This year the first night of the Jewish Passover fell on the evening of Good Friday. We were invited to first and second night seders on Friday and Saturday nights and lunch at the home of friends of my husband’s family on Sunday. I was looking forward to our somewhat busy and social weekend.
In the lead up to the Easter long weekend my throat began to feel scratchy, which was no surprise because others in the family had colds. Friday I woke up feeling bad: sore throat, cough, fatigue and a nose that wouldn’t stop running. I rested as much as I could, hoping to feel better by the evening. I also filled myself with vitamin C and olive leaf.
Friday evening rolled around and I still felt no better. I decided, however, to go anyway. That, in and of itself, was a big decision for me. Going out when I feel unwell challenges my anxiety and puts my body on high alert, “Flight or Fight”. Furthermore, I would have felt embarrassed to have left a seder before it ended (unless I'd been very unwell.) Those thoughts increased my anxiety. After we arrived, there was a delay and the seder started forty five minutes late. All this made me more and more anxious. All through the evening waves of fear washed over me, as I read, as I ate, as I talked. I stayed put and tried to exercise distraction by mindfulness, concentrating on the passages being read and the conversations I was having. The seder concluded and I survived, exhausted, unwell but also triumphant.
I woke up feeling worse on Saturday so, again, did as little as possible. The friend’s house where we went for second night is a different design from the one we’d been at the night before. That’s just as well because my nose was much much worse. Fortunately, I was able to discreetly slip out to blow my nose and cough as needed. Surprisingly, although I felt worse, I was less anxious. Maybe I just didn’t have the energy to fight or flee or maybe it was because I knew I could get through the night, having done so the previous evening.
Sunday lunch was much further away than the two seders had been so it was a tiring drive just to get there. I spent a good deal of the time there coughing, blowing my nose and just generally feeling bad. Despite all that, I had no anxiety at all.
I spent Easter Monday in bed all day.
The weekend was great fun. I had a ball at both seders and lunch. I attribute part of my success at “getting through” all three to the fact that I was interacting with great people. Ultimately, it was more than just a fun weekend. It was another step forward for me in managing my anxiety.
Thursday, May 21, 2015
Monday, May 18, 2015
Health Anxiety, White Coat Hypertension and Hospitals, Oh My.
In my last post I wrote about why I had surgery and the impact it will have. What I didn’t mention was my anxiety. Ironic considering this blog is about anxiety.
It would be “normal” to be anxious about any procedure in which one is put under general anaesthetic. Interestingly, the anxiety I had about the operation itself I would classify as normal.
One of my areas of intense anxiety is health. I’m a germaphobe and, thus, a chronic hand washer. If I’m near someone who is sick I become anxious that I’ll catch it. I’m particularly frightened of stomach bugs. My fears in this area are not “normal”. That being the case, I was very anxious prior to surgery that any number of the drugs used could make me feel or be sick. I was mildly anxious about waking up on the table or never waking up but far more scared of becoming nauseated from morphine. I was also worried about the post-operative pain I knew I would have from the carbon dioxide pumped into my body during surgery, not to mention the pain from the actual surgery.
Being hungry and/or thirsty makes me feel weak, which makes me more vulnerable to anxiety, which intensifies the physical symptoms of the hunger/thirst, and so the cycle goes on. Before my procedure, I had to stop eating at midnight the night before, stop drinking at 6am and be at the hospital by 7am. My surgery wasn’t scheduled until late morning so I was also anxious that I’d faint during those hours between my arrival and my surgery.
Having had two day surgeries in the past nine years at the same hospital, I expected, after admission, to be put in a bed in a waiting area. My plan, once I got there, was to sleep. Admission took quite some time and, when I finally made it to the surgery waiting area, there was very little space. Consequently, I was put in a small room that had a sofa and two armchairs instead of a bed. There were three other women there, too. I was barely there when I had to leave to meet with my anaesthetist. Following that, I had to give blood. When I got back to the small room, one woman was leaving for surgery and the other two and I began to chat. Something went wrong with my blood so I was called to give another vial. I then went back to the room and we continued chatting. The next woman was called and we were down to two. Eventually, I was also called. The time had flown by and I’d barely realised I was hungry and thirsty. There was no weakness or faintness. Distraction is a wonderful thing.
Having health anxiety causes one to do body scans. That’s when one mentally scans one’s body – usually without even realising – for pain, discomfort, illness, anything out of the ordinary. I don’t set out to do them but I’m aware when I do. That was the first thing I did when I woke up in recovery. Body scan. No nausea, a little pain. Good outcome.
The power of suggestion is a curse for those of us with anxiety. As I was wheeled to the ward, I remembered a friend of mine saying she felt sick after her trip to the ward. I madly body scanned all the way to the ward and as the bed came to a halt. I was relieved that I felt fine.
I spent three nights in the hospital and never felt sick. The pain was there but it was managed by regular doses of paracetamol. Sleeping was uncomfortable due to both internal pain and pain from my “stab wounds” (from laparoscopic surgery) The first night I had sharp upper stomach and neck pain from the carbon dioxide and an extremely sore throat from the tube.
It will take several weeks before I can conclusively say that I’m glad I had the procedure done. What I can say now is that I have spent all of my adult life suffering from anxiety – some times worse than others – and I’m happy to be at a point where I can manage it to the extent that I can go in and have surgery without suffering too badly from my irrational fears.
It would be “normal” to be anxious about any procedure in which one is put under general anaesthetic. Interestingly, the anxiety I had about the operation itself I would classify as normal.
One of my areas of intense anxiety is health. I’m a germaphobe and, thus, a chronic hand washer. If I’m near someone who is sick I become anxious that I’ll catch it. I’m particularly frightened of stomach bugs. My fears in this area are not “normal”. That being the case, I was very anxious prior to surgery that any number of the drugs used could make me feel or be sick. I was mildly anxious about waking up on the table or never waking up but far more scared of becoming nauseated from morphine. I was also worried about the post-operative pain I knew I would have from the carbon dioxide pumped into my body during surgery, not to mention the pain from the actual surgery.
Being hungry and/or thirsty makes me feel weak, which makes me more vulnerable to anxiety, which intensifies the physical symptoms of the hunger/thirst, and so the cycle goes on. Before my procedure, I had to stop eating at midnight the night before, stop drinking at 6am and be at the hospital by 7am. My surgery wasn’t scheduled until late morning so I was also anxious that I’d faint during those hours between my arrival and my surgery.
Having had two day surgeries in the past nine years at the same hospital, I expected, after admission, to be put in a bed in a waiting area. My plan, once I got there, was to sleep. Admission took quite some time and, when I finally made it to the surgery waiting area, there was very little space. Consequently, I was put in a small room that had a sofa and two armchairs instead of a bed. There were three other women there, too. I was barely there when I had to leave to meet with my anaesthetist. Following that, I had to give blood. When I got back to the small room, one woman was leaving for surgery and the other two and I began to chat. Something went wrong with my blood so I was called to give another vial. I then went back to the room and we continued chatting. The next woman was called and we were down to two. Eventually, I was also called. The time had flown by and I’d barely realised I was hungry and thirsty. There was no weakness or faintness. Distraction is a wonderful thing.
Having health anxiety causes one to do body scans. That’s when one mentally scans one’s body – usually without even realising – for pain, discomfort, illness, anything out of the ordinary. I don’t set out to do them but I’m aware when I do. That was the first thing I did when I woke up in recovery. Body scan. No nausea, a little pain. Good outcome.
The power of suggestion is a curse for those of us with anxiety. As I was wheeled to the ward, I remembered a friend of mine saying she felt sick after her trip to the ward. I madly body scanned all the way to the ward and as the bed came to a halt. I was relieved that I felt fine.
I spent three nights in the hospital and never felt sick. The pain was there but it was managed by regular doses of paracetamol. Sleeping was uncomfortable due to both internal pain and pain from my “stab wounds” (from laparoscopic surgery) The first night I had sharp upper stomach and neck pain from the carbon dioxide and an extremely sore throat from the tube.
It will take several weeks before I can conclusively say that I’m glad I had the procedure done. What I can say now is that I have spent all of my adult life suffering from anxiety – some times worse than others – and I’m happy to be at a point where I can manage it to the extent that I can go in and have surgery without suffering too badly from my irrational fears.
Sunday, May 17, 2015
Surgical Rites of Passage
Off the top of my head I can tell you the year in which I got my first period and how old I was. If I were to go hunting through my old diary of that year, I could even tell you the date. It’s important to me because it was a rite of passage. Even though I was still a child emotionally, technically it meant I was a woman and could have children of my own.
I can also tell you the date my last period started. It was 21 July 2013. That should mean I’ve been menopausal for some months now. Not so. You see, it never stopped. Since September 2013, I’ve been on hormones, had a Mirena, been on more hormones and been on antibiotics. None of them, however, could stop the bleeding for more than a couple of weeks. At the beginning of this year I went four weeks without a bleed and began to feel optimistic that it was all over. And then it came back.
So, on 7 May I had a hysterectomy. I didn’t just have my uterus out, however; I also had my ovaries and fallopian tubes removed. There was no medical reason for that choice. I chose that option for peace of mind. My mother was in a very low risk group for ovarian cancer and got it. Ovarian cancer is insidious. For the most part, diagnosis occurs at the advanced stage so the mortality rate is high. Some women are “lucky” in that they have pain or bleeding that allows an earlier diagnosis but my mum wasn’t one of them. It was more likely that I wouldn’t get it but I wanted to remove the risk.
That means I’m now in “surgical menopause”. One day I was peri-menopausal. I was put under general anaesthetic and, a few hours later, I was menopausal. No slow petering out of the ovaries for me. No last period, no counting down of months to officially mark the occasion. I’m here already. Of course, if I’d only had my uterus removed, I’d be in a similar position but my ovaries would lead me slowly into menopause. I haven’t slowly glided into it; I’ve crashed headlong.
And so, I’ve been through another rite of passage. My childbearing years are over and I’m menopausal and it all happened in a few short hours. This time it was done surgically. I can tell you the date, how old I was and even give you an approximate time.
I like things clear-cut and am not good at going with the flow. I wonder if any of us who suffer from anxiety are good at it. Consequently, I’m glad it’s done and dusted. I know I have a can of worms waiting to be opened and that it may be a rough ride. Nevertheless, I’m here on the other side now and that works for me.
I can also tell you the date my last period started. It was 21 July 2013. That should mean I’ve been menopausal for some months now. Not so. You see, it never stopped. Since September 2013, I’ve been on hormones, had a Mirena, been on more hormones and been on antibiotics. None of them, however, could stop the bleeding for more than a couple of weeks. At the beginning of this year I went four weeks without a bleed and began to feel optimistic that it was all over. And then it came back.
So, on 7 May I had a hysterectomy. I didn’t just have my uterus out, however; I also had my ovaries and fallopian tubes removed. There was no medical reason for that choice. I chose that option for peace of mind. My mother was in a very low risk group for ovarian cancer and got it. Ovarian cancer is insidious. For the most part, diagnosis occurs at the advanced stage so the mortality rate is high. Some women are “lucky” in that they have pain or bleeding that allows an earlier diagnosis but my mum wasn’t one of them. It was more likely that I wouldn’t get it but I wanted to remove the risk.
That means I’m now in “surgical menopause”. One day I was peri-menopausal. I was put under general anaesthetic and, a few hours later, I was menopausal. No slow petering out of the ovaries for me. No last period, no counting down of months to officially mark the occasion. I’m here already. Of course, if I’d only had my uterus removed, I’d be in a similar position but my ovaries would lead me slowly into menopause. I haven’t slowly glided into it; I’ve crashed headlong.
And so, I’ve been through another rite of passage. My childbearing years are over and I’m menopausal and it all happened in a few short hours. This time it was done surgically. I can tell you the date, how old I was and even give you an approximate time.
I like things clear-cut and am not good at going with the flow. I wonder if any of us who suffer from anxiety are good at it. Consequently, I’m glad it’s done and dusted. I know I have a can of worms waiting to be opened and that it may be a rough ride. Nevertheless, I’m here on the other side now and that works for me.
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