When you thought you just had to pee, but surprise, you also have to poop: the unexpected resurfacin

Hello. Welcome back. Or just welcome. Whichever is most appropriate. The title of this blog has never felt more appropriate than in the past few weeks. Between buying a house (and subsequently decorating/fixing up said house), the insanity of working through the end of a grant cycle at the office, finishing phlebotomy school, managing multiple pain flare ups, and oh yea, trying to live a normal human life where I see and interact with other humans and maintain healthy, functional relationships with said humans, things have been a bit…hectic shall we say?

Last week I wrote a short post on the flare up I was experiencing. Thankfully a few days later, that flare passed, and I got a few days of relief before another started (this last flare up was thankfully much milder in intensity). I wish I could say I know why I have been experiencing so many flare ups lately, but unfortunately I don’t. Obviously my stress level is a little high, which never helps, but otherwise, I am keeping my triggers in check. Over the years, I have learned that it is valuable to step back and evaluate when flare ups are coming in waves like this, but I’ve also learned to stop digging for answers at a certain point and just accept and adjust. That brings us to today’s topic: the unexpected resurfacing of old emotional trauma. Let’s chat, shall we? Mind if we take the long way to the point?

So I’ll admit, I sit down to pee pretty often. I am that lazy - there are a number of times when I simply can’t be bothered to stand and pee, it’s just too exhausting. Now you don’t have to pee sitting down to understand the feeling I’m about to describe, but I think you’ll see why sitting while peeing may make it more likely. Do you ever go to the bathroom confident that you’re only taking care of a simple number one situation only to find, shortly after your arrival in the bathroom, that there was a surprise number two waiting in storage? You’re shocked. How could you not have known you had to poop? The unexpected arrival of this surprise knocking on your back door has now completely changed your plans.

This is what some may call an unnecessarily long, hyperbolic metaphor that distracts from the point of our discussion today (the unexpected resurfacing of old emotional trauma – in case you forgot), but I think it is not only appropriate, but HILARIOUS and I feel kinda smug for coming up with it.

Much like the surprise of having to make a timber delivery when you were only expecting a little lemonade, old emotional trauma can also sneak up on us. Just like when you entered into the bathroom confident about the activities that would unfold, there are times in life when we enter into situations that may be familiar to us, expecting them to unfold rather benignly, only to met with a familiar, somewhat terrifying feeling that we know is going to change everything.

Let’s get out of the realm of the abstract and make this concrete for a minute, shall we? I have a doctor’s appointment this week. Fairly simple, right? I see one of my doctor’s weekly, it’s a familiar process for me. This is not my usual doctor, though, this doctor is an immunologist. If you read this blog regularly (LOL - I don’t even read my own blog regularly…) then you may recall a few months ago I ended up in the ER thanks to my 7th intestinal virus of the year. Shortly after that ER stay, I followed up with my primary care doctor and was basically like, “Jill, for real though, DA FUCK is up with my body?” We agreed that chronic pain, randomly developing food allergies, and racking up over half a dozen ER visits for various infections are all a bit concerning. Jill ultimately recommended that I go see an immunologist. The thought is that it makes sense to check and see if there is anything wrong with my immune system – in short to check off the box and say we looked and made sure it’s functioning properly because as it stands, it might not be.

Ok. Cool. Logical. Sensible. Responsible. Sure. So I scheduled. The immunologist is apparently a VERY popular specialist and the closest appointment was 2.5 months out. Well, those 2.5 months have passed. The appointment is on Thursday. I put in for time off from work so I can make it. I filled out the pre-surveys. I was ready to pee, if you will. Then, it hit me, that unexpected prairie dog of poo.

BAMHELLOITSMEYOURPASTEMOTIONALTRAUMA.IMHERETOMAKEYOUFREAKTHEFUCKOUT!

Ohhhhhhh no. Faaaaaaack. Like the villain in a Batman comic who never seems to ever go away or that creepy employee at the grocery store who insists on talking to you every time you’re there, my past emotional trauma was/is back.. I’m no hyperventilating, YOU’RE HYPERVENTILATING. Ok it’s me, your right. Shiiiiiiiit.

So, when I first started developing my chronic pain symptoms, I did what anyone would do, I started going to the doctor. I started asking questions. I started researching some things. I tried to figure out what was going on. Unfortunately, each visit led to more questions than answers, and the more time those questions went unanswered, the more pain I developed. What also developed in the intermediary was panic. Sheer fucking panic. As my pain grew worse, I became more desperate. I called doctor after doctor trying to schedule appointments. I spent literally 4-6 hours a day researching possible conditions into which I could fit my symptoms. I would frantically call my family or friends and exclaim that I had figured it out! I had researched a new condition and fit all the criteria and was going to a specialist and everything was going to be better now and all I needed was one surgery and then I would be good as new and then I would have my life back! Right, none of that ever panned out.

After about two years I had seen over 45 medical professionals/specialists. I had multiple x-rays, MRIs, CTs, blood tests, steroid injections, etc. I had tried massage therapy, acupuncture, physical therapy, yoga, chiropractic, dry-needling, energy healing, anti-depressant therapy, anti-anxiety therapy, talk therapy, etc. I had multiple surgeries. I had spent a few grand on medical bills and had spent countless hours trying to play detective. All the while, my pain only grew and my mental/emotional state only diminished. I left doctors appointments in tears. It got harder and harder to get out of bed in the morning. I had MANY emotional breakdowns. I lost hope of ever “figuring it out” or “getting my life back”. And I started to measure my life by the days between appointments. The hope of relief from each visit became my motivation to get through the day, and with each subsequent visit that provided no relief, I grew more and more distressed.

I eventually started to break this cycle when I met my current doctor, Mike and paired his chiropractic/holistic health treatments with my work in therapy with Kate. For the record, I tried to set them up because I (still) think it would have been a dynamite pairing, but alas, it never happened. To put it succinctly, my work with Mike and Kate led me to a space where I realized that “figuring it out” had consumed my life. I needed to get comfortable living in the unknown. I also had to realize that “getting my life back” was a fruitless endeavor. My life was happening. It didn’t look the same as it had before, but it was happening and I was letting it pass me by. And so I eased up on the work of naming and solving my chronic pain and started the work of living with my pain. Granted we still worked to ease my pain with the hopes of resolving it, but the tone was different. Much less frantic. This is the work that “gave me my life back” in the sense that it allowed me to recognize my life was unfolding and helping me to live in grey space (my least fucking favorite space – aka “leaning into discomfort” aka my least favorite therapy directive).

So fast forward to last night when I was talking with someone about my upcoming immunology appointment and the arrival of the unexpected shit (this time figurative/metaphorical shit). I’m gonna be honest with y’all. I’m fucking scared to go to this appointment. I have processed a bit and realized that the primary feeling I have is that: fear. This is a door I closed a while ago and life has been better with it closed. I do not feel entirely prepared to re-open it. I know it’s not the same, I know I’m a different person than I was 4 years ago and I know I’m in a different place, but damn, old trauma lingers and it hits hard when it resurfaces.

I found myself slipping back into old habits. I started feverishly googling autoimmune disorders and cross-referenced their symptoms with mine. I started manically running through possibilities with my roommate. I found myself hoping so badly that they find something wrong with my immune system. I know how that sounds, trust me. When I am at my sickest, all I want is an answer. I want my pain to have a name that I can find in a medical journal. I want my pain to have a diagnosis that comes with a plan of treatment, a regiment for relief. I want something to be wrong with me. I want to be validated, I want to know it’s name, and I want to control it as much as I can. Having just experienced some of my worst flare ups in recent memory is certainly NOT helping.

Unfortunately, that isn’t always the world we live in. Things don’t always have a name or a solution or a plan for successful treatment or relief. We live in a world with a lot of grey space (unfortunately).

I don’t want to backtrack. I never want to go back to where I was just a few years ago. It was awful, straight up, no bullshit. It was horrible. I don’t want to feel like I need a name or a diagnosis for my pain to be validated. I don’t want to feel like I need a surgery to fix all my problems. I don’t want to feel like my life doesn’t even exist unless I am pain free.

So I’m scared. I’m scared to go down this path again. I thought I just had to pee, but now there’s poop and I know it’s not solid. I know I am different. I’m confident in the progress I’ve made. I’m thankful to have a therapy session scheduled for tonight so Kate and I can discuss and make a plan. I want to be able to walk away from this experience with the same sense of relief regardless of if I get a diagnosis or am told that everything looks great. I want to continue to move forward with my life confidently no matter what happens.

So. We’ll see. Keep your fingers crossed for me, will ya?

Peace and love,

Adam