Life is What Happens When...
I'm a fairly private person. I grew up in a family where you didn't really hear anything was wrong with somebody until they were already in the hospital or having a funeral. If you did hear about an issue it was usually played off as part of another story or not a big deal; bonus points if there was some degree of comedic value to be found in the telling of it. Call it stoicism, Midwest nice, primal defensiveness, or just plain not wanting people knowing your business; the fact remains, we just don't talk about these sort of things where I'm from.
In the light of "Everybody has a story" and me sharing my experiences for the benefit of other authors and creators, though, it seems relevant to this Blog to discuss what has been going on with me recently.
"Wolfkin" went to print in May. In June I wrapped up the editing phase for "Nine Lives of Benjamin Finch," a short story I'm still debating on what to do with after researching publishing options. I setup the Word file for Books 3 and then got sidetracked as Jack started cranking out material for the "Ash to Ashes" audiobook (NOW AVAILABLE!). Since then I've struggled with getting a running start on Book 3. Call it writer's block, lack of motivation, or what have you. It just hasn't been hitting the page like I'd hoped. Mind you, this is the same thing that happened to me when I started working on "Wolfkin," so I haven't started panicking... yet.
The last two weeks have severely impacted my creative process and drive. I've talked in this Blog before about needing to have a certain mindset and focus for me to really make progress in my writing. Let's just say, I've been a bit preoccupied lately.
Back in the middle of June my chiropractor pointed out a noticeable size difference between my left and right calves. I'd noticed my muscle definition was improving because I had started walking regularly again, but otherwise, I hadn't really noticed the discrepancy. I just figured the tightness and soreness were a side effect of the increased activity (because, suck it up and deal, Jonesy!). I definitely paid more attention after he noted the potential for a blood clot and a need to follow up with my regular physician if it got worse or didn't improve. Fast forward into July and I finally decided, "Well, crap. I guess I better have this looked at since I'm supposed to have bloodwork done for my gout anyway."
The short version: I still don't know what's wrong with my leg (occasional Ibuprofen and nightly walks seem to help now, so that's a relief). I DO know it's not a clot, thankfully. My uric acid levels are back where they should be so the gout "shouldn't" be a problem. BUT...and this is a big one... I'm officially prediabetic and continue to have an elevated white count that is stirring up a level of mystery and concern for me and my doctor that is just "oh so exciting." (sarcasm font)
Since the big reveal, I've met with a dietician who tried to explain what a balanced and carefully thought out low-carb diet looks like (I suck at mental math so I'm sticking with salads and grilled chicken for now just to stay safe). I've started walking again. I started logging all of my meals and exercise events in a spreadsheet on my phone so I can, at the very least, point to something and say "SEE! SEE! I'M TRYING!!!" I'm not happy about these changes, but it's a hell of a lot better than getting stuck on meds that I will undoubtedly screw up repeatedly (I just suck at medication taking. It's a thing. I don't have an explanation or excuse.) or letting it go to full blown insulin-injection and finger-prick monitoring before and after every meal Diabetes. Thank you. No. I'll pass.
I've been politely reminded that I should quit smoking again, and I intend to, but I don't handle forced changes very well. I'm already freaking out with everything else that's going on. Give me a hot minute to add that particular massive life change to the mix. Also, pardon me if I don't immediately jump to the next lifestyle upheaval that has already historically set off one of the worst bouts of anxiety and depression I've experienced to date (see summer of 2016). I didn't screw myself up this bad in one week, I'm sure as hell not going to manage to fix everything in just a few days.
I went back to my doctor this week because my leg was still hurting over the weekend and into Tuesday. "Let us know if it's still causing problems or worse," they said, and so I did. I paid my $50 at check-in on Thursday and learned, "Oh no, that's just a partial payment." The actual visit would be $100+ and I'd see the rest of the bill (and the bill for last week's visit and full-panel blood work) later. I went into the meeting with my doctor severely shaken, and, as he started recommending more tests, a possible biopsy, and yet another specialist (I see a hematologist next week) to figure out what's wrong, I burst into tears. In addition to being afraid of what all of this is leading to, I don't have insurance (I live in the United States where universal health care is viewed as "dirty, dirty socialism," insurance is big business, and health care is treated as a privilege, not a right. I don't qualify for "insurance marketplace assistance" or Medicaid). The look on my doctor's face as I explained my situation almost made me cry even harder. There was no judgement, no disdain, no irritation with my circumstances that were about to tie his hands professionally; just a legitimate desire to help and evident concern for me as a person. (He's a good guy, my doctor. I like him quite a bit.) He slowed his roll on how to approach my mystery malady and put me in contact with the hospital social worker to help me figure out the financial challenges of the situation. From here we apparently wait and see what this fancy "-ologist" has to say and hopefully figure out what happens next. Without more information we'd just be playing uninsured whack-a-mole trying to narrow down the possibilities (which knowing every other aspect of my life is probably some condition only 1% of the population has even heard of).
I report all of this not to illicit sympathy or to prompt anybody to start some sort of "Go Fund Me" page (for the love of God, please DON"T do that. I'm deadly serious. Just Don't.). I'm writing this to demonstrate that, even as a full-time writer, things don't always go as planned. Delays happen. Life happens. It's what you do or don't do with it that matters.
I don't know where all of this is heading. I'd be lying if I didn't admit that I'm actually a little scared. Hopefully it will all turn out to be nothing or at least "mildly obnoxious but generally minor to deal with." One of the biggest fears I've had since the first book went to print is that I won't manage to get the full series out there to my readers. Between uncertain medical circumstances and a very real likelihood of needing to go back to full-time employment soon, that confidence starts feeling really shaky. My goal of "Four by Forty!" starts looking questionable (I just turned 38) and it makes me heartsick to think about it...
… Yeah. Pretty much exactly like that.
So, for now, I'm going to "keep calm and carry on" to the best of my ability. One foot in front of the other. Keep my eye on the prize. One day at a time. *Insert your favorite motivational cliché here.* That's about all I can do. Hopefully I'll accomplish some writing amidst the appointments and life changes I have coming up.
Regardless of what happens next, I still have the signing event in Manhattan on Saturday, September 8th at Manhattan TownCentre and TopCon coming up on September 15/16 at the Kansas Expo Center Ag Hall in Topeka, KS (where Noah Hathaway (Atreyu) will be one of the guest stars!). Those events will at least give me something concrete to plan for and look forward to.
