Part One.
Let's start from the beginning. Not that I could actually write a single blog post in entirety about my anxiety, but I've got to start somewhere.
It all started the beginning of 2014. I was working at a local hospital that seemed to be continually focusing on patient satisfaction score instead of the actual healing of patients. We were reviewed and received derogatory marks if we were not in a patient's room at least every hour. It was not noted how we spent an hour holding a patient's trembling hand and comforting tearful family members, reassuring them as best as we could and just being there for support. It was exhausting and unsatisfying. Let's add that I was also exclusively breastfeeding a 8 month old baby. You would think that working at a hospital, the management would be more then supportive with accommodating a breastfeeding mother with pumping breaks. This, however was not the case. I received constant criticism for pumping every 4-6 hours. One pumping session would be my lunch break, and more often then not, I would be forced to not eat lunch just to have enough time for a 15 minute pumping session. I would be kicked out of the "pumping room" (the charge nurse room) so other employees could chart. Last but not least, let's not forget the time (right before I quit), that I was told a patient I had been caring all 12 hours for, was on chemo precautions. It was the end of my shift and one of the nurses had her purse over her shoulder and was walking out the door. She was overhearing my report I was giving on this patient and chimed in "oh by the way, so and so got chemo yesterday, they are on chemo precautions." To which I replied "Are you effing kidding me?" (okay, I didn't say the eff word out loud...) I have no filter. My therapist doesn't seem to be concerned for now, so let's let it slide. For those of you who don't know, a patient who has received chemo is on chemo precautions for 48 hours. You have to wear special thick gloves and proper protection, like a gown, if you are dealing with any body fluids, which I had been doing for 12 hours, and not worn a single form of proper protection other then the standard gloves. So let's say I had assisted this patient and somehow a drop of body fluids got on my scrub top. I will use the term "body fluids" for those of you with a weak stomach. When I say "body fluids", I am simply referring to urine, pee if you will. Number one. Probably no big deal right? Wrong. To someone with anxiety (which I didn't know yet), it's a big deal. Let's be honest though, everything is a big deal. What if that fluid had chemo in it? Which it would, being less then 48 hours. What if somehow during my pumping process, any remnants of that fluid made it onto my breast (yep I just said breast on the internet) or even worse, into the bottle containing precious milk for my baby? It is clear to me, (but also not so clear) that this may actually be my anxiety manifesting itself inside my poor thoughts. Is this a probable and realistic occurrence? I honestly couldn't tell you, but to me it seemed like a damn real possibility. I was pissed. I cried all the way home and called three pediatric oncology clinics/hospital floors to speak with different specialists on the probability of my milk containing chemo. I was told to dump any milk I had pumped, as well as the next pumped milk and then I would be okay. I can say now, I have a healthy almost 2 year old, and he does not appear to have cancer. Although every bruise he gets I sometimes (always) wonder if it's really cancer and I immediately inspect him for other signs. I've got problems folks. That's the thing with anxiety. I am fully aware that I am irrational and lean a little (a lot) to the side of bat shit crazy, but there is not a damn thing I can do about it. Let's move on, shall we?
So in April I found another job, on a labor and delivery floor unit at another local hospital. They let me pump however often I pleased AND gave me a pump free lunch break. I could have cried with happiness (okay I really did). I'm just gonna give a quick rundown of the chain of events that happened next. To save your eyes from reading more nonsense but mostly just because my memory is so horrible I honestly could not tell you which event happened first, second ect... I don't know what to blame my memory on. I like to think it's my ADHD/ADD coming into play. My brain is just to lazy to connect the process of completing the actual thoughts into formed thoughts. If I didn't have ADHD/ADD it would probably bother me, but since I do have ADHD/ADD my brain views this whole memory recollection process as a lengthily and difficult task and prefers to give up. Which I seem to agree with. Moving on...
Disneyland sometime in June or July. I want to say June, and the end of June sounds likely. Most of you are probably looking at this in disbelief. DISNEYLAND? How is Disneyland even remotely a form of stress? I"ll tell you. I have two little minions. A then 1 year old and a 4 year old. I planned and over planned and re-planned Disneyland so many times. I considered the possibility that my children would be kidnapped and sold as sex slaves to Mexico. Which lead to me thinking about how the hell I would cope with that and how any mother could ever bear to lose her children to kidnapping and sex slavery. Which lead to me bursting into uncontrollable tears and grabbing my children and holding them as close to me as I can before my 4 year old looks up at me like "wtf" and says "Mom? What are you doing?" So then I consider a backpack with a leash on it. Then I remember talking with other moms about those backpacks with leashes and their comments about how sad those backpacks are. Can you believe those parents with the backpacks with the leashes? I mean how out of control do your kids have to be? Never did I think, how out of control could the mind of that mother be. Okay, so no backpack. My husband, Kyle reassures me our children will not be sold as sex slaves and I seem to believe him for the moment. Let's fast forward to Disneyland. We are staying with my in-laws. Now some of you are gasping and shaking your head, The in-laws?! Nooo, not THE IN-LAWS. While some of you are thinking What is this chick's problem. I mean seriously, her in-laws? God, get a grip lady. Do you see how I overplay every scenario in my head? Add it to my list of problems. Moving on. All I am going to say is this trip was not how I had planned. Maybe it was the lack of control I thought I actually had on what I assumed was a vacation for MY family, or maybe the sudden lack of support and degrading comments directed to me from my husband, that always seem to manifest themselves when he's around his family. I can tell you that that IS what happened. We have since discussed this and I have received recognition and a deep apology for his contribution to my complete and utter bitch that surfaced during this vacation. It was sadly, the worst vacation I've ever had. I can tell you though, my children had the time of their lives and I would do it again in a heartbeat just to see their smiles on their faces again. Lesson learned: Vacations with the in-laws, however much you really do love them, are a MUST NOT.
Oh, let's not forget, right before we left for Disneyland we (the kids and I) got in a car accident. Unexpectedly carless and forking out a small fortune right before Disneyland was slightly stressful. At this point I developed insomnia. I didn't recognize it at first. It wasn't until after Disneyland that I started noticing how I really just couldn't sleep at nights. I would lay in bed and my mind would be running a marathon. It was relentless and exhausting, but not literally. I was wide awake and even though my whole body was physically exhausted, my mind seemed to overpower my body and I would lie there wide awake. I was alert and ready for whatever I thought was happening. I would think about everything and nothing at the same time. I would have 7 different thoughts going on at the same exact time, none of which would be completed. I would think of everything I needed to do the next day and everything I hadn't done. I would stress about someone breaking into my house and my mind would wander to Elizabeth Smart. If I am recalling correctly, she was kidnapped FROM HER BEDROOM. Which lead me to goggle "kidnappings from victim's home". Like I said earlier, there is something wrong with me. Why on earth would I google that. I couldn't tell you, but I did. I then thought about how even though we were renting our home, I needed to install a home security system immediately. Of course I had to check on my children 9 times before I finally assured myself they were still there AND didn't stop breathing in their sleep, which I made sure, because when they were being too still and I couldn't tell if they were breathing, I would poke them. Just gently enough to stir them and give me the peace of mind that yes, they are alive. Then I would think about how we are living on fault line and there could be an earthquake at any moment and what would I do if there was an earthquake RIGHT NOW. Then I'd start freaking out that we aren't active mormons and don't have a year of food supply and how I needed to start buying bulk in food supply and emergency kits and maybe even build an underground tunnel leading to safe hideout like one of the ones I saw on some show on TLC. Except I don't know the first thing about digging a tunnel. Shit. We were all going to die in an earthquake that night and there wasn't a damn thing I could do about. I'd cry a little and wake Kyle up. He would laugh at my craziness and I'd feel a little better and slightly annoyed and somehow I'd drift off to sleep. Only to be awoken again a few more times that night, sure that I heard a serial killer in my kitchen. When I tell people my fears and they laugh, it makes me feel slightly better. I KNOW that my fears are irrational, but sometimes (most times) it's hard for me to separate reality from my projected reality. I think in my head Well these things have happened to SOMEBODY out there, why wouldn't they happen to me? My therapist says I can't think like that. The odds of all these things happening to me are slim to none. Which I then say "Aha! See, you just said SLIM to none. SLIM kinda means small...which means possible. These things could happen." I'm getting ahead of myself here. At this point in the story, I am unaware I am losing my shit and I do NOT have a therapist, yet. Moving on.
Now comes the list part, because my brain hurts.
We moved from Provo to Orem and downsized, which was stressful because I couldn't decide for the life of me what was important to keep and what I could throw away. This little paper my 4 year old drew on?? IT'S IMPORTANT. What if she notices I threw it away and it meant so much to her to give such a precious gift to me and then I just discard it like it's nothing. I will permanently scar her for life. She will never be able to trust me again and our mother daughter relationship will be forever damaged. So I'd keep everything. I wouldn't want to risk my relationship with my children on a silly piece of artwork, now would I.
We enrolled my 4 year old in kindergarten. Then I un-enrolled her. Her birthday meets the deadline by 10 days. I would go back and forth between starting her in kindergarten and holding her back one more year. Let's add to this that my daughter was diagnosed with ADHD when she was 3 years old. Let me tell you, if you are rolling your eyes or shaking your head in disbelief that ADHD can be diagnosed in children so young, how do I put this nicely...let me educate you. Yes children are rowdy, children are rambunctious, children don't listen, children have extreme energy, children don't focus, blah blah blah. There is a difference in children with ADHD and children without ADHD, EVEN WHEN THEY ARE 3. If I seem slightly passionate about this subject, it's because I am. I have heard everything from every ADHD "expert" there is, telling me what I am doing is wrong or right. It's exhausting and just annoys me. You can be in the room with my daughter for 10 minutes and immediately notice she has ADHD. It's that severe folks. I began noticing this when she was 2, but didn't say anything or do anything until other people started bringing it to my attention. I had no other children to compare her to, so I thought this child on crack was normal. When she was 3, she was in preschool, dance class and gymnastics. She could not listen to the teachers even if her life depended on it. I would watch her dance and gymnastics teachers redirecting her attention every 30 seconds. By the 3rd time or so it was hard to hide their frustration and I would see them briefly glance at me to see if I noticed their annoyance. To which I said "Yes bitch, you bet I noticed you. Let's try this one more time with your nice voice before I come in there and make you be nice". Of course, this was in my head. Although I'm sure some extent of my annoyance showed on my face. Although I may have appeared like a tough mama bear, my heart ached deeply for my little girl. This little girl wanted to listen. She wanted more then anything to dance and learn first position and second position, but I could literally see her little mind shifting focus every few seconds. Every time the teacher would redirect her, she would come over and sit down with the rest of her class and listen as hard as she could, for about 5-10 seconds, before she thought of an amazing adventure and was off exploring the gym around her. The teacher would get frustrated as any normal human might and I would notice a change in her voice when she would speak to my daughter. My daughter noticed it too. That is when I decided to get her help. My 3 year old does not deserve to feel the frustration of an inpatient teacher when my daughter is trying, to the best of her ability to focus, sit still and listen. Her preschool teacher also confronted us about her concerns. We took her to her pediatrician. Kyle, her preschool teacher and I all filled out paperwork, not looking at one another's answers. The results: Madelyn has severe ADHD. Well this I already knew, but now I had proof from a doctor. We made the decision to medicate her. When I say medicating her helped tremendously, it's an understatement. Madelyn could do her homework and not get frustrated because she couldn't remember the lesson taught. Her aggression and anger at herself decreased and she was a happier girl. But it made her calm, surprise surprise. I hated it. She seemed abnormal. Who was this girl that suddenly could sit through 30 minutes of Doc McStuffins without budging? Who was this girl that didn't make, what I only can assume to be pterodactyl noises loudly and sporadically throughout the day? Who was this girl that could take naps now? Where was my crack filled child?? But her improvement in school and dance was unmeasurable. We decided to only medicate her during the days she had school or dance, and let her be her normal, lovable crazy self all the other days. That is the Madelyn I liked best. That Madelyn matched me best. We would spend all day dancing to Taylor Swift, yelling at the top of our lungs. She is my best friend, my partner in crime and I love her and her ADHD.
Anyways, she fell behind in school, even though she was catching up and so it seemed like an easy decision to hold her back a year. I was the youngest and I hated it. I thought for sure she would also hate it. But what if I was depriving her of something? She would now be older then all the other kids in her class? Was that bad? This was yet another stressor in my life. After enrolling her and un-enrolling her 3 times, we decided to hold her back. She went to another year of preschool. Which was fine. When I thought of my little baby attending kindergarten I had a slight heart attack. I could have sworn I saw an article about a kidnapping that happened at her elementary school. Oh wait, it was the one in Provo, just kidding. But still, it could happen. I thought about homeschooling her to shelter her from the horrible outside world. But let's be honest, past first grade she probably would be screwed. Fractions are just not my thing. Thank goodness for Siri when I cook. I thought briefly about locking her in a box. Then I thought how nobody would see that as a mother protecting her child, only as a bat shit crazy mother who was too paranoid to let her child go. I couldn't let the world know I was losing it, so I found a GPS bracelet she could wear. Perfect. It would alarm to my phone when she went outside of the set boundaries or when it was forcibly removed. I thought I had found a solution. Then I thought about the reaction and drive time it would take for me to go to the spot the bracelet was if it was forcibly removed or out of boundaries. 1 minute? 2 minutes? That would be too long. She would be half way to Mexico by then. Maybe chopped in little pieces thrown along the highway. At which point I would burst into tears (again). Not just baby tears, big crocodile tears that would make my whole body tremble. I would find my husband and he would tell me that everything would be okay, and no, we really must NOT lock our children in a box. They will be okay. Thank God she is still at preschool for now, so I can avoid that heart attack for another year. Moving on.
I resumed classes at a local university in August. Planned a birthday party for a now 5 year old, and planned an anniversary getaway for my husband and I. Our anniversary is in August but we planned a getaway for October. A 4 night 5 day stay at a cabin in the mountains. More on that later. It was in August that I started to realize something was wrong with me.
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