After two weeks and much trepidation, I have managed to make it to therapy. I am out of breath and my body is protesting, but at least I showed up. I have about 10 minutes before it starts. That will give me enough time to calm down my breathing and collect my thoughts. I have not had the chance to tell my therapist about any of the horrible blood issues, so this session will be pretty full.
I wish I could be more comfortable. This is usually a safe place for me, but right now I am just trying my best not to start bleeding all over the safe place. I wasn't even spotting when I left, but sadly, that doesn't mean anything in terms of what the next hour (or even the next 15 minutes) could hold. I did everything I could to protect myself. That is all I could control.
Of course, therapy is always frought with its own issues. Bad parking, children, my therapist needing to leave early to deal with her own medical stuff. All of that is normal though. These are things I am used to. They just happen to be bigger challenges now that I have to deal with this new, unwanted aspect of my life.
I made it through the session. We mostly talked about what is currently happening with my body. I talked a lot about how angry I am about the whole thing. I didn't cry, but I considered it.
By the time I got home, I was exhausted. I crashed into my bed and slept for a couple of hours. It kind of amazes me that it took so much out of me just to go to the therapist, but then again, I've been doing next to nothing for the last several weeks. This was a start. Maybe next week, things will go better.
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