For the past couple of months, I haven’t felt like posting much. Instead of quilting MORE when I’m stressed or worried or sad, I quilt less, and it affects my blogging, too. I’m trying to hop back on the horse and I’ve thought quite a bit about whether to talk about the reasons for my absence. I’ll get back to quilting in the next post (later today), but for now, it’s all personal.
It started with that delicate phrase “female problems.” After waiting far too long, I finally scheduled an appointment with a new doctor. New because my insurance changed and I have to use a different facility. I asked who I should be seeing for this issue and they directed me to an internist (“A physician who specializes in the diagnosis and medical treatment of adults,” according to the Medical Dictionary). Looking back, I don’t think they listened to a word I said about the issues, and just hooked me up with a “regular” doctor. Despite my concerns, the earliest appointment available was over a month away. There followed a long, ridiculously inept period (no pun intended) of taking medication so things would stop so I could have an ultrasound. The hospital called me with the results of the ultrasound – fibroids. Okay, I thought, fibroids are normal in women my age, and I did a bit of reading. Hmmm… estrogen causes fibroids to grow. Estrogen is produced in the ovaries, but also in fat. Aha! A “reason” to eat well, exercise and lose weight! I committed to some serious lifestyle changes. Four days later I met another doctor to review the ultrasound results… and my problems weren’t caused by the fibroids. This is the doctor I should have gone to originally (GYN). She explained how the female cycle worked (this hormone, egg production, that hormone, and when the egg “died” that hormone’s disappearance, triggering a period). If an egg wasn’t released, which happens as you get older, “that” hormone isn’t produced, so it doesn’t disappear, so no period is triggered. Then the weight of the material accumulated over time becomes too much and it sloughs off gradually under its own weight. PROBABLY, she said, that’s what I’m dealing with. But because it could also be something more serious (like the big C), she did an endometrial biopsy that had me swearing – loudly – at her and her nurse. I dropped the F bomb. It was not a pleasant procedure. A week later she called with the results – they found nothing… because all they got was the stuff that was sloughing off. No endometrial tissue. So sorry, have to do the test again. Yippee. Another week passed before that appointment, more swearing, a week of waiting for results and… there’s nothing wrong with me. My eggs are just reaching their expiration date. Don’t even ask me how much I’m going to end up paying because the first doctor kept me on drugs for over a month (and I had to pay for four separate prescriptions!) to stop something that couldn’t be stopped (remember – sloughing off under its own weight), instead of putting me on it for a short time and taking me off so it could trigger a normal period. That resulted in a bad first test, which meant the cost of a second test.
Once that all got sorted out, I decided to keep up with my commitment to healthier choices. I need to lose a lot of weight, and I’ve been struggling to find the motivation. I was doing really well (although in the past week I’ve fall off quite a bit more than I’d like). Then I got a phone call at work.
Continued in Part 2