magic is real

As many of you know from stalking me on social media, I went on a trip to Orlando, Florida last week. And it was truly amazing.

The trip was a HUGE milestone for me. I celebrated ONE YEAR in recovery from my eating disorder. I did most of my adventuring totally by myself. This meant navigating the unknown while flying solo. Something that previously would have 100% given me a full-blown anxiety attack. Sure, I got lost a few times. I got overheated and tired. It was expensive. But I did it. Cheerfully and with excitement. Because the experience I worked so hard to allow myself to have was totally WORTH IT.

I was in good enough condition mentally, emotionally, and physically to explore all that Universal Studios Orlando had to offer. I enjoyed delicious food and beverages, I walked miles and miles and miles each day, I made decisions, I navigated feelings of both excitement and anxiety, and I listened to my body.

I got there when the park first opened and I actually ended up leaving at around 1pm both days. It was so so hot and humid. I decided it was better to call it early and thoroughly enjoy my time at the park than it was to force myself to stay all day to “get my moneys worth” and be miserable. And I am entirely satisfied with my decision.

I mostly went to Universal to visit the Wizarding World of Harry Potter and it did NOT disappoint. I (of course) got myself a wand at Ollivanders, which made the experience even more awesome. I visited all the shops. I drank a butterbeer BOTH days (cold, not frozen…it tastes JUST like cream soda, which is my favorite). I sent Skylar a card from Hogsmeade. I rode the Hogwarts Express. I witnessed the fire-breathing dragon at Gringotts. And I got plenty of awesome pictures.

My second-favorite thing was the Jurassic Park section of Islands of Adventure. It was an awesome atmosphere full of photo-ops. I got a video and plenty of pictures of me meeting Blue the velociraptor. Definitely a memory I will cherish.

The only bummer?

I got covid. Luckily it didn’t hit until the day after we got back home. But boy did it knock me out. I seriously felt like death. Like I couldn’t even watch TV I was so useless. I ended up canceling EVERYTHING I had planned for this week. I’m definitely on the upswing now, but those first few days were NOT cool. When I went to urgent care on Saturday, they prescribed me Lagevrio (Paxlovid interacts with one of my medications) because I’m part of an “at risk” population. But today is Wednesday and CVS STILL does not have the medication. Which, you know, is just fabulous.

But. Even in the miserable moments during those first few days with covid. I do NOT regret my decision to travel to Universal. It was so much more than a trip to an amusement park for me. It represented a major victory. It celebrated freedom. It gave me hope and excitement for the future. It convinced me that ANYTHING is possible.

That magic…

is real.

power

Recently, I’ve been very focused on the process of taking charge of my own life. It started about a year ago. I was in treatment and my assigned psychiatrist was one I had worked with several years ago. I was concerned that she would only see me for who I was back then. I worried that she would let that overshadow who I am today. But the reality was quite different from my expectations. She definitely remembered who I was and used her knowledge of “Past Brittany”, but not to judge and pigeonhole me. She used it to understand me and speak to my soul. I think she is probably the only person in the world who could say what she said without me completely loosing my shit.

She compelled me to engage in some deep introspection. She asked me why I was who and where I was. Point blank. And I realized how long I’ve evaded both responsibility and adulthood. It was embarrassing and shameful. Even now, I can’t believe that I’m writing about it on the internet. Because it is so not cool to admit. Even to myself. That I have been running and running and running for years. Away from everything. Never towards. I had been overwhelmed by fear for over half my life.

Looking back now, I do not blame myself for doing so. I had many reasons and some of them were good. But they were not doing me any sort of service. My inclination to run was only holding me back from leading any sort of life worth living.

And it was in that moment in a cramped office staring at my psychiatrist with tears streaming down my face that I admitted what she already knew. I was the only one standing in the way of the life I hoped for myself. I was the only person holding me back from realizing my full potential. I was the one sabotaging recovery year after year. It was all me. I had no one else to blame.

But the way my psychiatrist led me to this conclusion allowed me to do so with self-compassion. Not judgement of myself for lost time, lost relationships, lost experiences, and lost love. But with a desire to change myself for the future. For today. And in that way, she empowered me like no other provider ever has.

Like I said, that was a year ago. The process is slow, but I have broken down so many barriers. I have let myself feel sorrow and experience grief. I have surrendered myself to rage and explored my anxiety. And by diving into all that is difficult, I have paved a way to joy, contentment, gratitude, and hope. Things I really thought were not in the cards for me.

The biggest hurdle that I have faced for decades has been finding a purpose. I lost everything in college. All that I had worked so hard for. All that I had dreamed of. All that I had hung my future on. It all vanished. Part was taken and part was surrendered of my own accord. I have come to terms with the past and realize that my college years and all that has followed ultimately became the foundation for my new hopes and dreams.

I have spent decades searching for my true passion. Something that excites and directs me. I never ever dreamed it would take so long to find something like that again. Something that gets me excited enough to risk the unknown and the inevitable challenges ahead. But I have. I finally have. And I received the full support and encouragement of people who had seen me at my worst when I discharged from treatment last year.

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My life changed drastically in February of this year. The mental health providers that I had seen consistently for the last 15 years were no longer covered by my insurance. I had to find a new therapist and psychiatrist. If I ever have to return to treatment, it will not be with a familiar program. These things may not seem substantial, but they rocked my world for sure.

I found new providers and I have been unimpressed. My appointments with the NP who manages my medication last 5-10 minutes. Luckily I have been stable and on the same meds for a year, so it is no biggie. But I do occasionally worry how he will help me if I start to struggle again. The therapist I started seeing was truly terrible. It was all virtual visits and they were also very short. She didn’t really stay in her lane very well and always had an incredibly unhelpful opinion to offer regarding medical and dietary concerns. So much so that I avoided talking about such topics and would even occasionally lie to avoid her unhealthy views and judgements surrounding food. And that is 100% not like me. I know that therapy is only effective if I am truthful and vulnerable. It was not a good situation.

Luckily my insurance switched yet again on June 1st. One of the therapists I worked with when my “real” therapist was on maternity leave yeeeeeears ago opened a private practice and he accepts my new insurance. YAY!!! I dumped the crappy therapist last week and saw my new therapist yesterday and it was so so refreshing.

He sees patients both in person and virtually. I have not been to an in-person therapy session (outside of treatment) in over a year. Others may disagree, but I think something is lost when therapy is done virtually rather than in-person. Sure, there are benefits to having the ability to meet with someone virtually. But there’s nothing that replaces a face-to-face therapy session.

He is willing to meet me where I am right now and help me grow and walk into the life that I envision for myself. And I am so excited.

We talked about how paralyzing my anxiety used to be. And when I say paralyzing, I mean paralyzing. Life-altering. Incapacitating. He asked me how I overcame that.

And I didn’t have a good answer for him. I told him that was one of the things that worries me. The fact that I could not tell you what set of skills helped me to navigate and overcome that anxiety. It is worrisome because I won’t know how to overcome the anxiety again if and when it returns.

He asked me about mindfulness. And I said no, I don’t really practice mindfulness. Unless you count playing the piano.

On the drive home, I continued to think about our conversation. I remembered that mindfulness is simply being in the present moment without judgement. And I realized just how much I have practiced mindfulness in the past week.

I wouldn’t have called it mindfulness in the moment. It was busy and loud and overwhelming. But boy was I present.

The number of times that I paused, closed my eyes, took a breath, and felt joyful tears in my eyes over the last week? I can’t even count.

Thursday night. Closing Ceremony. Watching the little Primary kids sing their hearts out. Remembering Skylar at that age. Wondering how time could fly by so fast. Watching the Middle Schoolers perform a self-choreographed dance. Hearing Skylar give her speech. Her saying thank you. Realizing that maybe I’ve done something right. Seeing the graduates embrace each other before escaping offstage. Realizing that we made it. That Skylar is turning into a super stellar human and that the fun is just beginning. Realizing that because of the choices I’ve been making, I get to be a part of it. A part of her future. A part of who she continues to become. And just how lucky I am to do so.

Thursday night. Again. Dinner with 30+ people. Talking to parents. Being a part of a celebration. Despite not being able to hear myself think. Despite not hearing half of what the other people were saying. But being included. Having something to talk about. Being a part of the conversation. Not just there but present. What a gift.

Friday morning. Annual Picnic. Not worried about the weather or my outfit or the endless amounts of food. Just spending time with friends and enjoying the fellowship of the people who have been instrumental in Skylar’s educational experience over the past 9 years. Basking in friendships and good food in the shade of the trees.

Friday afternoon and evening. Hershey Park. Strolling. Laughing. Eating. And just being. With teenagers and adults who truly enjoy each other’s company. Who are authentic and genuine and comfortable and accepting.

And at every event and in every way I was present in the moment. Basking in the beauty of all that life has laid before me in simple and complex opportunities. I would truly pause, close my eyes, and say to myself, “Wow. Isn’t this something.”

To see myself move from purposelessness to where I am today in just one short year…I have much to be thankful for. I have much to live for.

And while I am thankful for family, treatment teams, friends, and God…I think it is equally important for me to be thankful to myself. It is my hard work. It is my tough decisions. It is my ACTION that has moved me so far down the path of healing. And it’s important to acknowledge the role that I have played in doing so. Because life isn’t some passive experience. The choices—big and small—that we make each day are what makes life fulfilling, passionate, rich, and joyful. And to deny or minimize the impact of what I have done for myself this year would be the equivalent of running and giving away my power. Something I sincerely hope to never do again.

I love this life far too much. I love my people far too deeply. I love my future far too fiercely.

To ever give away my power again.

poked

I don’t have anything earth shattering to share today, but I have something to say nonetheless.

I had to get labs drawn yesterday for a routine doctors appointment. They were fasting labs, so I went early. I don’t use the word “trauma” lightly and I’ve never 100% understood what people meant when they say they experience medical trauma. But I do now.

I have never really been bothered by the process of having blood drawn. It’s just a part of life and has never actually hurt. But yesterday I almost had a panic attack during my blood draw and I can tell you exactly why.

When I was in Texas for inpatient treatment in January 2023, one of my electrolyte levels was dangerously low. There was a period of time when I was having labs drawn 3 times a day. And each draw took at least 3 tries. They stuck me all over my arms and hands. I was bruised everywhere and every stick hurt. It got to the point where I would just sob during the attempts because my tolerance to being poked was totally maxed out. Even drinking 16 ounces out of water 6 times a day did nothing to improve the situation. It was seriously terrible. It was traumatic.

I used to be a very easy stick. I’m not entirely sure what has happened over the last few years, but that is no longer the case. When I had labs drawn yesterday morning, it took the phlebotomist 3 tries to be successful.

I started out telling her that my hands are usually where phlebotomists have the best luck. She said she doesn’t like to use hands if she can help it.

She was having trouble finding a good spot and asked me if I had consumed any water that morning. I said yes, I am very diligent with my water consumption, especially prior to a blood draw.

When she was finally successful, she told me 2 things:

1. “You need to tell the phlebotomist to use your hands.”

2. “You need to drink water before your blood draw.”

Ok…

A…I DID tell you to use my hands. You just didn’t believe I knew what I was talking about.

B…I DID drink water before my lab work. I drank so much it made me sick to my stomach. I TOLD you that, too.

She was gaslighting me into thinking that the mistake was mine. It was MY fault that it was so difficult for her to draw my blood.

WHAT?

Medical trauma and gaslighting by medical professionals are real. No wonder so many people don’t get the medical attention they need. They fear judgement, pain, and the reality that their struggles may not be validated.

I’m lucky in the fact that I am aware of these things and don’t allow them to prevent me from seeking the treatment I need. But it can be exhausting. It can be stressful and anxiety-provoking.

If you are facing similar struggles, please remember:

• You know yourself and your truth better than anyone else. Even a super-special-specialist. Don’t let them tell YOU how YOU feel.

• Bring a list of symptoms/concerns that you have. Take the list out and go through it with them.

• Bring a list of detailed questions. Once again, take the list out and ask every single question. Write down the answers!!

• Listen and be open. They are the experts in their field. You are the expert on you. Collaborate and work together to solve your problems!

• Rinse and repeat. If you do not feel comfortable with the provider. If you do not receive recommendations that adequately treat your issues. If you do not feel heard or understood. GET A SECOND OPINION.

Your health is precious and deserves A+ care. Only you can ensure that you receive it. Advocate for yourself relentlessly. It is well worth the effort!

happiest of days

Well today is May 18, 2024. It is exactly 1 year since my most recent treatment admission. It is also exactly 2 days after my 38th birthday. And I have a lot to be proud of.

Many people my age have a serious aversion to celebrating birthdays anymore. Aging gives them all sorts of negative emotions. And don’t get me wrong, I do have the occasional… “I seem to get older faster every year and I’ve barely accomplished anything of note in my life” moment. But. More than anything, I am filled with gratitude and awe. Which allows me to more fully celebrate and embrace every single precious moment. Which I think is actually pretty cool.

FIRST:

• Last year I spent my birthday dinner in intensive outpatient treatment at Center for Discovery. Earlier in the day I had called Eating Recovery Center and planned my residential admission for the 18th. I spent most of the night sobbing.

• This year, my dad and I went to Crumbl Cookies to snag birthday treats, treated ourselves to Starbucks, and drove to surprise my birthday buddy with some gifts after she got off work. Then Dad, Mom, and I went to Beck’s in Sykesville for a delicious dinner. I enjoyed every bite, every sip, and every breath I took.

SECOND:

• Last year, I missed out on hearing all about Skylar’s school Adventure Trip. I was never available when she called from Chicago. I was not able to welcome her home due to my residential treatment admission. I said goodbye to Skylar on Monday, expecting to say hello in less than a week. I didn’t see her again for 2 months.

• This year, I was home for every phone call and looked forward to her updates. Their plane from San Diego landed at 10:10pm yesterday. Way past my usual bedtime. But Dad and I went to pick her up and I was bouncing with excitement. Because I got to be there. I got to give her a huge hug and welcome her home. And my heart nearly burst. What a gift it was to simply exist in that moment.

THIRD:

• Last year, I dreaded leaving the house and having to interact with the other parents at school or Girl Scouts. I felt inadequate, overwhelmed, and exhausted. 24/7.

• This year, I have eagerly anticipated all the activities that signal the end of our MSW era. The Middle School Play was a real treat. I can’t wait to hear Skylar speak at the Closing Ceremony. I’m looking forward to the Annual Picnic. I’ll even tolerate the terrifying spinning wheel of death. The trip to Hershey with the Springdale-bound crew is something I’m excited for.

And that’s really just the start of it all. I haven’t felt this ALIVE in such a long time. I mean it’s certainly no cake walk. I’m still figuring out a lot of stuff. I have days that I just need to rest. So I do. I’m really just focusing on taking care of myself in every possible way. Which allows me to more fully engage with the people I care about the most.

I am more and more amazed with my daughter by the day. Watching Skylar grow is truly one of the greatest joys in my life. She is just an overall super cool human and I consider myself incredibly blessed to call myself her mother. I can’t believe we are where we are. In time. In our relationship. I mean the whole thing really is just one huge miracle that I’m surprised an overwhelmed by daily.

I guess what I’m saying is that my heart is filled with gratitude, which is really the best gift that I ever could have received for my birthday. I am blown away with the love, acceptance, encouragement, and support that I have received from everyone I encountered on my journey this past year. I wouldn’t be who or where I am without all the experiences and all people that I stumbled into.

All my love,

Brittany

seriously lucky

Well a lot has transpired over the last week or so and I have failed to write on any of the events that are significant to me.

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ONE: Last week was Eating Disorders Awareness Week.

I might not have written, but I certainly did a lot of reflection. I really gave myself a lot of time and space to process all that has transpired over the last 14 months. Actually, it’s more than that. With the exception of two 2-3 week breaks, I was in eating disorder treatment for 17 months straight. June 2022—October 2023. I hit all levels of care (most more than once) including inpatient, residential, partial hospitalization program (PHP), and virtual intensive outpatient program (VIOP). Eating disorder treatment has completely dominated my entire life for over a year. And now I’m in the next phase of things.

It’s hard to go from an environment where you completely surrender every single aspect of your life to one of freedom. I’ve been doing the treatment thing for many many years now. But I can honestly say that this last stint was life-changing. I was blessed with incredible treatment teams that made a lasting impact on my life. I discovered hard truths about myself and the choices I have made in my life. I realized that every day I have the opportunity to choose differently. Hour by hour, minute by minute, second by second I get to pick where I go. I have so much more power than I ever realized. And I’m not just talking about whether or not I decide to act on eating disorder behaviors. I mean EVERYTHING. There is a WHOLE WORLD out there that I had all but abandoned.

I had very nearly surrendered my life to darkness, misery, sickness, and hopelessness. But I have—repeatedly—for years now—picked up the phone and made the call for help. I scheduled a level of care assessment. I answered the difficult questions. I purchased a plane ticket. I overcame my fear of not knowing how to summon an Uber or where I was going in a new and scary city. All to get myself the help I needed. If I’m willing to do all of those challenging things to get myself to treatment, than I should be able to take the difficult steps towards the next phase of my recovery.

I have been out of treatment for 4 months now and I feel…different than I have in the past. I don’t feel like I’m heading down the same old path, destined to land myself in yet another treatment center. I have no idea what’s next for me. I just know that my eating disorder is no longer welcome in my present or my future. I have lost far too much of my past—of my life—to let it steal away any more.

So I’m thankful for the past 20ish months. I have come to know myself deeply. I went through darkness, pain, paralyzing fear, and monotonous days that I truly thouht would destroy me. Sometimes physically, sometimes mentally and emotionally. But those times opened my eyes to the joy that is simply life outside of treatment. Freedom and the opportunity to find a purpose and a life worth living.

My view from the ERC apartment in Chicago: June 2022.

TWO: Last Thursday was also Rare Disease Day due to it being the rarest day…February 29th…Leap Day…the Day of the Zebra!

I have a “rare disease” called Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome. EDS affects the connective tissue in your body: skin, joints, and blood vessels. There are several different types and the types vary in severity. There are also many co-occurinng conditions that present along with EDS in some patients (POTS, MCAS, etc). My personal symptoms include overly flexible joints, stretchy/fragile/translucent skin, and other random things. It explains why I’m so easily injured, why wounds take so long to heal, and why I’m always finding massive bruises in random areas of my body.

I’m actually of the belief that EDS is far more prevalent than we might have believed several years ago. I have met a good number of people who also have EDS with varying presentations. Providers are slightly more knowledgeable of the condition than they were even 5-10 years ago. Unfortunately access to providers who are equipped to diagnose and truly HELP is extremely limited. I have been on the waiting list to see a geneticist for over a year now and they still have to idea when my name will float to the top of the waitlist.

So I do what I can on my own and limit those things that make my condition worse. My biggest problem has obviously been my hips. I’ve had many surgeries on both hips over the years. Repeatedly experiencing the same injuries. I have recently noticed that my fingers bend in terrible ways that are starting to impact my ability to perform certain tasks. So I did some research and found a website that sells custom swan neck splints for the joints in your fingers. I ordered a few to try out and we’ll see if I experience any improvement. Right now—for me—EDS is about educating myself as much as possible and setting myself up for success by finding providers and tools that will help me to reduce pain and injury in my daily life.

So excited to try my new swan neck splints from Zebra Splints!

THREE: Yesterday was Skylar’s 14th Birthday and it was so so sweet to get to spend the day with her.

Unfortunately, I spent her 12th and 13th birthdays in treatment centers so getting to be fully present, take in the moment, and celebrate one amazing kid was such and incredible gift. I made sure to really soak up the day and the blessing that she is to myself, our family, her friends, her school, her Girl Scout Troop, and honestly to the entire world. She is amazing in so many ways. She is kind, caring, smart, funny, and just generally brightens up any room. I can’t believe she starts HIGH SCHOOL in the fall and I’m excited for her to have new experiences and opportunities. I have seen her grow SO MUCH over the years (in both height and personality) and she continually surprises and amazes me. I consider myself one lucky mama :)

Dad took a picture of me and Skylar yesterday to commemorate the occasion :)

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Hmm. That was a little bit longer than I intended. But it’s been an eventful week and I have a lot to say. I guess the gist is the fact that I am seriously lucky. I’m lucky that my eating disorder didn’t kill me this year. I’m lucky that I have people who didn’t give up on me and who walked with me towards recovery. I’m lucky that I’m finally free enough to be able to focus on other aspects of my health. I’m lucky that I’ve had the resources to treat the conditions that have been caused by EDS over the years. I’m lucky that I have access to information and support to help me navigate my diagnoses. And I’m lucky to have a really amazing and loving kid. I’m lucky that we’re both alive and thriving. And I’ll never ever take any of this for granted.

Something To Show For it All

On or around Thanksgiving, my right hip started bothering me. More and more each day. Until I caved and scheduled an appointment with a local orthopedist. I say local because, traditionally, I see an orthopedist in Arlington, VA for all things hip. I say traditionally because—in case you’re new here—this ain’t my first rodeo.

I had my assumptions. It felt like it’s felt before. A labral tear. That was my gut. I figured I needed an MRI and rather than drive down to Arlington to be told just that, I decided to see someone local. Someone I could get a same day appointment with.

That was 2 weeks ago.

Sure enough, he ordered an MRI. But not any MRI. An MRI arthrogram. The kind where they stick a nice long needle into the hip joint and squirt in a bunch of contrast in there before running the MRI.

Not fun.

I know because I’ve done it before.

I’ve had 2 labral repairs and 1 labral reconstruction on my left hip. 1 labral repair on my right hip.

The MRI arthrogram was this morning. I had convinced myself that it wouldn’t be that bad. That I was just remembering the worst parts of a bad experience. So I went in this morning with some anxiety, but I was able to eat a normal breakfast and not feel like I was going to puke.

Boy was I wrong. It hurt. SO BAD. I like to think that I have a pretty decent pain tolerance. But damn do I hate that procedure. It’s the worst.

I was there for THREE HOURS. First you wait. Then you get the injection. Then you wait. Then you get the MRI. Then you wait. Then you receive the CD with the images on it.

There were some other embarrassing moments that I will skip over for the benefit of my male readers.

Anyway. What a long, horrible, very bad morning.

I got home and had some lunch and decided to log into my Advanced Radiology account just for kicks. They say it takes 2 days to post results, but I just had a hunch.

And there it was. My radiology report.

Repeat labral tear confirmed.

My gut was right. It usually is with hip stuff. I’ve done the dance enough to know.

I wish I had more to tell you, but I don’t see the doctor until Friday. It’s someone new. The guy I saw 2 weeks ago doesn’t do hip arthroscopies, so he referred me to another orthopedist in the practice. He’s local. Like a 5 minute drive from my house, which is nice.

I don’t know what he’ll advise. He might want me to try physical therapy first or he might recommend surgery. I have no idea.

If he recommends surgery, I don’t know if I’ll give him a whirl or if I’ll head down to Arlington. Arlington is far, but I trust Dr. Ochiai completely. He knows my (complicated) case and makes accommodations for my Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome in his treatment plans. He’s familiar, kind, and talented.

But I’m also tired. God am I tired. I don’t know that I have trips to Arlington in me right now. And I don’t know that he’d even agree to operate for that matter. I’m a train wreck. I have torn every single one of his very excellent repairs. Would he be willing to cut into me for a sixth time? (I say 6 because he also removed the hardware in my left hip…most of it, at least)

So there’s a lot up in the air right now. I’m trying to bench it until Friday when I have more information to work with. Writing is my way of doing that I guess. Getting it out of my system. Out of my brain and onto paper (or my iPad in this case).

To say I’m discouraged would be an understatement. I am so so careful, yet this crap keeps happening. This is my THIRD injury requiring an MRI this YEAR. It’s ridiculous. Seriously out of control. I don’t even remember DOING anything for this to happen. We did some restorative yoga in VIOP a few weeks ago, but I used a TON of pillows so as not to overextend my joints in any way. That’s the only potential cause that I can think of.

It drives me seriously crazy.

The only good thing I can think of is this: at least I have something to show for all the pain and suffering I endured this morning. At least I have results to share at all. After all, you’ve gotta find some humor in things. Right?

tms and life and such

Today was my second to last TMS treatment. And I don't want to sound dramatic, but TMS has changed my life.

What is TMS, you might be asking? Well. TMS stands for Transcranial Magnetic Stimulation. It is a treatment for depression in which they stimulate the mood regulation areas of the brain with magnetic pulses. There's a lot of sciencey stuff that goes into it...obviously. Check out the Greenbrook website for lots of info and videos and stuff if you're really interested in finding out more.

Anyway. I say that TMS has changed my life, and it has. But let me rewind a little bit. I mean, why would a girl need a life changing treatment for depression in the first place?

It's been a rough year. I'm not going to get into the nitty gritty of it. I'm just going to say. It's been a rough year. Mostly I just haven't been able to catch a break health-wise. Sick this, broken that, broken this, sick that. There and back again. And before you know it I find myself at the Eating Recovery Center in Chicago for 6 weeks. While in Chicago I was introduced to TMS, but only got 3 weeks of treatment in, which isn't ideal by any means. Insurance cut my eating disorder treatment short and thus my TMS treatment ended and I was sent home. I crashed. Hard. Core. My mood plummeted and I became a zombie. I did intensive outpatient for my eating disorder, but things quickly fell apart in that department as well.

My psychiatrist suggested I pursue TMS again, so I did. The process to pursue TMS was tedious. Lots of appointments and waiting to see if insurance would approve the treatment. At the same time, we decided it would be best to step up to the partial hospitalization program (PHP) for my eating disorder. I just needed more support overall. Everything eventually came together. I started PHP and then found out I was approved to begin TMS treatment, as well. TMS is 5 days a week for 6 weeks. PHP runs 8am-6pm. That meant I went to TMS at 7am, then drove straight to PHP every weekday. Long. Days.

But worth it.

I started noticing small differences at about 3-4 weeks after beginning TMS treatments. I had a little bit more energy. A little more interest in things. And slowly things began to turn around. I just felt...lighter. I didn't have those ugly thoughts that haunted me every. single. day. I had the desire to clean my room and make plans with friends and do the things that once brought me joy.

I'm not cured. My anxiety is still a HUGE obstacle I have yet to overcome. I still feel sad sometimes (like any normal human does). I still struggle with motivation and concentration and I love my naps and such. BUT. I feel a MILLION times better. Like. I don't feel like a zombie any more. I feel alive. And I had gotten to the point that I wasn't quite sure that was in the cards for me.

So. I am a believer in the power of the magnetic morse-code-like tapping sensation on my skull 5 days a week, despite waking up at 5:30 am for 6 weeks to do so. After the 6 weeks, I did a week of 3 days, a week of 2 days, and then next week I'll go in on Monday and then I'll be done!

I did PHP in Maryland for 8 weeks and discharged last Thursday. Whew. What a ride.

I've been in treatment for a total of 5 months so far and I'm now doing Virtual IOP Monday, Wednesday, Thursday 11am - 2pm.

This has been a long run of treatment for sure and I'm still on the roller coaster. Just when I think I'm stable, something throws me for a loop and I need to get my bearings again. I don't know why, but it's been really challenging this time around. But I'm hanging in there and learning new skills and trying to apply them daily. I feel much stronger than when I started and with this boost in my mood, I am in a much better place to make positive changes in my life.

I have been so blessed with an amazing support system through this journey. There is no possible way I could have gotten this far without them. You know who you are. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

So basically there were a couple of points to this post. One was to give you an update. It's been quite a while since my last post and I owed my readers some material.

The other point is this. It's to offer some hope. That even when things seem dark and desolate...like you're out of options...you're not. There is always hope. Just keep searching. Looking. Don't give up. There is something out there for you. I promise. I'm not saying it's TMS. I mean maybe it is. It certainly could be. It's worth checking out. But it's something. There is SOMETHING out there for you.

P.S. I meant for this to be a bit more creative. I know this was kinda bland. But I'm a bit under the weather (go figure) and my creative juices have been zapped up along with my voice. Still, I felt compelled to write, and I haven't felt that in forever, so who was I to deny Wordpress its calling? I'm not making any promises, but I do hope to make another appearance in the near future with something a little more...Brittany. So stay tuned.

It’s weird to think…

Well folks, we're 3 days out. That's right. As long as my pre-op Covid test comes back negative, I go in for hip surgery on Wednesday. It will be at a surgical center in Reston, VA. I'm temporarily slated to be in the procedure room at noon, but things change constantly, so they wait until the day before to tell you for sure when to be there.

I spoke with my nurse on Thursday and she went over all the details. That's when it started to get real. And the nerves start to kick in. And I can't concentrate. And I'm easily distracted. And I can't sleep. My leg does that shaky thing and I rock back and forth like 24/7. UGGG.

Why am I nervous, you might ask? As you will recall from my previous post, I've had this procedure on my other hip. More than once, in fact. So I know what I'm getting myself into, right? Wrong.

I don't remember. I mean I remember bits. I remember the waiting. Trying to make small talk with my mom. This time there will be no one to make small talk with. Mom isn't allowed in the building, even. I remember binge watching Parks and Rec. I remember ice packs. I remember being terrified of getting in and out of the shower. I tore the towel rack off the wall last time by accident. So I'm terrified again.

Things that concern me? The stairs. I don't know why, but I'm terrified of getting to my bedroom. Driving. They told me I could drive as soon as I'm off the drugs and can move my foot from pedal to pedal. Still, terrifying. Eating. Eating is crucial, but I won't be able to fix things for myself for a while, so I'll be relying on other people to help me meet my meal plan. And I don't want to screw that up. Work. I gave my best guess at a timeline for getting back to work, but you never know what's going to happen. School. Again, I'm on a timeline, but have no control over my degree of post-op concentration and retention. PT. When am I going to it that in and how difficult will it be?

So many unknowns. I should be studying right now, but I thought that maybe if I wrote it all down I could get some of it out of my system and be able to function like a regular human. Tomorrow won't be too bad because it's my day to go into the office. My coworkers will keep me distracted enough. I'll just have to make up some big important task for me to do on Tuesday to trick my brain into staying busy. And before I know it, Wednesday will be here. And everything will change.

It's weird to think that today, I walked to my closet and picked my outfit. In 4 days I'll have to ask someone to go grab me some clothes from upstairs. It's weird to think that today, I fixed myself some cereal for breakfast. For the next 3 weeks I'll have to place an order and hope they get it right. It's weird to think that today, I fed and watered the cats as soon as I got downstairs. It's weird to think that I won't be the one doing that for a bit. That I will have to wait for someone else to wake up before navigating the steps downstairs to start work. That I'll use my backpack constantly for everything imaginable. That someone else might have to tie my shoe if I have to go pee. It's just weird to think that--even with a 4th metatarsal stress fracture--I'm able to do all these things so easily today that will be a struggle in just 3 days. So I'm trying to make the most of things without overdoing it.

Story of my life, right?

So a few requests from my small but loyal reading population:

• Prayers. Prayers for my anxiety leading up to Wednesday. Prayers for a successful procedure. Prayers for an ordinary, uneventful, boring recovery.

• Suggestions. Netflix, Amazon Prime, Apple +, Disney +, Discovery +, whatever is streaming, we've got it. I need a show or 2 to keep me occupied.

• Texts. I'll be bored out of my mind after a day or so on the couch, so texts or phone calls will be much appreciated.

• Funny pictures and/or memes. Remember, I'm not on Facebook anymore, so send me something worth laughing over.

Well that's it. That's all I've got. Except for this song that I really like these days:

THIS IS HOW I FIGHT MY BATTLES.

IT MAY LOOK LIKE I'M SURROUNDED, BUT I'M SURROUNDED BY YOU.

Switching Sides

I’m trying to come up with titles that catch your attention and make you open my blog post. Did this one get ya? I’m hoping it did, but I’ve never been too great about hooking an audience with a title, so I’m not holding my breath.

Anyway, chances are your assumptions are wrong when it comes to what this post is all about. Mostly because previously I’ve given absolutely no indication as to the issue I’m about to discuss. Which is kinda weird. I usually talk about stuff like this. But I was so uneasy about the whole situation that I didn’t want to put anything out into the universe until I had more information.

As many of you know, I have had more than my fair share of hip surgeries in my lifetime. All on my left hip. Quick rundown? I broke my hip in college and had surgery. It didn’t heal so…another surgery. I refractured it so…another surgery. Then like 10 years later it was still giving me trouble and they discovered a labral tear (P.S. Siri just autocorrected “labral” to “Labrador”) so…another surgery. I retore it so…another surgery. They removed the hardware from my initial set of surgeries…another surgery. I think there was another one thrown in there, but I’ve lost count. I really think the number is 7. So 7 surgeries on my left hip.

But here’s the funny thing. That was my GOOD hip. In high school it was always my right hip that kept me on the sidelines during my cross country career. And it’s never really resolved, the left hip has always just been in the spotlight.

Anyway. Fall 2019 and I’ve finally had enough. I visited my orthopedist in Arlington and got an MRI and sure enough, I had a labral tear in my right hip. As well as significant impingement. So I did PT and then I had a cortisone injection and then enter Corona Virus.

Well I’ve had enough enough for realzies this time. The pain is just so bad. It’s starting to bother my lower back and now even my ankle is screwed up from compensating for my hip. It’s pathetic. My mood is tanked. Sitting hurts so much that by the end of the day all I want to do is lay down and then I fall asleep and then I feel like crap about myself because I’ve wasted hours and hours of my life. To say that this injury is significantly hindering my quality of life is an understatement.

So last week I broke down and scheduled an appointment with my awesome orthopedist and made the journey down to Arlington yesterday afternoon. I was super anxious. I didn’t know if he was going to want me to try PT again or give me a shot or suggest surgery or make me get another MRI (I had a speech prepared as to why I would refuse to get ANOTHER MRI). Lots of unknowns.

So he came in and did his exam and said it had gotten a lot worse since the last time I had come in. I told him all the issues I was having and he had good news. “I can fix that, Brittany.” PRAISE THE LORD.

It means surgery, but I don’t care. I’m over this thing and I know that surgery can work and I trust him. He’s the absolute best. And I’m all in.

And by all in I mean I even have my hip brace fitted and sitting in my bedroom. He even called in all my post-op meds and they’re ready to be picked up. All I’m waiting for is an actual date and time.

Now I have a matching set :)

I’ll be on crutches for 3ish weeks and in the brace for 6 weeks. I have to be extra cautious because of my EDS. I’ll be able to drive as soon as I’m off the hardcore drugs and can comfortably move my leg from pedal to pedal.

And that’s that. So yes, I’m switching sides. From left to right. But not in the way you might have thought ;-)

Hard.

One of my friends gave me a little 30 day devotional on my last day of VIOP. I think I might have missed a day or 2, but for the most part, I was pretty consistent. And yesterday I finished the book. That means I’m 31ish days out of treatment! Wahoo!

(Chloe really enjoyed the devotional as well)

I saw my therapist on Thursday and she was looking through my meal logs and she was like, “Brittany! This is the best you’ve ever done after treatment. You should be really proud of yourself.” And I am. But boy is it hard. Like seriously hard.

It’s not that I’m constantly fighting urges to restrict or anything. It’s just that I’m fighting not to give myself the opportunity to slip. Which means meal planning and cooking and stuff. Things I used to hate. I still find meal planning super annoying, but I’ve found that if I don’t do it, I make excuses for myself and find myself slipping pretty quickly. So it’s worth it.

I’m also seeing a dietician weekly. Something I haven’t done in forever. She and I work really tightly to make sure I’m hitting all my exchanges and having appropriate portion sizes and honoring my hunger when I have it. I scribble notes and we make goals and I try my darndest to meet them each week. I’ve found that super helpful.

Another new thing to me is the whole cooking thing. I always thought I hated cooking, but I’ve found I’m actually enjoying it a fair amount. It takes me forever, but I’m liking it so far. I cook twice a week. Once on the weekend and once on Wednesday or Thursday. I try to cook enough to have leftovers for a lunch or 2. My recipes have been hit or miss. Some things my family likes and some things they don’t. But I think it’s a really healthy thing for me to be doing and I feel like I’m contributing to the family and it keeps me out of trouble. Between finding recipes, making grocery lists, and actually cooking, I find myself not so bored.

Another new thing to me is going to a virtual support group. I go one night a week and it’s another thing that has been helpful. I’m not going to say a whole lot about that, though.

So something else that I’ve been working on is night eating. I’ve blogged about it before, but not often, because it’s quite embarrassing. I wake up in the middle of the night 1-3 times and go to the kitchen to get a small snack. Well my dietician talked to my therapist who talked to me and we came up with an obstacle course of sorts.

I usually wear shorts and a t-shirt to bed, so the first order of business was to wear something different so that I’d have to change to leave my room. Then I do some aroma therapy. Then I put on lotion and gloves. Finally, I have bells on my door. Every time I wake up, I have to take off the gloves, do the aroma therapy, put lotion on, and put the gloves back on. Just trying to put as many steps in between waking up and getting a snack as possible. And if I DO get a snack, I have to eat it at the table instead of taking it up to my room.

And guess what? IT’S WORKING!!! The first 2 nights I went through the checklist the first time I woke up and it worked. The second time I woke up, I just said screw it and went and had a snack at the table. Then I told myself if I could do it once, I could do it again. So I just told myself I had to do the checklist every single time. And IT’S WORKING. I just had 7 nights in a row with no night eating. That’s the longest I’ve gone in like 3 years!

During this month I also finished my first full year of full time school since 2005. Yep. Which means I have a little over a year left to go before I get my hands on that degree. I’m sooooooooo close!!

So I’ve been busy. Maybe not running around from place to place or doing all sorts of activities. But mentally and emotionally I’ve never worked harder.

Sometimes I wonder if it’s worth it. But then I just tell myself it has to be. Because the way I was living wasn’t really living and treatment is hell, so this is really my only option if I hope to live a full and purposeful life. And I’m ok with that. I'm ok with hard.

“It’s supposed to be hard. If it wasn’t hard, everyone would do it. The hard is what makes it great.”

— A League of Their Own

they really do exist.

Well today is officially my last day of Virtual IOP. I haven’t written in 3 and a half months and that’s about how long I’ve been in treatment for my eating disorder. I didn’t really tell many people and I was way too busy and exhausted to write. So...surprise!!

I knew I had a problem. Things had gotten out of control. I won’t go into detail because I don’t want to trigger anyone. But things were not good. So I had decided to do Virtual IOP. Scheduled my intake. Went through all the questions. And they were like, “No. The waiting list for VIOP is 2-3 weeks. You can’t wait that long. You need Virtual PHP.” And of course I burst into tears.

Virtual PHP was 8am-2pm 7 days a week. There was no way I could pull that off. But I did. For 7 weeks. I did VPHP from 8-2, had therapy twice a week, saw a dietician once a week, saw a psychiatrist once a week, got labs drawn once a week, and attended a treatment team meeting once a week. I also worked 2-6 Monday-Friday and a bunch on the weekends to stay on top of my work life. It was brutal. But I did it.

Then I switched to Virtual IOP. That was 11-2 Monday-Thursday. I worked 7-11 and 2-5:30 Monday-Thursday and 7-3 on Fridays. And I did that for 8 weeks. Wow. What a ride.

I had my appointment with my psychiatrist this morning and I got really choked up. I mean this has been a serious journey. Besides Mercy, I think I’ve gotten the most out of this program than I have in previous treatment endeavors. It was intense.

So I have a lot of feels today. But do you know what the biggest feel is? Pride. I am so stinking proud of myself. I did treatment for nearly 4 months while not falling behind at work and studying as a full-time college student. In the middle of a freaking pandemic. How the hell did I pull that off? I have no idea. Nothing but the grace of God.

I’m discharging today, which doesn’t mean I’m cured. I still have a ways to go. I’m set up with a dietician, therapist, and psychiatrist to help me stay on track. I’m also thinking about joining a virtual support group. I’ve never done that before, but I think it could be helpful. I just really want to set myself up for success.

My time in treatment overlapped with the holiday season, which made things a little bit rough. But there’s a Christmas tune that we sang, and I’d like to write out a verse or 2 of it here:

“All ye beneath life’s crushing load
Whose forms are bending low
Who toil along the climbing way
With painful steps and slow

Look now for glad and golden hours
Come swiftly on the wing
O rest beside the weary road
And hear the angels sing.”

— It Came Upon a Midnight Clear

I was in a rough place. Hardly eating. 2 trips to the ER for IV fluids. Messed up labs. I was bending low. I was toiling. My steps were painful and slow. But through treatment, Jesus, and the angels singing, I was able to rise from the crushing load and see hope and life again.

I’m a few weeks late in proclaiming it, but it’s a Christmas miracle.

They really do exist.

Merry Christmas from me and my kitty :)

to the bank.

Well I'm enjoying a weekend of freedom. My new semester begins today, but since I switched programs, I can't start a course until I meet with my mentor. That will happen on Monday. I logged in to see my degree plan and it says I will now graduate in July 2022. But that last semester only has 2 courses in it. So it won't take me until July. And it could be even sooner if I'm able to move quickly and accelerate a class here or there these next 3 semesters. Maybe I'll be done by January 2022. Anyway. Even if it IS July 2022. That's only 2 years. I did a full semester once, I can do it 3 more times, right? It's so close I can taste it.

So anyway, back to my freedom. What am I doing with it? Honestly? Not much. I've done some laundry and cleaned out the drain to my bathroom sink. If you ask me, that's quite an accomplishment. Gross. But an accomplishment none the less. I've been journaling and reading and watching movies while coloring. Which movies, you may ask? Jurassic World first of all. Gosh I love that movie for some reason. And I'm about halfway through Independence Day. The first one. Yet another classic. Maybe we'll play a game or something this afternoon. Who knows.

One of my coloring pages. Proud to be a misfit.

It's not too stinking hot right now on the porch with the fan on, so I'm blogging outside. Everyone else is in the pool, but I'm not really feeling it today. It's cloudy and looks like it's going to start pouring down rain at any moment. It's nice to be outside, though. And eventually everyone will get out and we'll hang out on the porch and chat. Or just sit there ignoring each other and doing our own thing. Either way it's nice. I love my people.

So yesterday I had an adventure. I've had several people tell me they think I have Ehlers Danlos Syndrome. It's a connective tissue disorder and there are several types. My orthopedic surgeon and physical therapist made the prediction because my joints are hypermobile and I tear easily through sutures. Hence my repeated labral tears and multiple surgeries. I was told I should probably see someone just to confirm the diagnosis and make sure I didn't have any of the more serious varieties of the syndrome. Now that shouldn't be too difficult, right?

Wrong.

Finding someone who even knows what you're talking about is difficult. Finding someone who will see you for it is even harder. And finding someone who will actually take insurance for it is practically impossible. But at long last I found a physician at Johns Hopkins who was willing to see me and took my insurance. I had to wait like 3 months for an appointment, but whatever. At long last the day was here.

Of course it was pouring down rain yesterday morning and I hate driving downtown. So much anxiety. It was a little better because I actually knew where I was going. Hopkins is where I had to take my mom for her appointments and surgery when she fractured her elbow. So it wasn't totally new territory. Still, not my favorite. But the stars aligned, I made no wrong turns, and the parking garage was not full (thank you, corona virus). And all the buildings are connected by the main loop, so I didn't have to walk in the rain one bit.

Things are tight down there at Hopkins. I couldn't bring anyone with me. I had to say I had an appointment and then get a wristband to prove I was legit. Then they asked me where I was going. They were like, "Oh, you need a different wrist band to go there." I shrugged my shoulders and took the brown band for the Meyer building. Which is at the very back of the campus.

I made it to the Meyer building just fine. But once I got there, boy was it a chore finding the right place. I don't know how you're magically supposed to know which doors to walk through to get to where I needed to be. But I quickly learned why I needed a different wrist band and got some weird looks. The Meyer building is home to psychiatry as well as physical medicine. I've never been treated for my eating disorder at Hopkins, but I can now say I've been there lol.

Anyway. The appointment was so anticlimactic. I didn't fill out a single piece of paper. Not one. No medical history or anything like that. The resident asked me a few random questions. I had typed up paper with my symptoms, meds, allergies, surgeries, and diagnoses. So I gave her that and she was like "Oh, thanks!" So then she went and got the doctor I was seeing. He seemed like a nice guy. Did all the tests to see where I landed on the Beighton Scale. I'm an 8. Which means yes, I do have the hypermobility type of Ehlers Danlos Syndrome. Ta da.

I've had a recent echocardiogram, so he doesn't think I have any of the more serious types. He ruled out POTS. And that was it. He said to call if I started having problems with my knees or elbows and they'd fit me for braces. Then sent me on my way.

Like I said. Anticlimactic. I don't really know what I expected. There's not really anything they do for it. It's just useful information to have going forward. When I'd mention to medical professionals that I might have Ehlers Danlos Syndrome, they were always like, "Yes, but have you been DIAGNOSED?" Now I can say yes.

So now I have another diagnosis to add to the list. Wahoo.

There might be more to come from a different medical professional, but I'm not going to count my chickens before they hatch. Which is sadly a very bad pun. But we'll cross that bridge when we get to it.

Being at Hopkins brought back some bad memories. November 2019 was rough. Seeing my mom break her elbow and being in so much pain and not being able to do anything but sit and watch. Sitting in ERs and waiting rooms. Wandering hospital corridors. Trying to be strong. Trying not to break down sobbing. All while knowing that my dad was struggling with his own health issues. I can't think about it too much because it just makes me cry. I honestly don't know how I survived some of those moments. Frequently all by myself.

And this past week was heavy, man. To see people aging. People getting sick. People dying. People struggling to do daily tasks. It weighs on me and it breaks my heart. Some of these people I know and some are complete strangers. It just slaps me in the face and makes me look at the world and the people I love. To know that...one day...they won't be there. Because the world is harsh and life is short.

Gosh, that got depressing really fast. I guess what I'm trying to say is we've gotta make the most out of what we've got. And that means taking care of ourselves. It's easy to forget. It's easy to push our needs to the side and care for others. It's easy to ignore the fact that we're human. Not superheroes. That our bodies and minds require attention, care, compassion, and--at times--assistance. And that that's ok. It doesn't indicate weakness. It indicates humanity. And as much as being a human can suck sometimes, I'm lucky to be one. I know that. I'm made in God's image. And that makes me precious. Which means you're precious, too.

So go to therapy or the doctor or talk to a friend or do some meditation or pray or journal or do what you've gotta do. But whatever it is, take care of yourself, my friend. Because the world will never be the same without you. And you can take that one to the bank.

everyday life and other stuff.

I've started this post without a title. That means I don't really know where I'm going with this. Which can be good or bad. We shall see.

I promised to write a follow-up to 4th of July weekend, but things were just crazy and I was too busy enjoying my time with my family. Then who knows what happened last weekend. But I find myself here today, so wahoo for you.

I was sick this week. Don't worry, I don't have COVID. It was just a stomach bug. Ok, now here I am about to drop a bomb on ya'll. I've really been keeping this to myself for the most part. Why? Mostly to keep people from worrying about me. One person in particular. But if I can't be honest here, where can I be?

I've been in treatment for my eating disorder for 2 months now. I'm doing Virtual IOP through ERC. It's from 5-8pm in my room Monday - Thursday. And to tell you the truth, I've been impressed. It's been a way better program than I'm used to. For anyone who has tried CED's IOP program and hated it, I would strongly encourage you to consider ERC if you're in need of treatment. Yeah, the providers are the same, but the programming, meal plan, and style of treatment is totally different. At least in my opinion.

The only thing this program lacks is Art Therapy, so I just do that on my own :)

And the fact that I've been able to do it virtually? Game changer. That's what has allowed me to keep it such a secret. No one had to know. I didn't have to leave work early or put a bunch of miles on my car or never be available to my family or friends. I get to work as long as I need to (for the most part) and see my family and be done at 8 without having to make an hour long drive home. So that's the bright side. Which I'm trying to look at.

See my discharge date had already been pushed back once. I was still struggling to follow the meal plan and not finishing IOP dinners and stuff. But I had gotten myself together and was supposed to discharge this past Thursday. And then bam. I got a stomach bug.

Stomach bugs suck for everyone. I get that. But for someone who struggles with an eating disorder? We're talking major setback. Historically for me, at least. My mind convinces my body that it's used to surviving on next to nothing food wise. Which makes it very difficult to go back to following a meal plan once the illness has run its course. Traditionally, it's something that sends me INTO treatment. But I'm already IN treatment this time. So what does it look like?

I have been quite surprised. My treatment team actually believed me. They didn't accuse me of purposely acting on symptoms. They told me to take a few nights off of IOP. They didn't argue with my PCP's recommendation of a 24 hour clear liquid diet. They treated me like a person who was sick and needed to rest. And boy did I appreciate that.

So I didn't discharge on Thursday. Obviously. My psychiatrist told me they'd at least add on those 3 days I missed. The rest depends on how quickly I bounce back. Luckily I have just enough of a cheering squad encouraging me to get back on the wagon. Quickly. And I think I'm doing alright. Better than alright, even. I think I'm doing well. I think my treatment team is going to be surprised and proud of me. And that's a nice feeling.

Anyway, there you have it. I'm hoping to discharge this week and have some of my summer left to enjoy. Even though Virtual IOP is great, it still doesn't leave me with a whole lot of free time to enjoy the pool or read a magazine or blog or go for walks with the dog. So I'm ready to get my days back for sure.

But that's not all. I mean, come on. It's never just one thing, right? In the middle of all of this (treatment, stomach bug, etc.), I still have SCHOOL. Uggggh. School. I was ready to call it quits. Seriously. I was taking Intermediate Accounting I and I was completely and totally in over my head. Crying every day. Stressed to the max. I just could not retain and apply any of what I was "learning."

So I was ready to switch to a general Business Administration degree because I thought I just couldn't cut the whole accounting thing. Even though that's what I do on a daily basis. But my mentor told me to take a week off while she did some research. The program I'm in now has Intermediate Accounting broken into 2 classes, each with 1 exam. Apparently WGU is launching a NEW Accounting program that has Intermediate Accounting broken into 3 classes, each with 2 exams. There are some other differences. It will actually be more classes to get my degree than the program I am in now. Which pushes my graduation date back a bit. But it sounds like a dream come true.

My semester ends at midnight July 31st and I still have 1 more class to take to be considered a full time student (WGU is a full time only university). With 3 weeks left in my semester at the time of this decision. How on earth was I supposed to finish a 3 credit class in 3 weeks? So I withdrew from that ass-kicker-of-an Intermediate Accounting course and replaced it with a Spreadsheets course. My mentor first suggested something like business organization and analytics and I was like "...um...no. Didn't I see some Excel class or something?"

I was an instructional technician for Microsoft Office at Carroll Community College back in the day, and I use Excel constantly, so I have a pretty good grasp on the whole spreadsheet thing. I figured I could pull off the Spreadsheet class pretty well with 3 weeks to go. (Turns out it's overkill. The Spreadsheets class in my new program is much more basic and is only 1 credit. But this one will transfer and I could wrap my mind around it, so I'm ok with that.)

We're a little more than a week in and I have completed 8 of the 10 lessons in the course. Mostly by myself. Dad has helped me out from time to time. There have been a few tears. I't's actually a lot of new material that I have never worked with before. I've found I work better first thing in the morning. Waiting until 4pm to start on a lesson is usually a bad idea, so I try to get a lot done during the weekend since work and IOP take up most of my days during the week. I plan on finishing lessons 9 and 10 this week, taking the practice assessment Friday afternoon or Saturday morning, studying Saturday and Sunday and taking my exam on Monday the 27th. That gives me a few days cushion in case I fail and have to re-take the exam.

Whew. It's a lot. But if I'm able to pull this off, I will have been working full time, in treatment, and a full time student during a single semester. Something impossible. Boy will that feel good.

We aren't big "celebraters" in my family. We don't through big parties or social events. But - should I ever finish my undergraduate degree - I will be throwing myself one hell of a bonanza. And everyone who has ever supported me will be invited. And we will celebrate all day and into the night. There will be music and dancing and food and crying and laughing and just a really freaking good time. Because boy will it have been a journey.

I know I haven't imparted any great wisdom or anything today. It's basically just an update on my life. But I feel like I have to do that every now and then since I'm not on "the Facebook."

I guess if there's anything I hope you've taken from this it's that treatment is not shameful. Illness doesn't have to mean relapse. And there's really no such thing as impossible. So there. I guess this whole thing did have a point.

Week one and other stuff.

Well I've almost made it through one week without social media. I had my doubts, but it's possible, folks. I'll admit it's pretty weird. I'll pick up my phone, check my email, then go to click on Instagram or Facebook and I'm just like, "Welp, I guess I'll just go back to doing what I was doing." Which is basically what I wanted. I also deleted all the games from my phone, so I've got nothin to do on that thing.

I've also found how often I take a picture then look at it wondering if it's post worthy on my stories. "No, Brittany. Don't waste time with that. Stories don't exist anymore."

Just a pretty flower in our yard

Things I miss? Hmm. Honestly, there aren't many. I have a feeling I'm missing some birthdays. Should have written some of them down for my closer friends. So if I don't wish you happy birthday, please don't be offended. I also went looking for picture albums on my phone, only to realize that they were Facebook albums. But they're all on the photos app on my computer and that's all I really need. And then one time I had my mom reach out to one of our mutual friends because I wanted to see if she had any Carly dresses and I didn't have her info. That was the only time I was really like, "ugh, if only I had Facebook." But that's what moms are for, right? And side note, I should get her number to stay in touch, anyway.

So I'm interested in seeing my screen time report on my phone this week. I was worried that I'd find something else to waste away my life with on my phone. I spent some time on Etsy looking for a camera strap. But once I found what I was looking for, I shut that one down. And then I discovered Poshmark. Um. Yes. I'll wait to fully back Poshmark until I actually receive my clothes. But I am in desperate need of new wardrobe items. Shorts and dresses in particular. So I found some that I like on Athleta (their clothes fit me really well usually), but they are ridiculously expensive, so I was like, "Hmmm, maybe I'll check out this Poshmark thing." So I dove into that hole a bit. I can see how a person could get sucked into it, though. For sure. But I bought a few items at more reasonable prices and it will be like Christmas next week when all my packages get here :)

So let's get real with this whole clothing thing, guys. The struggle is real. I have gained a good amount of weight over the last year and NOTHING FITS. It's really taking a toll on me. Especially this week. Lots of tears. It doesn't matter what I do or do not eat. This is just it. It's something that is SO SO uncomfortable. But I think I SO SO have to just suck up and accept it. At least for now. A lot of it could be my meds and I'm not about to be noncompliant with those so it just is what it is. Some days I handle it better than others. The days of going into the office instead of working from home are quickly approaching. That means no oversized gym shorts and t-shirts. I need something that fits. This is my size. Get what makes me feel pretty and comfortable. Go ahead and spend the money. Invest in something that brings mw joy in the middle of despair. Cuz that's honestly what it feels like some days. Complete and utter despair. But there's enough going on in the world that I don't need to be worried about the number on the scale or the size of my clothes. I'm just going to accept myself and move forward and see what comes my way. Today at least. We'll take tomorrow as it comes.

My favorite coping tool :)

Next I just have to say how much I love love love my psychiatrist. We've added a few new diagnoses to my list, but I'm ok with that. I've had several sleepwalking episodes over the last month. Some of which were thoroughly embarrassing. Some of which were funny. Some of which were just weird. So add sleepwalking to the list. Turns out there's an actual diagnosis of "sleepwalking and eating." Which is. Like. Definition Brittany. So she took me off 2 sleep meds that weren't really working and put me on one that will hopefully help with the sleepwalking. Take 2 off, and 1 in. I'm happy with that.

Next. Folks. I have been having some major racing thoughts which have made school practically impossible for me. Which really screws with my confidence and self esteem and hope for the future. I just can't seem to focus. Everything is just in skim mode and I absorb zilch and can apply nada. So. Turns out she thinks I am in need of...a stimulant. That's right. My mom tried bringing this up like 3 or 4 years ago and we just got shut down. That was with a different psychiatrist. Yesterday my current psychiatrist started listing off symptoms and how it can go unnoticed for awhile in some people because they are able to compensate with their intelligence but at some point that plateaus and then it's not good. Everything she listed off was like..."um. yes. exactly me. yes." So I'm pretty seriously stoked that she was willing to consider that as an option for me and I'm really hopeful that this will help me in a variety of areas of my life.

She is 100% invested

Wow wow wow wow. That was a lot longer and deeper that I had intended on going. I guess I just had a lot to say and that wasn't even everything. There's even more to share, but I think I'll stop here.

Oh, one more thing. I spent A LOT of time working on my website last weekend. I think I have everything cleaned up. It turns out I don't think my newsletter had been going out for nearly a year. So you should get an email every time I publish a new post. If you're a subscriber and are reading this and you did NOT receive my newsletter, please please let me know. Also, if something looks weird with the newsletter, please let me know. I will not be offended. I need your help. It's kind of a trial and error thing. And I lose a lot of readers if my newsletter doesn't go out or gets sent to people's spam folders. And since you can't know about my new posts via Facebook, you need to subscribe and get my newsletter :)

Strong Ass Women

Last week was National Eating Disorders Awareness Week and I kept waiting for something earth shattering to strike me for a post.  It never did.  So I shared some older posts that spoke to the significance of the week.  But THIS week.  THIS week is a different story.  And I think it highlights the fact that eating disorders are a problem the other 51 weeks of the year, too.  And they still deserve coverage.  They still deserve to be talked about.  They still deserve to be fought and defeated.

I've worked the last oh-I-don't-know-how-many-years learning to talk to myself positively.  Treatment shoves it down your throat.  Trash the negative self-talk.  Replace it with truth statements.  Secular and faith-based programs preach it.  It's gotta be true.

A few posts ago I mentioned that I started going to a women's strength training class in January.  It has been seriously amazing.  They've worked with me to figure out how to lift without worsening my hip.  They've  helped me tell my eating disorder to shove it.  They've built me up.  And I am getting so.much.stronger.  It really is one of the best things that I've done to take care of myself.

Every session starts with a little pep talk.  Sometimes it goes nutrition-heavy and I just tune it out, but I almost always walk away with a useful nugget.  Last week Melissa spoke about positive self talk.  And it was a nice little reminder.

The lifts are getting heavier.  On Monday night I loaded my bar for the press and I looked at it and I started to say, "There's no way I can do this."  But I stopped myself mid-sentence and said in my head, "No, we don't talk like that anymore."  And I just said, "Ok, I can do this."  And I did.  3 sets of 5.  Like a freakin rock star.  And the same for my deadlift.  Bam.

The next day I just had a pep in my step.  I'm more confident.  I'm happier.  I'm stronger.  Mentally, emotionally, and physically stronger.  I was just having a really great day.  And then I went to Towson for therapy and I stepped on that damn scale.  UGGGGGGGHHHHHHH.

The negative thoughts come swarming in.  I was just getting ready to write the list of negative thoughts that attacked me, but I'm not going to do that.  That would give them power.  And I don't do that anymore.

Anyway, I was sobbing.  And not because I had gained a fair amount of weight in 2 weeks.  I mean, there was a little bit of that.  But I was mostly crying because I was pissed off that I let some ridiculous little box on the floor ruin a PERFECTLY GOOD DAY.  I let it CHANGE MY MOOD COMPLETELY.  I let it make me think I was WEAK INSTEAD OF STRONG.  And I was ANGRY.  Because feeling those things SUCKS.  I don't want to believe those lies anymore.  I want good days.  Strong days.  Happy days.  No more of this crap.

My first thoughts were, "Well I'm not going to eat that granola bar on the way home."  And, "I was going to get Starbucks on my way to work tomorrow, but that's not happening."  And, "I'm never posting another picture of myself again."

But we don't say those things anymore.

So I ate the freaking granola bar yesterday afternoon, grabbed myself a macchiato this morning, and posted a picture of me with my birthday girl a few hours ago.  Just to say screw it to the eating disorder.  It doesn't have that kind of power over me anymore.  Because I am a strong ass woman, damnit.  And ain't nobody got time for that negative nonsense.

Bananas

I am a wreck, folks.  An absolute wreck.  My anxiety is just out of control.  My stomach is constantly nauseous.  I can't stop trembling.  I'm having *more* trouble sleeping.  I'm just a mess.

I wasn't going to write until Tuesday.  Because I don't want to catasrophize over something that turns out to be nothing.  But just ignoring it isn't really helping me out any.  If anything it's just making it worse.  So I'm going to start writing and see where it takes me.

I went to church today.  And Sunday school.  I made myself go to Sunday school even though I was a good 20 minutes late.  The perfect excuse not to go if you ask me.  I was running a few minutes late to begin with, and then there was frost on the car, and then I hit literally every red light, and then I had to hobble up the stairs.  But I went because I knew it was good for me.  And Sunday school was hard.  And church was hard.  Both because I currently have no voice.  I couldn't volunteer to do any of the readings in Sunday school, and I couldn't belt out the lyrics to the worship songs in church.

I honestly didn't know what to do with myself during worship.  I sang the songs, but nothing came out.  My natural inclination is to cross my arms across my chest, but I did a whole blog post on that a few years ago.  How that isn't the posture I want to approach the Lord with.  So I just hold my hands out in front of me and mouth the words to some pretty fantastic worship music.  It was beautiful in its own way.  The words weighed more heavily on me without the worry of whether or not I was singing in key.  I almost felt more free.

So there.  Silver lining.

A lot has happened since my last post.  I shared my testimony with the ladies at church.  That was huge.  I survived another January in the accounting department.  Also huge.  I started classes at WGU.  Huge again.  And...I somehow injured my hip.  Yet another game changer.

I don't know which hip to call my good hip and which to call my bad one anymore honestly.  The one I've had 7 surgeries on is the left hip.  Most recently they discovered a labral tear in my right hip.  But this, guys. This is my left hip and it puts the right hip to shame.  I mean I can barely walk sometimes.

I was desperate enough to drive to Arlington in rush hour a few weeks ago and my orthopedist did a thorough exam.  He did a labral reconstruction in 2015 and he's concerned that I might have ruptured the graft.  So he sent me for a 3T MRI, which I had done on Thursday.  Then I see him again on Tuesday.  Gosh has this been the longest 2 weeks of my life.

I am so so SO anxious for Tuesday.  I honestly have no idea what he's going to say and it's driving me bananas.  Like I said earlier, part of me is worried it's something stupid like a pulled muscle and I'm just being a wimp.  Which would be a good thing, just embarassing.  But then there's another part of me that is just like deep gut, no Brittany you really screwed it up this time kinda instinct.  And so there's that.  It's like this battle inside my brain.  No, more like inside my stomach.  My stomach is definitely the battlefield right now if I'm being totally honest.

And if I DID rupture the graft, he told me I'm worth fixing.  Which sounds obvious.  I mean people are all like, "Of course you're worth fixing!!"  But back in 2016 I wasn't.  I was told that I wasn't worth fixing.  And that sticks with you, man.  It does something in your brain.  But he said that since the graft held for 5 years, he was willing to try again.  That it was worth it.  So that was really encouraging to hear.

But that means surgery.  Again.  And part of me is on board and would do it tomorrow if I could.  And part of me is terrified.  Because here's the thing.  The recovery is long and annoying.  And there's every possibility that I'll just do it again in another few years.  Because apparently I probably have Ehlers-Danlos syndrome, which is a connective tissue disorder.  I have the hyper-mobility type.  It explains why I repeatedly injure connective tissue and require interventions like physical therapy and surgery.

So the doctor that told me I wasn't worth fixing was a little bit right and a little bit wrong.  He said I'd just need to keep going back to Dr. Ochiai for surgery until it got to the point that I needed a hip replacement.  At which point I would come to him to have that done.  He gave me 5-10 years.  Well it's been 4 and this is my first time back to Dr. Ochiai for this problem.  So, although it's easy to get discouraged, I have to see it as a bit of a win.

Part of me is like, "See, he was right.  This is my story.  Is it even worth it?"  But that just leads to tears and a pity party.  Neither of which are beneficial.

And the other part of me is like, "Let's get this taken care of, yo!  Can you operate tomorrow?"  Because I am just that over the pain and agony that I am currently in.  And I AM worth fixing damnit.

And then there's that last part of me that's like, "Brittany, don't even publish this.  You are fine and making something out of nothing and you just need to get your head in gear and suck it up, buttercup."

And it's a toss up which part I decide to listen to at any given moment.

So this is what I've decided.  I've gotta stick to the facts.  The fact is that I am in pain.  And it may be a graft rupture or it may be a muscle strain.  Or something else.  I don't know.  And I won't know until Tuesday.  And there's nothing I can do to change the diagnosis.  And there's nothing I can do to make Tuesday come faster.  So I've just gotta do my best between now and then.  I've just gotta take care of myself the best way that I can.  I've just gotta breathe and eat and sleep and go to work and study.  And we'll deal with Tuesday on Tuesday.

And maybe it's a big deal and maybe it's a little deal.  Maybe it's surgery and maybe it's rest.  Maybe it's justified and maybe I'm a wimp.  But I don't know the answer to that today.  And I need to make peace with that.

So here's what I'm going to do.  I'm going to find an image to supplement this post, then I'm going to hit publish.  Then I'll probably share it to Facebook.  Then I'll go downstairs and watch TV until it's late enough to justify going to bed.  Then I'll get up and go to work and the gym.  Then it will be Monday night and I'll toss and turn until waking up at the crack of dawn to drive to a 9am appointment in Arlington Tuesday morning.  And then I'll get my answers.  And then we'll make a plan.  And then we will move forward.

Sound good?  Good.

P.S. I have federal jury duty starting 2/24 all the way through the end of March.  I was supposed to have it in January, but I deferred because January is a nightmare at work and I couldn't even think about missing time.  If I did rupture the graft and need surgery, I'm not really sure I'm up to waiting until April.  Does anyone have experience with federal jury duty?  I just don't even know where to start if I end up having surgery scheduled in March.  Tips?

Been There, Done That

Well I just sent an email that I figured wouldn't send but I was hopeful but it didn't and I'm a little bit bummed.  My posts don't seem to bounce, so I figured I'd turn to the blog for some reflection.

I have some old readers and some new ones.  You old-timers might want to skim to the end, but there's enough of the newbies to do a quick recap of my experience with all things hip.  And I'm not talking "hip" as in cool or rockin.  I'm talking hip as in the body part.  I know, I know.  It's exciting stuff.  But seriously, it's worth the read.

I broke my good hip in January of 2005; my freshman year of college.  No, seriously.  It was my good hip.  My right hip was the one always giving me trouble as a high school cross country runner.  It even kept me from running my senior season.  But one day in college I woke up with excruciating LEFT hip pain.  I was on the university sailing team, so my coach sent me to the trainer and I was diagnosed with bursitis and put on crutches.  A couple of days later it was pouring down rain and the elevator was broken, so I attempted to take the steps to get to class.  Needless to say, I slipped and fell and ...well...the rest is history.  It took them a long time to discover that I had broken my hip.  After all, I was only 18.  What 18 year old fractures her femur, anyway?  But we finally got them to x-ray me and SURPRISE.  It turns out my bursitis was most likely NOT bursitis, but a stress fracture from over-training.  The fall just completed the fracture and changed my life forever.

It sounds dramatic, but it's mostly true.

I went from training for countless hours a day to being non-weight bearing and walker-bound for 3 months.  I developed depression and an eating disorder to cope with my predicament.  Both issues that still give me trouble to this day.

And that's not all.

So I had surgery that day in January down in Norfolk, VA.  As I said, they had me non-weight bearing.  I went a long time between the original fracture and the actual surgical repair so they were worried the ball of my femur would die.  So I guess that's what was in their minds.  They failed to take into consideration the fact that the sliding screw they used to put me back together relies on pressure to bring the two broken sides of the bone together.  So instead of the pieces being drawn back together and healed to one another, the bone healed to the screw, leaving a gap between the pieces.  So that May I had the procedure repeated.  This time with a team of surgeons who knew what the hell they were doing.

Looking back, there is one thing I would have done differently.  And that was I would have GONE HOME in January.  Everyone told me to do it, but I was stubborn and had a god complex.  I thought I could do anything.  So I did.  And it nearly killed me.

Anyway, after surgery #2 in May, I threw myself back into training asap.  I wanted to be back on the water more than anything.  And in my desperation I re-fractured my hip.  Right through the new bone.  I pushed through the fall of my sophomore year as much as possible, but took my finals early and came home in December to have surgery #3: a bone graft.

Life got the best of me after that, but that's a story for another day.

Fast forward to 2013 and my left hip (that's the one that I broke) started bothering me again.  My orthopedist didn't really have much to say about the situation, but he prescribed physical therapy.  I happened to have an AMAZING physical therapist who recognized the signs of a labral tear.  I got an MRI and sure enough, I had torn the labrum of my left hip joint.  I had had too much trouble to just let whoever operate on my hip, so I dove in and did some research and found Dr. Ochiai.  He's out of Arlington, VA, so it's a little bit of a hike.  But HE IS WORTH EVERY MINUTE I SPEND LOST AND ON THE ROAD.  I scheduled an appointment with him and it's like he just knew.  He knew exactly how I felt, where my pain was, what the intensity was, and HOW TO FIX IT.  Score.

So I had hip surgery #4: labral repair.  And then I re-tore it so he repaired it again.  And then I re-tore it so he did a labral reconstruction.  And then he removed all the hardware from my previous surgeries.  Well.  Almost all the hardware.  One of the screw heads broke off, so now I just have this random screw floating around mid-femur.  Hey, nothing's perfect.

And through it all I had Rick.  Rick and Seamus.  Rick was my physical therapist and Seamus was a PT assistant.  They were AMAZING.  I mean I worked with them on and off for 3-4 years.  I spent so much time at the clinic, they were like family.  They knew me and my body so well, we worked perfectly as a team.  Even once I was discharged, if I felt something out of wack, Rick would squeeze me in and straighten me out.  The clinic was bought out by a franchise, though.  And within a year I'd say 85% of the staff had left.  Including Rick.

But that was ok.  I hadn't really needed him.  Until this week.

Remember how I told you I broke my good hip?  The left one?  Well over the last several months, my right hip has been bothering me more and more.  The inside, the outside, and my lower back.  I kept putting it off, but I finally scheduled an appointment with Dr. Ochiai and I saw him yesterday.  Because the outside of my hip was bothering me so much, I was hoping I had bursitis and we could knock it out. Hoping, but not convinced.

Dr. Ochiai took some x-rays and did a thorough exam and came up with this.  I have FAI, which is a bone deformity that causes the bones to rub against each other in the hip joint.  Which means I probably have a labral tear, as well.  Joy.  All of my other symptoms are a result of this.

Dr. Ochiai wants an MRI, which I have scheduled for next Wednesday.  Then I see him again on October 1st and we'll come up with a plan.  No matter how you slice it, I'm guessing I'll need a physical therapist.

I will say that after Dr. Ochiai and Rick had done everything they could for me, I was still having issues and I saw a pelvic floor physical therapist.  She was ah-m-a-zing.  She did what the other guys couldn't and it was a total game changer.  But I'm not sure that she's what I need in this instance.  I might check with her and see, but I'm still putting my research cap on and doing some recon.

Which leads me to the email that just bounced.  You know who I want to talk to the most right now?  Rick.  He would just GET IT.  I know he would.  So I drafted a message to his old email and hit send, knowing it wouldn't go, but still hoping.  And it didn't.  And now I'm even more sad.

I think people look at me and think I'm fine.  I'm walking, right?  I'm not in tears.  I'm not popping pain meds.  I'm fine.  But it's a burden that weighs on me.  It makes me exhausted when I get home.  It crushes my patience and grates on my nerves.  And it really does hurt.  But guys, I've had 7 hip surgeries, ok?  I'm good at managing this.  I'm an expert.  But that doesn't mean it's not an issue that disturbs my day-to-day life.  It doesn't mean I'm not in pain.  It doesn't mean my quality of life isn't impacted.  It doesn't mean I don't lay on the couch icing my hip at night.  It just doesn't.

I don't know why I wrote this.  I guess it's because the people I interact with most don't really know the whole story.  They haven't been part of the saga.  They just see this piece and give me pointers on what makes a physical therapist a good physical therapist.  I know that, ok?  I've worked with the best.  They just don't know.

So now you know.  I don't know what Dr. Ochiai will say and I don't know what I'll do with what he ends up telling me.  There's plenty on the Bowen plate, so we'll take things as they come.  But if you're in Carroll County and now of a super stellar physical therapist specializing in hip injuries, please please please send me their info.

I guess the moral of the story is just that.  You never know a person's story.  I mean, would you have known that I broke my hip as an 18-year-old college athlete?  Unless you see the scars on my leg, you'd sure as hell have no way of knowing that I've had 7 hip surgeries.  Or what I struggle with today.  You wouldn't understand why I sit in super awkwardly weird positions at my desk or do back bends as I answer your questions at the copy machine.

You never know a person or why they do what they do until you ask.  Or until they just word vomit on you and make you read a ridiculously long blog post.  One or the other.

So I didn't write this to make you feel bad for me.  I wrote it for 3 reasons:

1. To try to find a new physical therapist.  Seriously.  I need your help.

2. To show you that you really don't know what goes on within a person unless you ask.

3. Let's be honest, I also did it to vent so people know where I'm coming from.

Cuz most people just don't get it.  And I've learned to be ok with that.  But it won't stop me from sharing my story.

Madness.

This is a real life story.  I wish there was another way to tell it.  But it wouldn't be real, then, would it?  I've gone back and forth with myself on whether or not to write this.  How detailed to go.  Who would read it.  What they would think.  And on and on.  I don't like the word "trigger."  But I wouldn't betray the plot of Endgame without a spoiler alert, so I guess I'd better say "trigger warning."  Don't read on if you're in a fragile place.

I woke up at 5:15 on the morning of Friday, June 14th feeling like complete and total crap.  I'd been surviving on squares of Life cereal, chicken broth, and Sprite for over a week.  I was lightheaded, weak, and starving.  I wanted to eat but I couldn't.  I was tormented.  Mom and Skylar were on vacation in Illinois, so it was just Dad and me.  I didn't feel safe to drive to work, so I woke Dad up and asked if he'd be willing to drive me.  I'm truly blessed to have a father who said of course.

I'd been doing IOP for a week and the team had finally convinced me that I needed a higher level of care Wednesday night.  They wanted me to do my intake on Thursday.  Friday, even.  But I told them I couldn't do it until Monday.  I needed more time to prepare my coworkers for my absence.

But Friday didn't get any better.  At one point it got so bad that I laid on the office floor for a few minutes.  Trying to summon the energy to finish training my coworker.  But I was desperate.  My doctor is off on Fridays, but I called and asked the office to contact her anyway.  And then the phone calls started flying back and forth.  They wanted me to come in at 11.  I told them no.  I had too much to do.  Then they wanted me to come in at 1.  I told them maybe.  Then they didn't have a bed.  Then they wanted me to go to the ER.  At 12:30 they called and asked if I could be there by 1:30.  They could put me on a cot for the night.  I didn't have my car, so Dad jumped in the Mini, picked me up, and we flew off to Towson.

I can't remember a time of ever being so desperately aware of my need for help.  I wanted to eat so badly, I just couldn't.  And half the time that I could, I wound up throwing it up in a coughing fit.  I was not in a good place.  At all.

The hospital finally got some food into me.  I wasn't sleeping a wink, though.  Up all night.  And my heart rate was out of control.  I couldn't stop trembling.  I was a mess.  But I got on some meds and things simmered down.

It's amazing what some nutrition will do for you.

My insurance kicked me out of inpatient after a few days.  My labs were normal and even though I had dropped weight quickly, I wasn't underweight.  I didn't need to be in the hospital 24/7.  So I've done PHP for the last 5 weeks.  7am-7pm.  I've been able to take Tuesdays and Thursdays off so that I could come in to work.  And I've had the occasional weekend dinner or Sunday off towards the end here.  I wake up at the same time to go to treatment as I do to go to work, so I really haven't had a day off.  It's exhausting.

It took me a while to get up to the full meal plan.  I was on 50% for a while, then up to 75%, then finally at 100%.  I was ready to go at 50.  Then certainly finished by the time I hit 100.  I had gone from eating like 10% and figured 100 was pretty darn good.  I had done what I came in to do and I was ready to go.  But it's never that simple.

We started switching medicines during my stay.  Seroquel had always been magical for me, but it elevated my A1C years ago, so I came off of it.  We had yet to find an adequate replacement.  My team and I decided it was worth it to try the Seroquel again.  So we added the Seroquel and backed off of my other antipsychotic.  Bad news bears.

Let's just say this.  There are parts of bipolar disorder you talk about and parts you don't.  I ran head first into the latter.  This is the part I'm having trouble with.  Do I talk about it or do I let your imagination run wild?  I'm not sure which is worse, really.

I read an article in Time magazine that puts things really well.  Here it is:

“You spend your life just an inch from madness.  You don’t know it-but that’s one of the tricks with madness.  You break a leg, you know it.  You get the measles, you know it.  But madness-the drift of the rational mind into the irrational, the lucid to the delusional-is not always easy to see as it’s happening.  At what point does joy become mania, sadness become depression, apprehension became anxiety, fear become phobia?  We value imagination but not hallucination.  Yet they’re close kin....madness still stalks our species, but increasingly, we are stalking it right back-and slowly driving it into retreat.”

— Time Magazine

An inch from madness.  But sometimes the inch becomes half an inch.  And then it slowly blurs to a quarter.  Rational.  Irrational.  Lucid.  Delusional.  Imagination.  Hallucination.  And who knows what else.

I spent some time in a scary place inside my mind and I wasn't always honest about it.  That's my bad.  But I was transparent enough to make my struggle known and compliant enough to follow recommendations and so I found my way out.  And that there is a miracle.

It was an unfortunate course of events, but it really highlights my strength, honestly.  It tells the story of just how far I have come.  Of the reserves that exist within me.  Of the resilience that resides in my spirit.  Of just how much I have to live for.

So I've come out the other side and-as always-I'm a better person for it.  There's still some work to do.  We resorted to damage-control medication wise, so we need to figure out a more long-term solution.  I'm still experiencing symptoms of my bipolar disorder.  Brittany had decided not to do IOP, but psychiatrist has other opinions and she usually wins.  I feel like food is good.  That's what I went into treatment for, after all.  But she wants to keep a closer eye on me and tweak my meds.  So I discharge from PHP Monday and start IOP on Wednesday.  IOP is 3:30-7:30 Monday-Thursday.  It's a step down, but actually a longer day for me than PHP even is.  So hopefully it won't be for long.  But I understand the reasoning and will do it with a good attitude.  I'll give it my best shot.

So there you have it.  The honest-real-life-story of Brittany.  At least for the last 5 weeks.  I felt I owed it to my readers.  To my family and friends.  I fell off the face of the planet following a rather concerning post, so I figured you deserved a story.  A true story.

Is there a lesson to be learned from this story?  I mean there usually is.  If there's a lesson to be learned, I believe it is this.  That relapse can come from anywhere.  Even from allergies and a randomly prescribed antibiotic.  That it can happen fast.  That it's ok to ask for help.  That defeat doesn't mean the end of a story.  That you can face demons and slay them.  That darkness passes.  Always.

I'll end with one more quote.  This time from my favorite; Brian Andreas.

“There is always a moment right before dawn, when the sun gathers itself for the new day & then it steps into the dark world & everything is so filled with light that whatever doubt there was in that long night is barely a memory & I hope you remember this in these days, because it is the way of all things that the night ends & the light returns.  The light always returns.”

— Brian Andreas

I don't know that we're to a new day yet.  And the night isn't quite a memory.  But the light is there and it's returning.  There is always hope.

Desperate

Well I'm about to get super real.  I don't like doing it - or rather HAVING to do it - but I'm a writer and it's just what I do.  So here it goes.

You haven't heard from me in a while.  I took 2 classes for the spring semester and that kept me fairly busy.  One was online and one was hybrid, so I wasn't on campus too much.  Overall I'd say it was a pretty good semester.  I learned a lot and pulled 2 As out of the hat, so that's not too shabby.

My plan was to take a summer class.

Until.

I got sick.  Not super sick.  Probably just allergies.  I was hacking up a lung and lost my voice so I went to the doctor.  She prescribed some allergy meds and an antibiotic.  And that was the end.  The cough was so bad it sometimes made me throw up and the antibiotic made me super nauseous.  It was so hard to eat, but I told myself it was just the antibiotic and I'd feel better once I was finished.

Well it didn't get any better.  It just got worse.

It makes me mad that a week of being sick is enough to send me into a spiral.  I sit there and stare at my plate and just feel sick to my stomach.  I don't want to throw up, so I don't eat very much.  I don't feel well because I'm not eating enough.  It's a vicious cycle.  And it only took a week.

I have worked SO HARD this last year to maintain recovery.  I've been vigilant, followed the meal plan, taken my meds, gone to my appointments.  I've done EVERYTHING.

And a WEEK of being sick sets me back how far???  It really ticks me off.  I mean I am ANGRY.  I cry.  Because I don't want to do this.  I don't want to sit at my plate and have an anxiety attack.  I know that I'm better than this.  I've come too far to get trapped in my head again.

Why???  It's something about the pathways in your brain.  Yeah, I've been working really hard to form new pathways, but 15 years of unhealthy pathways are hard to ignore.  Give my brain the opportunity to revert to the ruts and it sure as hell will.

I broke down and called my doctor today.  She called me back like 20 minutes later being like, "Brittany, what's wrong??"  I explained everything to her and she was really sweet about it.  She was worried about all the weight I've dropped in the last several weeks.  She said for me to start with just 50%.  Start with 50 and go from there.  And we'd try to do it outpatient, but I wasn't a failure if I had to do IOP again.  I don't want to do that.  I know I can do this.  If it took a week to get here, surely I can claw myself out of this mess fairly quickly, right?

I'm not trying to catastrophize.  I don't know that I'd call this a complete relapse.  But I am jumping on it fast because it's SCARY.  I'm terrified.  I hate feeling this way.  I'm exhausted.  I'm shaky.  I can't concentrate.  I'm hungry and nauseous at the same time.  It's horrible.

I don't think I've ever been in a place like this before.  Where I've been aware enough to see things go to shit so quickly and been so desperate to break out of the cycle.  And I am.  Desperate.  I don't want this.  I want to be free.  So so badly.  Gosh do I want to be free.

It makes me angry.  It makes me sad.  It makes me defeated.

I don't really know what else to say.  It is what it is.  I have no words of wisdom or insight or victory to share.  Maybe I'll wake up tomorrow and everything will be ok.  Or maybe it'll take a little while.  I know it will get better, though.  It has to.  I'm not giving myself any other option.  I have a feeling it's going to be painful, though.  For some reason, this really sucks.  Hardcore.

Why did I write this if I don't have anything cheerful to say?  I don't know.  I guess I figured I can't be the only person who has found themselves in a situation like this.  Maybe it'll let someone else know they're not alone?  A lot of times I write to hopefully help other people.  Maybe this time I write to help myself?  I don't know.  I'm just writing.

So I dropped my online class, I made an appointment with my doctor, I packed my lunch for tomorrow.  I'm doing what I can and hoping for the best.  Hoping for that whole neuroplasticity thing to be true.  Apparently the brain is always changing and can learn new pathways.  We're not trapped in one way of thinking forever.  It's science.

So please, Lord, reroute my brain and free me from this cycle.  I sure can't do it myself.

One in One Thousand

I've seen my psychiatrist 3 times in the last 7 days.  And I don't mean a friendly wave in the waiting room.  I mean 3 grueling 30 minute sessions of face to face problem solving.  He's not even my real psychiatrist.  Well he was until he stopped seeing patients.  Turns out he's filling in for my current doctor while she's on vacation.  So like a blast from the past he tried to help level me out.

Good luck.

I'd say it was a little over a month ago when I took notice of things.  But no one likes to admit to feeling "too good."  Not when depression is frequently your norm.  But I was feeling like I could rule the world.

It's a general feeling of restlessness.  Like something needs to change.  And it needed to change yesterday.  It starts with looking at new jobs in new cities.  It moves on to seeing an old school bus for sale and wanting to purchase it and paint it hot pink.  It morphs into a need to buy something every day of the week.  I wind up chopping off all my hair.  Always with an underlying hyper productivity at work.

Limitless.

No consequences to been seen.

High on life and all that it has to offer.

Too good.

And before too long, you begin to call it for what it is.  Mania.

It's a chemical imbalance and one that's just as serious and detrimental as depression.  Only it looks good.  People don't think anything is wrong with you, because you're happy.  You're productive.  You're enthusiastic.  You're fun to be around.  How could anything be wrong?

But it is.  It's not normal.  And it's certainly not sustainable.  At some point in time, you're going to crash.  And the thought is terrifying.  Knowing it won't last and how you've never come down from a high without crashing and burning.  Hard.  And it can be a real shit show.

So I was able to identify what was happening, which is saying something.  I don't usually identify with my bipolar diagnosis.  I don't really remember ever being super manic.  I mostly experience the depression side of the house.  So feeling manic is like an out of body experience.  It makes my diagnosis real.  It means they were right.  It means I was wrong.  And man do I hate being wrong.

But hey.  My name is Brittany.  I have bipolar disorder.  And I am currently experiencing an episode of mania.

So my doctors increased one of my mood stabilizers.  Twice.  Then the other one once.  Even though I was already on the maximum dose.  Then they started decreasing my antidepressant.  Terrifying.  That stuff saved my life a year ago.  Now you want to take me off of it?  Apparently that's my only choice, though.

So now I exist in a "mixed state."  Sometimes I'm super up, sometimes I'm paralyzed with anxiety, sometimes I crying in a ball, and sometimes I dissociate.  Yeah, I'd call that mixed.  He also says I'm "cycling up."  Which isn't good.  He's trying to get me to cycle down.  If that's a thing.  Basically bring me down without the crash.  Something he's even said he's not confident we can accomplish.  Joy.

Somewhere along the line, I made a correlation.  One I'm quite proud to take credit for.  If you're a boy, you might be tempted to skip over the next part, but I would encourage you to suck it up and read on.  You never know when a girl in your life might need a little bit of this knowledge.

I saw my GYN in mid-May and my pap smear came back showing abnormal cells, so I had a colposcopy, which confirmed the finding.  My GYN also talked about using an IUD (Mirena) to help regulate my cycle.  I was scheduled for surgery to remove the abnormal cells and insert the Mirena.  That was about 2 months ago I think.

So I've been trying to figure out what changed.  I've been stable on my meds for a long time now.  Everything's been working well.  I'd even call myself normal.  Now I just feel crazy.  So what happened?

I started tracing things back.  I think I've been heading down this road for a while now, but it definitely started getting worse since my GYN inserted the Mirena.  So I sent him an email and asked if there could be a correlation.  He got right back to me and said yes.  There is a 1/1,000 chance that the hormones emitted by the Mirena could effect women with mood disorders.  He's had to remove 3 in 15 years for mood changes.  I'll make 4.  One in one thousand.  Of course that would be me.

I couldn't get in to see him for a few weeks, but he said that wouldn't do.  I need it out asap.  So I have an appointment with his PA on Wednesday to have my IUD removed.  I guess a crazy cycle is better than a crazy Brittany.  You win some you loose some.

No one is guaranteeing that removing the Mirena will solve all my problems, but it certainly can't hurt.  There will probably still be some medicine tweaking.  Some more experimenting.  Some more rollercoasters.  But maybe this will bring me down softly.  Maybe...just maybe...we can avoid the crash.  Is that too much to hope for?

What is this experience teaching me?  It's teaching me how important it is to know myself and listen to my body.  It's important to know my normal and be able to identify when I deviate from it.  To admit to feeling both too bad AND too good.  To ask for help.  No, to demand it.  To speak up when I notice something.  To play an active role in my treatment.  In my life.

So I've seen my doctor 3 times this week and I'll see him again next week.  I have a really great doctor.  That helps.  A lot.  He listens to me and wants to help me just as much as I want to be helped.  Sometimes more so.  I'm lucky.

So I'll see my doctor regularly.

I'll increase my mood stabilizer.

I'll decrease my antidepressant.

I'll have my Mirena removed.

I'll start eating normally again.

I'll do my part and that's the best I can do.

Who knows where I'll end up, but they can't say I didn't try.