911

Hey all. 

I've been working on a plan for a while to get back to blogging here (as well as over on Filthy Casket Book Reviews) but some serious health issues have slowed things down. My hope is to get a post up this week just kind of talking about what's been going on medically, and outline some business goals - I'm not able to do landscaping right now, so a few months ago I decided to start a small (tiny) business selling bookmarks, paintings, prints, decor, furniture, etc. Fun stuff! But more on that later. 

Two nights ago I was rushed to the emergency room (lights and sirens, VIP treatment!) with fears of sepsis (again). Luckily I had called early enough and we were able to get my fever to break and my heart rate and blood pressure move closer to my normal range and I turned out to not need surgery or a long stay, so I was pretty happy with that... but not too happy with the unclear diagnosis. Basically we just know I have a whole host of serious abdominal issues. It was a super fun way to spend my 28th birthday.....

About an hour ago I started to feel very sick. Similar symptoms to what I felt the other day, except worse. And for the last hour things have gotten worse. Rapidly. Severe abdominal pain, fever, nausea, coughing up blood, pounding headache, chills, shakiness, sky high heart rate, bad blood pressure... you get it. 

I don't think I've ever said this before, but... I actually very badly want to go to the hospital. 

The problem is that there are other urgent things I need to take care of - namely financial stuff. Since I'm hoping to get to the hospital I can't really go over everything right now, but the most urgent problem right now is money for prescription copays. I personally have several medications I haven't been able to take in days (almost two weeks for one of my antidepressants, actually...) because the copays are just too high (the two-weeker is $58, for instance). And let's not even discuss my grandma's medication... her breathing medicine has a copay of $354. Don't try to tell me that shit isn't criminal. 

Anyway. I also managed to screw my grandparents over with a fairly common mistake. A couple weeks ago I had an appointment and they let me use their card to pay the $120 copay. Well. It just now came out of their account. And overdrew it. And got them a nice automatic fine from their bank. 

I think it's probably a lot of fun having me as their granddaughter. 

I can't sit here and outline my business plan right now, or talk about how sick I've gotten and how uncertain my future is with the latest prognosis I've been given, or how I'm juggling emotions ranging from fury to hilarity. I'm at the point where right now I'm actually afraid that if I don't get my ass to a hospital pronto, things won't end well. I felt the need to post this first because, well, things are bad. Really bad. And if I end up in the hospital I can't help my grandparents at all. So for now I'll just say that I/we could really, really use the help. I appreciate it more than I can say. Thank you all so much for the help you've already given. Here's the paypal link:

paypal.me/charlotteshealth

And if you could, please send up a few prayers. <3 

God said to march

For months I have despaired. Years, maybe. My heart and my mind have almost ceased to work, absolutely pummeled by depression and suffering. I've struggled to to escape fear's grip on me, but to no avail. The depression spawned fear, and fear spawned hopelessness, which in turn spawned a sort of paralysis. The physical illnesses and financial struggles have not helped.

For quite a while now, scary thoughts have taken hold of me. When I drive, I pass telephone poles and trees and I think to myself, "I could do it. I've just got to take my seat belt off and I can do it, and then things wouldn't be so hard." Fortunately, I recognize these thoughts for what they are: twisted, sick, effects of depression and anxiety. And luckily, after talking with my doctor, we agreed that these thoughts don't make me suicidal. It's not "I want to kill myself," it's "I wish I wanted to kill myself." It's wanting an end of suffering, but not in that way. This is all hard to admit, especially because I grew up in a really bad situation, and I feel like I've become weak; back then I was able to tell myself things would get better, but now I feel like "things will get better" is just wishful thinking. But maybe I haven't gotten weaker - maybe the reason 15 year old Charlotte could feel hopeful was the fact that there was an endpoint: graduating and leaving for college. But me, now.. I have no such comfort. 

But what I actually want to focus on is the possibility of change. 

A couple of days ago I read Rome Sweet Home, a story of conversion to the Catholic Church by Scott and Kimberly Hahn. As I was reading, I was struck by how earnestly they both prayed - for guidance, for help, to give thanks. Now obviously I've prayed before. But, if I'm being honest with myself, I have never quite poured my heart out to our Lord. I've said plenty of Our Fathers, but I've never been very personal in prayer... and I'm a little embarrassed to admit that I never gave God my full trust. I think this lack of trust likely stems from two decades of being let down (to put it very, very nicely) by parents, parent figures, and most adults I tried to trust as a child and again as a teen. Mind you, while this makes my lack of faith in God understandable, it doesn't make it justifiable. Going forward, this is going to be one of the three main tasks I've set for myself to get better. The other two: becoming physically healthy and in shape and; becoming mentally healthy and seeking more help. These three tasks were decided two days ago... after I prayed - really prayed - for guidance. 

I had finished reading the Hahn's conversion story, and I wondered why I had never prayed like them.. and I knew I wanted to. Both Dr. and Mrs. Hahn had described moments of "sensing" God's responses to their prayers. I know this isn't the proper or good way to react, but I was downright jealous. 

Several hours later (or maybe the next day), I found myself sitting on my bedroom floor, balling my eyes out. I was in the middle of sorting every single item I own and attempting to organize them in the little amount of available storage space. I was doing this because the clutter was overwhelming me, so much so that I couldn't write, couldn't read, couldn't paint. And I desperately needed to do those things; I've started a small (very small) business just so I can earn ten bucks here, ten bucks there. And I know creating things to sell would alleviate some of my depression symptoms. 

So there I was, unable to make anything to sell. All I could think was, "I could be making money. Not a lot, but when there's no food, $20 is a big deal." I felt pathetic. I was so angry at myself for letting a messy room stop me from doing something that could really help me. 

And if you've ever been depressed, you know that one bad thought leads to another, and soon you're unable to move, unable to do anything.

I just started crying. Crying and crying... and thinking about Rome Sweet Home, and feeling as though now was the moment, now I needed to trust (or tell myself I trust - fake it til you make it) and I needed to humble myself and earnestly pray. I said a lot of things in those moments, one of them along the lines of, "When the Hahns prayed for guidance, they sensed your response. Please, please let me sense your answer to just this one prayer. Just this one - I'm at my breaking point and don't know what to do."

And at first I felt nothing. My sobs had subsided, but that was it. I started wondering if I had done something wrong. Maybe I put too much emphasis on the Hahns? Maybe pleading for an outright answer was akin to trying to command God, which no man can do. And then I felt an all too familiar stabbing pain from my liver and lamented: I can't keep doing this. Hunched over and reaching for my bottle of ibuprofen, I had to pause and gather myself, because as suddenly as I felt that stab, I felt the word "march." Whoa. 

"Wait, wait."

"Really?!" 

"Wait! ...was that actually you?"

It wasn't as though I heard another voice other than my own. Morgan Freeman didn't narrate. Angels didn't appear, the heavens did not open, the earth did not shake. Really, I didn't hear the word "march" but I felt it. I felt it everywhere and I knew (and know) that it did not come from me.

Needless to say, I felt like a kid at Christmas. I was elated. I was giddy, overcome with joy. God had, however vaguely, answered.

For the last two days I have pondered this. I have spent nearly every waking moment wondering what was meant by this command to march. Part of me wished for more specific instructions. At the end of the day, though, I think he meant to say that I am not weak (how can I be, when I am baptized and he dwells in me and I in him?), and that I need to push forward. March into war, do battle with depression. March, continue to march, even when everything around me is broken, even when I am broken, like soldiers must do even when things seem bleak. March with my head held high, don't cower out of fear that others will think me fat, sickly, unattractive. March like Joan of Arc. March like the archangel Michael. March like Dorothy Day. 

I believe I was told to march in faith. Set goals, have dreams, and lean into Jesus to achieve them. Most importantly, continue marching forward, even when cloaked in misery. In the end, maybe the suffering will stop, maybe it won't. Maybe I'm living out my time in Purgatory while still here. Perhaps I'll reach old age and still be battling these demons. But if that's the case, I will remember the oft-evoked truth: joy cometh in the morning. So if I don't escape suffering in this life, I will find joy the moment I arrive in the next, as long as I'm steadfast in my convictions, marching toward the ultimate goal of joy: everlasting life with Jesus. 

Or maybe God meant something important will happen next March. Who knows? 

Charlotte  

a mini-miracle

unrelated blurry selfie bc it's GAME DAY

Fair warning, this post is about endometriosis and talks about organs and medical stuff so if that's not your jam, tomorrow will hold a lighter, fun post - see you then. :)

I mentioned the other day that surgery revealed something a bit amazing. 

I talked to the doctor who operated on me when I woke up, but that conversation is a little blurry to me. I know I asked him about the possibility of kids in the future and he gave an enthusiastic "yes." It was a huge relief to hear. For a long time, my endometriosis was mostly on my non-reproductive organs. Weird, I know. It was problematic because it was on my intestines, but my original doctor wasn't worried (in 2015) about fertility much because my ovaries weren't covered at all. Then a couple of months ago one of the doctors said it was clear to him that things had progressed and that my ovaries were now "stuck up" with everything else. The theory was that everything - uterus, intestines, vagina, ovaries, rectum, ureters were sort of fused together and stuck to my peritoneum (I think), which is the lining of the abdominal cavity. 

Suddenly, I was really worried about any possibility of children. My surgeon happens to be a reproductive specialist and reassured me that in he'd look at certain things to get a better idea during surgery (but as always, there's no way of knowing until you're actively trying to conceive) and that we'd come up with plans if we needed to, plans that stayed within my comfort zone (aka Catholic teaching), etc... but I still worried often. 

When he told me post-op that I should be able to have kids I was, of course, happy. But the real amazement came four or five days later when I had a visit with my primary doctor who read the surgery notes and described the whole thing to me. Not only were the organs sort of fused together, but the endo growth was everywhere. Everywhere. The entire lining, within the intestines, just... everywhere. And the real weird part, the part that my primary kinda commented on with joy himself, since he knew how I felt about fertility? The only things that were spared from the growth were the parts of the fallopian tubes and the parts of the ovaries that produce eggs/"catch" eggs, etc. The only parts spared. They're such tiny areas, it's crazy that the endometriosis affected everything except the ends of the tubes and the ovaries. A lot of women who suffer infertility due to endo do so because it's covering those areas. Surgery can often fix that, but it's even better because I won't have scar tissue right where eggs go. 

I don't know where I'm going with this post so much as I know I felt I should write about this because it is just wild to me. It's like the endo went out of its way to not grow on these super important areas. 

Over the last couple of weeks and months I know a lot of folks have been praying for me (thank you!!), and I know one of those hopes and prayers was that endometriosis wouldn't affect my ability to have kids (because my friends all know how obnoxious I am about babies :). This is one of those things - I know it's not technically a "miracle," but it feels a little miraculous to me, you know? Too good not to write down. 

Anyway, happy Sunday! And let's go G-Men!

xo Charlotte    

Medical Update + run-on sentences describing my hospital stay in more detail than anyone wants

LOL

The last time I posted on the blogette I was semi-optimistic about my health and even went so far as to say I was going to start a routine at the Y that week. Well plans change. The next day I was admitted to the hospital. Again. Sigh. The bad news is they're not really sure what's wrong with me. The good news is I haven't dropped dead yet. I needed to go to the emergency room after over 13 hours of non-manageable pain. My symptoms were the same as my September stint in the hospital: severe pain, nausea, vomiting. Tests showed elevated liver enzymes and I guess my bile duct was dilated. Luckily, there wasn't an obstruction in the duct this time (or if there was, it was gone before imaging was done) and so my bilirubin was fine, I wasn't at risk for infection, it wasn't life threatening, and I only stayed for two days. I was, most unfortunately, back on my clear liquid diet.

I'm glad it wasn't as crazy as last time, but... it's harder this time. I'm more anxious, more stressed, more sad, and they are sending me to Charleston, SC. There's a hospital there that does special tests and procedures. They're risky - riskier than any other surgeries or procedures I've had. My doctors think I have a greater chance than most of developing pancreatitis from the procedures. But they also think I need to take those risks. My other option is to not only be in pain frequently, but endure multiple hospital stays a year and risk getting another obstruction (which again, could become life threatening). 

The hospital stay was shorter, but man. It sucked. Like I said, I'm weirdly anxious this time. I'm not sure why. Maybe it's because I was really, really starting to think I was doing better. I've made huge lifestyle changes, I haven't been to the ER (other than the car accident), I haven't needed to see the GI. No surgeries! Mild symptoms. So it surprised me to end up there again. I was so nervous in the hospital. I was fine and cheerful (post-pain meds. def not pre-pain meds) and I was talking to the doctor as my nurse attempted to put another IV in - never an easy job with me, for some reason. (I am used to the needles and even the dreadful "digging around" trying to find an IV and it doesn't bother me until/unless they're in my arm searching for veins for like 3+ minutes. But I did experience a new and rather discussing thing this time. My nurse got the IV, but as she flushed it with saline, it blew. That's fine, it doesn't hurt. BUT she was flushing it with fluid, so when the vein blew it immediately just sort of welled up. Not painful at all, but SO SO gross to look at - it was like a golf ball under the skin on my hand. It freaked me out. It freaked me out good.) But yes. Talking to the doctor. My nurse left to get another nurse to attempt an IV. My doctor and I were just chatting and then I got a nice chest pain - not unusual for me, but it was a little different from my normal pains. So what do I do? I start crying. Not at all embarrassing. I told her I was feeling much more anxious this time, and she told me to let her know if that continued - she said I didn't need to feel like that. Later that night I came really close to asking for something for my nerves as I could not stop worrying. This time wasn't as problematic as last time, so it doesn't make sense that I was (and am) more nervous, but there we have it. The hospital stay was basically just a long marathon of paranoid thoughts. 

   

The anxiety has died down a little. Not every pain causes me to panic. My doctor also helped by giving me something for nausea which is great since 1. this illness/situation makes me nauseous frequently and 2. I'm supposed to go to the ER if I throw up. So every time I'd get nauseous, I'd start to mega-worry that I was about to end up back in the hospital. At least with the medicine I can sort of control that (to an extent). 

The doctors don't know what's wrong, but they've got some ideas. (And at an appointment the other day, I was told there are "probably several different things wrong" with me. Terrific!) The very specific thing they're hoping to find out about via Charleston is my Sphincter of Oddi. Oh my gosh. "Oddi" is pronounced just like the letters O D. I could not stop laughing in the hospital when they told me the name. It sounds ridiculous, like something straight out of Thor. There's not much I understand about it, but at least I can get a kick out of the name. 

I'm also trying to change my diet even more. I've cut a lot of bad food out of my diet because I want to lose weight - and then I cut even more food out after my last hospital stay. Right now my diet really isn't bad at all, and they told me that there's probably no preventing what's happening to me, and that I'm not causing it with diet, but.. that I should cut out fatty foods anyway (a good rule for anyone, especially someone without a gallbladder and with recurring liver issues, I suppose). So I'm struggling to cut out even more kinds of food. It's been loads of fun. And wildly successful! I didn't just eat a bowl of ice cream.

So right now they're worried about the liver, the duct, and the pancreas. (And the sphincter of Oddi, which I think is just included in those things.) But I also developed some troubling (like really troubling) symptoms the other day, and now I need to be tested to rule out cancer. I don't actually think I have cancer. I don't think the doctors really think I have cancer. But I also don't like hearing the word "cancer" while in a doctor's office. So that's got me kinda scared. I also started having some telltale endometriosis symptoms while in the hospital. Go figure. I was all, "e tu, uterus?" Because for a while, the endo had really died down. There's some concern now that the endo growth on my intestines is causing problems. We shall see. 

Right now this is where I'm at: I've been in near-constant pain since leaving the hospital (it doesn't usually go above a 5 or 6 unless it flares, so I consider that mostly tolerable and manageable). I get tired early in the day because I've been trying to not just lay down all day. (And I still have family members insisting I'm not actually sick and that I "just need to see a nut doctor." Because my mental issues run so deep that I've now got the ability to make bile ducts appear dilated on MRI results.) I get nauseous, but it's under control. I'm more anxious than normal. I'm to look for certain symptoms and to return to the hospital if my pain increases, if I throw up, if I get a fever. I had blood work the other day and there are a few tests on there that could send me to the hospital if they don't check out okay (or near okay, anyway). 

I'm really freaking sick of all of this. It's been years now of medical crap and surgeries and hospitals and I think that's partially why I'm feeling on edge. But I'm trying to not be too bummed out about it. Or at least to not let being bummed out ruin every moment of every day. I'm trying to think of Charleston as a nice and well-needed vacation. (I don't know how I'm going to swing the trip lol? but I'll worry about that after I hear from them.) And my golf ball hand is mostly back to it's normal size, color, and tenderness, so there's that. :) 

__

Charlotte 

Sex With Just One Person... For the Rest of Your Life

Sometimes I'll read a blog post that's really open and honest and that addresses a topic that's awkward or uncomfortable that I'd be too timid to write about, and I'll think, "I wish I wasn't too timid to be that open and honest and address topics that are awkward or uncomfortable." 

And recently I decided that, uh, nothing is stopping me from doing that. Besides, Liz is basically my whole readership and there's very little I could write about that she doesn't already know.

One such "awkward and uncomfortable" topic that's been swirling around my head for a hot minute? Sex. The reason? I follow a lot of pages aimed at millennials; sex-positive article appears in my newsfeed at least once a day. I also follow a lot of Catholic pages; an article about abstaining until marriage appears in my newsfeed at least once a day. I usually find something misguiding or problematic in both kinds of posts. Two days ago, and this was really the driving factor in deciding to write this post, I read an article that said, "You have to have sex with a lot of people while you're young. You'll get invaluable experience and really learn about your body."

Let me tell you what. You have to have sex with exactly as many or as few people as you want. You do not have to have sex with a lot of people to learn about your body. (Conversely, you do not have to have sex with no people to stay a good and responsible person.)

The article I mentioned probably contained the most straightforward language, but the sentiment it expressed is often found in sex positive articles, and I think it's problematic. And those Catholic articles I've read? They've got good stuff in them just like the sex-positive posts. ...But often, they're aimed at women and only women. Why are only female bodies temples that ought to be protected? Why is virginity a gift to give to your husband? WHY CAN'T WIVES BE GIFTED VIRGINITY, HUH? In all fairness, there are quite a few Catholic bloggers I follow who aren't sexist - self described "hipster Catholics" who dole out Christian sex ethics to both men and women, and who aren't all about that shaming game. I can dig that. 

Now obviously, one person can only have one perspective, and sex is a personal matter. I can only offer my thoughts on this (though if you want to write a post about your thoughts and experiences, do let me know - I'm all for guest posts [subtle hints to Dana and Liz re: Books to Read With Friends posts] and I'd be happy to share it here). 

Personally, I am in the latter camp - sex with one person and just one person is where it's at. I have nothing against people who have had multiple partners or who don't wait for marriage. I'm saying it's what I want. I remember my friend and I sitting at a red light while we were in high school. We were talking about sex and I believe it was our senior year, so we were both about to go to college, which obviously - hotbed of immorality. ;) Somehow our conversation turned to numbers. How many people will you let yourself sleep with? (Yes, I know it's an arbitrary bs thing, but we were 17 so whatever.) I said something along the lines of, "I really only want to sleep with my husband, but I usually fall short of my goals, so I'll give myself 3." And my friend said, "30." Approximately twenty seconds later she sighed and let out, "Dammit, I've limited myself to so few!" And we laughed and moved on to better conversation.   

Funnily enough, my reasoning has nothing to do with religion. I've always been Catholic but I didn't start practicing until I was around 22 (I still am a total novice, too). Before religion was an active part of my life, I decided I didn't want to have many sexual partners. Now that I actually know the Church's teaching on sex, yes, I mostly agree with it. But my original thought process has nothing to do with God or creation, it just has to do with... romance. 

I know, I know. 

But here's the thing. I really, really like the idea of my husband being the closest person to me. There's an emotional closeness between life partners that is different from the closeness between friends. I imagine my husband will be the person I am emotionally closest to throughout my life. I'd like it if he were the person I am physically closest to as well. For me, the idea of one person - the person who I'll build a life with - being the only person I've ever reached maximum emotional and physical closeness with is perfect. I know the phrase "making love" solicits eye rolls and fake gagging, but having sex is being physically closest to the person I'm emotionally closest to, and I think that's terribly romantic.

Of course, there's no guarantee I'll get married, in which case I will have wasted a perfectly good vagina. But let's not think of such calamitous things.

I know sex with one person FOREVA is not for everyone. I get that. But people make it as though it's insane or oppressive to only have sex with one person. That's your choice. There are as many ways to be sex-positive as there are people, and this is just my way. I have friends who have had multiple partners - some have loved it, some have regretted it. I have friends who waited until they were a certain age or until they thought they were in love - some loved it, some regretted it. It's different for everyone.

My personal experience of waiting? Eh. 

For one, my friends. They're simultaneously the most supportive and the most annoying about my decision. They all tell me it's great that I know what I want, yada yada, but.. they can unknowingly be patronizing as well. I've been told I'm adorable for waiting. I don't get mad at reactions like that, but I do get a little internal eye rolling going on. Many have also suggested that I'll change my mind once I'm in a relationship. Maybe, but maybe not. Probably not, actually. I haven't been in any serious relationships, but that doesn't mean I haven't been in situations where I've wanted to have sex. Hello, college. I've come close to having sex. I think there's an assumption among my sexually active friends that if you haven't had sex, you don't get tempted. It can be frustrating when my friends act as though I'm just totally oblivious to sexual desire. It is not easy waiting to have sex. I imagine it'll be ten times more difficult when I'm in a serious relationship. 

Probably the most anxiety-inducing part about having sex with only one person is the thought of how guys will respond to that. I know that it's possible I'll really like a guy, maybe even see a future with him, but that things won't work out because he wants to have sex. I have two guy friends that know I don't have sex (and, um, I guess more now that I've posted this) and they don't think it's bad or weird, but they're also not romantically interested in me, so.. it's different. I'd be lying if I said I don't sometimes wonder if I'm getting to a point where the men my age are not going to be interested in waiting until marriage. We'll see, I guess. 

Another really crappy thing is that society at large acts as though not having sex means you're not an adult. I had a friend literally tell me I wasn't really an adult because I haven't had sex. Mother effer, I've been through more in my life than most 40 year olds I know. I am definitely an adult. I am mature, I am responsible (mostly), I am 24 years old, and I certainly have adult bills. I'd like it if this friend tried telling some 60 year old nun or priest s/he wasn't an adult.

I do get a lot of questions from my sexually active friends. Probably the most frequently asked question is if I'm going to teach my kids that they should only have sex within marriage. Which... I'm like years and years away from dealing with that, but can I give it a tentative yes? I haven't planned it out, and obviously my future hypothetical kids will also have a father and this would fall under the umbrella of things parents decide together. I guess my best answer is that I'd teach my kids that I believe sex is best when it's with someone you love (which happens to be what most of my friends have told me). I'd want them to be sex-positive and to know that I'm going to love them whether they wait for marriage or not. I don't know! I get that my friends are curios, but this is a weird question to think about since it's not even close to being a real situation for me yet. 

The second thing almost all of my friends have asked is if I'd marry someone who has had sex. While of course I've already laid out my feelings on the romance of one person, the answer is yes, I would marry someone who has had sex. I don't think I'd be comfortable dating someone who has a completely opposite idea of sex from my own idea, though. I have friends who think sex is just some great fun thing to do for pleasure, and nothing more. That's fine! But I'm not going to marry or build a life with my friends, so there are certain differences that truly don't matter. It's a little different, I think, with a husband (or serious boyfriend). I don't need him to have never had sex, but I would prefer that we value sex similarly - both seeing it as something that's important. Does that make sense? 

As not fun as it is to try and wait, there are a few "add on bonuses" as I call them. Little advantages to only ever having sex within marriage. None of these things would make me decide to wait, but they're silver linings, I guess. Like, I don't have to worry about antibiotics screwing up my birth control! Also, unless future husband has something, I don't have to worry about catching things. I also have horrible luck - so you know how bc is deemed 99.9% effective? I wouldn't put it past myself to be the .1% that gets pregnant. I'm glad I don't have to worry about that (not that I don't want kids, but you know, I wouldn't be able to handle a baby right now). I have endometriosis so my period is irregular. If I was having sex I would always think I might be pregnant. It would be scare after scare and it wouldn't be good for my blood pressure. 

It aggravates me that society simultaneously acts as though people who wait to have sex until marriage are the pinnacle of morality (we're not, and I'm perfectly capable of being an asshole sometimes) while also mocking us for waiting. Neither of those things are right. When it comes down to it, people should do what they think is best for them. This is best for me. Even if I have to endure the occasional friend balking at me when I say a guy is sexy or, God forbid, I say I want to look sexy. Even with that. 

__

Charlotte