What Illness Does to a Writer

Quick comment: my laptop is very outdated and it can no longer update (we’re talking over 8 years old here). With that, I can’t fully access my wordpress on this thing anymore, so I can’t do anything with comments, sorry.

This may be a series of posts, simply because there’s a lot to say about such a topic. I may not do them much though since, obviously, illness effects my ability to write.

I’ve seen how illness effects a person’s ability to live a normal life. My in-home care clients wouldn’t need me if that weren’t the case. I may not need someone to do in-home care with me (at least not yet), but it still effects my ability to do much. For me though, the most devistating part is how much it takes away from my ability to write and draw.

I’m still able to do it, but not as well or as often as I used to.

Losing my ability to do this allows my depression to grow worse, feeling down and upset with myself for not being abl to accomplish what I want to or what I used to be able to do.
There are times when writing feels like a chore–my energy is drained, if there’s anything to even drain, and I have all the pain, nausea, dizziness, and other strange feelings distracting me on the side. Something that’s supposed to be fun or relaxing, even invigorating, becomes difficult with everything else in the background. I try to push through it, but there’s only so much I can push through.

Comparing how much I used to be able to write compared to now can feel depressing, sometimes inexcusable despite spending many hours sick when I’m not at work or trying to get things done.
I keep telling myself I can do it again, that I can be like that again, maybe even better, but part of it is trying to accept that that’s a time in the future, not right now.

It’s hard to think in the cloud of dizziness. Depression and anxiety with my living situation isn’t helping either, but that doesn’t slow me down as much. I’m forgetting and scrambling up words and I’m becoming more aware of this. People point it out to me too and sometimes have to help me.
Some doctors think it’s just stress, some say it’s a sign of my illnesses getting worse. Whatever the cause, it’s frustrating to be someone who struggles with something they’re supposed to specialize with.

There’s less than a week to finish three art pieces and write one more short story for the 2015 release of Progenitor.
At this point in time, I don’t care about getting in as much as I do getting at least one of each in. I want to get all three art pieces in, but at this point, that may be too big of a goal for me anymore.
I’ve been trying to push myself, but it’s been one distraction after another with everything getting worse.
I want to do it so I can take pride in myself for accomplishing that much. It’d be an achievement for me to at least get something out of me through this fog and weakness. It’s the same sense of accomplishment as taking your first shower or some other independent act since a surgery.

It did inspire the idea I needed for the short story and the art piece.I have just enough in me to write the short story. I don’t know about the art yet, but I’ve been drawing bits and pieces here and there when I’m able to. I do worry I won’t have it in me to finish it in time, but I am glad I got it about 75% of the way there.

It is such a relief to finally find that spark in me again. I almost want to cry from joy, but then I won’t be able to see to write it haha.

Whatever doesn’t get into the magazine, I’ll try and post. I dont’ know where I’ll be living at that time, but I’d just need internet long enough to post them.
I’m making progress in a permanent living situation, but it’s a matter of enduring until all the puzzle pieces fall into place and that there aren’t too many distractions. That’s a post for another day though.

I’m thinking a lot of this is the lupron shot they have me on, but it’s my last option and it’s not working. The doctors theorize that I’ve been weakened by this to where I’m too weak and at risk of damage to be operated on again. My only options were pregnancy and the shot, but I don’t want a child for 1001 reasons and I cant guarantee I’ll concieve if I try.
I do plan on looking for other doctors to confirm the whole too weak for surgery thing too.
It’s just their observation. How do they know my organs are too weak to endure surgery without tests and just by looking at me? Can they put an ICD-9 or an ICD-10 code to what is causing the weakness?

Until they can, I’m not giving up.

Since I’m having some symptoms in the “rare but serious” list of side effects, I may have to go to urgent care later today and that’s why I wanted to try getting this post out.
I want to write as much as I can of this story as I can until it’s time to decide. Whether I end up going or not doesn’t really matter, I just want to do this much.

I finally understand how my grandmother felt when I took care of her and why she did the things she did, and that’s where my inspiration for this story came from…

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The Surgery Approx. 12 Hours Later…

It feels like it should’ve been a lot longer than 12 hours with how crazy it’s been.

I can’t believe it, I do have endometriosis.

I’m supposed to make an appointment with the surgeon tomorrow because my body was having trouble getting to normal. It shouldn’t count as a follow-up, so I doubt it’ll count into the global period‘s 3 post-op follow-up rule, but I’ll ask to make sure. Otherwise, I need to see him in a week to discuss the endometriosis he found, the one thing that means a hysterectomy now instead of a few years later. Since I have it, I feel better about googling it. I’m curious how the stage it’s progressed to will affect the operation, but I’ll find that out, and see some pictures of it, soon enough.

I almost cried when I came to–the pain was gone. Two years of misery finally granted me a break. I cannot count the incision pain. That’s something completely different. The relief almost brought me to tears. Even now, my eyes water at enjoying the relief.
In a way, I feel like my true self has finally shown herself, no longer bullied and harassed by the pain.

The pain form the incisions is keeping me up, but I know I’ll tire out eventually. Since the real problem of my pain has been removed, I can walk upright. I couldn’t do that in the last surgery. I feel so much stronger now and a lot less afraid. I’m extremely confident that the recovery will go well this time because I can feel that it will and that I’m in better hands and wielding a sharper sword.

Since they put IV’s into both wrists, it’ll be a day or two before I can allow myself to sit down and type thoroughly. I’m not able to draw either, mostly because of the carpel tunnel, but I’m probably going to stay asleep once I fall asleep. Until then, I’ve done what I can to prepare for an epic writing binge on that day. I think it’s a matter of finding a comfortable enough place or position to type or draw without upsetting the incisions’ healing.

I doubt I’d need to reopen and uncork pus like I did last time. I don’t think I can mentally handle doing that again. I have a feeling a lot of my problems come from having to do that since my internal and external infections weren’t taken seriously. Even if I do, I’m sure I’ll look back on it years from now and see how strong I was then and am now.

I look forward to writing with a little less distraction again. If nothing else, I’ll be able to write suffering physical pain really well right now haha!

I heavily suggest printing out the packet in the global period link. It explains the responsibility of the doctor and how insurance pays for it. This means a whole 30,000 dollars to me. It could mean just as much if not more to you.

Today’s Surgery and a Novel’s Ending: Closures of the Upteenth Kind

A lot of the things I’m discussing should have links to what they are upon their mentioning such as ganglion cyst and my blood type.

At the spur of the moment, an ex foster sister came to visit me today.

She’s the other foster sister in Oranges, well, was. In the few years we’ve been apart, both of us have changed a lot, and yet that small time we shared in the same foster home made a connection only we could share and understand.

My laparoscopy is in a few hours (I can’t sleep, but I’ll be knocked out for a while and I’ll probably sleep for one or two days straight, so I have zero concern over getting a few Z’s in for once). At the time, I still had roughly 20 hours until I should be knocked out.

She had told me that she had forgotten a good portion of her past and that because she had forgotten it, she wasn’t sure why and wasn’t sure if she should’ve been concerned. Upon my mention of our foster parents, a lot of things came back. The “disturbing and upsetting things” we talked about, reminiscing on memories that grew our bond, it showed my boyfriend and reminded my ex foster sister and I where we came from and what our overlooked world is like. Being out of it, it was a better feeling than one might think it would be. We could finally look back on what we survived and see what worse horrors we survived. Her visit was to reconnect on the last day I’d be healthy enough to socialize with for an unknown period of time (since my last one had so many things go wrong, I’m not planning around the whole “being fully recovered in less than a week” thing).

I looked back on what we shared and what I endured in the foster home after that, the one she didn’t know the details of until half an hour before she wanted to visit. I kept thinking about the proclaimed apology human services was forced to make.

Then everything clicked.

One of the most important things I learned from my experience as a writer thus far was to trust your gut. I knew that the particular characters, particular details, and particular scenes all came to me because they made sense and I just didn’t know how or why yet. Even my ex foster sister said everything happens for a reason. With how perfect timing has been with so many things, I can’t help but believe something big is definitely falling into place.

I figured out the final pieces to the allegory that I need to finally put it to a close. It was because the conflict I was trying to confront hadn’t come full circle yet, but it did during the apology. Everything else started making sense too. Whether I can seriously get to work on writing this depends on three things: my recovery, my carpal tunnel, and the ganglion cyst.
I happened to get diagnosed with those a few hours before my ex foster sister showed up, but that’s only another task to throw on top of recovery and awaiting the post-op’s report on whether I have endometriosis or not. Regardless, I just know the stent my physician gave me somehow makes the pain worse.

No matter what though, I’m confident I’ll come out of everything well enough to write this out. Yes, I’m easily injured and get sick easily, but I’m sturdy and stubborn. I have a feeling it’s one of the things I’m meant to do.

I’m almost certain I’ll try for traditional publishing on it this time. I don’t know how many books it’ll be or what separate story arcs would look like yet, but I found what I needed yesterday, and that’s all I need left to move forward. My health problems take up more thought and take up more concern (if carpel tunnel is going to limit my typing, writing and drawing, it’ll definitely cloud my mind more than it might in others). I don’t know what I can or should update on that yet, but I will when I make further progress on it.

As far as the surgery goes, I have my usual fears anyone would have with an exploratory surgery. Even more drama and tension comes into play thanks to my possible blood type. I’m almost certain I have the rare HH/Bombay blood type (click the links on things like this, even if they’re the wikipedia page for it, at this point in time, any proof it’s a rela thing is good). They plan to double check it, hoping Murphy’s Law isn’t happening with my blood type too. I’m hoping that either it isn’t and it’s no big deal, or that if it is I can have proof it’s not an error and a print of the link above to further explain it. Hearing doctors correct me that there’s only 5 types and no others exist is kind of unnerving, especially if they doubt your type when they also talk about you may needing a blood transfusion…
I’m worried about getting through the recovery stage than what he finds. I’ll eventually find out and I’ll get treatment for what can only be treated, I just don’t want another serious infection again. There’s an odd feeling of comfort in knowing incurable conditions can be treated. It takes fear of the unknown away to some degree. Yes, there are concerns and things to fear, but at least you know what the monsters look like.

I’m guessing I should wake up from the surgery about 12 hours from now. As my ex foster sister said back when we were stuck in that foster home; hope for the best, but expect the worst. I’m not planning for this to go well. I know better than to do that. Yes, I’m a bit scared, mostly of the pain from the IV and my general discomfort with seeing things that look painful. I know I’ll handle my own incisions after looking at them for a bit before having to clean them for the first time, but that’s a several-hour thing.

I’ll update whatever happens. In the mean time, please wish me luck on getting to get some writing and drawing done; I need my hand to function for cleaning my incisions too, but writing and drawing will keep me sane during recovery.

Please feel free to let me know if you have any questions you want me to follow up on in a future post, especially about the feminine conditions I’ve brought up here and prior. Education is essential to these kinds of situations and asking questions is one of the most important steps to progress.

Two of my Friends Came Out Today

I spent the day with three other friends. I haven’t seen them since we graduated high school about three years ago if not longer. One is openly gay, the other is a straight female and the last is a bisexual female.

After explaining what I’ve been up to during those years, I said I was pansexual. The straight female friend already figured, so it didn’t really mean all too much to her for me to say it. However, the other two reacted in a more interesting manner.

The gay friend pulled me aside and confessed that he had plans to undergo a sex change in a few years and that my statement helped him feel more comfortable with telling me. It technically would make him a straight girl in a boy’s body, but that’s not the point here. Likewise, my bisexual friend said she’s a man trapped in a girl’s body and that she’s had a crush on me for some time, but now got to say it after what I said

As far as how I feel about all of this, I’m still surprised that something I thought was so small and insignificant or obvious (as I assumed) as stating my own preference made that much of a difference. I’m not saying that the feelings and emotions of my two friends don’t matter, I’m just amazed that the three words “yeah, I’m pansexual” could bring them enough comfort and security to confess such things. I am honored that they told me–it’s a hard thing to do.
From time to time, I still question my value in this world. I don’t always think anything I could say or do could influence a thing in the world, but now I have a reason to wonder if I’m wrong.

I just thought this was an interesting experience to share. As far as what this may have to do with writing; it’s a story worth telling, maybe even inspiring something for someone else.