And this is why Grandma is a b*tch.

 I wake up angry every day lately. Just angry as hell. I'm not really one to get angry, because anger is not helpful or  "real". It feels real, but anger is just the emotion we use when we're scared, concerned, feel walked on, feel misunderstood, not heard, etc. But I am waking up angry way too often, and I have to stop.

I'm in some kind of bad flare that just isn't going away. I've had whatever I've had for years, but I think my body has just had it. It's just done fighting it and the past few months have been full of pain and a million other symptoms I don't want to talk about right now because I'm still busy being angry. Probably because I'm scared. I went to the dr last week to try another round of steriods, but unlike last time, they didn't provide much relief. Day two of the methyl prednisone, I was optimistic. I felt some symptom relief and less pain. Then that day was over. I've lost 5 pounds since last week, and I've sat more in the last week than I usually do. I expended way less energy and did no exercise whatsoever. I tried to sit on my fat ass to give my body a break, and I can't even keep that fat ass from getting skinny. It looks like "only 5 lbs" - but for me - that's 4% of my body weight gone in a week. 4% is too much for someone who isn't intentionally changing their health or eating habits. I rarely weigh myself, I just really don't give a shit what I weigh, unless my weight drops. Then I give a lot of shits.  I don't care about my BMI, unless it's low. This lady loves her body, I need it to get around and life my life with my family. I love my weight, it keeps me strong and I mourn for every fucking pound I lose because I'm still mentally trapped in this, "Women get sick, they get skinny, and they die."

I know, I know. Recovering Drama Queen in relapse here, But I am feeling ridiculoulsy dramatic because I"m so tired of hurting every fucking day. Yesterday, the husband asked the 19 year old to drive me to Smoothie King so I could buy a $9 Smoothie - but that $9 Smoothie plus $2 tip - is almost 1000 calories of all kinds of crap my body needs. 40 ounces of Peanut Power Plus Strawberry, sub almond milk for the non-fat milk, vegan protein instead of whey protein - 1000 whole entire calories I need. But it took me two damn hours to get to the point where I felt well-enough to leave my house for the measly 15/20 minute drive, 10 minutes of ordering and waiting, 5 minutes of getting gas, and 15 minutes home. And by the time we got home, I was done. Just done, I only had that about 50 minutes where I felt like I could walk around and function in public. I spent the rest of the day in bed, and the pile of dirty dishes in my sink proves it. I can't give a shit about the dishes today. I give a shit that my fucking stomach feels like it's going to explode and I'm not kidding. It feels like I'm going to explode, like that guy on Aliens. I mean, there isn't an alien eating my insides trying to break free - but there's is some kind of debilitating monster doing some kind of weird ass crap that makes my stomach feel like I'm going to explode.

I can't do blood tests for inflammation yet. Not only did that steroid not help this time, but it means I have to wait four weeks after taking it so it doesn't skew my test results. Dammit. But, I'm going back to the dr tomorrow because there has just got to be something more we can do in the meantime because I just can't even right now. I don't care if we don't say that anymore, I'm saying that because that just seems like the easiest way to say it. And I'm tired of waking up angry. I have an amazing life and I wake up every single day next to my best friend, the love of my life. I have so many things in my life that I love and enjoy. I have the most amazing kids and the most amazing family. I have such a great life, I don't want to be angry. I finally grew up enough to not be the type of woman who's "only happy when it rains" and I love the permission I've given myself to experience joy in my life instead of brooding in thinking errors. But, damn, those errors are killing me right now. 

I'm tired of that look on my husbands face. I think he's more worried than I am. He hugs tightly, then pushes me away because he can feel the throbbing from my abdominal aorta or under my belly button and he places his hand over the throbbing and he's just scared. He worries I have some kind of obstruction from my failed hernia mesh repair surgery. I hate the way he looks at me, because he's scared and worried and I am too and neither one of us are very good at making the other feel better right now because we don't know what the fuck is going on. He loves me, and while it's not intentional, I am causing him pain right now and I hate that. 

Admittedly, there's a small part of me that hopes my dr will just admit me to the hospital so I can just get all the tests done at once and someone can tell me how to make this shit stop. I don't know if that's dramatic - I have no idea. All I know is ER visits, dr visits, prescription drugs, changing my diet - none of it has helped enough to stop whatever this is from escalating. I walk around with a weird guilt too, and I hate that. My husband is our sole income earner right now. I don't make jack shit for income, I make zero dollars a month. I used to happily and energetically work 60 hours a week, now I can barely make it 60 minutes without bitching about pain or discomfort. I tried to work from home, but I can't be tied to a call and only step away for a 30 minute lunch and two 15 minute breaks. It's good timing in a way, because I need to not have any commitments to another person, so I can commit to spending my time working with my dr to figure out how to stop this downhill rollercoaster I seem to be on.

But I'm still angry, because I have to be. Otherwise I'll just sit in self pity and I've worked too hard on myself to do that. I have poured myself into creating art the past few months. Two years ago, I had a shoebox full of kids craft type stuff from over the years - now, I have tons of paint, canvases, shadowing pencils, high end colored pencils, blending markers, a sewing machine and tons of fabric, air dry clay and my resin kit (and yes, my ventilator mask for safety) came in last night. Every time I learn to do something new, I want to try something else to see what else I can create.  Because I am spinning. But it's ok, because I'm spinning into art this time. Not alcohol, not pills, not working out 3 times a day, not obsessively creating. I'm not doing some of  the things I've done in the past when I've felt helpless or have the need to have some kind of massive control in my life. Not yet at least, and I really hope I'm not getting there. 

But now, I understand why Grandma is such a bitch, and I don't mean that to any Grandma in particular. I mean that, in my life, I have seen many women get skinny, sick and die ... slowly ... in pain every freaking day until they die. I have seen those women go from vibrant souls full of life and hope, to "angry bitches", because, how the hell do you cope with decades of pain and inconclusive findings with no answers until they say, "we're done wasting money and time on tests because we don't know what's wrong with you, we just know that we can't fix it - so, have a great life on the days you're not hurting." - how the hell are you supposed to cope with that? So, in the meantime, I'll just write and create and avoid my husband, kids, nieces and friends when I'm a cranky bitch that a snickers can't solve, because I don't want to accidentally take my anger out on them. I love them too much to allow them to get on this damn pity party train with me. And I'm way more patient with cranky old ladies now, because I'm becoming one of them. 

I hope tomorrow I get better answers/direction/guidance - even a modicum of relief from the cycle I'm stuck in right now. "Wishing, and hoping, and thinking, and praying" - because I have a life outside my house that I'd really like to get back to. And I'd really like to stop being so angry, because I don't to be the sick bitchy grandma - I want to be the adventure grandma who shows my grandkids all of the wonderful, amazing things in the world that they can do, be, or create. The only time I want to be "Sick Bitch Grandma" - is because I did something badass that impressed them. Until then, I'd just like to be not in pain Stacee. That would be great.