Fear

I hesitate writing this post.

I’ve hesitated writing much of anything lately because of asshattery and fugly people on the Internet and it’s gotten to the point that I have the writing and publishing equivalent of Erectile Dysfunction. Except that I am not a guy and my computer isn’t a penis. (Although, that would be kind of useful-a multifunctional penis that does what I tell it to do. Oh, wait. I have one of those. It’s called a vibrator. However , it doesn’t play mp3′s or have a DVD player, so I guess my vibrator would fall short in the coolness category.)

However, this post is not about penises or vibrators. Sorry, I know that is a let down for some, but it also means that my sister and sister-in-law can continue reading this post.

I have blogged before about how I have a clotting disorder called Leiden V factor.

There are two kinds of this disorder: One is very serious and the other is manageable and most people can go their whole lives without ever even knowing that they have it. Luckily, I have the latter.

But. (And you knew this was coming, right?)

3 weeks after my son, Christopher was born, I developed a humongous clot. It developed in my abdomen and went all the way down my leg. I have a bad back and thought that I pinched my sciatic nerve and so I didn’t go to the hospital for almost 4 days.

By that time, I was critically ill.

I had a 104-degree fever and my leg was dark purple and the size of both of my thighs put together.

I was so unstable and the clot was so huge that they were afraid to go in and put a filter to my lung and heart, which is the typical treatment, because they thought there was a greater chance of a piece breaking off and going to my lungs or heart and killing me.

They told me to make arrangements and be prepared.

I planned my funeral.

I wrote letters to loved ones.

I had to be under heavy sedation a lot of the time because my fever was so high I was delusional a lot of the time and my mind couldn’t cope with the thought that there was literally a ticking timebomb that could explode and kill me instantly. It would send me into claustrophobic seizures of fear that had me thrashing and being held down, leaving the doctors in fear that the movement would cause me to throw a piece of the clot.

I was sick for a very, very long time and my leg is permanently damaged. It is much bigger than the other one and now I have very poor circulation.

Then after being on oxycotin for months and months and months, I had to deal with the HELL of withdrawl. That is a story for another day, but lets just say while I did it all on my own and obeyed the letter of the law, I can see why people hold up convenience stores and drive to Tijuana to avoid the hell of it all.

So, what is the point of this lovely trip down memory lane, you ask?

Because of this pretty little blood adventure, it makes my chances of clotting in the future a lot higher. Add pregnancy to the equation, and it goes up even higher. It means that I have to have two shots a day in my abdomen that hurt and sting like hell to help thin my blood so that I don’t have to spend another month breathing in air that smells like antiseptic and cream of chicken soup in the medical wing of the hospital.

Or, I am SUPPOSED to have two shots a day in my abdomen.

I haven’t been getting them. I had my shots for about a week. A week of my poor husband having to literally chase me and hold me down while I sobbed to give me my medication.

And then nothing.

Not one drop of blood thinners in weeks and weeks.

I have the vials of heparin.

I have a box full of very sharp, pointy syringes.

I even have a “stick box” that is a cheerful red color for me to put the sharp, pointy syringes in after I am done.

The thing I don’t have?

Courage.

I have hinted around on this blog that I have anxiety.

Some of my fears and worries are totally normal. They fall into the normal category and I can cope with them like a normal person. Some of my fears are NOT normal. They are NOT logical and I cannot cope with them very well at all. Some of these are emotional issues that I have been dealing with for like 20 years. Luckily for you, we don’t have to get into THOSE because there are other anxieties and fears I have that are about things, places, and situations.

If I had to list the very bad ones I would say that spiders, swimming in lakes and oceans, falling from heights, and needles are the very worst ones.

I don’t just “Fear” these things.

I FREAK THE HELL OUT ABOUT THEM.

To the point of throwing up, hyperventilating, passing out and sobbing my guts out.

I have gotten to the point where I don’t punch the nurse in the face while getting blood drawn (with a butterfly needle) but that is as much as I’ve managed. IV’s? SUCK. And my epidural? I black out when I try to push in pain, so I have to have them if possible. To get to the point that I am able to? I have to have valium, my water has to be broken and I have to be at the the point of such severe pain that it is either “Shoot me in the head or give me the needle”.

And even then? It is HELL ON EARTH and the memories of them remain some of my most traumatic.

I always said that If I was diagnosed with diabetes it would end up killing me because my fear of needles is THAT bad. For me to have to endure these shots is about the very worst thing you could possibly tell me I had to do.

Ok, maybe having a tarantula sit on my face for 10 minutes twice a day would be worse, but it is a toss up.

When I confessed my situation to some family and friends, they were horrified and very scared for me. And they should be. I felt terrible. Worthless. Held captive by this goddamn fear.

I know the question will be asked, “Where the hell is your husband?” Look, I have feelings about it, ok? He should be helping me and it isn’t that he is some unfeeling bastard, but honestly…it cannot be fun to give them to me and frankly, he has picked up a lot of slack around here because of my knocked-up situation. So, honestly I don’t really want to hear anything about his role it all because it won’t help my situation, ok?

Besides, IT IS MY HEALTH. MY BODY. MY MEDICAL CONDITION.

MY RESPONSIBILITY.

I cannot rely on anyone else to take care of this for me.

It is MY PROBLEM.

We don’t have the coverage or the money for any kind of therapy or home nurse to help me. I am too sick often to drive to get to the dr to have a nurse inject me and I couldn’t afford it anyway. But I also don’t want you to think that I have been doing NOTHING about this situation. For weeks, every day, I have tried. Tried to administer a shot to myself.

It hasn’t worked out so well.

The first day, my hand was shaking so bad, I literally couldn’t hold the needle.

When I got it to the point that I could unwrap and hold it, I would sob and throw up whenever I would get close to my skin.

Yesterday, I thought if I stood up so I didn’t have such a great view of the needle, it would help.

It actually went in.

The second it did?

I felt the blood drain out of my head and I passed out and hit my head on the dresser. (Obviously standing up is just not a good idea for this procedure. Oh, and FYI? If you were the type of person who thought that swooning ladies in the movies was soooo romantic as a kid? Um, yeah. It kinda sucks ass. I don’t recommend it AT ALL.) The needle must have fallen out when I fell and I couldn’t face it again.

I know some of you find this hideous of me. After KNOWING the consequences it can bring, after having lost a baby, to let something like a stupid NEEDLE put everything in such jeopardy? How some wonderful people would give their eye teeth and take shots all day long just to HAVE a baby?

I know, ok?

I feel less than worthless.

Do you know how shitty this makes me feel? What a total FAILURE I am? I feel pathetic and worthless that my life and the life of my baby depends on this medication and I have not been able to make myself stick that needle into my skin.

Until today.

It took me three hours.

THREE.

But I did it.

I don’t know how, but I FUCKING DID IT.

I gave myself a shot.

WITH A NEEDLE.

I would celebrate, but I need to start bracing myself to do it all again in another 720 minutes.