Sun or rain, I love being outside. The mountains almost quite literally call my name sometimes, and I just know I need to do a hike the next day off. The smell of the trees in the wilderness makes my heart happy and the sound of my feet slapping the pavement while running is such an invigorating feeling. I love the high of endorphins after a hard run or a difficult hike. A few years ago I admitted to my naturopath that I use exercise, specifically running, as a form of stress relief. He agreed that it's a great way to temporary dissolve stress and anxiety, but warned that it's not solving my problems, and I could end up overdoing it in the long term without actually dealing with my life stressors. I chose to allow him to adjust my back and promptly disregarded his warning. And my last run took place at the beginning of May, where it was the fifth time I had ran a half marathon in my running career, so perhaps I didn't take the 13 miles all that seriously. The last few months I have been sloppy in my fueling for my long runs and stretching post run; I was so focused on my ever-injured hip flexor I forgot about everything else. Kayla and I took on a completely different route than our normal runs, and mile seven took forever. The last three miles were quite simply awful and I ran on empty for five kilometers, a few days after my COVID shot.
Mental health is something I’ve always supported, but never something
I’ve fully understood. So when I took myself to Hospital at 3AM four Saturdays
ago, ugly crying to a very patient and reaffirming nurse, she went through her
routine questions, one in which she asked about any chest pains. I said I had some,
but I think it may be because I’m so anxious. “Do you suffer from anxiety
regularly?” she asked. I couldn't help thinkin: But, doesn't everyone? rAnd these are the things we don’t talk about.
I’ve always been a worrier. My mom recently reminded me when I was so stressed in elementary school that I would write my name in mirror image. I used to joke about stress being the glue that held me together; However, it was the second visit to the Hospital, where my blood pressure was through the roof that made the above comment seem drastically less funny.
These last four weeks have been really difficult, to say the very least. The nurses are recognizing me due to the repeat hospital visits of heart palpitations, extreme fatigue, lack of appetite, a racing heart, high blood pressure ect. At my best, I can calm the fuck down and understand that much of this is brought on by anxiety. At my worst, I feel like I’m going to die. I know what this sounds like, but it’s true.
Like most people, COVID was what broke me. My two sisters, mom and I all have an incredibly different
perspective on the subject of the Corona Virus, in terms of how the virus is being
handled, the severity of it, the restrictions, the political side, and the
vaccine itself. The four of us are very different people, with very different
views; however, this has never stopped the endless support exchanged between
the four of us. I would have never left Canada that first time and head out
solo to Bolivia without the encouragement from my sisters and mum. They’ve
never judged my nomadic lifestyle, only encouraged it, or the decision to
change my mind and plan for children. However, when it came to COVID, all
gloves were off. And as my doctor explained, because of the global pandemic, my
group and my people become even smaller, which means their thoughts and
opinions become even more significant. With the people I cared about most in my life all at different odds, where Mike and I couldn't even agree on our COVID perspective, this is where I think I started to unravel.
I suppose at one point I was high functioning with anxiety. It made me very good at my job at the Mine and at the Mill, where I struggled to find sleep and fell into the rabbit hole of worries and concerns at night to the point of obsession until that fearful task was completed or that high profile-high stress vacant position was filled. I was on point and killing it, but now, at my worst, I feel like my anxiety is killing me.
The physician is quite sure there is a problem beyond anxiety, as my blood pressure wouldn’t be as high as it is if it was simply anxiety, I know my anxiety - my brain, is not helping my heart right now, in the state that it’s in. A mound of blood work is being conducted and the results are slowly trickling in - all reporting back normal. My coping mechanism for anxiety isn’t working anymore because I don’t know when they will find the diagnosis and I can't exercise to alleviate my fears. Once again, I’m headed down the rabbit hole of worst case scenarios, but instead of fucking up an interview or getting fired, it's fears of pancreatic cancer, heart attacks, or simply never being diagnosed and having to live in the hazy state of survival mode. I’ve been working with a counselor on learning how to talk myself off the edge of doom and coping mechanisms when my anxiety gets the best of me. And when I don’t have the strength to calm down, Mike, ever so gracefully steps in, and has unknowingly created my mantra - I’m strong, I am healthy, I will be okay - as he’s reassured me so many times this past month.
Mike’s been nothing but supportive, and I’ve
learned what it’s like to truly and fully lean on him both mentally and physically (and hooked me up with Starbucks decaf coffee, even though he hates the place). He
sat me down a couple weeks ago and forced me to have an serious conversation
and showed me a long list of symptoms of anxiety, a list that my sister, Meg,
sent to me as well. The only difference is, I scoffed off her text messages, I probably rolled my eyes. It’s
incredibly hard for me to understand that my head, my mental health is hurting
my body, and my heart to this degree. And that because I’ve never prioritized
my mental health I think it's now providing me with physical symptoms, so I’m forced to reconcile
with my very abused brain. Mike listened to Meg when she said that she’s worried
about me, and why. His support has been insurmountable, especially given that he doesn't place to much emphases on mental health.
With medication, my blood pressure is in control and I haven’t
had an unplanned trip to the hospital since last week. I’m waking up feeling a better
in the mornings and my glucose levels are on the up. I’m still exhausted. I’ve
gone from hiking mountains and running daily to mere Hugo walk with anyone who
is willing to join me, which is hard on my soul. But I've just begun yoga, so perhaps I will finally become flexible (A silver lining of a new beginning perhaps?), but I’m still scared. I’m scared I
won’t recover and won’t be able to hike or run ever again. I’m scared I won’t
be healthy for traveling or new life adventures like babies. I’m scared the diagnosis is going to be
terrible or there won't be one at all. I’ve learned my mortality when Mike’s healthy cousin was diagnosed
and passed away from terminal cancer last year; this fear revolves in and out
of my brain that Eric’s fate could very well be my own.
I’ve been reaching out to various friends and acquaintances and started asking for help and comfort and company. I've realized a huge demon is my own mind, so any distraction comes as a welcome. My mom has mowed my lawn and visited regularly. My sister and her tiny humans have entertained me a few times, and I've taken up any offered visits and gentle outings so my mind doesn't run rampant. Friends came by and helped up unpack our house and people have been inviting me over in order to save me from myself and my overanalyzing brain and I appreciate that tremendously.
I went to see Keli for a reiki session the other day and we
talked about much of this - I strongly suggest her working on you if you’re in
the Vanderhoof area and interested in an alternative health treatment. With a
knowing smile, she asked me if I’ve been more anxious since I’ve stopped
writing and blogging. To be honest, I'm incredibly hesitant to write about this and even more so to publish these thoughts and struggles. I'm worried people will blame this on the COVID vaccine and give me an I-told-you-so responsive. If this response is implied I will, without hesitation, forever cut you out of my life, because it is literally the last thing I need right now. Doctors, who I trust, told me that they can't say with one hundred percent conviction that this isn't, but are focusing on my athletic lifestyle and going from there. I was hoping I could type about this event after I've gotten better, after I was given diagnosis and a treatment and was fixed, but I'm learning that isn't what I need right now.
I've decided to write about not being okay, mentally and physically, but slowly improving each day, because with Mike and my jobs being very much embedded in the community, most of the ‘hoof knows I’m off work and not feeling that well and the responses have been so wonderful and so genuine. Lately when people have asked how I’m doing I've begun to share how I’m truly feeling, and the honesty returned has given me so much hope. People have willingly shared their very own encounters with general illnesses and their own mental health issues, and how they have overcome them or are working towards it, and it’s made my own struggles feel more validated and I feel less alone (and less crazy), so I though perhaps it's time to share my own more upfront and broadly.
Most Sincerely,
Kirstin
I’m strong, I am healthy, I will be okay
