"I've punched a goose before."
That gem of a quote was provided by Dave the other day while we were walking around the lake. We came to some geese standing on the walking path, and as I was reminding Dave about the demon geese at the Riverwalk that chase me when I'm running, I discretely made my way to his other side, so as not to be close to the geese. "Did you really just do that?" he asked me. "If they chase you, all you have to do is punch them. I've punched a goose before." Literally almost died laughing. I'm laughing again thinking about it now. ANYWAY, that's not really what today's post is about, but I got a good laugh out of it, and I was hoping you would, too.
I ain't tryin' to mess with you, dude.
Dave's story about punching a goose may not be what today's post is about, but it did get me thinking about comfort zones—in that case, my comfort zone being avoiding the geese rather than standing up to them (though I just don't know about punching one...). Being a "test subject" has been an interesting experience that has taken me way out of my comfort zone in several ways, and that's what I want to talk about today. I know very often when people think of clinical trials, they think of weird side effects or people who are desperate for money. I'm not getting on anyone's case about this; clinical trials are often portrayed this way in movies (see Fun with Dick and Jane, where Jane participates in some cosmetic trials because they are desperate for money and ends up with seriously swollen lips...), and honestly, I can't say I gave it much thought before I decided to participate in this trial. Well, other than wondering why someone would agree to test something that's still in the trial phases...
I can't speak for others, only for myself, but what changed my mind was desperation, though not the financial desperation I referred to before. When I was contacted about being in this trial, I was at a point in my life where I was in various degrees of pain all the time—and when I say "all the time," I mean that literally—my doctor wasn't helping me, I didn't have the $10,000 cash up front to have the surgery that might help me feel better, and most of all, I was tired. I was tired of feeling bad all the time, tired of feeling like this was just my life and there was nothing I could do about it, tired of feeling like I would never be a good wife or good friend or good anything. Under normal circumstances ("normal" being where I thought my endo was manageable), if someone had contacted me and asked me to be part of a clinical trial, I would have immediately said, "HELL NO," then told Dave about it and had a good laugh. In fact, when I was contacted about the trial, I initially started to just hang up. But circumstances were not normal. Something in my gut told me to listen, and what that voice on the other end of the phone gave me that day was a ray of hope. Maybe it would work, maybe it wouldn't, but it was more than I had. Just staying on the line that day took me about 100 miles out of my comfort zone, and that was just the beginning.
Every month, I have a "research appointment," where the trial nurse takes my vital signs, blood samples, and any other samples she has to collect (they vary from month to month). Then, I answer a million questions about my sex life (or lack thereof, sometimes...), contraception use, mood, feelings of depression, pain, and so on. I don't generally like to open up to people I know, much less to total strangers, so the first time I had to answer those questions was extremely awkward and uncomfortable. Again, really far out of my comfort zone. Luckily (I guess?), because it's a clinical trial, there are just a few people assigned to the "endometriosis trial team," so I talk to the same people at every visit. Now, four months later, I'm feeling a bit more at ease because of that—it's just weird to think how much they know about me. They know very little about my personal life outside of the basics (married, Master's degree, technical writer, endometriosis, always cold), but they know all the intimate details concerning my uterus. I have yet to run into any of them outside the office, but it's bound to happen, and I feel like it will be awkward. I sometimes try to play out the scene in my head, but I can't get past whether to speak or not, haha. I'm pretty sure I'm overthinking this, but whatever.
Additionally, I've gotten really used to having my blood drawn. Blood has never really bothered me, but for whatever reason, watching my own blood being drawn was never something I could stomach. Now, I watch every time, and it doesn't even make me uncomfortable anymore. I watch my nurse fill anywhere from four to seven tubes of blood (it's different, depending on what blood tests they need to run for that visit), and I watch ALL OF IT. Like, who even am I??
And then, since I was already so far out of my comfort zone, I decided to take one more step and start this blog. As I said before, I am not good at opening up to people I know, much less to total strangers. I also have a hard time sharing my personal work. Things I write for work, I have no problem sharing—that's just what I do—but anything I write outside of that, I have the hardest time even letting Dave read. Yet, I knew when I started this blog that there was a good chance that people I know, total strangers, and everyone in between might be reading my words and judging my thoughts. That was scary, and I almost quit before I started. But if my words could give just one person hope or teach just one person something, how selfish would I have been to quit because I was scared? Comfort zones are nice, but they are not where growth happens. This trial and this blog is my version of punching a goose.
So, that's it for this week. Go punch your own goose and do some growing. (I mean that figuratively. Please do not physically punch an actual goose.)
Yours,
Test Subject 521-002
P.S. No geese were injured in the writing of this blog.
I ain't tryin' to mess with you, dude.
Dave's story about punching a goose may not be what today's post is about, but it did get me thinking about comfort zones—in that case, my comfort zone being avoiding the geese rather than standing up to them (though I just don't know about punching one...). Being a "test subject" has been an interesting experience that has taken me way out of my comfort zone in several ways, and that's what I want to talk about today. I know very often when people think of clinical trials, they think of weird side effects or people who are desperate for money. I'm not getting on anyone's case about this; clinical trials are often portrayed this way in movies (see Fun with Dick and Jane, where Jane participates in some cosmetic trials because they are desperate for money and ends up with seriously swollen lips...), and honestly, I can't say I gave it much thought before I decided to participate in this trial. Well, other than wondering why someone would agree to test something that's still in the trial phases...
I can't speak for others, only for myself, but what changed my mind was desperation, though not the financial desperation I referred to before. When I was contacted about being in this trial, I was at a point in my life where I was in various degrees of pain all the time—and when I say "all the time," I mean that literally—my doctor wasn't helping me, I didn't have the $10,000 cash up front to have the surgery that might help me feel better, and most of all, I was tired. I was tired of feeling bad all the time, tired of feeling like this was just my life and there was nothing I could do about it, tired of feeling like I would never be a good wife or good friend or good anything. Under normal circumstances ("normal" being where I thought my endo was manageable), if someone had contacted me and asked me to be part of a clinical trial, I would have immediately said, "HELL NO," then told Dave about it and had a good laugh. In fact, when I was contacted about the trial, I initially started to just hang up. But circumstances were not normal. Something in my gut told me to listen, and what that voice on the other end of the phone gave me that day was a ray of hope. Maybe it would work, maybe it wouldn't, but it was more than I had. Just staying on the line that day took me about 100 miles out of my comfort zone, and that was just the beginning.
Every month, I have a "research appointment," where the trial nurse takes my vital signs, blood samples, and any other samples she has to collect (they vary from month to month). Then, I answer a million questions about my sex life (or lack thereof, sometimes...), contraception use, mood, feelings of depression, pain, and so on. I don't generally like to open up to people I know, much less to total strangers, so the first time I had to answer those questions was extremely awkward and uncomfortable. Again, really far out of my comfort zone. Luckily (I guess?), because it's a clinical trial, there are just a few people assigned to the "endometriosis trial team," so I talk to the same people at every visit. Now, four months later, I'm feeling a bit more at ease because of that—it's just weird to think how much they know about me. They know very little about my personal life outside of the basics (married, Master's degree, technical writer, endometriosis, always cold), but they know all the intimate details concerning my uterus. I have yet to run into any of them outside the office, but it's bound to happen, and I feel like it will be awkward. I sometimes try to play out the scene in my head, but I can't get past whether to speak or not, haha. I'm pretty sure I'm overthinking this, but whatever.
Additionally, I've gotten really used to having my blood drawn. Blood has never really bothered me, but for whatever reason, watching my own blood being drawn was never something I could stomach. Now, I watch every time, and it doesn't even make me uncomfortable anymore. I watch my nurse fill anywhere from four to seven tubes of blood (it's different, depending on what blood tests they need to run for that visit), and I watch ALL OF IT. Like, who even am I??
And then, since I was already so far out of my comfort zone, I decided to take one more step and start this blog. As I said before, I am not good at opening up to people I know, much less to total strangers. I also have a hard time sharing my personal work. Things I write for work, I have no problem sharing—that's just what I do—but anything I write outside of that, I have the hardest time even letting Dave read. Yet, I knew when I started this blog that there was a good chance that people I know, total strangers, and everyone in between might be reading my words and judging my thoughts. That was scary, and I almost quit before I started. But if my words could give just one person hope or teach just one person something, how selfish would I have been to quit because I was scared? Comfort zones are nice, but they are not where growth happens. This trial and this blog is my version of punching a goose.
So, that's it for this week. Go punch your own goose and do some growing. (I mean that figuratively. Please do not physically punch an actual goose.)
Yours,
Test Subject 521-002
P.S. No geese were injured in the writing of this blog.
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