Clouds

The clouds are slowly parting. It's been several days since my last sobbing breakdown. I have appointments with doctors to see what is going on with my neck and spine. We're not sure if there's an issue there that needs to be addressed, or if this level of pain is my new normal. I get about 8 hours of awake time, and I can walk around and do things for about an hour total a day. The 8 hours are broken up into a five hour segment and a three hour segment, approximately. I sleep for the other 16 hours. And I'm "resting" for seven out of the eight hours. Sometimes I can "rest" sitting up, watching TV or reading a book. Those are good days. Other times, I need to be in bed, flat on my back, willing my neck muscles to relax, completely drugged on anti-nausea and other such meds. Because my husband works the night shift, I'm awake from around 10 PM until 1 AM (give or take a few hours either way). Then I sleep until he comes home and I'm awake from 8 or 9 AM until somewhere between noon and two. It isn't a totally strict schedule yet, and the dogs are having some issues adjusting to this new "sleeping while it is light out in the afternoon" schedule. Also, I keep having to erase whole sentences of this post because a very eager Jeph seems to want to blog by hitting the keyboard with his paws. I think he thinks I'm playing with a toy and he wants to play, too! One of these posts, I'll have to let him guest post.
Part of the clouds parting is that after a sobbing fit, I fell asleep for 19 hours and missed some doses of a medication that I'd been put on a couple of weeks prior to my meltdown. When I woke up, I felt like myself. It was like a fog of awful had been lifted. I thought perhaps it was exhaustion, but it turns out that particular medication was making me worse. I stopped taking it under close supervision by my husband. Finally, I'm starting to be able to calm my brain and heal. I've been able to begin to convince my brain that it is safe here again.
I am now finally able to look at my mental health care objectively and realize that I am not currently receiving the care that is best for me. I'm starting the process of making a change to a different care team. The person who has been diagnosing me and prescribing medications for me is not an actual Psychiatrist. She is a Licensed Nurse Practitioner who works alongside the Psychiatrists at the mental health clinic. Nothing against Licensed Nurse Practitioners, but I need a Psychiatrist. She even has continually admitted that she has no idea what she's doing with me and is stumped by me. And I've found out that the medication that I've stopped wasn't even for any of the symptoms I've been experiencing. Also, the Psychologist that I've been seeing also told me this past week that she has no idea what to do with me going forward and that my symptoms are severe enough that they are out of her realm of expertise. So here we go, trying to get a new care team.
I had a three hour long, several phone call evaluation from my insurance. They're trying to get me enrolled in their Case Management program so that I can have someone working with me side by side to get all the specialists and referrals and help that I need. It was quite a depressing evaluation, as I had to go through all my symptoms and all my different systems and explain how and where and why they are failing. But after the phone call, I suddenly felt strangely empowered. No wonder I'm breaking down! No wonder I sleep 16 hours a day! No wonder I need a wheelchair! No wonder I can't do what everyone else can! Look at everything I deal with on a daily basis! Look at all I manage to do in spite of this! Look at how I can still drink water, take the dogs out, change the laundry, keep up with personal hygiene, and more. Sometimes, I can even make myself sandwiches or heat up leftovers. And you know, I'm going to go back to being proud of that. I'm going to work on being proud of myself again.
And speaking of being proud, I just looked up from my screen and my dogs are so proud of themselves because they found a rip in an old dog bed and have scattered the stuffing all over the living room floor. They are so happy destroying their bed. I hope they'll continue to be happy with they realize that they are responsible for that bed getting thrown in the trash.
Until next time, friends. Stay safe,

The Good, The Bad, And The Jeph

I've been officially diagnosed with PTSD. I was right. This is bad news because, well, obviously I'm going to have this for life and it really, really sucks. This is good news because it means I have treatment options and support groups and everything I need to cope. I started a new mood stabilizer on Saturday, and so far the only side effect I've experienced has been my eyes jumping around and not focusing as well as I'd like them to. But my mood...guys...my mood swings have gone dramatically down in just three days of this medication! So good. And the noise in my head has lessened maybe five percent, which is a small but noticeable difference. 

In not so great news, I have something else besides PTSD. The doctor is not certain what it is yet, and wants to treat the PTSD first and foremost so that she can get a more clear picture as to the symptoms that are part of the separate disorder. She warned me that it is one of the bad ones. The ones people hate to be diagnosed with. She comforted me with the knowledge that whatever it is, she will find it out and there will be treatments for it. She also ruled out Schizophrenia, which was a huge relief. She said it is probably a dissociative disorder, and that it is not at all unusual that a disorder like that accompanies the PTSD. My brain is resorting to child-like coping skills to deal with the overload of trauma messages it is processing. Children run away from problems, make up stories, ignore things until they go away, etc. and my brain is doing these kinds of things without my knowledge, causing black-outs, voices, and all the other terrifying things that aren't the horror that I'm already dealing with caused by the PTSD. It is also possible that the PTSD diagnosis will eventually be changed to C-PTSD, or Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, as I've had several traumas and not just a singular event. Also, my Night Terrors have become more pronounced, with me scaring my husband half to death by waking up screaming bloody murder. We're not sure if that is a side effect of the mood stabilizer or a new symptom, but it's not very fun for either of us. The dogs are both so used to me that they just lift their heads up like, "You good, bro? You need us? No? Okay," and then they go back to sleep.

SPEAKING OF DOGS! Jeph. You guys. Jeph. My little three month old fur baby has started taking care of me during attacks without any training whatsoever from me! How is this possible, you ask? Riley trained him. That's right, folks. Riley showed him what to do time and time again and he learned. On Saturday, I was lying on the couch in such a way that Riley couldn't quite get to me without injuring me. She nudged Jeph and he put his toy down, hopped up on the couch, walked up my body to my face, and licked my tears off. He noticed some tears had gone down onto my neck and he got those, too. Riley made a sound at him and he then laid down on me and kneaded my body with his head and paws until I stopped crying. He stayed on me and whined until I pet him, calming me further. Finally, we fell asleep together on the couch. Riley fell asleep on the floor, confident that her human was taken care of. He also insists I pick him up when I am pacing around the house, trapped in a manic episode. What a great little guy! He's still a little terror, eating the couch, knocking things off tables, eating laundry, and jumping up on me with his sharp little claws. But he is also coming along so well with his training. He is learning to walk by my side in a harness that he only hated for a few minutes. He is learning to be a calm, well-behaved little one. And now, thanks to Riley's guidance, I know he can perform some service dog tasks, and I'm eager to see what he can do when I actually train him!

It's been a weekend, y'all. But I'm hopeful for a future that will be difficult but doable. A future full of hard healing and many, many puppy cuddles.

I'm So Tired And The House Is So Messy

I'm so tired. And the house is disgusting. Small pieces of dog toys litter the floors. I can't remember what my bedroom floor looks like. The side room doors are closed, partly so the puppy won't pee in there, but really because there is so much work to be done in each room and it is easier to just close the doors and forget about it. The dust bunnies took our brief trip as an excuse to multiply at alarming rates. And the dogs happily pooped all over the backyard. In one day, the grass is hardly visible and the nasty smell coming from the backyard is enough to stun a small elephant. Add that to my inability to bend over due to neck pain and the abdominal hemorrhage and you've got the situation: me stuck on the couch as the house falls down around my ears. The dogs are eating trash they found under the bed. I attempted to teach Jeph two new commands today. One of them stuck. The other one...we'll work on it.
I might perhaps be able to dust some today. In the living room. So that is one out of like seven hundred things I need to do. Did I mention that I have a Colonoscopy/Endoscopy on Friday? Did I mention that most people have to go on the liquid diet for one day but I have to start it today? Did I mention that I ate breakfast this morning as my last meal for the week and it made me incredibly ill for no reason whatsoever? Did I mention that I'm on hospital-level mgs of Zofran in order to stay out of the bathroom? Send help, folks.
Of course my husband would help me with everything if I asked him, and he does so many things without me asking. He takes care of the trash and the dishes and takes care of Jeph in the evenings and I honestly don't know what I would do without him. Probably cry more.
But the point of this post is not to tell you that I've got an amazing husband. It is to tell you that I am feeling overwhelmed and tired and crabby and sick and that this is normal considering what my body is going through right now and that it is okay to feel these things and to let these feelings run their course so you can get past them and get back to living life. Which I will do. This post is at the height of feeling overwhelmed. Perhaps later today or tomorrow, you'll all get a post about how life doesn't suck as much as I thought it did in this particular moment. We will see.

Master To-Do List That You Are Not Expected To Read But I Wrote Out Because I Needed To Vent Somewhere:
1. Backyard poop pick-up
2. Dust Living Room
3. Dust Master Bedroom
4. Clean both bathrooms
5. Laundry
6. Dishes
7. Trash
8. Pick up all trash the dogs have scattered all over the house
9. Throw away the old flowers on the dining table
10. Get Jeph humping Riley's head on camera because it is hilarious and he does it when she takes his toys
11. Write a blog post that doesn't suck
12. Clean Kitchen counters
13. Clean Dining Room table
14. Vacuum and Baking Soda Master Bedroom
15. Re-learn rules of capitalization because this post is a mess as far as that is concerned
16. Put all the weird stuff that found its way into the Living Room away
17. Swiffer (the wet steamer one) the hardwood floors
18. Give Jeph a bath because he smells like pee again
19. Clean Jeph's kennel because that's probably where that awful smell is originating from
20. Put the ten loads of clean laundry that are hiding in the first side room away
21. Clean both side rooms so they are useable and we have company coming in a few weeks and also maybe we can shove the dogs in one of the rooms occasionally to play
22. Vacuum both side rooms
23. Take all the papers that haven't been filed and file them already for goodness' sake
24. Re-organize the side room closets because they are gross right now
25. Continue to teach Jeph "Down" and "Lay Down" this week as well as reinforcing "Sit," "Leave It," and "Quiet."
26. Cry over how long this list is and how you're literally only going to be able to do maybe two things off of this list.

A Doggy Update

Small One (Jeph) is asleep right now, with no idea that he is getting shots this evening. I don't know who will cry more: him or me. Our vet is the actual best vet, though. Absolutely wonderful woman who really knows her job and puts the animals first and her own thoughts, feelings, etc. second. She answers any questions we have clearly and concisely. It's something I don't think I could ever do without. Our older dog goes to the base vet right now, who is also the most amazing guy. Super knowledgeable, never over-diagnoses and definitely never brushes off our concerns. Between the two of them, our dogs have an excellent care team here. 

Jeph is nearly completely potty-trained! So far, no accidents today. The only problem now is he pees when he wants attention. If I'm on the phone or haven't played with him for a bit, he will bark at me and stare at me and pee very intentionally. We're working on that behavior. 

Riley is beginning to listen to me again. And when she doesn't, I use my "mom" voice and she knows right away that she messed up. Down go her ears and her tail. Poor girl has such a huge sense of guilt. The good news is that she is adjusting well to Jeph and listening to me and having a lot of fun playing with her little brother. She is absolutely exhausted at the end of every day, having worked all day for me and played hard for hours with Jeph. She is more focused at work now, as her extra energy is completely depleted by the tiny alive fur squeaky toy. He keeps her on her doggy toes. 

Jeph also appreciates that Riley has taught him how to open sliding closet doors. It is not uncommon to hear a rustling noise from the pantry after I've closed the suspiciously open door. Riley also helpfully opens other doors for Jeph. She can't understand why I'm not thrilled that she lets Jeph in the laundry room, bathroom, extra bedrooms, etc. when he asks her to. She doesn't get punished for it, as she is trying to be a helpful big sister. 

They both got reprimanded, however, when they discovered the weak points in the dirt under the fence and dug several holes just big enough for baby Jeph to wiggle through. Thankfully, Jeph is terrified of the neighbors' dogs. Every time he starts under the fence, they bark and he goes running back into the house. He only made it entirely out once, and thankfully I caught him right away. He has gone through a growth spurt in the last week and cannot get out of those holes anymore. I found them inspecting the holes together yesterday, as though they were little architects planning a renovation. I sprayed the holes and fence with bitter apple spray, and they decided to take their hole-digging operation to the other side of the yard. 

We are also working on the chewing of the furniture. We got a new table and chairs and benches for our dining room and already there are visible teeth marks on the legs of one of the benches. We got Jeph some new toys to help with this, as the poor baby is teething and isn't entirely responsible for his natural need to chew. We got the toys yesterday, and today Mr. Jeph has not chewed the bench legs, opting to try to destroy a tough toy instead. 

Dogs are awake and laundry is beeping, so I've got to be done with this post. Until next time, friends!

Check out my Instagram (thegrandadventuresofabby) for daily pictures of baby Jeph and Ms. Riley!

Also follow me on Twitter (@TheGAofAbby) for updates and some lovely stream-of-consciousness.

It's Back

Riley is refusing to listen inside the house, and Jeph for sure is at the right age for some intense training. Because of this, the dreaded (for me) and much-anticipated (for the dogs) FANNY PACK is back! That's right, folks! The treat-filled fashion accessory from hell is firmly around my waist, waiting to treat well-behaved dogs. So far, the little puppy has "sit" down alright, but his "leave it" and "come" commands are really shaky. And Riley is suddenly realizing that I'm preoccupied with Jeph and just looks at me with her tail wagging like, "I don't have to do what you just said and you won't reprimand me because you have your hands full of wriggling puppy." It makes me annoyed. You are a fully-trained service dog, but you think you don't have to listen inside the house because there's a little one who knows nothing? No. Not gonna fly in my house. Of course, she is well-behaved outside of the house. She does her job extremely well when there is no little brother casually chewing on furniture. Hence, the fanny pack.

I have my work cut out for me. Especially with Jeph. He needs the basics down before we can do any sort of special training for my needs. And he might not be well-suited for service dog work, but I won't know until I get the basics down with him. The issues I get to work on with Jeph are: biting, chewing inappropriate things, talking back, barking at meal times, sitting, lying down, leaving things when told, coming when I call, scratching, and understanding the word "no," and what it means. Also, he keeps eating clumps of grass and dirt and running away from me when I try to get it out of his mouth. He's being a typical puppy, but it is time for training so he can become a happy dog. Riley just needs to understand that it is time to grow up and be a good listener. She is not a puppy, and cannot act as such. Certainly, she can enjoy play times with her brother, but she needs to be available to do her job in the house.

I will begin by doing short training sessions multiple times a day. I am currently needing a lot of rest, but the best way to train a dog is during commercial breaks of TV shows. That way they have 3-4 minutes of training and 10-15 minutes of running around and playing. This keeps them engaged and doesn't exhaust you as much as a whole hour of training would. Dogs have short attention spans, and they will get easily bored and tired if you try to do intensive training for a long time.

A cute moment: the other day, I put Jeph in his kennel. I then couldn't find Riley! I was terrified, running around the house and looking outside and in closets and then I heard it. A large sigh that has become Riley's trademark response to when I am doing something she thinks is silly. And it was coming from Jeph's kennel. I thought perhaps she had taught the little one to sigh! But then, as I checked in on my little fur son, I saw it. Check out the photo below:

How cute is that? Very cute. Extremely cute. And if you think Riley looks a little annoyed in this photo, it is because I woke her up with the camera's flash.

Rock Bottom?

(Because I know many of my readers suffer from things similar to what I am writing about today...TW: Trauma, Medical things, Mental health. Read safely, loves.)

There was no post yesterday because my body decided it was done. I had a full physical breakdown. I slept for fourteen hours and when I finally awakened, it was because my angel of a husband physically shook me awake. He knew I was dehydrated and hungry, even though I could feel nothing but the severe pain. He helped me sit up and forced my reluctant body to take pills and drink water and eat food. He helped me to walk to the couch where he could keep an eye on me. I had a few good hours where I was awake and coherent. Then, suddenly, I collapsed again. Apparently, Husband spent an hour warming me up with blankets and heating pads and tea while massaging my convulsing limbs to get my blood flowing properly. I remember hardly any of it. I am so incredibly grateful for him. He is amazing.

I'm going to be brutally honest here. I know I have a lot of young people who I have taught in past years who look up to me and who will read this and be shocked, as they think of me as upbeat and a positive person. And the number of people who know I have mental illnesses is very low. I'm sorry, guys. I'm human. And I'm scared.

I'm terrified. My mental health is severely slipping. I've begun losing hours of my day as a routine thing now. Instances like suddenly realizing I am at the grocery store with my husband and having no memory of the day prior to that is a normal occurrence. The voice inside my head that tells me to die is getting louder and more insistent. The panic I fight is becoming an overwhelming tidal wave that is rendering me incapable of going a single day without hysterics. The medication that I am on is helping me hold on to my mind by the fingernails. I've begun dissociating very noticeably. And just the other day, I realized that the voices I have been hearing are not going to go away. They've been getting louder. There are three of them, and so far they just say my name or "Hey," but my word, it is terrifying. If I had a dime for every time I have broken down sobbing in front of my husband, saying, "what is happening to me?" or, "you're not real. This is a dream," I could pay for mental health reform in America. And the flashbacks? Let's just say that my service dog Riley is definitely earning her treats. I finally called my EFMP (the program the military has for disabled family members) sponsor and told her I need to see a psychiatrist ASAP to get a proper diagnosis and proper treatment. The asshole who "treated" me before (in 2014) literally sat down with me for three minutes, didn't let me talk, and then laughed at me outright when I told him I was having flashbacks. He told me that doesn't happen and young women like myself are usually prone to anxiety. He then called my therapist in (who was in the same building) and, laughing, told him that I was having flashbacks. The two of them openly giggled together. And I still had to go see that therapist, as he was my only hope at not killing myself. When I told him that I could never trust him after seeing him laugh with my "psychiatrist," he was shocked and told me he didn't realize that would offend me. I should probably pray about that, I was told. He himself did not believe me that I actually was ill until he witnessed a flashback. When I came to, I told him I wanted to die. He suddenly realized I wasn't a "hysterical female" and demanded I be on medication and possibly permanently institutionalized if it got worse. From 0-100 in less than 60 seconds. Impressive. He hadn't ever seen anyone actually go through something like my episodes, and was completely at a loss as to what to do for me. He also was not aware that people could go through more than one trauma in their lifetime. Worst. My only experiences with mental health professionals before that was countless (at least 10) psychologists and therapists who were hired by my insurance company to get me to say that the physical illnesses I had were all psychosomatic (i.e. I was doing it to myself because I was an attention whore. One counselor's words, not mine) so they wouldn't have to pay for any of my medications or treatment. Spoilers: I have three debilitating chronic illnesses that are worse than they would be because I wasn't treated properly for 25 years. Here's hoping that this upcoming experience with mental health professionals is better.

I don't know how much longer I will have my mobility. My next doctor appointment, I'm going to be talking with a physician about getting a wheelchair. I haven't danced in months. I haven't been able to drive a car for any distance by myself for two years now. And yesterday, the pain was unlike any I have ever had (with the exception of the pain from surgeries, because holy shit that hurt). My body is telling me that I am doing too much. And I'm upset and terrified, because all I am doing is sitting on couches or sleeping on beds and yes, I'm cleaning and taking care of a small pup but my goodness, that's nothing compared to what some people do and here I am completely unable to even do the smallest of tasks? It's upsetting.

I get these urges to just do stupid things to my body because who the hell cares, right? What is it going to matter if I drink myself to death or smoke until I have cancer? Or eat until I throw up? Or go walking in a bad neighborhood by myself at 3 AM? Or smack my head into a wall until I see blood? The self-harming voices are getting loud. Thankfully, I haven't done anything yet. I have a service dog who recognizes the spiraling thoughts and comes to jar me out of them. And she's teaching little Jeph to do the same. Human hasn't spoken or moved in a bit? Time to lick her. She's already taught Jeph to climb on my lap and lick my tears while she licks my hand. And my husband refuses to let me get away with saying everything is "fine" when he knows damn well it isn't. If I didn't have them, I would have been dead by now.

So here I am, on a Sunday morning, having not showered in days. I'm completely exhausted mentally, physically, and emotionally. My service dog has "grounded" me at least six times while I was writing this. I know I might lose people. I know I might only have three views. But I have to be honest.

Stay safe until tomorrow, friends. And I will try to do the same.

Time Out

Today, I am exhausted. There is pee on every blanket we own except for two that are currently on the bed. These two are totally inadequate for sleeping under, but you do what you have to when you're hopelessly behind on laundry. Thank God for my husband who spent three hours cleaning our house with me tonight. All that is left to do is the mountain of laundry before we have friends over this weekend. Jeph had no accidents on the floor today. But the bed...oh, the poor bed. He had a shower today (he prefers them to baths) and was so upset by how cold the world outside the shower was that he just couldn't keep control of his bladder. So while I was getting a new towel for the shivering pup, he cried and walked slowly around the entire bed, peeing a trail of sadness. I of course did not blame him. Showering is a pretty big deal for the little guy. And he watched his poor sister get subjected to a bath before his shower. Tonight, he learned the command, "Quiet," with copious amounts of treats. After that, he was just so exhausted that as we were cuddling he looked at me with pure guilt and whimpered as drops of pee spurted onto the new bed covers. So now here we are. Late at night with all the blankets and sheets in the laundry with some form of dog pee on them.

Sometimes, Jeph or Riley will get too wild or too demanding or just plain too wolf-like and they get a brief time out. But they are not the only ones. I've noticed that when I take my own time outs, I can handle the stress of puppy parenting a lot better. My husband has been insisting that I take my baths that I am told by doctors are essential to my healing. So every day this week, he has taken Jeph to another room and I have sat in a muscle-relaxing, toxin-sucking bath. Riley is my service dog and she stays with me during baths in case I need her, but she is very quiet when she is working and it is easy to relax and to try to calm my nerves. I also have been relying on Riley's older sister skills. I have been letting Jeph and Riley outside and actually closing the door behind them and only glancing occasionally through the window to make sure they have not tunneled under the fence. Riley is taking pride in taking care of Jeph and teaching him how to play and investigate outside. She also has been using him as her own personal itch-reacher. When she cannot reach a spot, she indicates it and he bites into the spot until she licks his head. It's adorable and weird all at the same time. But I digress. Anyways, when she takes Jeph on an outdoor or indoor adventure, I get a few minutes to breathe and re-focus my mind. These "time out" moments are heavenly, and I hope to continue to find them.

Videos Of My Dogs!

Would you like to see my cute dogs doing cute things? Don't be silly, of course you would.

Here is my channel:
The Grand Adventures of Abby

Just have time for one cute video? Here is the latest:
Riley and Jeph have a Pillow Fight

And in case you really cannot watch a video at the moment (you're supposed to be working, aren't you?), here are a few pictures of my pups to get you by:

                                           Bae caught me sleeping. No, seriously. I was asleep.

                                  Rare photo of Jeph and Riley sleeping together on the couch.

                                           Not so rare photo of Jeph sleeping on the couch.

                     Seriously, why is he so tired? Is being adorable all the time really that hard?

Small Battles Won

This morning, Jeph and I had a little battle of who could be more stubborn. I wanted him to pee outside, and he wanted to play inside the house with his older fur sister. After an exceptionally long time of picking him up, turning him around, and setting him back on the grass, he finally took care of his business. He glared at me the whole time. Now he's asleep, the horror of realizing that his mummy can be more stubborn than he can having taken its toll.

Ms. Riley likes to pretend she can't hear me when she wants to play with Jeph. She has discovered that I am very quick and can catch her and scold her faster than she can say, "I was going to listen eventually."

Today, I enjoyed a morning free of bites. Jeph has stopped biting me altogether. I also have no new scratches. It seems my methods of yelping like a tiny puppy when he bites have been effective.

Jeph sits upon command now. I've only had the little fella for a week and a half and already he knows his name, "sit," and "come."

I feel accomplished. And my little baby boy still lets me scratch his tiny tummy to put him to sleep. And Ms. Riley still cuddles up to me every afternoon and demands I hold her like I did when we first met. I am loved by two dogs and my husband. I have won, and will return again to fight tomorrow.