March was...eventful around here. Travel and commitments took up a great part of my month. Add to that the whole "hey you wanna meet Potus?" thing and my birthday and I can safely say I've had way too much excitement for my own good. The frog princess has had a cough lately. It meant a trip to the ER on Saturday Â and about 3 sleepless nights spent soothing her as she hacked up a lung. I was tired. I was stressed because I wasn't getting enough rest. On Sunday, we went to brunch and afterward, I found myself in a little bit of pain. I've got some cysts going on at the moment and though I'm still not sure what I will decide to do with them (making them disappear is my #1 choice, by the way), they seem to be causing me more discomfort than I care to admit.
I spent the afternoon in bed with a heating pad. Pain level went as high as an 8 (and those who know me might say that's a 10-11 for regular folks). On Monday I woke up feeling a bit tired after another coughing session with the frog princess at around 3 a.m. I wasn't surprised to be dragging but when I got to the kitchen and noticed I was feeling a bit...how can I put it? I felt very decaida (tired/without energy). I served the kid breakfast and then sat down on the couch. Then I felt suddenly clammy. I thought okay, let me take my blood pressure (it sometimes runs low and it makes me super duper tired).
The blood pressure cuff was on the kitchen counter so there I went. I sat on a stool, put the cuff on and as the blood pressure cup started working, I felt myself...going. All I thought was: let's get this blood pressure reading. My next thought was: shit! I'm on the floor! The first thing I did was turn and look at the kid. She was zoned out with her breakfast and I still have no clue how she missed this. I'm glad she did though. The blood pressure machine was on the floor with me, with the cuff disconnected. I don't recall hitting my head and I attribute it to my curly top cushioning my head (though today I felt something on the side of my head and think I may have hit the right side).
After placing a call to the (ex)man and having him come over, get the girl ready for school and drop her off, we headed to the ER. I waited, not feeling so great. Then I worried. Then I had what I can only name PTSD as I'd been in that hospital before with Mami. Something happened inside of me as I was wheeled in for tests, thinking about how she must have felt. On top of feeling like shit, I had to deal with a wave of grief as I imagined all Mami had endured while she was ill.
Almost 8 hours later, I was given a clean bill of health. Chest x-ray, EKG and blood work were all normal. Which is great except, what's up with the fainting?
The resounding message from most of you has been that I need to slow down. And I will readily agree.
Even as I type this, I'm concerned that maybe I should've had them check my head after the fall seeing as I experienced a really bad headache overnight. I'm tired, you guys. Elated from all of the blessings that have come my way but also overwhelmed by some serious ridiculousness that I've been juggling. I haven't been talking too much about it because I can't find the string where "beginning" should be (but I will).
With a very heavy heart I decided at the last minute to not go to Hispanicize this week. Let's file this one in my "everything happens for a reason" filing cabinet. I am not regretting my decision and I am not going to regret the decisions that will be coming in the near future because it's time to clean house and take a different path to the road of taking care of me.
The body has a clear way of getting its message across and tonight, I'm hearing it loud and clear. Why is it so hard for us to take care of ourselves? I'm having to think long and hard about the priorities in my life and what I need to get done vs. what I want to get done. I can tell you that those things are no longer the same. And therein lies the problem. So off I go, to fit the pieces of the puzzle together again. I just needed to look at the picture on the box to get me back in the right direction.
PS: big ups to Carlos, my nurse, who I cracked up when I seriously told him that my hair had saved me from hitting my head. The (ex)man mentioned me being a blogger and a whole other conversation ensued. Including a frantic search for a pen and paper so that he could write down my web address. Hi Carlos!