Anxiety (Testicle Pain Part Two)

What a relief to get a diagnosis, and some drugs to treat it--I actually got a few hours of sleep that night. But the shakes persisted, along with the pain of my inflamed testicle. I worried more and more about what I would have to do next, and wondered if the antibiotics were working. I trembled, sweated, paced, and had all sorts of bizarre, anxious thoughts ripping through my head. For another day, the nervousness ate away at me to the point where I really felt like I was losing my mind. So I took another night-time trip to the ER. They took me off the Cipro, and put me on Doxycyline, and also gave me a prescription of Oxazepam, something like Valium.

Since I was such a mess that night, and I was taking a new drug, I thought it would be a good idea to have someone around to keep an eye on me. So I spent the night at my parents' place. Man, that Oxazepam did the trick! Swallowed the capsule and in half an hour I was out like a light! And I found that if I took one during the day, the shakes went away, making my waking hours so much more bearable. My muscles were still tight, I still felt sick, and I still had little appetite (did I mention I hadn't been eating much during this whole ordeal?), but the improvement was notceable. Now I could sleep at night, and manage through the day. And it was nice being near my parents, so I decided to stay there for a little while.

After a week, I ran out of Oxazepam, and my doctor refused to refill it. This was an understandable position, seeing as it can be highly addictive. But I knew the shakes would return if I stopped, and I would start losing sleep again. I didn't believe him when he said my problem was anxiety. I thought I had something physiologically wrong with me--the infection, the antibiotics, something--that was causing my trembling and muscle tightness. I felt abandoned when he gave me a prescription for Paxil, and handed me off to a pair of shrinks. But I had no other choice--it was either take the Paxil and the therapy, or get no treatment at all. In my desperation, the fear of the torment continuing outweighed the fear of altering my brain chemistry.

A detailed blog post about the strange side effects of Paxil and the strained conversations with my shrinks is definitely warranted. But for now, suffice it to say that the Paxil was not an adequate substitute for the Oxazepam. However, after a few more days, my body was starting to settle down a little, allowing me a few hours of restful sleep at night. And although the trembling persisted, it seemed to be gradually decreasing each day. The pain in my nad continued the whole time, so I had to take it on faith that the antibiotic was in fact working.

After I spent a second week at my parents', I felt well enough to return home, and start going to work again. Only a few hours each day at first, but then back to full workdays after another week. Slowy and gradually, the tightness faded, the trembling diminished, my health returned. It took about two months before I felt fully recovered and back to normal. But man, after that long, torturous nightmare, what a joy to be well again!

Looking back, it's clear that my doctor was right. It probably shouldn't have come as a surprise, since I've always been a worrier, plagued by nervousness and shyness. But I didn't realize that anxiety was the cause of my physical symptoms. The pain in my testicle and the symptoms of infection freaked me out, and drove me into a panic. But after it was triggered, the anxiety took over, and brought on everything else: tightness, shaking, trembling, sweating, sleeplessness. Since then, I have suffered similar bouts of anxiety during which these same symptoms appeared. This seems to be the way my body reacts to extremely stressful situations. Each time, it takes a while for me to settle down again afterwards, depending on the duration and severity of the stress. But even when it doesn't surge to an overwhelming intensity, it is always present. The same worry, the same panic--it is never very far beneath the surface. Anxiety affects me on many levels, in many degrees, and impacts my life in significant ways. It haunts me. It is a part of me. Dealing with it is an on-going struggle. And learning to deal with it is an on-going lesson.

Testicle Pain? Not a Good Sign...

Watching the winter olympics reminds me of the previous olympics, when I got to watch far more than I wanted. Four years ago, I came down with an illness that caused me to miss three weeks of work. By the time I recovered, I was so sick of cross-country-skiing and curling!

It all started one day when I felt a slight ache in my right testicle. Not the sharp, searing, jaw-clenching, boot-to-scrotum-impact kind of pain. But just a dull ache. This kind of ache wasn't unfamiliar, since I often wear jeans and know the effects a little constriction can have. Usually, the cure is simply to readjust your pants and take a walk to free up some space. I wasn't too surprised when the ache persisted for a few hours, since this happens sometimes. But after a day had passed and that nagging pain remained, I started to worry. During the next few days, I worried even more as the pain would come and go, alleviating as if it was finished, only to return a few hours later with greater intensity.

Then new symptoms showed up. I became feverish, developed a cough, had the chills, began shivering, and was depleted of all energy. The flu, I thought. What else could it be? So I went to the doctor, and at that time the pain in my ball had receded again, so I didn't tell him about it. Not to mention I wasn't too keen on having him grab a handful of sack to probe my nuts. And I didn't want to consider the possibility that there was something really wrong that would require more doctors to examine the family jewels. Jeez, talk about embarrassing! So my not-fully-informed doctor assumed I had the flu, and gave me some cough-syrup with codeine in it.

And my condition worsened. I have never felt so sick in my life! I barely had the energy to move. I was terrified of getting worse, and also of what I would have to go through to get better. But the worst part was the shakes. I was shivering and trembling uncontrollably, so much that I couldn't sleep. My muscles would not relax. My whole body felt like a tightly clenched fist, trembling with tension. I was unable to sleep, lie still, or even sit still--every time I tried, I would feel so much discomfort from trembling that the only relief was to get up and move around. I do not know how my weary body managed it. For two days, when I needed it the most, I could not sleep! And at that point, my right nut was hurting more than ever!

The third sleepless night came, and I could not stand it any more. I drove myself to the ER. The whole thing was so embarrassing: explaining my situation to that cute little doctor; having her examine my nads; then having the attending, a male, have a look and a feel. And to tell them that, no, I wasn't sleeping around, and it had been years since my last sexual encounter. After all that, what did they tell me? Come back tomorrow for an ultrasound.

So I suffered through another agonizing, sleepless night, and went to the hospital the next morning for more embarrassment. This time, I got to expose myself to the cute ultrasound technician. (And yes, I had major shrinkage due to anxiety and cold!) Very professionally, she lubed up my sack, and put that cold ultrasound probe against it (ick!). But after some probing, the radiologist found something! An inflamed epididymis! It was this infection that was causing all my grief!

My doctor prescribed some Cipro, and explained that sometimes bacteria find their way in there, and that it is not very well understood. So the antibiotics should have cleared everything up, right? Not quite. Tune in next time for the story of my long, slow recovery.

Blinded

Say, shouldn't the past tense of the verb 'blind' be 'blound'? You know, like 'find' or 'wind'?

Greatest Fortune Ever

Now I see myself in a whole new light!

Learning to Trust

I have co-workers who like to talk. And a few of them find me very easy to talk to. Occasionally, I find myself listening to a deeply personal story from a colleague in need of a receptive ear or two. I've heard all sorts of stories, ranging from triumphant accomplishments to excruciating suffering, from heartbreaking love-gone-bad, to the most joyful happiness. I don't mind at all playing the role of the listener. I'm fascinated to learn these intimate details about people's lives, and flattered that the they feel comfortable sharing them with me. But I am amazed that people will open up to me like this. How did I ever earn their trust?

Trust is such a precious thing, the most valuable part of any friendship or relationship. It is so valuable to me that I don't give it away easily to anyone. I find it so hard to open up to anyone, to reveal my deepest secrets, my vulnerabilities, my fears, my failures. With my trust comes the keys to my destruction. I would offer it only to someone I thought capable of understanding how my strange mind works, and that bar is mighty high*. But alas, it's lonely being so mistrustful.

So here's what I'm wondering, dear readers: Is my valuation of trust too high? How is it that others can trust so easily? Can one learn to be more trusting?

* Reminder to think about this later: Is it important or even necessary to be clearly understood?

Shyness x 1000

I am not just a little shy. My shyness knows no bounds. I don't know if I would be clinically diagnosed as having 'social anxiety disorder', but I can tell you that I am absolutely terrified of embarrassing myself. My worst fear in the world, which I fear more than death, is to look foolish, or look like a failure, or have my life judged negatively. For some reason, being ridiculed, scoffed at, or failing to make the grade seems not only unacceptable, but insufferable. And the idea of an embarrassing fact preserved in the memories of all witnesses, like a mark attached to my permanent record--I fear it like a stain on my soul. I'm afraid that my fragile sense of self-worth will be smashed to pieces. I'm afraid that deep down inside, I really am defective, worthless, flawed beyond redemption, and if anyone found out, I couldn't bear the humiliation. How ridiculous is that? How ridiculous, to think so little of myself, and to worry so much about other people's opinions. And yet, I that's exactly what I do.

I have taken up all sorts of avoidant habits to mitigate the risks of exposure. Parties, gatherings, crowds, people in general--I avoid them all, as best I can. Even though I care deeply about many things, I stay on the sidelines and never get involved in anything. For my whole life, I've given in to my fear, and let it carry me downward into the lonely depths of isolation. I've lost touch with all my old friends, and I don't even try to make new ones. I feel like I have so much to hide, so many vulnerabilities, so much that no one would understand, or appreciate, or even respect. How could I ever open up to anyone? Given the choice between the risk of embarrassment and complete loneliness, I have always chosen the latter.

And it sucks. I'm ashamed of myself. I feel like a coward, and even worse, a failure--exactly what I was trying so hard to avoid. I feel weak, powerless, loathsome, contemptible and angry. And ashamed. How could I let this happen? And for so long? I feel like a damn fool. And yet, somewhere beneath all that, I haven't yet given up on myself. I still think there's some way I can claw my way back, overcome my fears, and start living my life.

I'll keep you posted, in case you're interested.