Ever look in the mirror and not recognize the person looking back at you? After the birth of Sasha in 2013, I began to feel different. Sort of like being trapped in someone else’s body. I was filled with anxiety, always worried, and beyond emotional over everything. I started to feel the pressure of being pulled in so many directions. I wanted to be the perfect mother, a loving wife, and a successful business partner, all while maintaining my ideal body. Was it me? Was I causing this anxiety? All I could think when I looked at myself was, “Who am I.”
We want a baby!
In 2012 we decided to start the process of having a baby. Our marriage was great, our business was thriving, and so it only made sense that Mario and I have a baby. Something we could nurture, cherish, and call our own. I already had two grown children, but Mario didn’t have any children. I knew I always wanted to give him a child of his own. He’d be an incredible father! When I would mention this to friends and clients, they thought I was nuts! We were a successful, fit couple who had lots of energy. I was in the best shape of my life. I didn’t have a six-pack, I had an eight-pack. I had more energy than I knew what to do with.
Two Peas in a Pod!
My husband and I were a hot couple who had sex at least two times a week. We are two peas in a pod. Life was Perfect. In my mind, having a baby would only be better, besides I LOVE babies, I am a patient, loving nurturing mother and a doting wife. It was well within my soul to do it all again. I was ready!
Fast forward
One day after a run, I grabbed Sasha from the childcare at our gym. At this time, she was only six months old. I started limping and had some pain on the bottom of my foot. I didn’t think anything of it, just brushed it off. I had more important things to worry about, like feeding my then six-month-old baby. I remember later that night, I started feeling this throbbing pain, so I figured I would take Aleve, put Sasha to sleep, and get myself to bed. In the middle of the night, robbed of my desperately need sleep, I awoke to excruciating pain in my foot. The pain left me in tears. I got up, grabbed some ice, more Aleve, and prayed to fall back asleep. Mario had to be out of the house by 5:30 that morning, so he was already gone. I woke up to Sasha crying for me, so I jumped up, forgetting the pain in my foot. It has swelled up, and I could no longer put an ounce of pressure on it.
I had a heart attack.
From the time I stood up to try and hop on one foot to get the baby, my heart started to race as if I were sprinting; I suddenly began to sweat profusely, and right at that moment, I thought I had a heart attack. Before I grabbed Sasha, I tried to reach Mario at work, but no success. I called 911, explaining that I think I am going to have a heart attack. My husband finally calls me back, and together we thought the best plan of action would be to have my nearby sister in law watch the baby. By the time the police rang the bell, my shirt was soaked. My hair was wet, and I was shaking. Imagine the police coming to your door, you live on the second floor and have to walk down the stairs to unlock it for them.
Long story short
The ambulance came and took e to the hospital. While in the emergency room, the doctor treated me for plantar fasciitis and said that I did not have a heart attack, but a horrible panic attack. He explained that it probably happened because of the pain in my foot and how I was probably worrying about how I would take care of Sasha. He was the doctor, and so I never questioned him.
Life went on.
A side note: I was and am still getting my period. At the time of the panic attack, the last thing I thought about was menopause, perimenopause, or anything of that nature. I was super fit, maybe a little too lean, but still, regular periods, lusting for my husband and had the energy of a twenty-year-old. Life was STILL perfect in my eyes.
This time it was a heart attack
In the summer of 2015, we decided to move and go on vacation. We moved our apartment to a more prominent, more spacious place, brand new and so beautiful. The move was on a Saturday. We would then leave on Sunday morning for Martha’s Vineyard. Between non-stop unpacking and packing for vacation, I was burnt out. I ended up getting sick on vacation and was in bed for three days. I tried my hardest to suck it up, but there I was on a beautiful trip with my family with beautiful weather, and all I could do was sleep. I think my nerves and immune system shut down. When we got home four days later, it didn’t stop. The night we got back, I put Sasha to sleep, and we got to bed early. I started to feel this itchy tingling sensation on my scalp and neck, and to my horror, my entire body had broken out in these atrocious hives. I started to sweat, and my heart began to beat fast. I had Mario call 911. I KNEW this time I had a heart attack (or so I thought)! When the police arrived, I was soaked through my shirt and covered with hives, I patiently answered all the questions the officer asked. The ambulance arrived, and I ended up getting an Ephedrine shot. They said I had some crazy allergic reaction to God knows what.
It was another panic attack.
The doctors tested me for everything in the hospital, and the tests included an EKG. My heart was perfect. I didn’t have a heart attack like I thought I was. They couldn’t find any reason why the hives attacked my body, but there they were. For the next few weeks, all I could think about was not running or working out due to this plantar fasciitis. The panic attack had left my mind, and again, I choked it up to being under stress and the pressure of being a new mom.
Red Flags
As I sit and think back in time from 2013 through the end of 2017, I could sit and list a bunch of red flags that were telling me that something was off with my hormones.
Here are the symptoms I was suffering from:
- Thinning hair
- Night Sweats
- Water retention
- Decreased energy
- Hot flashes
- PMS
- Fatigue
- Low libido
- Anxiety
- Panic attacks
- Concentration problems
- Depressed mood
- Mood Swings
Talking to a doctor
I finally went to see an endocrinologist in November of 2017. Talking with this doctor, I explained that I felt as I was trapped in someones else’s body. I gave her the list of symptoms, as I mentioned above in this post. She gently smiled and said, “Oh, yes, your peri-menopausal.” She asked me what sort of lifestyle I lived, asked if I drank or smoked. Asked if I take Vitamins and what kind.
Here is what I told her- verbatim
Lifestyle: Nutrition Coach and Personal Trainer
Diet: All organic, unprocessed foods. Home-cooked meals all day every day. NOTHING processed.
Alcohol: NO, THANKS! I love my liver clean and functional.
Smoke: MOST disgusting thing ever! NEVER!
Workout: I workout more than most people. It’s my life and my sanity.
Vitamins: Vitamin D, Vitamin B12, Astaxanthin, Omega 3-fish oil, Vitamin C, Vitamin E, Probiotics, Magnesium, Collagen + Biotin.
I was proud of my answers and proud of myself! Why couldn’t she be more nurturing and understanding, and if she couldn’t help me with a solution, then send me to someone who could? But she seemed envious and cold and the looks she was giving me almost making me feel as if I were crazy. I hated her!
I hated this woman
I left her office feeling worse than before I went. At one point I got so heated I wanted to punch her right in the throat! During my visit, she looked me up and down, telling me that I was underweight when I told her I feel bloated all the time.
Her suggestions
She suggested birth control for the hot flashes. She offered anti-depressants for the mood swings I was having. I looked at her with confusion and anger in my eyes, and just calmly said,” There is no way I would ever take anti-depressants or birth control, so basically I have to suck it up. Is that what you’re telling me?” And with the same look I gave her, she said: “yes, all women go through this, it’s part of human nature.” I felt like I just wasted an hour of my life in her office. Driving home, I remember crying and just feeling empty inside.
Research research and more research
By the time I got to Sasha’s school, I was done crying. I couldn’t let her see me upset. I became angry inside. There was NO WAY I was going to live another ten years being uncomfortable in my skin, with all of those symptoms. I was smart enough to know there was someone out there who could help. Knowing what I had to do, I ended up spending endless nights lying awake reading and researching symptoms, medicine, doctors, blogs, forums. You name it, I read it. I was gathering as much information as I could.
Fast forward to January 2018.
The mood-swings were out of control. I hated leaving my house. Anti-Social had my face next to it in the dictionary. I’m sure my husband fantasized about killing me a thousand times, because I was such a moody bitch, for no reason most of the time. I would sit at dinner and suddenly start profusely sweating as if I ran ten miles. I was just a prisoner in my own body; it was so horrible. I was on the cusp of depression. The only time I felt somewhat normal was when I would workout. I worked out so hard, I was beyond exhausted. I think I was working hard for that endorphin rush- you know, the one that leaves you feeling happy, light, and free? Yea, well, an overtrained body full of pent-up anxiety and frustration was all I had.
I’ll stop this post here.
In my next post, I will fill you in on my new doctor, my treatment, and how I am feeling today.
