Struggling to breathe

I have hit my wall this week. I'm not going to lie.  I'm not having one of the best mental health weeks by far.  Monday was my breaking point, and I simply haven't recovered since then. 

 

 

I was driving to work on Monday, thinking about my Grandpa and also about the fact that I had to leave before noon to head back home to make it in time for another doctor's appointment.  This one was for my asthma.  I have had difficulty breathing, and they aren't sure if it's related to my heart or asthma.  So I scheduled an appointment with my family doctor for this one, shunning the idea of seeing yet another specialist for my lungs this time.  So I was aware that I was going to be missing half a day of work to do some breathing tests to get to the bottom of that problem.  And for some reason on Monday, in the car, I lost it.  No tears, necessarily, but this feeling of just immense sadness came over me.  Too much.  It's just too much.  

 

 

I know it's completely normal during a pregnancy to see the doctor every two weeks towards the end of your third trimester.  But I have been seeing my High Risk OB every two weeks since 18 weeks.  And in between those visits, I am now seeing my cardiologist every two weeks. And now my family doctor once a month for my breathing.  I resent this heart monitor that is strapped to my body.  I have marks all over my stomach and chest from where the electrodes I wear have left.  I have fortunately have had about four readings so far, so it's possible the doctor won't need me to wear it for the full 30 days.  (Keeping fingers crossed for that one.)  Of course, shouldn't I not want these readings at all?  How sick is it that I want them to happen now just so this can be over?  I'm working evenings and weekends to make up the hours I miss at my job.  This week and next week alone, I think I'm missing at least 10 hours of work because of doctor's visits.  And I'm trying to save my vacation as much as possible for maternity leave, so I am busting my butt to keep up with the hours I lose.  On top of that, I have that fear of bed rest.  My blood pressure is decreasing for the moment, but I can't just assume I'll go the full 40 weeks.  I'm almost to 26 weeks now.  I have to line everything up at my office so that nothing falls through the cracks.  That is, if I have time to get to it when I do manage to make it into the office. 

 

 

And my Grandpa.  We don't know what's going on.  Monday night his blood pressure was down to 79/47.  My Mom called to say it could be any day now.  But the blood pressure is back up.  And the Type A/Lawyer in me wants answers.  I like to know what's going on.  I need to know all information possible.  Nothing left in the dark.  So I took to the computer, looking up renal failure, the symptoms and how to know when it's the end.  T asked me what in God's name I was doing, and I responded with "I need to know as much as I can."  No, I know I can't predict it.  I find myself getting angry with the fact that this is dragging on for him.  I struggle to find the fairness in it.  He's a good man.  A brilliant man.  A loving husband, father and grandfather.  It's just not fair that this is happening to him. 

 

 

And yet, somehow I'm supposed to not let this get to me.  I can't let this make my blood pressure go up.  But yet I can't be as active as I was before in terms of relieving stress.  I used to work out to let it go.  And how am I supposed to not let this affect me?  For those of you who know me well also know all too well that that just isn't possible.  It's not in my genetic make-up.

 

 

So now I find myself just numb.  And I just don't want to do anything.  I want to just hide and pretend that none of this is happening.  I don't know what to say about it, what to feel about it.  I've reached my breaking point, and I feel just awful about it because I should be stronger.  But I'm scared.  Of all of it.  And struggling to breathe.