This past Monday was a literal Monday. If you had opened up a dictionary, gone to the letter M, and found the word “Monday”, there would have been a picture of me with my seasonal dress caught in the waistband of my hunter green ribbed tights; the very picture of mortified after my boss ran into my office to advise me on this little situation. And then further down, there would have been a picture of me screaming on the phone with Papa Z about my “unsat” ob/gyn appointment and the latest drama with Kaiser Permabullshit. But you know what? Still we persist and still we stay sober. Because, as I was thinking before my eventual evening nap, drinking would have made the crazy-dramatic day that I had even worse. I cannot fathom waking up at 2 or 4 AM with a headache and all of the shame and hangxiety that I would have been shrouded in, had I drank after the day that I’d had. No. It is never an option. And I am so thankful for the growth I’ve experienced, even over the last few months and weeks, that allows me to truly believe this to my very core; to know that drinking will not improve anything; to find other ways to cope. Sometimes that involves venting to my sibling or dad; it often involves a nap, because sleep does soften the edges of whatever it is we are going through; it frequently entails a trip to Target; and of course, sometimes I have to go for a first or second run of the day at 8 PM. (Thank goodness for reflective gear + headlamps!) But it never involves alcohol. And as the daze are flying by and my international flight is looming, I hope that I can continue reminding myself of this and continue building upon my successes, so that no matter what happens at Dulles Airport or how anxious I am feeling on the flight, I will resort to watching one of the holiday movies I downloaded on Netflix or blogging or taking another piece of the carefully rationed Ativan or eating a bag of SmartSweets. But NOT asking the flight attendant for a glass of wine. That is going to make the flight worse; it would be flushing 26 months of sobriety down the drain. (That said, if I ever did relapse for some reason, I would very quickly get back on track and not dwell on aforementioned statement about the amount of time during which I had successfully stayed sober. But the preference is NOT to ever fall off the wagon ever again, of course!)
Back to Monday. I should have known it was gon’ be some bullshit, to quote Kalen Allen – whose hilarious mac and cheese video reviews always make me feel a little better when I’ve had a day like this – when the ob/gyn I saw called me out for being late. Well, Linda, it was a busy morning – and oh, by the way, I always have to wait when I come here to waste my time, so maybe it’s time I flipped the script and made YOU people wait? Just a thought. Also, I was only 5 minutes late – and that was partially because I had to stand in line to talk to the receptionist about the co-pay. So technically I was punctual. I am really getting sick of the absurdity of not only having a uterus, but of the so-called “care” that people with uteruses receive and the ludicrous responses and “solutions” we are given to the pain we are in. *Legitimate* pain, I should add. I have been told before – as I am sure you have as well, if you have a uterus – to (direct quote), “Start taking ibuprofen the day before your cramps begin.” Wait, what? THAT is your solution? To take more NSAIDs and pain killers? How is that good for our livers…? As I said to Papa Z, the real MVP for putting up with all of this, “That is an incredibly unsat response.” This judgmental Judy continued to, yes, pass judgment when I told her about all of the 900 herbs, supplements, and vitamins that I take to try and remedy some of this pain, discomfort, and of course, my insanely volatile PMS moods. Later on, I read in the notes she posted in my account on their online portal: “Patient notes she is taking ‘200’ supplements.” Okay, so first of all, I exaggerate a lot – and obviously she didn’t pick up on that, nor does she have a sense of humor. To be fair, though, in all of my years of dealing with various health issues and assorted ailments, I have never met a doctor with a sense of humor. Therapists, yes – and thank goodness I got back in touch with mine, because it is about time. But doctors, absolutely not. Maybe there is a medical professional in this world who is funny, but I have yet to meet them. The appointment really was such a colossal waste of not only my time but also hers, since the only thing we seemed to accomplish and agree on was that she could write me a prescription for anti-nausea medication for day 1 of my period, which is probably a lot like being pregnant and having morning sickness, if I had to guess. I’ve never been pregnant and no plans to ever go through that, but I can only imagine… Of course, I was so angry about the interactions and sheer judgment during the appointment that I raced out of the building and forgot to pick up the new medication. So that is yet another thing on my growing pre-trip to-do lists now.
I would like to add how immensely grateful I am to have such a close relationship with my dad (unfortunately not geographically – but one day, hopefully!) that I can vent to him about things like this. I know not everyone can tell their father about their painful periods or about the b*tches who work at their current insurance provider/HMO. But Papa Z is the best; he is so patient and I know he is just as aware as I am that better days are coming and that this particular insurance was just a stepping stone – and a lesson learned. I will be writing a separate post about womanly woes, because there is far, far more to cover – but the sum of it is that it is incredibly “unsat”, borderline ludicrous, to go see a doctor about your hormonal issues and pain – and to only receive judgment, ridicule, and shitty advice, like “Take more ibuprofen!”, instead of actual solutions or remedies. One final thing on the subject: she did offer to write me a prescription for Zoloft or Prozac (yes, please) to be taken whilst I am PMS – but then she reneged on it and said “Why don’t you try St. John’s Wort first??” Insert multiple expletives here, as I will NOT be adding another supplement to my Amazon cart or to my stomach. I think I’m taking enough already as it is. Let me tell you: IT IS A WILD TIME BEING A WOMAN. And quite frankly, I am over it. But what is the solution? I don’t really think there IS one. Doctors only (and always) want to push birth control on their patients who have severe periods and PMS. I have yet to hear of another “solution” in all of my years of dealing with this, which is insane and just plain wrong.
I then had to scoot into the office, since Monday is my “office day”, to get to three meetings aka Wastes of Time. Now, the one meeting I was looking forward to, since we were going to get coffee (field trip!) and it was with a woman I really like and admire. But the other two meetings were with white men, so I needn’t say more. Everything went more or less fine with aforementioned meetings, except that one of the men with whom we are currently working on some Comms initiatives decided it was a good time to say some sexist, harassment-laden things to me. See below meme that I saved from years ago when I was suffering through the corporate world to properly convey how I was feeling in that moment. I handled it with as much grace and poise as I could, given the day that I’d already had, and told him that it was not appropriate to say that. (I think the direct quote was, “Ha, no, you can’t say that.” Maybe not harsh enough – but I am still getting my voice with regards to calling men out on their BS. It shouldn’t be hard but for whatever reason it is. But that’s what this blog is for, in the meantime). After that whole ordeal, I went back into my office to finish up a few things, already drained by this point. And that is when the dress drama occurred. I still cannot believe I used the bathroom at the coffee shop without taking my coat off or without checking to make sure my dress was smoothed out and not caught in my tights. I am so thankful I have a very close relationship with my boss – I really consider him a friend – because otherwise, I cannot imagine how much worse this could have been. I was plenty mortified as it was. So now my boss has seen my butt. Not many people can say that. I, of course, find a great deal of humor in this, now that several days have passed. “It’s terrific fodder for the blog!”, as I said to one of my best friends at dinner the other night. Stories usually become funnier with the more time and distance that we put between ourselves and the situation that occurred.
I finally escaped the office, not before taking a call from one of the people on our #EndlichesExodus team who was calling about the title, and made it home to Basil and a lorge amount of snacking, both for the Hooman and the cat. My best Bob aka my sibling fielded my second vent call of the day and “Woooow”-ed at all the appropriate moments and as always, made me feel so much better about everything. Again I say: how lucky am I to have such a wonderful family and support system? I know this blog tends to err on the side of ventations and frustrations, but holy goodness, do I ever feel fortunate to have so many loving people in my life. I think my sobriety has enabled me to see this much more clearly, since I can now truly appreciate all that I have. That doesn’t make everything easier, but on the whole, it does make life more manageable, having people to whom I can freely vent, who will always offer advice, help, relevant memes, snacks, assistance and groceries when sick, etc. After dealing with some more work and thinking about the above drinking dilemma but knowing full well that it wouldn’t solve anything, I took a tiny piece of Ativan and then napped for an hour. GLORIOUS. I then proceeded to putter for a few hours, since I was feeling a lot peppier as the day began to fade into the background, and eventually put the day down, per my man Emerson. Yes, friends, it was a manic Monday – but you know what manic Mondays often bring? Terrific Tuesdays. And the following day was truly spectacular. More on that in a coming post.
The takeaway is that the days of the week are essentially analogous to life, at the risk of sounding corny: a manic Monday is known to bring a terrific Tuesday (although not every week), just as the low times we go through make us appreciate the joyous times all the more. And I will say that my active addiction and the misery of that chapter of my life has made me immensely appreciative of what I have now. I never thought it was possible to get through a day like this past Monday without drinking. “She could never!” But now, she does – and she is so proud of herself.