Of COURSE, after that whole day of positivity… what happens? I had a massive panic attack. Way to ruin a great day, Alyssa. I used to struggle with panic attacks growing up but in the last few years I’ve had very, very few. Maybe like one or two a year. But I’ve had about three in the last two months because of this platelet saga and my generally heightened state of anxiety, and it is less than fun. Wait, let me tell you what triggered the panic attack. I was laying on the floor and I was trying to stretch out my back because it’s getting really sore, so I tried to do a bridge (a la 3rd grade) and I couldn’t lift my body up off the floor because my arms are so weak now. I got a little huffy puffy and caught a glimpse of myself and my puffy face and my puffy camel back buffalo hump in the mirror and just totally lost it. It is hard to not recognize yourself.
So, being that I was not alone when this happened (this was at like 2am, as usual), I ran into my mom’s room (she is always awake until like 3am- but I would have woken her up anyway, truthfully), and just hugged her because I was hysterically crying. So we went in my room and sat on my bed, and she just kept feeding me these cliche lines that are incredibly infuriating and not helpful from someone who is not in your shoes, nor has ever been in them. Which of course prompted me, as is my strongest coping mechanism, to just be funny as hell. She was trying to be serious but kept laughing- because everything I was saying is true and it’s really hard to deny the fact that I am just cursed with the absolute worst luck ever. Anyway, I cried for like half an hour or something and then drank a bunch of benadryl and went to sleep. Benadryl- my saving grace.
The next morning, she reiterated a bunch of absolutely worn out, tired, ineffective cliches that just make me so incredibly irritated.
“….When life hands you lemons..” – I’m sorry, does this situation resemble a lemon in any way, shape, or form? No. A lemon is a small fruit that you can toss in a drink. People actually pay for lemons. On no day in my entire life would I waltz into a grocery store to pick up a bunch of ITP.
Then, my mom genuinely tells me that I am so funny and that she was having such a hard time not laughing while I was going off on my hysterical, panic attack tirade. And then the worst thing happens- she tells me I should do stand-up comedy. SHE TELLS ME TO BE A COMEDIAN.
Stop the presses- when have you ever heard of a parent encouraging their child to do stand up comedy?
ESPECIALLY a parent who formerly was never happy enough with said child’s accomplishments or amount of overachieving. I have two degrees! I just finished nursing school! I may as well have just ceased to exist as an intellectual. I just paid $100,000 for a BSN, and my mom is telling me literally where to go to perform stand up comedy on Long Island. I can only assume she has given up on me ever having a real profession, despite the fact that I am more than adequately qualified. OR even my mom doesn’t think I’ll ever get better (better meaning healthy enough to work as an actual RN).
If I had ever considered comedy as an actual profession, I would have probably just written a book and stopped seeking edjumacation after my first degree, and I CERTAINLY would not have put my life on hold for 29 straight months and worked in restaurants where I was routinely sexually harassed and covered in sauces of all kinds to pursue a second one.
That’s really all I have to say about that issue, but I do have another fun little story. After this heart to heart/me not believing my ears with my mom, I went for a facial at Massage Envy because I have too many credits to use up and not enough platelets to get a massage. I also have an intense amount of acne from the prednisone. The facial was actually great, she totally beat the crap out of my face and cleaned basically every single pore. HOWEVER, she was sort of annoying, spoke very broken English with a very thick Dominican accent, and she kept calling me “mama.” She meant well, but listen lady, I’m on steroids, I have a very short temper, I just want you to clean my face, and no amount of lecturing me about skincare is going to break through to me at this point. I don’t care what they taught you in your Murad class before they gave you that embroidered jacket and signed you up with a commission plan, no amount of your cleanser/toner/moisturizer is going to fix my formerly porcelain but now pizza face skin because I am on more hormones than a factory farm dairy cow, so just give it a rest. I think she really thought she was going to get me to buy something. Complete waste of her time.
And on a more positive note- because I will try to be at least somewhat positive despite my current anhedonia- or inability to feel pleasure from anything that I formerly derived pleasure- including food- and that’s how you know it’s serious:
1. I see some bone structure in my face. On both sides. Which means it’s probably not just my imagination. My face might be coming back.
2. I’m getting a better doctor via some connections- OH because mine decided to show up on Monday SO SICK and was either not wearing a face mask or wearing it around her neck- which was when I decided I for sure hate her and no longer want her to be my doctor. Keep in mind she is a hematologist/oncologist so all her patients are sick- meaning she is a big, fat jerk.
3. I think the Rituxan is doing SOMETHING which is good because my entire body today has been wracked with bone-crushing pain. Tylenol is not really helping at all. I am also completely wiped out. I’m thinking this is a good sign. I was able to sleep the entire day without any medicine, and I didn’t hate it because it meant I wasn’t awake contemplating my miserable existence. But, I’m more than happy to be in pain if it means this sh*t is kicking in and doing it’s job. More power to the bone crushing pain, bring it. Let’s get this over with.
Tagged: acne, anhedonia, chemo, comedy, depression, education, facials, funny, humor, immune thrombocytopenia, itp, massage envy, musings, overachieving, pizza face, prednisone, prednisone problems, rituxan, stand up comedy
