Search Results for: lupron


I don’t want to be writing this one. I’m kind of embarrassed and ashamed about a lot of it.

You see, even though I talk openly about depression and infertility? I always harbored this silly little stereotype in the back of my head that said “depression is real, anxiety is not.”

Yep. I figured anxiety issues were for people who just couldn’t handle their own emotions. A sort of made up problem to get people out of social and difficult situations. Much like I used a “sprained” ankle to get me out of running in high school gym.

Awesome right?

It’s been over eight months since my first anxiety attack. And guess what kids? Anxiety is a completely real thing that sucks.

Right now I’m just hoping it will go away. Or maybe that it’s not even real, that it was just something I ate. Sadly the truth is that it was something I had shot into my butt.

Three times.


Why the hell didn’t I google Lupron? Why did I just listen to my doctor?

Why is it that I can google chapped lips to the point where I’m almost certain my lips are destined to fall off from some third world fungus but something serious such as permanently altering my hormones I don’t even type into that little search box up there?

Whenever I google Lupron now, I find stories very similar to mine. “Lupron Brain, permanent mood disorders, loss of cognitive ability.”

It’s both a blessing and a curse that my blog comes up as one of the only real accounts of Lupron.

After a complete meltdown (read: anxiety attack) at church today I wrote nine words to Cody that encompass almost every thought I’ve had lately.

I wish I could be me a year ago.

He understood exactly what I meant.

I feel like over the past month I have found part of myself again. Or at least brought to light the new me that I’m going to have to navigate through life from now on.

This girl is gone I’m afraid. (Crap. How great was her hair?)

But hopefully this new girl will find her place and kick some ass while she’s here.

For the last several months I have undergone Lupron therapy as a followup to a a laparoscopy I had back in June for infertility/endometriosis.

Knowing what I know now I would have never agreed to the Lupron therapy. I knew that there was a definite possibility of emotional/mental side effects which is why I chose to do the month to month shot, in case something went wrong I could stop after the first shot.

I could handle the physical side effects of Lupron without much trouble, who doesn’t enjoy a good hot flash now and then? But the feelings that came with Lupron were so subtle that I didn’t even realize what had happened to me until the drug had swallowed me into a black inky devastating fog, and by then it was too late.

To put it mildly Lupron has destroyed every aspect of my life in one way or another.

I would never suggest Lupron to anyone if they had any another option of treatment. Especially someone who has been dealt the depression card.

I feel that the effects have finally begun to wear off, although I know I’m still not 100% myself. Those closest to me noticed a difference, that I wasn’t myself. And those who know the me who suffers from depression knew that the Casey that sat in front of them was even worse off than Casey with just depression. And me with ‘just’ depression is bad enough.

I am ashamed that I withheld and avoided friendships because of how the Lupron made me feel. I was not the mom Addie deserved while on this medication. And as far as being a wife? Fail. Fail. Utter epic fail. To go back and say “Oh sorry I’ve ignored you for the last few months, it was the medication overtaking my life.” seems like such a lame excuse. But when I look back over the last five months? I was simply an empty shell walking around, void of any and all hope. When I looked in the mirror I saw nothing. Nothing worth fighting for, nothing worth loving, nothing worth living for.

I tried faking it. Pushing through with a smile. For the most part it was all a lie.

I wish I could have those months back. I know I wanted a baby, and was ready to do almost anything to get one, but knowing what I know now? Babies can wait, babies can come other ways, babies aren’t necessarily worth risking your entire life for. (Coming from the lady who tried to kill herself while seven months pregnant? I know what I’m talking about.)

I know medication affects so many people in so many different ways, I also know a lot of you read my blog because you see some part of you in some part of me. And the part of me that has been beat by this medication says to that part of you, don’t risk it.

I almost lost it all in several different ways and all I have to show for it is a pit in my stomach and a black fog over the last five months.

I haven’t been a good friend (or even human being) the past few months, I was so concerned with making it out the other side of this in one piece. To those of you who have stuck it out with me? Thank you. Thank you a thousand times over. To those of you I lost or hurt? This is my apology, I’m so sorry.

I move into my house on Tuesday. A fitting new start to the old me that is coming back around.


I’ve missed me horribly.

I have to hurry up and write this while I’m coherent and sane.

Had I sat down and written this four hours ago when I originally intended to you would all be cocking your heads doing the “AWW.” thing offering to send me puppies and rubbing your rosaries for me and my poor tortured spirit.

You see, four hours ago I was making spaghetti while bawling my eyes out because my friend had asked me what I was wearing. (Truth be told that I was wearing the same thing for 24 hours straight and I smelled like an armpit. This in and of itself was utterly and completely depressing.)

The best way I can describe the feelings I have on Lupron?

It’s like watching one of those slow motion crash test videos and Crazy Lupron Red (that’s what we call her around these parts) is behind the wheel and Normal Not Lupron Red is screaming at Crazy Lupron Red (phone call, hold please.)

(Gramma Flower just called and sent me back into spaghetti bawling hysterics because she got a puppy. OH HOW I WISH I WERE KIDDING.)

Okay. Back to the Crazy Lupron Red crash analogy. Only this time Crazy Lupron Red will be telling a little more of the story.

Crazy Lupron Red is headed for a gigantic very painful crash in very slow motion. The logical part of my brain (Normal Not Lupron Red (another aside, Cody calls me Red.)) has been forced to sit in a soundproof booth and just watch Crazy Lupron Red descend into madness. No matter how much Normal Not Lupron Red screams and yells at Crazy Lupron Red that “this will all end and it’s only temporary and THIS ISN’T REALLY YOU!” Crazy Lupron Red cannot hear Normal Not Lupron Reds logic.

I dialed the first 10 digits of a lot of phone numbers today. I could never bring myself to hit that last number though.

I so desperately wanted to talk to someone but couldn’t bring myself to burden some poor unsuspecting soul with my blabberings. This isn’t me. No need to spread the crazy farther than my front door step.

And here is where my friends are reading this going “YOU BIG DUMMY, YOU COULD HAVE CALLED ME.” I know I could have called you. But I have really good reasons for not calling you all snotty and hiccupy. I didn’t call you because you live in Canada and that’s expensive. I didn’t call you because you’re in the middle of moving and hardly have time for the blatherings of a menopausal 27 year old. I didn’t call you because YOU JUST HAD A BABY and the last thing you need is *this right here*. I didn’t call you because frankly we’re not big phone talkers, I didn’t call you because you’re a boy and as much as you’d like to think of yourself as a girl YOU’RE A BOY. And lastly I didn’t call you because even though we have hung out in a hotel room I still don’t feel like I’m to that point where I can call in the middle of the day bawling into my marinara and not worry about what you’re really thinking about me.

Ten years ago the lowest point of my life was when I was in a pit of depression and I realized I had NO ONE to call and talk to.

Today? I had so many people I could call that I couldn’t even be bothered to make a decision.

I need to watch what I say. I feel as though I am very full of venom and a little too unpredictable. I am going to be completely selfish for awhile. Not only for my own benefit, but so Crazy Lupron Red doesn’t take down some nice people while on her warpath to an endometriosis free life.

I am quite certain I will not be “me” for the next few months. So take this as your warning.

When I break down for no apparent reason in the middle of the grocery store over a particular shade of orange melamine?

It’s the Lupron talking.

Cody once worked with a guy that removed his wedding ring depending on the type of customer he was serving. Cody and I both thought it was pretty smarmy and gross (and we still do) but we didn’t know much about marriage as we were wee babes ourselves.

After our own vows and rings were exchanged, I can remember going to a wedding reception when Cody forgot his ring. I flew into a crying fit in the parking lot “HOW WILL ANYONE KNOW WE’RE MARRIED! PEOPLE WILL THINK WE’RE JUST ENGAGED! HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME?”


You could say I was passionate about rings.

Over the years a number of different things made wearing rings difficult: basketball, gaining weight, having babies, going to the gym, and swimming. There were even times we would go on vacation and both opt to leave our rings behind “just in case.” By this point, we knew we were married and it didn’t really matter if he was marked with a gold band or not (one thing I’ve learned over the last 14 years is people don’t often care if someone is wearing a ring or not. Keep it classy, society.) So while our rings hold enormous sentimentality and symbolism, neither of us will forget we’re married without them.

Back in 2009, when I went through Lupron hell, I was lost. Gone. Completely messed up in every area of my life. I felt completely abandoned by Cody, and own brain as well. When Cody and I decided to stay together, I had this intense need to drown out the emotional pain I felt from the previous six months and in some way show Cody how dedicated I was to making our marriage work.

So I got his name tattooed on my butt.


I did get a tattoo. One that has even deeper meaning to me than a ring. Rings can be lost, stolen, left behind and removed when the situation desires. Tattoos are kind of there forever. I didn’t tell Cody I was getting them, and later I sent him a picture and a statement that said “I’m sorry, but I had to do this for me.” (He was totally anti-tattoo at the time, not only for religious reasons, but he is also terrified of needles.) A week later he came out to see me at my parents house and he asked me about getting them, I told him that the obnoxious stinging and buzzing was a welcome sensation compared to all the other things I had been feeling recently. Later that night, he pulled me aside and took off his shirt to reveal the exact same tattoos on his own shoulders.

We matched.

We went together.

If you were to put us in a group of a million other people, you would know we go together. That is an intensely intimate and comforting feeling, something no ring will ever be able to encompass or represent.

Someone the other night commented on the fact that I wasn’t wearing a wedding ring in an Instagram photo, it made her think that my marriage was in trouble and we were most certainly headed towards the end. But what you can’t see in the photo are my shoulders, my shoulders that match Cody’s. The tattoos that have us linked forever no matter what happens. They’re not flashy or showy, but they are deeply meaningful. Not only for what they represent, but for the season of life in which we both got them.

So that’s why you won’t always see me with a wedding ring, while I may wear my heart on my sleeve, I wear the love for my husband in ink on my shoulders.


(But what do they MEEEAAANNN? You ask, well. If you ever saw Ghost, Patrick Swayze and Demi Moore said ‘ditto’ instead of  ‘I love you.’ Loce is our ditto.)

Dear Casey,

I don’t want to be all “I told you so,” but really, you should have written this post as it was intended three days ago when you woke up from a dead sleep thinking about it. Now things have changed, there has been an emotional shift in your very existence and that letter you wanted to write yourself? Won’t be the same now. But instead of I told you so I’ll do the best with what you’ve left me with.

This baby thing is going to be hard the second time around. Six and a half years is plenty of time to forget about newborns, diapers, strollers, feeding schedules and naps. Not to mention the whole breastfeeding thing. Do you even remember how often babies have to go to the doctor? Or the crying? I’m not sure you do. But regardless you have been losing sleep over the excitement and joy of holding that tiny little baby in your arms. You have spent hours in Mozzi’s room rocking in that old yellow chair thinking about how long it’s been since someone has fallen asleep in your arms.  Your mind gets lost when you think about sniffing a warm, fuzzy little head and the anticipation of those tiny contented baby sighs? Better than Christmas. There was even a moment during the hospital tour where you got so excited about what’s going to happen that you actually had to squelch a squee.

You’ve done an awfully good job at enjoying every moment Mozzi has spent in you. I know you’re sad she has to vacate the premises, but there’s two other people that live with you who can’t wait to hang out with her too. You’re going to have to share sometime, and sometime is coming soon.

Which is where the emotional shift has happened.

This is really happening. Sunday you’ll be full term and so many worries that plague pregnant women will be behind you. It’s really all down the birth canal from here. There is going to be blood. There is going to be pain. There are going to be tears. There is going to be an adjustment period. There are going to be quarrels in the name of exhaustion. I know Cody doesn’t want to you to get all bent out of shape about any of it because things ARE going to be different this time. But at the same time I understand how you work. You need to feel out those worst case scenarios…contingency plans. They’re how you roll. They’re how you survived law school, lupron, depression, infertility and parenthood the first time around.

I have to say I am so proud of you for taking care of yourself. Yes, you lost a lot of friends in the process, but you had to take care of you. You took naps when you needed them. You have never felt guilty for going to bed early or taking a long bath when you hurt. You ate what you wanted to when you needed to and you even managed to gag down those prenatal vitamins. Even more importantly? You asked for, and got help when you needed it most. You are happy today because you have taken care of yourself and allowed others to take care of you over these last 36 weeks.

The perfect balance of appreciation and self preservation.

Finally, the latest and greatest of your worries. That man you’re married to. I know you feel as though you just got him back, that you guys finally figured this marriage thing out and now you’re going to have to share him with not one but two other ladies. He loves you so much. I would guess it’s natural to fear and question if your relationship will ever be the same, there’s some rough months ahead for you two, full of sleepless nights and leaky boobs. But you’ve already made it through so much. I know the reason you’re so scared is because you love him so much it hurts. He’s yours, for time and all eternity. Like he said today, he’s not going anywhere, and even more importantly, school is over. (Psst, Cody! Casey’s favorite flowers are peonies. Buy her some when they come in season, okay? Thanks.)

Keep taking care of yourself. This will all go by so quickly. Don’t roll your eyes at me. You know I’m right. Nipples can only stay bloody for so long. There will again come a day when all of your laundry will be folded and put away. One day you will even get to sleep in. Or shower. Or nap.

It’s going to be hard, but good hell if it isn’t going to be worth it.

we were waiting for cody. we got bored.

xoxo- yourself.

I feel I need to mention that my last OB dyed his hair black and on regular occasion missed enormous graying chunks. He sang a little song to the nurses in the delivery room as he was suiting up to get Addie out and he had a total Tom Selleck mustache.

I’m taller than my current OB, weighed more than him when I was 12 years old and he has crazy Willem Dafoe eyes. He also sports a curly gray mullet.

(I’m not going to mention the OB/GYN that thought it was an excellent idea to put me on Lupron. Besides, he was boring looking with a dead fish handshake and a striking resemblance to my sister’s ex-boyfriend. Well. Okay, so I just mentioned him, but parenthetically so it doesn’t count as much.)

I’ve been thinking a lot about how to be depressed. I mean, it’s inevitable and recurring for so many people so we may as well be good at it, right? Since there’s no snapping out of it and it will eventually end (seriously, it will end.) I may as well have a battle plan in place so I don’t try to do too much or maybe even worse, do too little.

Cody always tells me to “distract myself” so I’m not sitting around wallowing (sleeping) in my sorrows. Distracting yourself when you have very little interest in the world around you can prove to be difficult, but there are a few things that work for me. One of them being cleaning my laptop. It’s very cathartic to go through and delete duplicate files, format your hard drive and back up your entire computer to an external hard drive. I may not have control over my mental hard drive, but I can own my macbook’s. I also do my nails. Not anything fancy. Just trimming, filing and painting with clear polish. Doesn’t require much movement but leaves me with tangible evidence that not everything about me is ugly. (I normally involve my toes too but it’s getting really difficult to reach them.)

Now TV and the Internet can be detrimental to anyone struggling in their brain. I realized a long time ago that violent movies and television shows deeply affect me. As much as my crush on Christopher Meloni rings strong and true, I cannot watch Law & Order SVU. I also do not watch rated R movies, even when I feel okay. I truly believe that sheltering my brain from the sights and sounds of anger, profanity and violence benefits me immensely. However, there are plenty of good shows out there that don’t have a negative affect on me (The Ellen Show for example) and when things are really bad, there’s this entire subgenre of dance/music/talent fight movies that are horribly entertaining to me yet require no emotional involvement on my behalf. (See: Drum Line, Stomp the Yard, Bring it On, Stick It, Center Stage, Step Up, Step Up 2 and the latest cinematic achievement, Step Up 3D.)

Same rules above apply to books. (Which is why Stieg Larsson books are not on my “to read” list. I realize a lot of you will argue “BUT THEY’RE SO GOOD!” I believe you. But they’re not good for me.)

Many of you have to get up and go to work. Many of you miss work because of mental illness, which leaves you at home, horizontal. Sleeping the day away. I get it. Sleep is the single best escape when your brain is hurting and broken. I really have no advice here…because I love sleep. But at least try to distract yourself first, or between naps. And eat. And shower. (Crying in the shower is way better than a lot of other places you could be crying, doesn’t matter if your face gets all splotchy and snotty, it washes right off. And the temptation to use your pillowcase, sleeve or dirty laundry as a tissue is taken away. You’re also alone. Usually. I’m looking at you Addie.)

I am medicated. Unfortunately one of the major side effects is nausea so I’ve been thrown back into bucket hugging mode for the time being. I also feel it very important to say that I hate, H-A-T-E going to the doctor for help. Especially a new doctor. I’m grateful that they are there, but never once have I skipped into an office with joy thinking “OH GOODY! ANOTHER STRANGER I GET TO TELL MY DEEPEST DARKEST FEARS AND THOUGHTS TO!” And medication. I hate it. I hate taking that pill. I hate that I need it. I always have. It’s never gotten easier, even when I know that it is not my fault that I feel this way. So for those of you who hate getting help and taking that pill too? You’re not alone.

I am getting better. And I have every single one of you to thank for it.

So thank you.

I am currently awaiting the delivery of Tamales to my Chicago hotel room.

This really has nothing to do with anything, I’m just not entirely sure I’ll ever be in this particular situation again and I feel it needs to me mentioned, because honestly, has there ever been a time in your life where you were waiting for tamales to come knocking at your hotel door? (Actually I’m hoping the tamales don’t actually knock, because then I’ll probably wake up on a plane realizing I was only dreaming about tamale delivery to a hotel room en route to Chicago.)

Why Chicago?

Butterball, yo. I’m back for a second year learning everything there is to know about preparing the perfect turkey.

Only this year I’m pregnant, so when all the raw turkey prep work goes down in the morning I’ll most likely be huddled in a corner with a roasting pan filling in for my usual bucket. Or not, I have high hopes that even Zofran can get me through the scented terror that will be 20 raw turkeys in one room.

My ears perk at every set of footsteps that go by, maybe those are my tamales! You see, since Zofran hopped on board I’ve been able to eat more food. Even enjoy it on occasion. However I’m finding that after losing 12 pounds thus far (boo) my body is attempting to make up for lost fluids with intense salt cravings.


If I could find salt flavored salt I would spread it on bacon, wrap it around pickles and dip the whole mess in fry sauce. I had to physically restrain myself from drinking a twee dipping bowl of leftover soy sauce after lunch. (Turns out my California Roll craving was simply a craving for an efficient soy sauce delivery method.)

I’ve also been able to keep down much more fluids. Which means that instead of the fluids coming back out the way they came in, they’re coming out the way they’re supposed to come out which means I am back to that pregnant lady stereotype of having to pee every 15 minutes, give or take. Let’s just say if I had to pay per flush? We’d be eating nothing but squash all winter, and last I checked there’s no such thing as salt squash.

I can honestly tell you it’s much more enjoyable being the stereotype (PEE! PICKLES!) than it is being the sob story (barf. IVs.)

My tamales are here and they beg my full attention. I hope you are well. I know a lot of you (me included) are gearing up for a long cold winter full of Seasonal Affective Disorder. Pull out those SAD lights, make sure they’re ready for when the gloomies hit. A couple of you have had miscarriages. I hope you’re being well taken care of. One of you (that I know of) is going through Lupron hell. Some of you are going through divorces. Some of you are just having a crappy time because for some reason all the crap in the world hit you square in the face.

I hope you know that even if I don’t know you (or even if I do), I have a special little place in my heart for you. It’s lit with glittery holiday lights and there’s comfy pillows all over the place. You’re always welcome there. Because I know you’ve opened your hearts up to me when I’m not doing so well for whatever reason, it would be selfish not to do the same when I’m doing so well for the moment.


Have you ever looked around and felt as if you are in a swirling vortex of negativity and complaints? The last few weeks have felt that way for me. (I mean, it’s pretty much my fault for writing about religion, accepting others, pregnancy, teddy bears and politics within a week’s timeframe. That’s practically begging for naysayers and namecalling!)

I asked twitter for suggestions of what I could write about that NO ONE would have a problem with.

Some people said things like “Cake! Cupcakes! Chocolate! Donuts! BEEF!” In the back of my head all I could see was Jillian Michaels making the gagging face she always makes on Biggest Loser, which then makes me think of all the people who would have a problem with me watching reality TV. Or TV in general. Or with the existence of Jillian Michaels in general.

Other people said “New shoes! Vacations! Massages! Shopping!” Sure, all of those things are great! BUT WHY ARE YOU SPENDING MONEY ON SUCH LAVISH THINGS IN A RECESSION WHEN PEOPLE DON’T EVEN HAVE A ROOF OVER THEIR HEAD? I have become a cynic over the joy that is saving up for and finding the perfect pair of leather boots. (Leather? ANIMAL RIGHTS YOU BABY SEAL CLUBBER!)

Then there where the people who said “Hugs! Kisses! Being in love!” To that I say “HERPES! LOVE IS A BATTLEFIELD! LOVE IS FOR FOOLS!

Really the only things that didn’t set off the tiny little cynic in my head (sidenote, the cynic in my head is a middle aged woman with a cigarette in an old yellow barcalounger.) were the suggestions of “Baby giggles! Orgasms!” I dare you to be cynical about baby giggles. The other one? I’m not going there…the cynic says nice girls shouldn’t talk about such things. But I say the cynic needs a good romp in the sack with her husband. (Wait, now someone’s offended that my inner cynic is a woman and that she’s married to a man and I just suggested they do it.)

I have a love affair with quotes. I have had different ones on my business cards for the last year. One said “It takes a lot of courage to show your dreams to someone else.” –Erma Bombeck and the current one is “Character, like film, develops in darkness.” –Yousuf Karsh (This one means a lot to me after spending the last year recovering from Lupron.)

I have the quote “Everything will be okay in the end, if it’s not okay, it’s not the end.” –Anon on my bathroom mirror.

I have a bracelet that reads “Forgiveness is a virtue of the brave.” –Indira Gandhi

My name, Casey, means brave. One of the biggest things I have worked on over the last few years is forgiveness. Not only forgiveness of others, but forgiveness of myself. I am not perfect. Not to mention there are people who have no problem pointing out how imperfect I am. Some people even save up months of ammunition simply to point out just how awesomely imperfect I am.

People can be shockingly mean and grumpy.

There’s no need to add to that particular subgenera of society.

Be the change you want to see in the world.” –Mahatma Gandhi

Next time you want to be mean to someone? Don’t. Smile. Walk away. Scream into a pillow. Listen to a baby giggle. Have an orgasm.

And be sure to let me know how that works out for you in the long run.