- Dec 6, 2021
- 342
- 654
- 61
- Twitter Username
- @PCock78
- Streamate Username
- piercedcock78
- Chaturbate Username
- piercedcock_78
The last couple of years things have been pretty tough on me. I have had Hernia repair surgery, C-Diff, panic attacks, GAD, PTSD and Gallbladder removal. I also had to put down two of my beloved pets. Aside from all of the physical things that I have been through, the mental stuff really took it's toll.
I have been a guy who has never really known fear. Especially of death. While some was unreasonable on my end, some was very warranted. For instance, the C-Diff (which was three months after the hernia repair) was what really kicked off the panic attacks. When I was told that I had that, I had no idea what it was. I said, "Okay, so give me some meds and I will get over this. It won't kill me right?"
The doctor replied, "It could."
Talk about having my attention. Well, you got it now. I'm a numbers guy. So, I asked him about statistics etc. He told me that it completely depended on how well that I took to the antibiotics and if I had any relapses or recurrences.
I went home and did two of the worst possible things that I could do. I got as high as I possibly could and decided to consult Dr. Google. I was trying to find a way out. Maybe it wasn't so dire. Maybe the ER doctor was just being dramatic. But no. In case after case, study after study that I read, things became darker and darker. The antibiotic that they give you for this (Vancomyicin) is very powerful and very expensive. When I was diagnosed the statistic was that one in every four people would have a relapse. That is generally followed by another one. Each time you get sicker and things get worse. My heart still goes out to those cases that I read. The number has moved a bit higher I think the last time I checked, (and I really try not to look at anything c-diff related any more) it had moved up to something like one in five or one in six. So I am glad that at least I moved the needle a bit.
During this time, my dog was dying. Eventually, during the antibiotic treatment, I had to put him down. I remember kissing him on the nose and walking out of the room. I just couldn't bear to be there when it happened. But I thought, "Well buddy it probably won't be to long until I will be joining you."
The panic attacks came nightly like clockwork. I remember one night, I was talking to my mom and I just started crying. I said "Ma, I don't know if I will ever be able to come back to you."
What I meant by this is that I have lived through a lot of dark times and I always, ALWAYS survived it with a smile on my face. My sense of humor, smiling and laughing has really been the saving grace of what has got me through this life and I really didn't know if I would ever smile or laugh again. That was TERRIFYING.
Initially I rejected therapy. Then I accepted it, but still fought tooth and nail against everything that they were trying to tell me. To say that my reality was skewered would be an understatement. But then, a counselor said something to me that got through. He said, "You are a guy who likes to be in control. The fear comes because in this situation you don't have any."
What could I say? He was right.
So I pondered this over until our next visit. I said, "You are right. I do like to be in control. But what is so wrong with that? Is that not why we go to doctors and people like you? To regain control of our physical and mental health?"
He said, "I never said that being in control was a bad thing. I just said that you are a guy who likes to be in control. So, now let's start working on how to put you back in the driver's seat."
That woke me up. However, I was still weak. It is the whole crawl before you walk thing. But I began letting my guard down. I began to take the medication that I was prescribed. Little by little, things began getting back to me. I had completed the antibiotic. No more diarrhea. No relapses.
During this time, my cat picked up where my dog had left off. He would come in my room every night. Hop up on the bed and lay right on me, his face in mine until I fell asleep. I called him Dr. Monsignor. But something happened. He began getting bigger rapidly. The vet said that he had cancer in his stomach. I've been here before. I KNEW what was going to have to happen. On the day I was to put him down, I had a therapy appointment. I cried like a baby. I said that I knew I should be there, but I just couldn't do it. My therapist then gave me another good piece of advice. He told me that he thought that I should. That I would then see that while it is bad, it may not be as bad as I was imagining it. Plus, it would also teach me how to let go...to really let go. He reminded me of how that even in nursing homes cats will sit with dying patients. Not because they can do anything to stop the inevitable but to do what they can: be there for the person. He told me that given everything that I told him that it was the least that I could do.
Fair enough and point well taken.
So I did go. I was there for him and while it was bad bad bad, my therapist was right. I did learn to let go and to do all that I could do: be there when Dr. Monsignor needed me the most.
Again, things began to pick up a bit. No relapses of the c-diff. The panic attacks were getting less often and not nearly as bad. I was getting stronger in every way. Then, one day, I am at the store and I just felt BAD. When I went to the bathroom, my urine was the color of iced tea. To show how much I had improved mentally, I didn't panic. I figured that it was likely a UTI and I went to the walk in clinic. The nurse came in, no tests were done there. She took one look at me and told me I needed to go to the ER as my eyes were yellow. Now I was beginning to get nervous.
I went to the ER and they ran a lot of blood tests. Put me through an MRI. Were frantically asking me questions like what and when had I ate or drank anything earlier on in the day...even water. They told me that stones were blocking something and that my gallbladder was filled with sludge. They told me that they were trying to determine what hospital that they needed to send me to as they did not have a surgeon on call. Finally, they came back and said that they did find a surgeon and sent my info to him. He said that I didn't need an emergency surgery that night, but he did book one for later on in the week.
While I waited for my surgery day to happen, I was on pins and needles. The panic attacks had started to take over again and I was convinced that I would die.
The surgery came and went and I came to. I hadn't died. Moreover, I felt more alive than I had in a long time. I came home that night. I didn't go straight to bed at all. I had family and friends around me and I stayed up in the chair for hours. I was running on all cylinders. I felt good.
While I can't say that I am just pining away for another surgery (let's hope that doesn't happen for a good long while) I will say hands down that the gallbladder removal was hands down the easiest one that I ever had.
My medication was increased slightly and I was feeling stronger and stronger. I continued to go to counseling until the day came where he told me, "We got you back in the driver's seat and you have the wheel going at full throttle. If you want to keep coming and visiting with me regularly you can, but at this point, you really do not need it."
On April 12th of this year, it was exactly one year since I had completed the antibiotics for the c-diff and I had no relapses or recurrences. I watched vigilantly month after month for that date to come. Because, now my risk of getting C-Diff would be a new case and not a relapse...thus it is the same as anyone elses. In a survivor group in one of the stories that I read, someone said that after you are done with the antibiotics, you regain physical strength, and while it takes a bit that your body does go back to normal. However, it is waking up in a sweat with a nightmare, having a case of diarrhea and thinking the worst has happened, is the very last thing to go and that is what takes the longest.
What can I say?
It is 100% true.
My panic attacks are down to nothing today. I feel more and more like my old self. I am still on the medication...and oh yeah...I do smile and laugh.
As for camming...I tried at different times throughout the whole thing...but while somewhat good...I just wasn't there.
I am so glad to be getting back in the swing of things as I truly do love and need the interaction. The compliments, reviews and support mean and have always meant the world to me.
If any of you would feel like it, I have started up a Throne account. Some of these gifts are things that I do need (the clothing items, the lighting and the certain socks as I had a client that liked me to wear those and would buy them from me after I did) and some of the things would just make me feel good put a smile on my face. I really tried to pick out low ticket items for everything. Please take a look:
If I don't know you or we haven't talked, I look forward to meeting you. If you remember me and have had any interaction with me, I say a sincere thank you. The conversations, sharing music, and just the interaction has and will always be good for me.
Thank you!
I have been a guy who has never really known fear. Especially of death. While some was unreasonable on my end, some was very warranted. For instance, the C-Diff (which was three months after the hernia repair) was what really kicked off the panic attacks. When I was told that I had that, I had no idea what it was. I said, "Okay, so give me some meds and I will get over this. It won't kill me right?"
The doctor replied, "It could."
Talk about having my attention. Well, you got it now. I'm a numbers guy. So, I asked him about statistics etc. He told me that it completely depended on how well that I took to the antibiotics and if I had any relapses or recurrences.
I went home and did two of the worst possible things that I could do. I got as high as I possibly could and decided to consult Dr. Google. I was trying to find a way out. Maybe it wasn't so dire. Maybe the ER doctor was just being dramatic. But no. In case after case, study after study that I read, things became darker and darker. The antibiotic that they give you for this (Vancomyicin) is very powerful and very expensive. When I was diagnosed the statistic was that one in every four people would have a relapse. That is generally followed by another one. Each time you get sicker and things get worse. My heart still goes out to those cases that I read. The number has moved a bit higher I think the last time I checked, (and I really try not to look at anything c-diff related any more) it had moved up to something like one in five or one in six. So I am glad that at least I moved the needle a bit.
During this time, my dog was dying. Eventually, during the antibiotic treatment, I had to put him down. I remember kissing him on the nose and walking out of the room. I just couldn't bear to be there when it happened. But I thought, "Well buddy it probably won't be to long until I will be joining you."
The panic attacks came nightly like clockwork. I remember one night, I was talking to my mom and I just started crying. I said "Ma, I don't know if I will ever be able to come back to you."
What I meant by this is that I have lived through a lot of dark times and I always, ALWAYS survived it with a smile on my face. My sense of humor, smiling and laughing has really been the saving grace of what has got me through this life and I really didn't know if I would ever smile or laugh again. That was TERRIFYING.
Initially I rejected therapy. Then I accepted it, but still fought tooth and nail against everything that they were trying to tell me. To say that my reality was skewered would be an understatement. But then, a counselor said something to me that got through. He said, "You are a guy who likes to be in control. The fear comes because in this situation you don't have any."
What could I say? He was right.
So I pondered this over until our next visit. I said, "You are right. I do like to be in control. But what is so wrong with that? Is that not why we go to doctors and people like you? To regain control of our physical and mental health?"
He said, "I never said that being in control was a bad thing. I just said that you are a guy who likes to be in control. So, now let's start working on how to put you back in the driver's seat."
That woke me up. However, I was still weak. It is the whole crawl before you walk thing. But I began letting my guard down. I began to take the medication that I was prescribed. Little by little, things began getting back to me. I had completed the antibiotic. No more diarrhea. No relapses.
During this time, my cat picked up where my dog had left off. He would come in my room every night. Hop up on the bed and lay right on me, his face in mine until I fell asleep. I called him Dr. Monsignor. But something happened. He began getting bigger rapidly. The vet said that he had cancer in his stomach. I've been here before. I KNEW what was going to have to happen. On the day I was to put him down, I had a therapy appointment. I cried like a baby. I said that I knew I should be there, but I just couldn't do it. My therapist then gave me another good piece of advice. He told me that he thought that I should. That I would then see that while it is bad, it may not be as bad as I was imagining it. Plus, it would also teach me how to let go...to really let go. He reminded me of how that even in nursing homes cats will sit with dying patients. Not because they can do anything to stop the inevitable but to do what they can: be there for the person. He told me that given everything that I told him that it was the least that I could do.
Fair enough and point well taken.
So I did go. I was there for him and while it was bad bad bad, my therapist was right. I did learn to let go and to do all that I could do: be there when Dr. Monsignor needed me the most.
Again, things began to pick up a bit. No relapses of the c-diff. The panic attacks were getting less often and not nearly as bad. I was getting stronger in every way. Then, one day, I am at the store and I just felt BAD. When I went to the bathroom, my urine was the color of iced tea. To show how much I had improved mentally, I didn't panic. I figured that it was likely a UTI and I went to the walk in clinic. The nurse came in, no tests were done there. She took one look at me and told me I needed to go to the ER as my eyes were yellow. Now I was beginning to get nervous.
I went to the ER and they ran a lot of blood tests. Put me through an MRI. Were frantically asking me questions like what and when had I ate or drank anything earlier on in the day...even water. They told me that stones were blocking something and that my gallbladder was filled with sludge. They told me that they were trying to determine what hospital that they needed to send me to as they did not have a surgeon on call. Finally, they came back and said that they did find a surgeon and sent my info to him. He said that I didn't need an emergency surgery that night, but he did book one for later on in the week.
While I waited for my surgery day to happen, I was on pins and needles. The panic attacks had started to take over again and I was convinced that I would die.
The surgery came and went and I came to. I hadn't died. Moreover, I felt more alive than I had in a long time. I came home that night. I didn't go straight to bed at all. I had family and friends around me and I stayed up in the chair for hours. I was running on all cylinders. I felt good.
While I can't say that I am just pining away for another surgery (let's hope that doesn't happen for a good long while) I will say hands down that the gallbladder removal was hands down the easiest one that I ever had. My medication was increased slightly and I was feeling stronger and stronger. I continued to go to counseling until the day came where he told me, "We got you back in the driver's seat and you have the wheel going at full throttle. If you want to keep coming and visiting with me regularly you can, but at this point, you really do not need it."
On April 12th of this year, it was exactly one year since I had completed the antibiotics for the c-diff and I had no relapses or recurrences. I watched vigilantly month after month for that date to come. Because, now my risk of getting C-Diff would be a new case and not a relapse...thus it is the same as anyone elses. In a survivor group in one of the stories that I read, someone said that after you are done with the antibiotics, you regain physical strength, and while it takes a bit that your body does go back to normal. However, it is waking up in a sweat with a nightmare, having a case of diarrhea and thinking the worst has happened, is the very last thing to go and that is what takes the longest.
What can I say?
It is 100% true.
My panic attacks are down to nothing today. I feel more and more like my old self. I am still on the medication...and oh yeah...I do smile and laugh.
As for camming...I tried at different times throughout the whole thing...but while somewhat good...I just wasn't there.
I am so glad to be getting back in the swing of things as I truly do love and need the interaction. The compliments, reviews and support mean and have always meant the world to me.
If any of you would feel like it, I have started up a Throne account. Some of these gifts are things that I do need (the clothing items, the lighting and the certain socks as I had a client that liked me to wear those and would buy them from me after I did) and some of the things would just make me feel good put a smile on my face. I really tried to pick out low ticket items for everything. Please take a look:
Throne | | My Wishlist
Send undefined gifts via Throne. Browse undefined's favorite products listed on their Throne Wishlist via throne.com.
throne.com
If I don't know you or we haven't talked, I look forward to meeting you. If you remember me and have had any interaction with me, I say a sincere thank you. The conversations, sharing music, and just the interaction has and will always be good for me.
Thank you!
