Comast guy left and I couldn't wait to jump on and blog!! I'm reconnected to the internet and tv. Ahhh... I know what time it is by what tv show in playing while I do my homework.
I'm in my new apartment. I didn't have hot water for the first three days and went without the internet for five, but I am here.
Going to tie up the loose ends this weekend; clean the old place and turn in the keys. Then...? A new day. A new tomorrow.
It hit me last night as I was journaling what (one of) my big dilemmas' is; I feel betrayed and heart broken but I need to forget all that. Move on. But how???!!!
I need to forgive him.
One cannot forget unless they forgive. This concept is a challenge. I'm ashamed to admit that I am not very good at forgiving people, or myself. I don't want this situation to play over and over again in my mind, my heart - and with each rerun bring the tears and stop me from moving forward.
So please, I ask the advice of you bloggernet - how do you forgive?
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Spring term 2010
Grades for last term were posted today.
Ouch.
I don't want to (completely) blame my relationship woes on my horrible GPA, but... the proof is in the pudding. I have to re-take AP. I'm on a waiting list right now, but I'm considering concentrating on some other (easier) classes, busting those out and starting the three term AP commitment this Fall.
I was expecting it so there's no huge heart break or guilt. The class was ridiculously hard, I overloaded my courses last term and wasn't realistic about how much studying needed to be invested in a biology course. There. I said it. (Eh, typed it).
School starts next week and I can't wait to get into a routine where I'm not spending so much free time thinking about the ending of my relationship and my tiny apartment. The weather will be getting sunnier, I won't be distracted by my home life and in classes that are more about writing and reading, my strong suits, vs. memorizing origins of muscles and enzymes.
I need a little breather to re-boot. Here's to thinking positively!
Ouch.
I don't want to (completely) blame my relationship woes on my horrible GPA, but... the proof is in the pudding. I have to re-take AP. I'm on a waiting list right now, but I'm considering concentrating on some other (easier) classes, busting those out and starting the three term AP commitment this Fall.
I was expecting it so there's no huge heart break or guilt. The class was ridiculously hard, I overloaded my courses last term and wasn't realistic about how much studying needed to be invested in a biology course. There. I said it. (Eh, typed it).
School starts next week and I can't wait to get into a routine where I'm not spending so much free time thinking about the ending of my relationship and my tiny apartment. The weather will be getting sunnier, I won't be distracted by my home life and in classes that are more about writing and reading, my strong suits, vs. memorizing origins of muscles and enzymes.
I need a little breather to re-boot. Here's to thinking positively!
Sunday, March 21, 2010
So this is what it's come down to?
Buddy and Sophie are at the new apartment - by themselves. I'm covering the phones at work for a few hours and I thought this was a perfect way to introduce them to what will soon be our new home.
I sat on the living room floor while Bud and Phia ran throughout the apartment sniffing and getting excited. I was overwhelmed with emotions. I didn't know what I was feeling but I was crying. Buddy did his excited-panicked pant. He recognized that some of my belongings were there but his anxious pants were from being overwhelmed and maybe confused by everything. I felt guilty. Another move. Another apartment. He's old, he's going blind and deaf and I'm throwing him into a new, unknown environment. I know it's not a huge deal, dogs adapt, but I felt guilty. I found him a Daddy, a home, a comfortable routine and the causality of this broken relationship include this old, sweet dog.
I'm focusing on the positives to keep myself from being pitiful. I haven't been happy and my dogs sensed that. It will take some time, but I know I will feel relieved being single. There's no stairs in the new place, that's good for both dogs. It's smaller but that maybe better for them. Although Serena was the third member of their pack, she could play a little too rough and was a little too loud sometimes for Old Man Buddy.
The new place has a patio and a pretty brave squirrel that gave his two cents to Sophie when they met this morning. I like to think that a change isn't all bad. I shouldn't get stuck on the fact that things aren't going to be the same. Things weren't all that wonderful as they were.
It's the process that's so difficult!! I can acknowledge the smart steps to getting back on track and making myself a top priority but at 4am when my mind can't stop focusing on the empty spot in my bed, the tears come and no amount of rational thinking dry them.
Where's my heart's menu button? I need to re-set to my factory settings. Would that be so bad? I want to sleep till noon and wake up rested. I went to bed at 10pm, never slept more then 45 minutes and was up before the alarm at 7am.
I want a new familiar. Perhaps Buddy can take up that empty spot in my bed now. He may not be Andrew, but he's definitely more loyal.
I sat on the living room floor while Bud and Phia ran throughout the apartment sniffing and getting excited. I was overwhelmed with emotions. I didn't know what I was feeling but I was crying. Buddy did his excited-panicked pant. He recognized that some of my belongings were there but his anxious pants were from being overwhelmed and maybe confused by everything. I felt guilty. Another move. Another apartment. He's old, he's going blind and deaf and I'm throwing him into a new, unknown environment. I know it's not a huge deal, dogs adapt, but I felt guilty. I found him a Daddy, a home, a comfortable routine and the causality of this broken relationship include this old, sweet dog.
I'm focusing on the positives to keep myself from being pitiful. I haven't been happy and my dogs sensed that. It will take some time, but I know I will feel relieved being single. There's no stairs in the new place, that's good for both dogs. It's smaller but that maybe better for them. Although Serena was the third member of their pack, she could play a little too rough and was a little too loud sometimes for Old Man Buddy.
The new place has a patio and a pretty brave squirrel that gave his two cents to Sophie when they met this morning. I like to think that a change isn't all bad. I shouldn't get stuck on the fact that things aren't going to be the same. Things weren't all that wonderful as they were.
It's the process that's so difficult!! I can acknowledge the smart steps to getting back on track and making myself a top priority but at 4am when my mind can't stop focusing on the empty spot in my bed, the tears come and no amount of rational thinking dry them.
Where's my heart's menu button? I need to re-set to my factory settings. Would that be so bad? I want to sleep till noon and wake up rested. I went to bed at 10pm, never slept more then 45 minutes and was up before the alarm at 7am.
I want a new familiar. Perhaps Buddy can take up that empty spot in my bed now. He may not be Andrew, but he's definitely more loyal.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Slamming doors
I want to scream at him. I want to call him every cheating, lying, selfish insult I can come up with, but what good would that do? It would roll like water off a duck's back - he'd be unaffected by it. Maybe get some kick out of knowing I'm still effected by him. But I would not feel better by hurting him or see him just write me off. So I'm stuck.
I want a release of some sort! I deserve that. For a month I've been quiet and gracious and staying out of his space and I discovered while I was being respective of his emotions, he was doing what he knows best; the art of stickin' it to Hayley. He went out to meet new women, or a woman, while I dog-sat, (cuz I was told he was with friends). While he told me his money problems and concerns for Serena and finding appropriate living for her, I listened and bit my tongue. His way of thanking me for listening to him carry on without ever noting the financial position he's put me in? Oh yes, he's buying a woman flowers and taking her out on a date.
My throat tightens. I feel tense. I see red. The rational part of my brain tells me this is who he is. This is how he copes. He is incapable of feeling sadness or grief or responsibility for things he has done that have directly hurt me. He will never admit to lying to me. He is disconnected and has removed himself from whatever love and home was ours. Instead of respecting what we had and value my sensitivity, he's off finding comfort in the eyes (or arms) of another woman.
I am no longer the type of woman that breaks things or says things in a moment of anger that is so destructive, I end up picking up the pieces and begging for forgiveness. What else can I do then? How can express myself without going overboard?
I discovered this morning how wonderful slamming a door can be.
(You want a favor from me? You want me to stop what I'm doing to help you out? As I'm walking out the door to work you want me to assist you? Are you fucking kidding me?)
And without thinking and with more strength I knew I had I slammed the back door so hard, I swear the neighbor four doors over woke up.
I exhaled.
This morning I felt more like myself then I have in the past 5 weeks. I've been addressing and working on my anger problem for over a year now. I'm happy that I didn't do what I used to do - break things. Those things usually being the closest object to me that belonged to him. Or break things with my words.
I said, "I think you can manage on your own." And I slammed that mother-fucking door behind me. I walked to my car and scrapped the thin layer of ice off my windshield and drove to work.
Ahhh... I just want out.
I want a release of some sort! I deserve that. For a month I've been quiet and gracious and staying out of his space and I discovered while I was being respective of his emotions, he was doing what he knows best; the art of stickin' it to Hayley. He went out to meet new women, or a woman, while I dog-sat, (cuz I was told he was with friends). While he told me his money problems and concerns for Serena and finding appropriate living for her, I listened and bit my tongue. His way of thanking me for listening to him carry on without ever noting the financial position he's put me in? Oh yes, he's buying a woman flowers and taking her out on a date.
My throat tightens. I feel tense. I see red. The rational part of my brain tells me this is who he is. This is how he copes. He is incapable of feeling sadness or grief or responsibility for things he has done that have directly hurt me. He will never admit to lying to me. He is disconnected and has removed himself from whatever love and home was ours. Instead of respecting what we had and value my sensitivity, he's off finding comfort in the eyes (or arms) of another woman.
I am no longer the type of woman that breaks things or says things in a moment of anger that is so destructive, I end up picking up the pieces and begging for forgiveness. What else can I do then? How can express myself without going overboard?
I discovered this morning how wonderful slamming a door can be.
(You want a favor from me? You want me to stop what I'm doing to help you out? As I'm walking out the door to work you want me to assist you? Are you fucking kidding me?)
And without thinking and with more strength I knew I had I slammed the back door so hard, I swear the neighbor four doors over woke up.
I exhaled.
This morning I felt more like myself then I have in the past 5 weeks. I've been addressing and working on my anger problem for over a year now. I'm happy that I didn't do what I used to do - break things. Those things usually being the closest object to me that belonged to him. Or break things with my words.
I said, "I think you can manage on your own." And I slammed that mother-fucking door behind me. I walked to my car and scrapped the thin layer of ice off my windshield and drove to work.
Ahhh... I just want out.
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Non Fiction
I'm so thankful that I can call my Dad when I'm feeling an inch tall. If it's been a month or week since we've communicated (phoned, texted, emailed, etc.), I can always call him and say through tears, "Dad, I'm feeling really crappy right now. Do you have a minute?"
We don't see eye to eye on one huge factor; religion. But no matter what, I'm his daughter. He knows how to remind me that I may be in a really shitty situation right now, but it will pass. It will pass and I will succeed and any harm that was done to me, shame on the man that did it because I'm an amazing person. I'm loving, supportive, funny, value honesty and am dedicated to making the ones I care about have their voice and feelings heard.
I spent 90 minutes on the phone with my Dad tonight. He tells me plainly that no man should ever treat me the way I've been treated. To be cast aside, lied to, felt unloved - "it's just not right, kid."
I'm exhausted and a bit restored after our talk. I can express myself without thinking I'll sound crazy or be judged. He lets me know when I'm getting overwhelmed and when my feelings are justifiable and it's ok to feel betrayed and heart broken. I need to feel those emotions because it's happening!! I can't ignore them, otherwise I will suffer a greater consequence later. He knows how to get my feet back on the ground and make me believe that I am deserving of someone better because I AM BETTER!
I am a trooper. He can tell me I'm a survivor without belittling my emotions or underestimating the heartache I'm feeling. He makes it a statement not an observation.
"You're a survivor, kid. You'll get out of that apartment and you will feel relieved and happy that you made such a smart decision for yourself. Because he has taken your love and support and friendship and cast you aside. This is his loss, not yours."
I am thankful for my best friend. As she is a genius, she has trained her mind to be scientific; I can still rely on her to say what I need to hear, rather then what is fact. She can call him names and tell me I didn't deserve it. End of story. No analyzing what he was thinking or telling me "technically" he can do what he wants. She gets that there are times when all I want to hear is, "he's an asshole and I'm so sorry this happened to you."
I felt an inch tall tonight. I don't want him having that kind of power - directly or indirectly. Like I've stated before, I just want out. No burning bridges, no huge scenes. I want to get out so I can get happy again.
I love you Dad.
I love you Audrey.
We don't see eye to eye on one huge factor; religion. But no matter what, I'm his daughter. He knows how to remind me that I may be in a really shitty situation right now, but it will pass. It will pass and I will succeed and any harm that was done to me, shame on the man that did it because I'm an amazing person. I'm loving, supportive, funny, value honesty and am dedicated to making the ones I care about have their voice and feelings heard.
I spent 90 minutes on the phone with my Dad tonight. He tells me plainly that no man should ever treat me the way I've been treated. To be cast aside, lied to, felt unloved - "it's just not right, kid."
I'm exhausted and a bit restored after our talk. I can express myself without thinking I'll sound crazy or be judged. He lets me know when I'm getting overwhelmed and when my feelings are justifiable and it's ok to feel betrayed and heart broken. I need to feel those emotions because it's happening!! I can't ignore them, otherwise I will suffer a greater consequence later. He knows how to get my feet back on the ground and make me believe that I am deserving of someone better because I AM BETTER!
I am a trooper. He can tell me I'm a survivor without belittling my emotions or underestimating the heartache I'm feeling. He makes it a statement not an observation.
"You're a survivor, kid. You'll get out of that apartment and you will feel relieved and happy that you made such a smart decision for yourself. Because he has taken your love and support and friendship and cast you aside. This is his loss, not yours."
I am thankful for my best friend. As she is a genius, she has trained her mind to be scientific; I can still rely on her to say what I need to hear, rather then what is fact. She can call him names and tell me I didn't deserve it. End of story. No analyzing what he was thinking or telling me "technically" he can do what he wants. She gets that there are times when all I want to hear is, "he's an asshole and I'm so sorry this happened to you."
I felt an inch tall tonight. I don't want him having that kind of power - directly or indirectly. Like I've stated before, I just want out. No burning bridges, no huge scenes. I want to get out so I can get happy again.
I love you Dad.
I love you Audrey.
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Hindsight is 20/20, right?
The most annoying (hurtful) thing about this week is discovering how unfaithful the ex has been to the relationship. Unfaithful in every aspect one can be unfaithful. Greatest factor: lying.
The lies told then covered up by more lies, then the stories told to support the lying and the ultimate; lies said to my crying face to cover up the lies and the misleading stories he told throughout the past 4 months even though I had the evidence in my hand that revealed the truth!
O.M.G.
Can the truth be so bad that the bullshit is better? That's horrifying. I don't want to give him any credit by thinking he's trying to protect me from the truth, thus he cares about me. At this point, it's just a matter of him keeping up his image. He doesn't want the truth out there. I'm not going to air his dirty laundry; the details are semi-based on my broken heart and the truth would be tainted.
And what the hell is the truth? Only one that knows is him.
I remember times where my gut was telling me something was up, but I ignored it, pushed it down, pretended my gut was clueless. Was I too afraid where my questioning may have led or wrote it off to my low self confidence; reading into things that just weren't there?
But they were there.
I've only known one other person to change this much and she too was a liar. The stress of leading a false life with a person you live with and they love and support you (the fake you) must be overwhelming.
My mother cracked. I hope he doesn't. Through all of this, I only want to get out. I do not want to leave a burning bridge behind me. I just want out.
The lies told then covered up by more lies, then the stories told to support the lying and the ultimate; lies said to my crying face to cover up the lies and the misleading stories he told throughout the past 4 months even though I had the evidence in my hand that revealed the truth!
O.M.G.
Can the truth be so bad that the bullshit is better? That's horrifying. I don't want to give him any credit by thinking he's trying to protect me from the truth, thus he cares about me. At this point, it's just a matter of him keeping up his image. He doesn't want the truth out there. I'm not going to air his dirty laundry; the details are semi-based on my broken heart and the truth would be tainted.
And what the hell is the truth? Only one that knows is him.
I remember times where my gut was telling me something was up, but I ignored it, pushed it down, pretended my gut was clueless. Was I too afraid where my questioning may have led or wrote it off to my low self confidence; reading into things that just weren't there?
But they were there.
I've only known one other person to change this much and she too was a liar. The stress of leading a false life with a person you live with and they love and support you (the fake you) must be overwhelming.
My mother cracked. I hope he doesn't. Through all of this, I only want to get out. I do not want to leave a burning bridge behind me. I just want out.
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Think in moderation, otherwise you start feeling like shit
It's 8:18pm, I'm watching tv on the internet with three dogs at my feet. It's Thursday - Andrew doesn't teach afternoon classes. He's usually home around 3pm, takes Serena and Phia to the park but he's not home and I have no idea where he's at. Now, I know what you're thinking, it's none of my damn business what he's doing but... emotions are complicated.
With every car that drives past the window Serena whines with anticipation for her Daddy to open the garage door. I gave in and texted him. That was 16 minutes ago. For a man who lives on his phone, never has it more then a foot away, he's put me back in that horrible place I dread; he's avoiding me.
Whatever. I can take it. I don't let the feelings of being small and unimportant marinate for long. Soon I won't have to rationalize these shitty thoughts because I won't be in this scenario. I won't look at the clock and wonder why he's not home. I'll have a handful of other agonizing thoughts running through my mind as I sit on my sofa in my apartment. What can I say, I'm an emotional cutter.
I've been thinking about my future this week and that's when I fight back the tears. I don't know if it's the thought that he'll not miss me the way I want him too or that I never really meant that much and he'll bounce back before Spring term starts.
It's insane how insane we can drive ourselves when we have the loss of a relationship to deal with. So many ways to handle the achy, crappy feelings but more often then not we choose a painful path to coping. But what is the smart path? I think I'm being very smart but I still have all these shitty feelings tangled with sadness and I want to scream at him and cut him out of my life, but only if he puts up a fight.
How messed up is that?
And since he won't, we just avoid each other until we leave this apartment. This man who I wanted so much more from, just wants out.
I took the cutesy pictures of us off the fridge the night we broke up. All that remain are solo pics with the dogs. When I'm having a good (brief) cry, I tell that photo, "I love you."
Who knows why I do these things. I feel like saying he doesn't deserve it, but I don't know what to think or what to feel right now. I'm just having a good, and I'll make it brief, cry.
With every car that drives past the window Serena whines with anticipation for her Daddy to open the garage door. I gave in and texted him. That was 16 minutes ago. For a man who lives on his phone, never has it more then a foot away, he's put me back in that horrible place I dread; he's avoiding me.
Whatever. I can take it. I don't let the feelings of being small and unimportant marinate for long. Soon I won't have to rationalize these shitty thoughts because I won't be in this scenario. I won't look at the clock and wonder why he's not home. I'll have a handful of other agonizing thoughts running through my mind as I sit on my sofa in my apartment. What can I say, I'm an emotional cutter.
I've been thinking about my future this week and that's when I fight back the tears. I don't know if it's the thought that he'll not miss me the way I want him too or that I never really meant that much and he'll bounce back before Spring term starts.
It's insane how insane we can drive ourselves when we have the loss of a relationship to deal with. So many ways to handle the achy, crappy feelings but more often then not we choose a painful path to coping. But what is the smart path? I think I'm being very smart but I still have all these shitty feelings tangled with sadness and I want to scream at him and cut him out of my life, but only if he puts up a fight.
How messed up is that?
And since he won't, we just avoid each other until we leave this apartment. This man who I wanted so much more from, just wants out.
I took the cutesy pictures of us off the fridge the night we broke up. All that remain are solo pics with the dogs. When I'm having a good (brief) cry, I tell that photo, "I love you."
Who knows why I do these things. I feel like saying he doesn't deserve it, but I don't know what to think or what to feel right now. I'm just having a good, and I'll make it brief, cry.
Monday, March 8, 2010
brain storming
I'm growing anxious. My move out date is approaching and I'm torn. I know me moving out is the right, alas, the smart decision. I don't want this relationship - he hasn't been invested in it for months. I hate moving. The expense, the work it takes to package everything up, physically load it onto a truck, unload, unpack, ehhh...
It's the silence I'm going to have to deal with... alone. I won't have Serena and her puppy ways tearing through the living room or romping around with a squeaky toy. I won't have Andrew sitting on the sofa, watching Jeopardy or asking what's for dinner. In the mornings I won't hear his electric razor and Robin Meade on the tv while I pull myself from bed. The joy I get from having a full house will soon be replaced with a single lady life. It'll be me and my old dogs. Again. All of us a little bit older this time around. The three Musketeers.
I'll miss Andrew - I've been missing him. Whatever magic that made our bond so powerful has slowly been deteriorating. I'm numb and full of sorrow; they get all tangled and I think that's what it will be for awhile. Achy. I tell myself I'm moving on but I don't have a plan put together. I know I'll go through the motions; work and school. Work and school. I believe in time healing wounds. I believe that getting my own place and a new routine will be change enough to keep me busy.
I can clearly see the smarts of this decision I've made. Moving out. Moving on. Licking my wounds and starting anew. It's going through the motions, the follow through that is so damn sad. Speaking up for your feelings and acting on them even when you get hurt and the one you love most gets hurt in the process... that's rough. Or worse, he doesn't care. What then?
What then is here.
What am I suppose to do when the best part of me was always you?
And what am I supposed to say when I'm all chocked up and you're ok?
I'm falling to pieces.
~Script
I'm in the process of boxing up my belongings. I don't know where to begin, I think it maybe a bit too early.
I can't even remember what it's like... Andrew being happy with me.
I'm 26 years old and I feel 100.
I'm really looking forward to taking a really long nap in my new apartment.
It's the silence I'm going to have to deal with... alone. I won't have Serena and her puppy ways tearing through the living room or romping around with a squeaky toy. I won't have Andrew sitting on the sofa, watching Jeopardy or asking what's for dinner. In the mornings I won't hear his electric razor and Robin Meade on the tv while I pull myself from bed. The joy I get from having a full house will soon be replaced with a single lady life. It'll be me and my old dogs. Again. All of us a little bit older this time around. The three Musketeers.
I'll miss Andrew - I've been missing him. Whatever magic that made our bond so powerful has slowly been deteriorating. I'm numb and full of sorrow; they get all tangled and I think that's what it will be for awhile. Achy. I tell myself I'm moving on but I don't have a plan put together. I know I'll go through the motions; work and school. Work and school. I believe in time healing wounds. I believe that getting my own place and a new routine will be change enough to keep me busy.
I can clearly see the smarts of this decision I've made. Moving out. Moving on. Licking my wounds and starting anew. It's going through the motions, the follow through that is so damn sad. Speaking up for your feelings and acting on them even when you get hurt and the one you love most gets hurt in the process... that's rough. Or worse, he doesn't care. What then?
What then is here.
What am I suppose to do when the best part of me was always you?
And what am I supposed to say when I'm all chocked up and you're ok?
I'm falling to pieces.
~Script
I'm in the process of boxing up my belongings. I don't know where to begin, I think it maybe a bit too early.
I can't even remember what it's like... Andrew being happy with me.
I'm 26 years old and I feel 100.
I'm really looking forward to taking a really long nap in my new apartment.
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Friday, March 5, 2010
attack on luxury auto dealership
KGW reports on the luxury, sister store I work for. They're located just down the road from my location. No person or Ferrari was hurt during the driver's drug induced road rage.
Woman rams Tonkin Ferrari Dealership...
Woman rams Tonkin Ferrari Dealership...
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
My first time
I arrived at the Red Cross a few minutes early. I wasn't feeling nervous, a little anxious but was prepared for the donation process. I was ushered back to the donor hall, filled out the paperwork, answered a ton of questions, blood tested for iron and off to the comfort of the lounge chair.
Jeff, my phlebotomist, was very funny. He commended me for being a first time donor, we chatted about PCC then he handed me off to Boa because his shift was over. I sat with Boa, chatted about her daughter going to PSU when she told me it was almost over. At that moment I felt a swift change with my mental status. I felt my hands cramping and my eyes could not focus. Then everything went black.
When I woke up a nurse was speaking to me but I could not understand her. She asked me what my name was. I did not know it. She asked me if I knew where I was. I did not. I wasn't scared or panicked, I was almost laughing because I thought to myself, "why the hell don't I know this?"
I started to focus in on my whereabouts - I had cooling pads on my chest and forehead. My shoes were off and my legs were elevated. It hit me!
Did I pass out?
The nurse asked me the same questions and this time I knew the answers.
"I'm pretty sure you went into shock, dear."
"Wow. I didn't think that could happen from donating blood."
"A very small percentage does - your body didn't know what was going on and it didn't like it."
I clonked out for nearly 2 minutes. I faintly remember dreaming of my younger sister Katie - we were singing Journey songs. Don't ask me why. I was in shock.
I laid on the bed, feet elevated, cooling pads doing there thing for 20-25 minutes. I wasn't steady and was starting to get a massive headache. I was given apple juice and strict instructions to sip.
I was wheeled to the waiting area, where I was then instructed before I could leave I needed to drink another glass of apple juice, a glass of water and a package of Oreos. I started in on my overwhelming sugar dinner. I started feeling stronger half way through my Oreos. The nurse assigned a volunteer to sit with me and notify her if I started acting funny.
A nice girl, teenager, Junior in high school doing some volunteer work. After an hour or so I felt well enough to drive. The nurse checked me out, she gave me instructions to go home and Hydrate! Hydrate! Hydrate!! And to eat if I felt like it.
I came home, let Andrew know why I wasn't home at my usual hour. He got me tacos and orange juice. I wasn't feeling well. My legs felt funny and could not get my hands and feet warm. I went to bed. At 3am I was jolted from my sleep by horrible calf and quad cramps. I crawled to the kitchen, started drinking orange juice. After stretching and cursing in the dark, I crawled back into bed. When my alarm went off at 6am I called into work, said I'd be late.
Contacted the Red Cross, was instructed to HYDRATE!! And eat whatever sugar I wanted and take an iron supplement. I've had Subway, a cookie and sipping on a Coca Cola. I don't regret donating. I'm apprehensive to do it again, but I do not regret it.
Holy hell, I look like crap! I'm sure I did go into shock.
Very little bruising - good job Jeff!
Jeff, my phlebotomist, was very funny. He commended me for being a first time donor, we chatted about PCC then he handed me off to Boa because his shift was over. I sat with Boa, chatted about her daughter going to PSU when she told me it was almost over. At that moment I felt a swift change with my mental status. I felt my hands cramping and my eyes could not focus. Then everything went black.
When I woke up a nurse was speaking to me but I could not understand her. She asked me what my name was. I did not know it. She asked me if I knew where I was. I did not. I wasn't scared or panicked, I was almost laughing because I thought to myself, "why the hell don't I know this?"
I started to focus in on my whereabouts - I had cooling pads on my chest and forehead. My shoes were off and my legs were elevated. It hit me!
Did I pass out?
The nurse asked me the same questions and this time I knew the answers.
"I'm pretty sure you went into shock, dear."
"Wow. I didn't think that could happen from donating blood."
"A very small percentage does - your body didn't know what was going on and it didn't like it."
I clonked out for nearly 2 minutes. I faintly remember dreaming of my younger sister Katie - we were singing Journey songs. Don't ask me why. I was in shock.
I laid on the bed, feet elevated, cooling pads doing there thing for 20-25 minutes. I wasn't steady and was starting to get a massive headache. I was given apple juice and strict instructions to sip.
I was wheeled to the waiting area, where I was then instructed before I could leave I needed to drink another glass of apple juice, a glass of water and a package of Oreos. I started in on my overwhelming sugar dinner. I started feeling stronger half way through my Oreos. The nurse assigned a volunteer to sit with me and notify her if I started acting funny.
A nice girl, teenager, Junior in high school doing some volunteer work. After an hour or so I felt well enough to drive. The nurse checked me out, she gave me instructions to go home and Hydrate! Hydrate! Hydrate!! And to eat if I felt like it.
I came home, let Andrew know why I wasn't home at my usual hour. He got me tacos and orange juice. I wasn't feeling well. My legs felt funny and could not get my hands and feet warm. I went to bed. At 3am I was jolted from my sleep by horrible calf and quad cramps. I crawled to the kitchen, started drinking orange juice. After stretching and cursing in the dark, I crawled back into bed. When my alarm went off at 6am I called into work, said I'd be late.
Contacted the Red Cross, was instructed to HYDRATE!! And eat whatever sugar I wanted and take an iron supplement. I've had Subway, a cookie and sipping on a Coca Cola. I don't regret donating. I'm apprehensive to do it again, but I do not regret it.
Holy hell, I look like crap! I'm sure I did go into shock.
Very little bruising - good job Jeff!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)