutes before they were expecting me at the nearest hospital.

Halfway there, as I’m already mentally saying goodbye to my husband and lamenting that I might not be around to see my girls grow up because of my fucking gene pool that even though I tried my damnedest I couldn’t escape, the phone rang again.  The same nurse was on the line apologizing that she’d given me inaccurate information.  The blood test that was abnormal was NOT in fact the one indicating I’d had a heart attack but one that indicated I had a blood clot.  All of a sudden I wasn’t rushing to the hospital for an angioplasty and shunts in my heart and hopefully not but probably emergency surgery but *JUST* to figure out where I had a blood clot.  WHEW!  It was like magic how my mind cleared of KNOWING exactly what was happening based on my deepest darkest fears and I was back to feeling  hopeful that this wasn’t as bad, whatever it turned out to be.

It was kind of fun being a clinical patient in the hospital and seeing the applications that I support every day and the users that use them for their jobs.  I got registered and filled out paperwork attesting that I wasn’t pregnant . . . blah blah blah . . . and went back for my test.  The radiology technician handed me a gown and said “so, you’re the one with the impressive d-dimer test, huh?”  It caught me off guard and it must have shown because he said “oh, wait, they didn’t tell you?”  Uh, no so now you better tell me I think!  He wouldn’t go any further than saying my levels were impressive and played it off that it had to be for me to be spending time with him.  Half an hour later I’d lived through my first CT scan with contrast and hadn’t peed my pants even though that’s exactly what it felt like was happening when that crap got inserted into my blood stream.  Now the waiting and more blood draws to see what happens now.

Before I could get dressed and walk across the lobby to the lab, my doctor was on the phone to discuss the test I’d just finished.  Good news: you’re not going to need to do that stress test because your heart is fine.  Bad news: you have a pulmonary embolism aka blood clots in your lungs.  Then there was a whole lot of talk about how usually you would be admitted and treated in the hospital but because your other test results came back normal and your blood pressure and blood oxygen levels are normal you’re a low risk of dying so you can have the choice to be treated at home.  Most of this went right over my head because I was still in shock about what I’d been diagnosed with.  Next steps: more blood draw to test the clotting factor in my blood, pick up prescriptions for anti-coagulation meds to start immediately then back at the hospital at SEVEN AM for ultrasound of the veins in my legs and immediately back to the doctor to discuss treatment.

No longer was I stressing about how my life was going to be limited to ten to fifteen years of struggling with coronary artery disease and early death before my children were grown, now my death had barely been missed and I was still in potentially immediate danger of dying right now.  Very staggering to say the least.  I tried to convey the information to Hubby while I got my labs drawn and my IV which I wasn’t going to need further after all removed so we could go to the pharmacy.  If I wasn’t already in enough shock at this point, the co-pay for one med I’d been prescribed which was the equivalent of a heparin IV drip and which makes my outpatient treatment an option came to TWELVE HUNDRED DOLLARS.  Thank god it’s October and I’ve had a full ten months to build up my Health Savings Account so I could just swipe the card and smile like I wasn’t freaking out.  What else could I do, right?

We headed home, I gave myself my first injection of anti-coagulation medication and tried to relax.  Which I couldn’t do so I took my mind off of things by doing a little writing.  I mean, it IS November which means I had a daily word count goal I needed to hit for NaNoWriMo.  I went to bed at eleven even though I had to be up at an ungodly hour to get back to the hospital the next morning for more tests. 

The ultrasound on my legs showed no clots in any of my veins which on one hand is very good news because there are no more clots waiting to break free and head for my lungs to choke my life potentially from me.  However, it means we still don’t have any real indication of how or why I got the ones I already have.

Here’s where I sing the praises of my new, and officially declared as mine, primary care physician.  Dr Zimmerman sat in the exam room with me for an hour and a half explaining what all this meant, what all my lab results showed, what being on anti-coagulation medication meant, what possible factors could have contributed to this “unprovoked” clot, and answered every single question I had.  While all the people he had double booked me on top of waited I’m sure.  If anyone needs a good doctor, I’ve got one I can recommend!  That ‘impressive’ d-dimer test the radiology technician mentioned?  A high is anything over 500, mine came back at 13,000.  Yep, pretty impressive.  During this chat, I heard lots of stories about people who ignored their warning signs and are dead because of it.  People who were hospitalized for treatment and died anyway.  Very staggering stories considering I ignored at least one of my super early warning signs.  I’m choosing to focus on how lucky I am to have coronary artery disease in my immediate family which I live in fear of developing and how glad I am for being very in tune with my body enough to recognize that there were subtle things not quite right that got me to the doctor.

Now I’m living with twice a day injections and twice a week blood testing until my anti-coagulation dosing gets stablized so my body doesn’t make more clots while the clots I have dissolve.  And watching for any signs that I need to go to an ER.  As my amazing doctor said, I’m still a patient in the hospital in his mind even if I’m not physically in the hospital environment.  I hate every minute of having to take things slower because I can’t physically do everyday normal things.  Today I carried a laundry basket from the bedroom to the laundry room and needed to rest.  Stood at the kitchen sink to load the dishwasher of dirty dishes and had to take a three hour nap when I was done.  But, I’m still alive so I won’t bitch too much about any of it.  The clots, which are in both lungs, are basically cutting off half of my air supply so everything I’m going through is expected.

The best news at the end of the day is that once my lungs are clear of clots in the next couple of weeks I can start running again and doc doesn’t think my planned half marathon in the spring is too aggressive a goal to shoot for.  I told him this was a pretty expensive episode of “check with your doctor before beginning any new exercise program” but that I was really glad I’d done it.  There are still no answers as to what caused these clots to form in the first place which irritates that part of me that wants clear and definitive answers to file away so I can avoid whatever it is so it doesn’t happen again and eventually quit taking anti-coagulation meds that come with even more risks long term.  Personally, I still suspect that damn flu shot as being a contributor plus the birth control pills I’ve been on for ten months that “increase the risk of blood clots in women over 35”.  But, for now, I’m focusing on taking it easy so my body can heal and life can return to normal.

1 Comment | posted in Events, Everyday Life, Healthy Lifestyle

September 17, 2012

The Death of Us All

By terraluft

Death is no longer some thing in the future to be feared; the unknown of where and when and how lurking around some unidentified corner.  No, fifth grade math homework will be the death of us all.  No more mystery!  Death is here…

Big Sister is in her first month of fifth grade – learning a new math curriculum which is completely different than what I learned thirty years ago.  She has math homework every single night.  The book is next to useless – it makes vague statements with zero logical sense and that’s it.  No examples.  No elaboration on what the concept is.  No context to glean meaning from.  Nothing.  I fought for two weeks for her to be allowed to bring the damn book home – raging every night about how the worksheets she was required to complete were like attempting to do math when all the words were written in Greek or Arabic.  But now I get why they don’t bring the books home – there is nothing more in the books to go on.  So our nights – after dance of course – go like this:

  1. Mom tries to interpret what the hell the worksheet is asking be performed.
  2. Mom consults Dad to make sure they concur on the translation.
  3. Mom tries to correlate the bullshit with what she knows and remembers from school.
  4. Mom tries to translate the bullshit into logic and reason that she can impart to others.
  5. Sometimes repeat one or more of steps 1-4.
  6. Big Sister attempts to complete her math worksheet before NINE PM – most nights failing.

Seriously.  This is why kids don’t like math.  The stigma is planted in fifth grade where instead of breaking each concept down into ideas that are attainable and which apply logic and reason – it is math after all, not abstract art – they hide the shit that I-know-very-well-you’ll-have-to-use-every-day-of-your-life in this ridiculous core curriculum which was probably written by some dumb ass who was never a teacher in the first place.  He or she is probably living somewhere on a beach laughing about the idiots in Utah who believed him or her and bought all those books and workbooks and student worksheets funding his/her retirement.

Thanks for letting me rant.  If you’ve avoided fifth grade math after you lived through it yourself the first time, consider yourself lucky.  If it looms in your future, please accept my condolences.  The irony of this whole thing?  I LOVE math and I kicked ASS at math when I was in school.  Go figure… all it takes is slapping some new convoluted bullshit with a fancy shmancy title of “new common core” to completely disintegrate my own math knowledge and confidence. Why yes it’s a Monday and yes I’m drinking – why do you ask?

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August 20, 2012

From fiesty fetus to tyrant toddler

By terraluft

I went back into the archives of my blog and found this little ‘foreshadowing’ I wrote in October of 2009 when I was 22 weeks pregnant with Baby Sister: 

We have officially entered the part of pregnancy where I am no longer the boss IN MY OWN BODY.  Don’t get me wrong, it does come with good and bad but this week has been very eye opening in the “what will my baby be like” department.  She is already a very demanding little fetus who makes herself known and imposes her wishes whenever she wants.  Specifically, she does not like it when I sit in an upright or leaning forward position.  Whenever I try to (or forget!) she delivers some pretty nasty kicks and punches to my insides.  And they downright HURT!  The funniest part is when I adjust to accommodate her wishes she immediately settles down.  If it is any indication of the level of stubbornness or feisty attitude we are in for after she is born, we are in trouble.  More specifically, I think I am in trouble since she will be a fiery Aquarius – JUST LIKE ME!  I do love the active bonding that goes on with these clashes of wills but I hope it is not a foreshadowing of things to come.

From the very beginning Baby Sister has been fiesty and strong willed – just as she was in utero.  But lately she has turned into a down right tyrant.  No big surprise since her third birthday approaches in the next few months. She has a knack for wearing all of us down with her whining – Daddy calls is “the attack of the whiny butt” which actually makes the whining worse.  But it’s better than beating her into silence which I sometimes drag myself into another room to avoid.

For example, she was mostly potty trained and then decided she doesn’t want to do that.  She actually demands diapers now.  The best part is her screaming ‘NO’ at the top of her lungs – accompanied by kicking and hitting on occasion – whenever I try to force her to use the toilet.  And there’s always crying first thing in the morning with circular arguments about “no potty!”  Do I think she just had a relapse?  No way.  Not when she tells me WHILE she’s peeing in her diaper that she’s peeing.  Nor when she demands that I ‘thange bum, Mommy’ as soon as she’s wet.  We’ve tried everything to coerce her – potty treats, promises of visiting Mickey (her favorite character) at Disneyland, of trips to the beach, of a big girl bed – and she just soils herself then lists all the things she won’t get now.  It is infuriating.

Another of my favorites is when she tries to put her own shoes on and can’t.  She screams.  I try to help.  She screams louder and bats my hands away.  She tries and fails again.  Screams even louder.  I try to help again.  She screams louder still.  And about that time I have to walk away.  Her sense of self and desire for independence is stronger sometimes than my will to live.

I think the hardest thing for me has been overcoming my initial arrogance that just because she was going to be an Aquarius like me that I would miraculously know exactly how she ticks and thus exactly how to deal with her.  I was so wrong.  Where logic prevails with me, she could care less. 

The very worst part of this stage is when I say – in the mean mom stern voice – not to do something and then must watch as she narrows her eyes, shakes her head almost imperceptibly, and does it anyway keeping direct eye contact.  I just know that when she is a teenager she’s going to do the same thing with ‘oh yeah, watch me’ uttered from her adorable rosebud lips.

Poor Big Sister, who dreamed of a day when she would have a sibling, actually said to me last week she wishes we could give Baby Sister back.  Baby Sister antagonizes her so much.  When no grownups are looking, Baby Sister is poking and prodding and sassing and then looks angelic when Big Sister finally complains.  If Big Sister is sitting anywhere on the couch, Baby Sister demands that it is her spot and kicks (and sometimes hits) until Big Sister finally laments and moves to a new spot.  Sometimes the new location becomes the coveted location and the cycle begins again.  Big Sister has also learned the art of walking away – usually with her hangs up shouting “I’m done!” in her ‘tween melodramatics.

I’m officially too old for these shenanigans and most days understand the natural fertility cycle of a woman.  Where I logically know that women in their late teens and early twenties are far too young and inexperienced in the ways of the world to be the kind of mom I want to be – which is why I waited until my thirties to pro-create – I must concede that I had far more energy and patience when I was ‘waiting to have kids until I was ready’.  Definitely paying for it now that I have to deal with a tyrant toddler in my FORTIES. 

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August 8, 2012

The Olympics through new eyes

By terraluft

The Olympic Games happen every four years.  And every four years, since I was a small child sitting on the couch next to my mom cheering for gymnastics and following the swimming with my dad who was a swimmer in high school, nothing much has changed for me whenever they roll around.  Until this year.

I still watch – with my own children sitting next to me now – cheering on the women’s gymnastics team and hoping they win gold; cheering and appreciating amazing performances from top gymnasts from all over the world; cheering on our swimming team; watching the diving; watching volleyball in all its forms; and being fascinated with glimpses of other not-so-popular sports when there is prime time coverage.  But this year something has changed.

This year, I’m also watching track and field events.

Four years ago, I was not a runner.  Four years ago, I was overweight and unhappy with my life.  Four years ago the only thing I didn’t watch in the summer Games was the track and field.  I even remember being irritated with Hubby who ran track in high school wanting to watch.

Now, I’m a runner. And I can’t get enough of watching the amazing athletes.  And I’m answering questions and correcting the misconceptions from my daughter about ‘why they are running so slow’ because it’s fifteen hundred meters instead of one hundred.  I’m appreciating the difference between a sprint, a middle distance and a long distance and am inspired and awed by those who do multiple events.

I guess one could extrapolate from this that it only takes four years to fundamentally change your life.  Thank god I have the Olympics to measure the distance I’ve come from that other girl who ran the corners and walked the straights hoping just to pass the required mile in P.E. class in junior high.  The one who took dance the next year so I wouldn’t have to run.  Who drove aimlessly through parking lots as an adult looking for the closest spot so I wouldn’t have to walk so far.  I like my new life and how I feel and appreciate how much effort it has taken me to get here from there.  I’m strong.  I’m fit.  And that makes me powerful.  And although my body isn’t perfectly chiseled, and there are always setbacks along the way that constantly test my will, I’m still active and I’m still a runner.  That fact alone means I will live longer and feel better than that old girl I used to be.  More Olympics to watch that way, too!

Leave a comment | posted in Everyday Life, Healthy Lifestyle, Random or philosophical thoughts, Running

July 27, 2012

Go with the flow, bitch!

By terraluft

I am a control freak.  It’s no secret nor is it some earth-shattering revelation.  But I’m learning to recognize situations where I can’t control losing control.  Like this week, for example.  I’ve just started a protracted training schedule for a half marathon that I only have ten weeks to prepare for and can’t afford to slack on.  AT ALL.  I’ve finally found a cross-training cardio workout that I enjoy enough that I want to get out of bed for in the morning – on the weekend even.  And what happens?  I come down with a stomach bug. 

It started Monday afternoon and instead of getting to go to my Monday night gym class, I writhed in pain on the couch all night.  I suffered all day Tuesday.  Even more horrid because Tuesday was the Utah Pioneer Day holiday and I had the entire day off to fit my run into at leisure.  I was so sick that I laid around all morning so I could muster the strength to smiled through the pain long enough to hang out with the neighbors for a few hours.  No run for me that day.  I had a full day of meetings in the office on Wednesday and powered through them all, visually suffering enough that my co-workers told me repeatedly that I should go home.  Thank god for work from home Thursdays that I spent on the couch.   I’m almost feeling back to normal today with only a few minor abdominal pains remaining.  I woke up with high hopes that I could run.  Packed my gym back and dragged it with me to work this morning and everything.  But, alas, did not feel up for it still this afternoon. 

The control freak in me is seriously freaking out that I cannot afford to lose an entire week of training. YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND – AN ENTIRE WEEK!  The zen girl who is starting to emerge at random times has her by the throat shouting “suck it up, bitch and go with the flow.  It is what it is!”  I like to call that zen girl, my inner runner.  The one who exists now only because I run.  What an oxymoron.  My inner runner telling my inner control freak to quick freaking out that I can’t run…  Wrap your brain around that one!

Leave a comment | posted in Everyday Life, Healthy Lifestyle, Running