I am my father's daughter...

After my father passed away, if I was telling someone a story about him and tried to describe him, I would often say, "if he walked through the door right now, you'd know he was my father."  I have his height, his fair complexion, and his hair.  If you've been reading my previous posts, you know that my father died of various medical and psychological complications - becoming insulin dependent and battling high blood pressure were just a couple of his chronic battles.  As I got older and slightly wiser through my own recovery process, I tried to be mindful of my own genetic risks when it came to diabetes and high blood pressure.  I generally did pretty well when it came to glucose tests.  I was super proud of myself when I passed the 1 hour and 3 hour gestational diabetes tests when I was pregnant with both kids.  I remember drinking those hideously sweet orange glucose test drinks and thinking about dad, almost angry at him for the traits he may or may not have passed on to me.  It's funny how I was always focused on the diabetes because it was such an overt, chronic disease in that I watched him check his blood sugar and give himself insulin shots.  But, it's so true about high blood pressure - it is the silent killer.

Even though I have been on a roller coaster ride of anxiety and depression for many years, surprisingly, my blood pressure has always been normal, even a little below normal.  Well, I'm in for a new fight that I was in no way prepared for -- my blood pressure readings have been consistently in pre-hypertension and stage 1 high blood pressure for a month now.  I'm trying to be realistic in that this has been an unprecedented month for me because of my neurosurgery, anyone would be stressed, right?  But, I can't stop thinking about my father and wonder if this just good old-fashioned genetic code at work.  Of course, all this wondering and worrying certainly won't make that blood pressure monitor read any different!  On this first day of spring, even if the weather isn't ready to make some changes, I think I might be.  I think I might just have to be.

"No One Can Ever Take That Away From You"

That's me in 1973, in my dad's arms with my beaming sister, Mary Susan nearby.  My sister and I had a father who worked extra hard to make sure we felt loved.  My dad's father died when he was 14, his mother eventually became institutionalized due to mental illness, and his older brother committed suicide - in today's time, his suicide would have been attributed to PTSD due to serving in the war.  I don't think my dad ever fully grieved his losses - it certainly would explain his own troubles with addition.  I am my father's daughter and I often wonder if I've been carrying that guilt and grief around too (both his and mine).  He did have his flaws, but he was my dad and he had such a gift for making everyone around him feel special; I really miss watching the Southern Gentleman work a room.

My dad was a proud Veteran and often had little sayings related to his military service.  Whenever we accomplished something, he would say to us that we've earned a badge and "no one can ever take that away from you." I had been having lots of mixed emotions about my recent neurosurgery and I had been thinking a lot about my dad, wondering what he would have thought about all my medical struggles over the years.  I just needed that boost that only Garland Clement Bounds could give me.

When I arrived for my pre-op a few days before surgery, I really connected with the Nurse Practitioner who was ensuring all my tests were complete and everything was set for my surgery.  We had shared a couple of stories, she told me her brother-in-law had just had the same procedure and was doing great, she made me feel at ease and I could feel my tension easing up.  At the end of our appointment, she said, "You are in good hands, you will do fine, getting this osteoma out will be like a badge, a badge of courage."  I couldn't believe it - I remember feeling my whole body slip down a bit on the exam table, like some kind of comedic pratfall. I walked out of the examination room and said quietly to myself, "Thanks for coming with me, Dad, I really needed that."

Panic Party

Today I had to pre-register for my operation and tomorrow I go for my pre-op labs.  Given I've had my share of surgeries, I'm used to the questions they ask to ensure they have all the necessary information.  I've been keeping a pretty positive attitude about this surgery because I know that it's routine for the neurosurgeon.  I also have faith that it's the right thing to do to address some of my chronic pain issues. However, I think this registration today brought some unexpected anxieties. Plus - I can't take any of the medications that help me control my pain, so I'm a real peach right now.  I wake up in pain, I go to sleep in pain and I hate it.  Steve teaches on Wednesday nights, so the kids are having to fend for themselves with a combination of books, Olympics and the tablet.  They are fed, they are clothed, and will be situated as my natural heating pads when it's time to go to bed.  I remind myself every night to not give in to the guilt I feel about my limitations, keeping my anger in check is no picnic either.

When I was answering the nurse's questions this morning, I was suddenly taken aback when she made some suggestions for what clothing I should pack, you know, as a brain surgery patient.  The logical person in me knows that's what this is, brain surgery, but it was weird to actually hear it.  Then, as I'm trying to answer the questions about my health care proxy and religious preferences, I had this overwhelming panic set in.  I felt like I hadn't prepared myself at all, for anything.  In that moment, I was feeling overwhelmed with work stuff, but as the day went on, I really felt the fear of not having the family prepared.  I know I've worked out logistics for next week, but I feel irresponsible for not solidifying the logistics of life in a will.  So, legalzoom.com and I are becoming good friends over the weekend.  Super Bowl weekend, we had a party while we got our taxes done; Presidents' Day weekend we'll have a will party.  We Parrotheads always say, "Party with a Purpose"  ;-)

Steve

Today is Steve's birthday - I'm writing this blog to remind him that it's his birthday and to embarrass him just a little.  I couldn't resist including this picture -- I swear, the Mary Washington College admissions office should have used us in their brochure.  I also think Steve looks like he's running for office.

I've spent 20 birthdays with Steve.  I had only known Steve for a month when he celebrated #23 and something had come up in conversation about lead pencils vs. mechanical pencils (he uses the latter).  I think it might have been a Seinfeld reference, but I bought him a pack of lead pencils.  To this day, he's never used those pencils, but there they sit, year after year, front and center in our desk drawer.

The following year, when we were "officially dating" , I tried to throw him a surprise party and failed pretty miserably, but Steve made me feel special for trying and the party was just plain, silly fun. When someone has your back like that and makes you feel loved and special - on his birthday - you know you've found something, someone worth keeping.

The years went by and we celebrated Steve's birthday with fun day trips, weekend getaways and all kinds of live concerts.  It's funny because those experiences, along with many others, really helped to define our partnership.  Having evolved from reading paper maps, to first generation GPS devices, to our present-day smart phones has earned us points in both how-to and how-not-to communicate.  Living in new places, knowing no one, having to figure everything out on our own has taught us a lot about each other as individuals and as a couple.

Now, as parents who get strung-out at times, Steve needs to be reminded about calendar items such as his birthday.  So, when he starts thinking about it, he usually starts thinking about how to celebrate his birthday through his children's eyes.  His sister reminded me that last year, a significant snow storm came in and Steve called our local cupcake shop hoping he could still get some cupcakes for his birthday.  He was really excited when the owner said, "come on down!" and he took Jack on an adventure in the snow to get those cupcakes.  Those were some really yummy cupcakes.

Last night, we went out to dinner and then Steve took Jack to see the new Lego Movie.  Today, we'll head out for breakfast and then go to the Boston Home Show.  Steve's love of This Old House and other home improvement shows is just another reason why I love him so.  Because of a fortunate raffle win by his boss, Steve will take Jack to the Celtics game later this evening.  Our time together is the best gift and I am so very grateful.

Steve, thank you for being such a wonderful husband and father to Jack and Anna.  And thank you for your severe chocolate addiction - it makes birthday gift-giving so easy this time of year.  I love you, honey.

My Life Under The Knife - Part Three

Snow day time and I'm doing some cyber-shopping.  I'm looking at knit headband options because in 2 weeks I will have neurosurgery.  Yes, my hair will be shaved, not all of it, but enough to warrant shopping for some hair accessories.  I went on Etsy and there are 21,893 items that matched my search -- clearly, a shopping task for my mother and sister.  I mean, my head already hurts enough.

So, yes, the surgery is upon me.  It's one in a long line of parties to try and get rid of that drunk uncle -- or, you know, unwanted objects out of my body.  My major issues started in October, 2004, when Steve moved to New Hampshire and the Red Sox broke their World Series losing streak.  I stayed in Florida to finish my degree and make final preparations to sell our house.  Those months alone sucked - I had some pretty serious manic-depressive episodes.  I think, while it was happening, I assumed I was missing Steve and was incredibly nervous to take my oral and comp exams, but really, I was incredibly anxious to move and truthfully, was resenting Steve for leaving a town I'd come to love for a place I knew nothing about.

2005, in snowy, icy New Hampshire, knowing no one and being unemployed, I was pretty miserable and I did the best I could.  Something that Steve and I had started to be more serious about was starting a family - figuring if I wasn't finding employment, maybe it was a good time to start.  Because everyone should start a family when you are miserable, right!?! Well, I wasn't getting pregnant and at about the same time, I was hired by Boston University in November of 2005, an opportunity I was thankful for, even if the commute from New Hampshire was brutal (2 hours one way).  Pretty simultaneously to starting the job, my periods and migraines got unbelievably painful.  We moved to Massachusetts in March of 2006, hoping that the stress of commuting would help a little bit.  But, by the time summer rolled around, I found myself in an oncologist's office being told I had severe endometriosis, endometritis, and ovarian cysts and that a hysterectomy would be the course of action recommended.  Excuse me, What?

As I sat there in shock, not believing what I was hearing, the doctor said that since I was of child-bearing age, she would try alternatives, but wanted to be honest about what I was dealing with.  Well, we had to, just had to, go with the alternatives.  In 2006, I had a laparoscopy that confirmed my right side was messed up - scar tissue, cysts, and the ovary being the main culprit with its desire to be over-productive.  So, I had a hyper ovary -- me, hyper?  Who would have thought?  The ovary liked to move up my fallopian tube and create cysts.  A shunt was inserted to keep the ovary in check and for basically a year, I went each month for Lupron Depot injections - a treatment for patients with prostate, ovarian, and uterine cancer risks. Meanwhile, I had this osteoma developing in my head, but tests came out negative and I didn't feel like dealing with it was a priority - getting pregnant was.  I had an ectopic pregnancy in June 2007 and thought to myself that maybe it wasn't meant to be, failed again in September, but then was told I was pregnant in October of 2007.  I didn't believe it, wouldn't let myself believe it and was really thankful that Steve had optimism for the both of us.  John "Jack" Clement Schaffer was born on June 17, 2008.  13 hours of labor that ended in a C-section because of course, my right side wouldn't cooperate!

For me, breastfeeding Jack was the best medicine because the hormonal benefits kept most of my gynecological issues in check.  My migraines, always radiating from the osteoma on the right side, were also occurring less, so things were good and then, in the fall of 2009 I found myself right back in 2004 all over again.  Here's where I know some people would call me greedy, perhaps foolish for playing Russian Roulette with my health, but I decided to have surgery again (same procedure to remove cysts, adjust the shunt, etc.) and also agreed to an IUD because studies had shown its effectiveness in helping patients like me.  Steve and I just weren't ready to give up on the dream of a second child and additionally, I didn't feel like I was emotionally ready or physically ready to take 4-6 months recovery time for a hysterectomy. I asked for the IUD to be removed in August, 2010 and was pregnant the following month.  Anna Elaine Schaffer was born May 10, 2011.  I still look at Anna and don't believe she is real.

For me, the past 2 years have almost been as hard as 2004-2007 because I have been blessed with 2 children, but because of my extraordinary arthritic and headache pain, I can't be the active mother I wish I could be or the one they deserve.  I had to get cortisone shots in order to breastfeed Anna because I was battling severe carpal-tunnel and tendinitis.  It got pretty bad, so I had to have, you guessed it, surgery to remove 10 cysts from my wrist and hand.  I also had my shunt checked and IUD inserted.  Of course, I still have a when decision to make about the hysterectomy, but this head of mine needs work first, then my heart, and that just may take some time, like the lifetime of a blog ;-)

My Life Under The Knife - Part Two

O.K.  So, this second part was really, really hard to write.  I'm pushing myself here to write this shit down.  I think we might just have to have a part 3.  My medical history parallels with my childhood, adolescent angst, young adulthood crap, so I gotta connect the dots.

My doctor calls the osteoma I'm having removed next month, "conspicuous and painful".  I laughed when she said it because I thought, yeah, that about sums everything up.  Many of my past actions could be described that way.  My body has generated cysts on a pretty regular basis since around 2004, perhaps earlier because the onset of painful migraines in college have often proven to be the culprit of many problems.

We were fortunate to have a great college physician,  she was helpful in diagnosing my migraines as something related to my menstrual cycle as well as to allergens like sulfites.  The pain was pretty unbearable and so I was prescribed varying degrees of painkillers.  What's important to note here is that I am my father's daughter, he was an addict who also had OCD and bi-polar tendencies.  His family was riddled with mental health issues.  I was the holder of a complex genetic lottery ticket and looking back, anyone could have predicted that having access to pain medications, in a college setting, was going to be a bad mix for this not-quite-yet reformed troubled kid.  Let me tell you a little bit about that kid...

I had such unexplainable anger, jealousy and low self-concept as a young kid -- it led me to say some pretty horrible things to friends and family.  One in particular that still sticks with me is when my sister had suffered a horrible diving accident and I said that I wished she were dead - words to this day I can't believe I said and feel like another person said them.  I guess, I've had to tell myself another person said those words because otherwise the guilt would've consumed me.  Along with saying hurtful things, I became quite the liar and manipulator.  One of my best acts was the cycle of secret binge eating and then making myself sick just at the right time to make my mom think I had a stomach bug so I could stay home from school.  I was twisted enough to save the vomit in the toilet to show her.

It didn't take long for that behavior to catch up with me and I landed in the Principal's office, the psychiatrist's office and so on and so on.  In my mind, I had been found out and it dawned on me that I was ruining my chances to get out of my parents' house and be on my own (the 17-year-old that thinks she has all the answers).  I got my act together, but definitely not for the right reasons.  My GPA and SAT scores were less than great, I'd say fair, so I used the essays to ask (beg) for a chance.  I did get that chance, and almost ruined it all with my trademark careless manipulations.  Insert freshman freedom and that migraine diagnosis here and you have one bad mix -- it kind of made it easy to major in alcohol, drugs, and sex.  In high school, I didn't have healthy relationships - I had the antonym of relationships - secret, manipulative hook-ups and well, it seemed so easy to just keep that going in college.  It was what I knew to do and for some reason, I thought that's how I would be liked, maybe even loved.

It does make me sad, at times, that I wasted almost 2 years of college with foolish and at times, dangerous behavior.  But, I also understand those tough times shaped who I am now.  It took some key college personnel (I think I was probably destined for a career in student affairs), a couple of friends, and meeting Steve to help me put pieces together and grow up.  It took a lot of time to get my head in the right place -- I don't think I had a solid, healthy definition of love until about 2 years into our marriage.  But, it's like my body, my physical spirit, is stuck back in that time; the pain my body produces is like the drunk uncle nobody wants at the holiday table.  Part 3 - how do you get rid of the drunk uncle?

My Life Under The Knife - Part One

I've had surgery 10 times - luckily 2 of those times gave us the gifts of Jack and Anna. Today, I've scheduled surgery #11 - I have an osteoma on my hairline that needs to be removed.  I am profoundly grateful to be alive and by writing my journey, I certainly don't minimize the much tougher roads that others have traveled.

My very first surgery was in the summer of 1990 - I had my jaw reconstructed because I had classically mis-aligned teeth and a serious under bite.  I was the kid with braces, retainers, palate expanders - the works. It was pretty awful at times. My orthodontist and oral surgeons patiently measured my bone growth for roughly 6 months to ensure that they would effectively treat my issues.  My jaw was wired shut for about 6 weeks and I lived on TCBY yogurt shakes and tomato soup.  My mom was by my side at all times -- she carried wire cutters in her purse!  The surgery was a success and I think for the first time in my life I was starting to build some self-esteem and confidence.

Right before my jaw surgery, I found out that all 4 of my wisdom teeth were impacted. Some headaches and migraines had started to interfere with my final year in college, so it was suggested that the wisdom teeth be removed.  The surgery occurred in the fall of 1995, about a week before my first "real" job started.  My co-workers at Marymount University couldn't believe I was starting my job so soon after the surgery, but I assured them this was nothing for me.  Of course I was uncomfortable, but I didn't want anything to jeopardize me starting what I hoped was the start of my career in higher education.

My poor self-concept and struggles with anxiety and depression definitely made for a rough adolescence and young adulthood.  I'd like to think these early surgeries helped get me on a better path of self-acceptance. Without this confidence, I probably wouldn't have been able to sustain a relationship with Steve nor would I have been able to develop a career in student affairs.

Steve and I were married on May 30, 1998 and moved to Jacksonville, Florida in July of that same year. We then moved to Gainesville in 2000.  I think the distance from family and the climate change had a bigger impact on me than I really wanted to admit.  Over time, I had both physical and emotional challenges. Luckily, I now knew how to ask for help and found good physicians to prescribe medications that made sense for my allergies, asthma, and anxiety (Triple A!). Unfortunately, my medical problems didn't subside, so I had my tonsils and adenoids removed in 2003.  As an adult, it is rare for doctors to go this route and believe me, I wish I could have avoided it.  Imagine eating sandpaper and it just gets stuck in your throat. There wasn't enough Popsicles in the world!

In October 2004, Steve moved to Nashua, NH and I stayed in Gainesville to prepare our house for sale, finish my degree, and start a whole new journey that was filled with unwelcome obstacles and answered prayers.