Normal to be Not Normal

It hasn't even been two weeks since my diagnosis of PE, but I've had almost no real information on how recovery really will be, so I assumed I'd be back to normal by now. I pushed myself this week thinking there was something wrong with me for feeling like I wasn't okay yet. I've been having several panic attacks a day now and am feeling anxious most of the time. My heart beats so hard and so fast most of the time that I'm surprised other people can't hear it. I am winded by walking up or down a flight of stairs. My back pain is off the charts most of the time but I figure that's because I'm a wuss. I pretend it's all okay and tell everyone I'm doing great because I don't want to be a complainer or an attention seeker. I want to be normal. I want to get back into life again and enjoy my kids and be out and about doing normal activities. Right now even grocery shopping sounds fun.

But the truth is, I'm not doing well. Not at all. I am freaked out over every little pain I feel. I am scared that it's another clot or that the clot I have isn't dissolving and it's going to move out of my lungs and into my heart or my brain or somewhere it shouldn't be. I realize this is silly - I'm on blood thinners now and it would take a lot for the clot to move elsewhere at this point - but it still crosses my mind.

I am exhausted. I'm not just talking like, "Oh, it was a long day, I'm ready for bed" exhausted, but full blown I just did 500 crunches, ran a marathon, and am pregnant with quadruplets and it's the first trimester kind of exhausted. EXHAUSTED. From doing what you ask? Nothing. I don't have the energy to do ANYTHING.  I could lay down at any given minute of the day and fall asleep and sleep through til the next day, get up for an hour, and do it again. Yet I continued to push myself this week. I even toyed with the idea of going to the gym (thankfully that didn't work out because there was no electricity at the gym on the day we were going to go).

Don't even get me started on survivor's guilt. You have no idea how I feel right now. Depression, anxiety...so many "it should've been me" thoughts. What's worse is that I also wonder how many people think, "It should've been you." Two women, same week, same diagnosis - one lives, one dies. I know that someone out there has to be thinking it.

My kids haven't had a nice meal in two weeks. Chris is so busy with work and it's not something he can easily take off time from right now. I'm exhausted (did I mention that?) so between the two of us, our kids might get half of a real meal twice a week. Right now the kids eat crackers and yogurt for lunch. It's terrible. I'm just not into doing anything. Those rare moments when I finally have any energy to do something are spent doing laundry or the dishes.

No matter how much I talk about this, I feel like I just can't justify feeling this way. My PE was pretty mild compared to most. So why am I feeling like this? I should be grateful I'm as healthy as I am. Instead of bitching and moaning that I feel like crap, I should be out and about and enjoying life now that I've been really given a second chance to live it.

So I did some googling. I know, Google is not my friend. But I wanted to read real accounts of recovery from PEs from people who have experienced this first hand. I found this absolutely amazing site and here is a great list that describes different issues with recovery and some ways to cope with them: http://lwelch.hubpages.com/hub/Pulmonary-Embolism-Recovery-Tips

And guess what - the list that the author made - made me realize that all these feelings ARE normal. It's OKAY for me to feel this way. I was trying so hard to get back to normal and I guess I need to accept that fact that right now, this IS normal. I don't know when I'll be able to have energy to do anything or be able to take a walk and not get short of breath or even be able to go a day without feeling like someone is taking a sledgehammer to my back and chest, but at least for now that's normal.

So if you see me and you ask how I'm doing, I'm going to tell you that I'm doing great and I feel great. It won't be the truth, but at least you'll know I'm lying now. And then maybe you can just say a prayer for me or give me a hug or maybe offer to help with the kids or bring the kids something to eat. Or not, it's okay. I get by. I guess this is my feeble attempt to ask for help.