Tag Archives: stress

Unemployment: Just What the Doctor Ordered

New posts have been scant, I know.  Stress levels had spilled over the brim and inflammation levels had reached my brain.  Until yesterday.

I said I wouldn’t write about work on this blog… but I’ve been canned, so that dark little hole is unplugged and I can tell you all the horror stories and gripe until my face turns blue and my fingertips bleed.  But I won’t.

Bosslady came down from New Orleans to let me go.  I did not see this coming.  Budget cuts, not enough work, blah, blah, blah.  Until I have evidence to the contrary, I will assume they were implying, “bye bye sick lady” (that’s my cynical side talking).  However, for a change, Bosslady seemed genuinely distraught about having to let me, and a few others go.  She rolled in without barely looking at my face until the moment she called me in to “talk” to me.  Even then I didn’t see it coming, but I sent a quick prayer for peace to control myself from spewing out obscenities about the hell I’m in.  I walked in in peace, and came out of there with even more peace.

via blog.redfin.com

I have bitched and moaned enough about that place.  At this point, venting about it is just piss in the wind.  Enough emotional energy has been wasted there.  Enough neck veins have gorged themselves stiff.  More than all the collective sighs and under-breath mutterings have been emitted.  Now, I’m free and absolved of being a quitter.  Because I’m not a quitter.   I should have been, the moment I realized that place started to take an emotional, therefore, a physical toll on my displaced chi.  But I waited it out like the good girl I’ve forced myself to become.

I drove home, Husband waiting for me with a shot of tequila, he with a Damiana drink *(that we still have leftover from out honeymoon. Yes, we went through customs with about eight bottles from Cabo with us).  I tell you… it was like I took a bottle of Xanax.  I was laughing, cracking jokes, and carelessly having a conversation, at our living room, with my favorite person.  Something that hasn’t happened as much as it should in the last few weeks.

You know how when you go to the doctor with a million complaints and they just tell you you need to reduce your stress, right before your adrenalines spikes from resisting the urge to punch him in the nads for such a daft answer?  Well, he was right.  Let go of that frickin job that makes you miserable.  Obviously, we’re not all in the position to lose our salary and benefits.  Hell, I wasn’t.  But isn’t like Americans to wait until you have a heart attack to stop eating hamburgers?  How long would I have stayed in that personal Hades until I spontaneously burst into flames?

What happens now? I’m not sure.  All I know is that this morning I actually got to partake in faith-based works on a Tuesday morning and I’m more a human than I’ve been in a while.  I just finished filing for unemployment.  My house will be spotless now that I have time to tend to it.  By the end of the week, a job hunt will ensue, after vegetating for a few days. That in itself is reason for another aphrodisiac drink (see Damiana link above).  Being without health insurance, as near-futile as it is, is essential for Husband and I.  But this is a brand new slate, and now I might have the ability to be more picky about where my next job will be.  Maybe not.  Maybe I’ll just fall into another slaving demise in order to survive our increasingly stupider economy.  I’m not sure how we’ll afford my elaborate holistic health treatment and the thousand of supplements I need just to function, but strangely, I’m not worried about it. These things always work themselves out if you don’t get lazy about it.

Meanwhile, I’m so grateful that I was kicked out.  I’m looking forward to the upside of not being in the negative and drowning environment that killed my spirits everyday.  I finally have the opportunity to think, I mean, really think, about my next move in regards to a job that doesn’t dual with my physical and mental health.

My only regret is turning in the office key so quickly.  I would’ve come in the dark, before business hours the next day, and peed on the Swede’s fabric chair as my final building exeunt, with a note behind that read: “We can hear everything you do the bathroom.”

Enough about personal problems!  If your stress levels are coming out of your ears, here is what was helping me decompress before the big news: Ginseng Complex! and Super Energy Up! from The Vitamin Shoppe.

If you have Lupus, or any of the inflammation based diseases,  stress is an enemy of extreme.  The amount of backlash from tension and tiredness will start to decompose you before you expire.  Two weeks ago I started taking this and I was suddenly able to think without short-circuiting, crying, taking nap after nap, other bodily functions if you know what I’m saying, relax, etc.  Hair loss that comes with many autoimmune diseases is at a halt, which is more important than walking to me, but I’m even able to walk longer periods of time right now.  I recommend it to anyone who feels they’re about to go postal.

So, if you can’t bring yourself to tell your boss what you really think about him and get yourself fired, read up on B-12 and chinese herbs.  Little tid-bit: Americans market Ginseng as an energy booster.  Chinese apply Ginseng to achieve calmness.  Center your chi people!

via axemy.files.wordpress.com

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Filed under Housewifing, Loopy Lupus, Post A Week, Random

Somewhere Over the Percocet

At work, a small white tablet was found straggling around in my purse.  I heard angel choirs chanting not too far off this multi-dimensional realm.  I split the porcelain little helper in two.  Even before popping the first half, the placebo effect of the hope that was to come was already melting troubles away like lemon drop shots.

All these mornings have been groundhog-ish.  I had an interruption in my regular treatment for the ‘wolf disease’, and so the inflammation and pain came back with a vengeance.  With permission from a doctor’s note, I have stumbled into work late almost every day in the last two weeks.  When I pry my dessert-dry eyes open in the morning, while blood is trashing around in my skull, I begin the process of gauging my pain levels.  Neck: Stiff.  Hips: swollen.  Feet: extra swollen.  Back: stabbing.  Elbows: Stuck. Wrist and Fingers: numb.  Organs: Tender.  I’m exhausted from lack of recuperation, but also mentally, from the automatic conditioning that has set in;  the rapid-fire assessment I make two minutes from wake-up time.  I know the day is going to be a battle and my brain wages war to stay home for an hour or two more.

Eventually I unfurl my spine and muster the bravery to place my feet on the floor.  Morning stiffness and swelling is normal. For the rest of the day, continual movement is paramount, otherwise, my joints will stay stuck in motionless positions.  I still don’t know how to describe many of the symptoms that come with this condition.  The best one yet, which I don’t know if the average person can understand, is that it feels like my blood doesn’t fit inside its veins and my limbs don’t fit inside it’s skin encasing.  The most recent pain is my lower back.  The doctor said there is no damage.  “It’s just inflammation.”  I doubt the words of that arrogant fool, but I’m also helpless in my limited amount of time to take off work and see every doctor for every spot on my body that’s wrong.

My excitement for the Perk was because I had run out of them.  The physician switched me to Vicodin, a very unpleasant substitute which reduces pain, adds headaches, has angered my autoimmune and takes my literal breath away.  This cannot continue.

For that reason, finding a lost little Percocet made my next 4-6 hours.  However, the concern simmers within. It won’t be long before it wears off and no more rogue pills will be laying around to be found.

This is not the most unbearable pain I’ve ever experienced, but it’s the most ongoing pain I’ve ever  had to deal with.  I’m not sure how to do it and when the big picture spans out before my eyes, out of focus and blurry, panic begins to stir.

Am I becoming dependent on a short-term solution?

Am I falling trap to a cognitive dissonance that justifies pill popping. Even if its prescribed?

What constitutes the right to pain killers?

What if you need them to keep your job?

What is the deal with organic herbs that ease pain without causing systematic damage like synthetic narcotics? Why don’t I live in California or Amsterdam?

When will they build a Whole Foods in my neighborhood?

How do I keep my job and my home from being neglected in my condition?

How am I to reduce to a more manageable part-time, if I need to pay for so many medicines, appointments, and tests? How am I supposed to keep my mental peace when its at war with my body?

How am I going to do my part as a capable housewife if I run out of energy too early on the same day that my beloved cat decides to poop on our mattress and pee on all our spare mattresses?

What if  I don’t stop asking all these unanswerable questions and die right here of cardiac arrest?

All these questions ruminate above in my head with great insistence.

They tumble inside my brain like a dryer with damp laundry all they want, but none of it is solvable if i don’t stop the cycling.  Stress exacerbates fatigue, pains, and surrender.  Action however, gets the job done.

I’m a big believer of a mini-break down. If you fight it too long, you’re have a certified melt-down and that’s just too inconvenient for everyone.  After you’re done crying and venting to a friend/family member who provides you a less morbid solution than resorting to admitting yourself in an insane asylum, you wait for your blotchy skin to normalize, you assume rhythmic breathing, you decrease your voice’s pitch from supersonic back to human, send a quick prayer through the proper channels, and you lay out your plan.

As soon as your vision isn’t blurred,  you call all your doctors with reasonable inquiries and requests.  Then you research on acupuncture and and natural therapies because your doctor is bound to take guesses as good as a two-year old.  You buy a box of pinch-proof gloves and an enzyme cleaner for unpleasant odors.  You put aside any feminism and ask Husband for suggestions and to kindly pass the vacuum once a week for you (He won’t know if you don’t ask).  Draw smiley faces on the bills you don’t intend to pay.  Powder your face again if warranted.  Thank your friends for letting you be at your worst with them and still letting you maintain your credibility when the show is over.

Ages 4-7

You also learn to prepare better for next time. It’s time to invest in the sponge bat I’ve been suggesting might be the greatest problem solver in the world.

I especially like this one with the adjustable size for the days my symptoms throw me on the couch and the cats start meowing suspiciously.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  Pain killers are a temporary solution. Being in turmoil is inevitable but should always be dealt with.  Being overwhelmed doesn’t have to be the dirty little secret many sweep under the ground as if this life was a summer breeze.  Take meds if you must, but learn how to get on by your own terms. That alone is like natural opiates.

 

 

And that’s the way Sue C’s it. *

*High-five, Glee Geeks!

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Filed under Indulgence, Loopy Lupus, Picture of Health, Post A Week, Stimulating the Economy, Under the Weather