I Will Not Suffer In Silence

Tuesday, January 11, 2011

I completely exhausted myself between Friday and Monday, and this was evident because on Tuesday, I slept all day. During my waking moments, I was depressed, because I’d discovered that my cat was still peeing on stuff. On Sunday, he’d peed on the bathroom rug. Sometime between Monday and Tuesday, he peed on my homework on the kitchen table. The last time he did this, I had to tear apart my entire Mathematics album and reassemble it (thank [insert deity here] for page protectors, but my handwritten notes were ruined, because they were the only things not in plastic page protectors).

Upon seeing that my cat had peed on my homework again, I broke down sobbing.
Thankfully, upon closer inspection, he’d only gotten the box of page protectors and the outside of my Language Arts album. I threw away some plastic pages and cleaned up the outside of the album, and cleared off and disinfected the table, all while sobbing. My husband stood near me, arm around my shoulders, the whole time. He had asked if he could help and I let out a muffled ‘no’ and continued cleaning. He knows me well enough to know that he was giving me all the support I needed by just being there with his arm around me.

And then, the old idiom, “when it rains, it pours”. I discovered that my surgeon’s assistant (not Skillern, but Wang, the more polite one) had left a voicemail for me about my December 28 blood work. You know, the blood work results that they didn’t bother to fetch from the front desk at my post op appointment on January 5th. The blood work that I had gotten a call about the day after my blood was drawn, saying everything was fine. That blood work.

I called the surgeon’s office back and played phone tag, and fretted. Finally, Dr. Wang called back again.

Turns out that AFTER my post-op visit on January 5, my surgeon decided to actually go and look at the report herself, rather than rely on the “ummm” and “uhhh” of the assistants and front desk people. Good call on her part - turns out they had missed something: abnormally large white blood cell count (eosinophils).
They had kept telling me everything was normal when I insisted it was not - even at my post-op appointment on January 5. HAH. This did NOT help my emotional state that day.
I quickly made an appointment with my local doctor as instructed by Dr. Wang. I was able to score an appointment for the next day, but less than 24 hours was even too long for me to wait at that point.

That day, I took 1mg Ativan, but still refused to take pain meds, even though my emotional meltdown set off instant cramps and fatigue. I can’t say enough how much stress and anxiety bring on and worsen endometriosis pain. Even though I have relaxation techniques and books and podcasts and MP3s on stress management, I still struggle with becoming master of my emotions.
Here’s a good article from an author I trust.

Complaints for Day 25:
My belly button still hurts.

Firsts for Day 25:
Did 10 slow stomach crunches and 10 sit-ups before bedtime:
Lying on my back, I put my legs in the air, bent at the knee. My hands rested on the sides of my body. I held the pose for as long as I could, and then I slowly extended my legs forward and back again, 10 times.

Sit-ups: I laid on my back with my legs bent, feet flat on the floor. I rested my hands on my thighs and sat up slowly until my hands touched my knees. Note: do not sit all the way up.

Monday, January 3, 2011

I slept in again, and started to feel bad about it. The rest of my friends were returning to work after winter holiday, and I was still off work, recovering from surgery. I began to feel guilty - I should be at work, too. My mind felt ready to be at work - it was just my body that wasn’t cooperating.

I walked, stretched, filed paperwork, washed a few dishes that day.

And also, my Firsts for Day 17:

• I was able to lay on my left side for most of the night.
• I laid on my belly for about 7 minutes (to receive a massage).
• I drove my car for the first time since before surgery. I drove around town, which has a 25 M.P.H. speed limit. Even so, the pain and stiffness returned, landing me at a 5 on the pain scale. I took 600mg ibuprofen for the pain.
• I was able to eat three orders of sushi rolls!! This is huge news! I’ve not been able to eat too much at a time without getting diarrhea or horrible pains under the diaphragm. This was the first time I’ve really tucked in! Woohoo!

Last night, my husband’s friend flew in for a job interview, so we and another friend drove down to the South Bay to hang out for the evening.

R, J & B at sushi dinner

Just chillin in the hotel room

It was a good time. I giggled a lot, and didn’t die. I guess I must be healing well!

Friday, December 31, 2010

I had diarrhea first thing in the morning before any food. Hmmm. No further episodes, and I was able to drink some Boost, so I can rule out the Boost as causing my intestinal issues. I guess my bowels are not completely healed from being bumped during surgery, perhaps that’s why I keep having diarrhea.

That morning, my husband made bacon and I very nearly allowed myself to eat some. But then I remembered that I’ve not had meat in 14 days because my intestinal system is still out of sorts since surgery. I don’t eat pork very often, and it’s the hardest meat to return to after one has been meat-free.
I put it in my head vividly the first time I tried eating pork after being pseudo-vegetarian for 6 years, and man, was that painful. So I successfully resisted the bacon. I say pseudo-vegetarian because I was still eating eggs, dairy and fish. In Michigan, I’d be considered vegan, but in California, I was scoffed at every single time I said I was ovo-lacto-pesco-vegetarian.

Anyway…

Firsts for Day 14:

• I was able to swing my right leg up onto my husband’s lap while we’re both sitting…for 30 seconds before my pelvis started hurting again.
• Without thinking, I had been sitting on the floor in front of the heater fan when I got up and slid onto the bed - on my belly like my husband was - to show him something. As soon as I did it, my eyes popped and I exclaimed, “I DIDN’T DIE!” hehe
  But after about 60 seconds, it was too painful to stay on the belly. Just the fact that I did it though was awesome.

• I was able to drink alcohol for the first time since before surgery, and I did not get violently ill, despite my fear (because of the intestinal issues I’m still having). I drank some champagne and also had some macadamia nut liquor.

Limitations:
Laughing while bent over still hurts a lot. I had gotten up off the couch and was still trying to straighten out my body when my husband said something that made me laugh, and I nearly cried from the shooting pain.

Complications:
Well, not really a complication. The belly button began hurting a lot on Day 14. All day long I had moments of intense navel pain, inside radiating to the outside. Looking back through my diary, it’s consistent to my last post-op recovery. I mentioned it on Day 17. Same thing applies with laying on my side - especially my right side - it’s still too painful to do for very long.

The scabs are raised, sensitive to the touch, and the glue plugs are trying to push their way out. Everything looks good, though. Healing is progressing normally.

I spent the day in a depressed funk. I literally just sat around and watched the hours tick by. I took no exercise that day because of the depression. I can’t remember if I had any ibuprofen that day. The weather was nice, but cold. I remarked that Michigan was roughly 10 degrees warmer than us - a heat wave for January. They had weather in the 50s and we we in the 40s.

Day 14 was New Year’s Eve, and we spent the evening at the same friend’s house where we had celebrated Christmas Day. I consumed rice crackers and spinach dip, fine cheese, and some sweets. There were far fewer people this time, and we watched the movie Aliens and enjoyed each others’ conversation. A very nice, low-key evening. Just what the doctor ordered.

When we left after 1am, the rain had started up again.

Tuesday, December 28, 2010

Woke up that morning with the intent of going to the social security office, because both of us have name change stuff we’ve been meaning to do. I also wanted to call my doctor and see if I could get an appointment today for liver blood work, because I was still freaked out about the pink hue in my fingernails. I called UCSF and left a message. Then I called the local doctor’s office. They sounded condescending to me on the phone. “What, you think there’s a medication issue going on?” Ummm YES I’ve eaten over 80 Tylenol 3 since being in hospital on December 17, and I had an issue with high liver enzymes before, so YES I think there’s a fracking medication issue going on! I’m afraid of irreversible liver damage thankyouverymuch!

The local doctor had an appointment for me at 4:15pm. I then talked with my husband, who said he thought going to UCSF would be better, since they already have all my most recent blood work and surgery records. When they called back, they had a sooner appointment, so we took that.

It didn’t leave us time to go to the social security office after all, but I told my husband we could do that tomorrow, and that his priority is to me and making sure that I am well before dealing with any of his stuff. Yeah, he was still in the dog house.

The bumps in the road during the car ride did not bother me immediately and intensely the way they had when I was driven home from the hospital and like when we went out a few days ago. Rather, the torture was delayed. Half way to UCSF, I experienced stinging sharp pain under the diaphragm. The pain went away once we were out of the car and settled at the doctor’s appointment. The pain returned on the ride home, and returned again when we drove to a friend’s house that evening.

My exercise for the day came in the form of walking to the car, walking from the parking garage to the hospital and back, and walking back to the house.

I’d like to also note that while we were at the UCSF Women’s Center, I also walked across the street to the main hospital, where I delivered a Thank You card to Nurse Hannah. She wasn’t there, and the wing I had stayed in (4 East) was shut down and being painted, so I delivered the card to the other side of the wing (ICU).

Firsts for Day 11:

• Able to put on and tie my own shoes (have been wearing slip-ons til today)
• Able to wear a bra for part of the day
• Able to wear tights for part of the day
• Able to jump (we have ants entering at the top of the door frame. I was spraying the outside of the door frame with Bugs-R-Done spray, but wasn’t quite reaching the top. Before I knew what I was doing, I had jumped to spray. When I landed back on my feet, my eyes were wide, and I stood there in shock for a second. Then I thought, “Holy crap! I didn’t die!”

I was so excited by jumping that I jumped again. I giggled. And then I had to take a nap, because that had seriously worn me out!
I napped for about an hour.

Because of my fear of liver damage, I took no medication that morning or afternoon - not until I had gotten the blood work done. I gave three vials of blood that day; one for liver, one for kidney and one for blood count.

When I woke up from my nap, my husband informed me that it was time to head over to a friend’s house. She was going to take us to dinner in exchange for my husband watching her cats this coming weekend. We had Thai that night.

The weather had been rainy all day (winter in California), and worsened by evening to a drenching downpour. This made my life a little more miserable because of how slow I am in getting into and out of cars during recovery.

I had diarrhea as soon as we got to our friend’s house, and twice more as soon as I got home.

Nausea and stomach pain followed, lasting through bedtime. This was the second time since surgery that I had intestinal issues after eating Thai.
That night, I had fitful sleep. I was hot and cold all night - sometimes drip-sweating. This was about the third night in a row where I went to bed freezing and woke up sweating to death.

Monday, December 27, 2010

My husband was in the dog house as he recovered from a severe hangover and a morning of puking his guts out, amongst other bad behaviour. I was severe in my verbal punishment, telling him he failed me as a caregiver, that I needed him to remain level-headed like he promised me he would be, because I’ve been scarred before by caregivers letting me down (my boyfriend promised my parents he would take care of me after a near-death head-on auto accident back in 1994, and then he left me alone for days while he hung out with friends. I had to crawl to the kitchen to get food, with a massive head injury and whiplash. I will never forgive him and in fact I sued him as an uninsured driver in that accident). So anyway, I’m scarred physically and emotionally, and it took many years to build up trust. I boasted to my parents how well my husband had been caring for me to this point. And then this. Oh my gods I was so mad.

On to brighter things though - on Day 10 post-op, I noticed that I was able to lay on my back, my right side, and my left side with effort and controlled breathing to settle. Although the right side is the hardest to lay on. I discovered through having to clean up my husband’s messes that I was able to sit on my knees. I was able to more easily swing my legs off the couch or the bed. I was able to more easily climb into bed.
All of this is only one day later than my last recovery, wherein I could lay on my sides by Day 9.

I have to keep reminding myself that this time is different. I had surgery a week before my period, not after. I have four incisions this time, not three. They bumped into the thin tissue outside of my bowel, bruising it badly, upon entering my body with the equipment.

The headache that started at 8pm the previous night still with me at 2pm the next day. It finally went away by 4pm. This, despite lowering the dose of Tylenol 3.

All day, I experienced cramps, and the bleeding had ramped up again. This was Day 10 of post-op and Day 5 of my menstrual cycle. I was still passing a lot of big clots. I cried from the pain and had to take a whole Tylenol 3 around noon. I held the heating pad to my pelvis for the first time since surgery, the pain was so bad. It felt like white hot burning in the center of the uterus, alternating on the ovaries.

Because I am determined to keep the body moving as doctors instructed, I went for a walk around the block. The weather had cleared again, and I wanted to take advantage. This is a half-mile round trip walk, and I did it! I walked at a shuffle in a Tylenol 3 induced haze, but I did it!

Because I was still constipated, I took two doses of miralax that day, and finally had a bowel movement at 10:24pm. It was a mix of solid and liquid.

I forgot to mention that around Day 4 or Day 5, I had noticed that my fingernail tips were turning pink hue. My fingernail tips have for years been so white that it looks like I have a French manicure, so when I looked down at my nails one day and saw that they matched my skin tone, it freaked me out.
I finally remembered to google it, right before bed…and found this page, which says, “White fingernails with pink near the tops are a sign of cirrhosis of the liver.”

This freaked me out further and nearly led to a panic attack. I went to bed uneasy that night.

Thursday, December 23, 2010

I had my third emotional breakdown in 24 hours, when the surgeon’s office called to say the assistant surgeon left my disability paperwork in my patient records at the hospital. I never heard my phone ring so by the time I called back just after noon, the surgeon’s office was closed for the holiday weekend.

I called the main line at my surgeon’s office, and I also called the nurse who had left me a message, and I left messages but never heard back.

I called the hospital and they said I have to fill out and snail mail a form to release my information, and that they’d have it to me in 10-15 days.

For some reason, I had it in my head that the disability paperwork was due no later than 11 days after becoming disabled, so that’s when I had a full on nuclear meltdown and sobbed for what felt like an hour.

On Day 5 post-op, I sobbed because my husband was in a bad mood over his upcoming birthday (he gets into this funk every year, and every year I forget that he gets into this funk). He is also in mourning over the loss of his job two days before my surgery, so he’s depressed as hell. I’m super empathic to begin with, and I needed him to be my everything for support right now, so I broke down as well.

Earlier that morning on Day 5, I cried while watching my own endometriosis video about my surgery. I just sat there and sobbed, because I actually went through with the surgery that I didn’t want to go through until next June. As a result of doing the surgery now, there were complications as I had feared, so I was full of “I should have…”

In brighter news, I took my first unassisted shower on Day 5, but I had to nap afterward. I was a good girl and took the Tylenol 3 before the shower. After the shower, I was a brave girl and went for a car ride with my husband (he drove my car this time, at my request). The bumpy roads were easier - I did not cry - but they were still hell at times on my innards. We went to my workplace so I could pick up some cards left for me, then we went to Mariposa Bakery for some gluten-free goodies and an almond milk mocha, and then we went to Whole Foods to get some vitamin D3.
I’d been having a hell of a time finding D3 again, and that day, my friend said he’d located some at Whole Foods with no soy ingredients. Every other place near my home has the D3 with soy, now. While at Whole Foods, we also found a cotton flannel unbleached cloth specifically for castor oil packs that my naturopath recommended, and we found vitamin A with the ingredient my naturopath requested. So that turned out to be fruitful shopping.

While we were out, the bleeding ramped up to the point where it now looked like my usual period. This alarmed me at first, but then I realised that had I not had surgery, my period would have been due this day, anyway. I called the hospital and left a message inquiring about it.

We got home and the gas company was there waiting for us - I had called two days prior about a droning noise which had been going on since August or September. PG&E said they’d be out sometime on Thursday, and that we didn’t need to be home. However, once they were at our home, they found that the earthquake alarm on the gas meters was hooked up incorrectly or something, and in order to do any work on the meters, they had to shut off gas to all the apartments in the house. PG&E called me to tell me they’d be at our house til 6pm, and if they missed us, to just call them back out to hook up the gas again. We got home at a quarter to six, and saw two trucks and a gaggle of PG&E guys were on our block, hanging out. The moment we entered the door and turned our light on, we heard a guy call out, “Hey! They’re home!”
The head dude came right over to us and told us that noise was in fact found on three of the six meters, and that on one of the meters, it was so loud that it reminded him of a car with exhaust issues! So they fixed all that. They came in and lit the pilot lights to our gas stove and wall furnace, and that was that. :)

Day 5, Thursday night, my husband bought us Thai food. I ate seafood curry for dinner. mmmm, foooooood.

I had a bowel movement after dinner, but was still constipated. By that point, I was using butt cream. I took some more Miralax after dinner and had to go again. I took 2 calcium/magnesium pills and a vitamin D3 right before hitting the bathroom. I was still constipated. :(
The bowel movement was very thick, long and paste-like, just the same as it was on Day 4 post-op. After all the pain and pushing, I sat for a moment and had to go again. This time it was much softer. I was glad I took a Tylenol 3 and 400mg ibuprofen for the pain, but I wished I’d taken it sooner than right before I had to go.

Total bowel movements that evening was 4, and as a result I had muscle spams on the left side from pushing so hard. :(

Weather-wise, the rain had subsided for us a bit on Day 6, which lent toward our being able to go out of the house for a bit without me being afraid of slipping on wet pavement.

Monday, December 6: intermittent stabby low uterine/bladder pain - late afternoon. I had consumed caffinated tea at lunch time.

Tuesday, December 7: sharp shooting uterine pain. I doubled over twice, took 600mg ibuprofen about 2:30pm. This was after having consumed caffinated tea less than an hour earlier.

Thursday, December 9: Visit to local family doctor to get peace of mind on the heart murmur that I was born with. I was told it’s barely detectable. I passed a cursory health check and she wrote me a note clearing me for surgery in case I needed the note.

Friday, December 10: Mercury went retrograde. UCSF anesthesiology failed to call me like they had planned, to go over surgery details.

Saturday, December 11: all-day teacher seminar. One of the instructors locked her keys in her car. I chose to call my auto insurance to get the keys out, since she said her husband always has handled the insurance stuff, hence she didn’t know it. The benefit to me waiting for a road service dude was that I didn’t have to sit in a room with 65 women and men wearing toxic scents. Well, for the first hour, anyway. Good thing I’d chosen my seat next to the door before everyone else had arrived.
Got home from the seminar, ate dinner, went to bed.

Sunday, December 12: Attended the (Charles) Dickens Christmas Fair with husband - met up with friends there. Pelvic pain and low back pain hit after walking around for 4 hours - I took 600mg Ibuprofen when I went to bed.

Monday, December 13: saw my shrink, discussed fears of surgery. She donated her old shower stool to me from when she’d had surgery (she has Crohn’s Disease). Husband got home from work that evening and informed me that there would be layoffs on Tuesday. He’s survived four or more rounds of layoffs over the last couple of years, but neither of us were optimistic about this one.

Today, Tuesday, December 14: Husband’s work laid him off. Spent much of the day crying. Had to come home from work at 2:30pm because I wasn’t coping. Husband arrived home shortly after me. I had shots of booze waiting for us. He drank two shots of fine whisky, I drank a shot of rum. We spent the afternoon talking about everything financial as related to the surgery. He’s got 4 months severance and health benefits, so he thinks we’ll be alright. He’s got money in checking and savings. I have nothing - I never have anything - I don’t make shit for pay. It all goes to two credit card bills, renter’s insurance, car insurance, earthquake insurance, special-needs groceries, and Internet access.

I spent this evening cleaning the bedroom, as I was scheduled to do before my surgery. We also went grocery shopping. My husband was invited to a friend’s house to drink - I was invited too, but declined because the nesting effect is so strong right now before surgery. And well, I’m not supposed to be drinking alcohol, especially so close to surgery, anyway.

Tomorrow is my last day at work for four to six weeks. I am taking the day before surgery off work as a mental health and preparedness day.

I don’t recall if I went into details before my last surgery - about the emotional aspect of having surgery. There’s a lot of normal irrational fear of dying, fear of something going wrong, fear of nothing being found. My added irrational stress is that we’ve just entered Mercury retrograde in Capricorn on a waxing Moon in Taurus. Also, with the surgery being a week before christmas, if anything goes wrong, my husband is left to mourn every christmas season.
Rationally, scheduling the surgery at this time works out best, because we both have the time off work (holiday shutdown), and because the deductible has already been met, so out-of-pocket cost is about $300 (and it doesn’t roll over to the next year). The surgery works best right now especially, since we don’t know what kind of insurance we’ll have after this. So the timing is shitty, but at the same time for the best.

I just wish I could stop getting myself worked up to near-panic mode.

I have officially hit the “terrified beyond recognition” part of the pre-operative emotional roller coaster.

I’ve been saying for weeks that I don’t want to go through with the surgery. I’ve been saying for weeks that I’m in denial about it even happening. For weeks, I’ve also been able to discuss rationally how the procedure will be beneficial and why it is necessary. You will notice how the two conversations are mutually exclusive.

Today I had my breakdown. I am now drinking Nigori, because I can no longer cope with the emotional overload.

I am Day 4 of NOT being bedridden. Yesterday at 11am, I went to the Dickens Fair with my husband, and for some insane reason, I thought we’d be spending only a couple of hours there, going in to meet our friends, get stuff on my holiday shopping list done, and get home again to look at bed frames and get some homework done.
Then my husband signed us up for a 6:15 stage show viewing. I told him about how I thought the day would progress, and he replied that he had no idea where I’d gotten that notion from.

I was moody for the rest of the day.

When we got home last night, we needed dinner. We went out to eat - I think. Hell, I can’t even remember, now. Then we came home and waited to hear back from friends who had to bail on evening plans, which was fine by me, because I was exhausted, anyway. It was only my second day on my feet, walking around all day, and my lower back was exceedingly sore.

When I woke this morning, I was moody again. I sulked and avoided homework until it was 11am. Then I hopped in the shower. Then I realised I’d had nothing with protein to eat all morning, and there was nothing in the house. So I went to the grocery. This is when I had a full on internal emotional collapse. The guilt overwhelmed me because homework was still not getting done. I have no idea what to eat anymore because of all the foods I have reactions to, and it’s hard for me to find time and energy to put together a menu for myself each day. I wandered aimlessly in one grocery store, then called my husband from the parking lot of the second grocery store, telling him I had no idea what to do or how to care for myself any longer.

He instructed me to go to Boston Market and just get a quick lunch. I obeyed…after wandering aimlessly through the second grocery store.

I came home with a seed grinder for the seed dietary recommendations my naturopath gave me last month. I’ve not applied a single one of her recommendations, yet, because a lot of the stuff is too hard to find, and I don’t feel like dealing with the castor oil mess, yet, and well I was too stingy to get a seed grinder until today.

…the laundry timer just went off.

And I’m supposed to get back to my homework.

And I’ve already cried about how unfair it is that I can’t live like others do, I can’t eat what everyone else can eat, and I have to have these surgeries.

I can’t take care of myself right now.

I’m not managing, well.

I still have not begun taking the Lamictal. Still too afraid of experiencing the possible side effects.

I had an appointment this past Monday with my psychologist. This is the same psychologist who, by either the first or second visit with her, decided that I have Bipolar disorder and need to be medicated ASAP.

By the fourth visit, I asked why she kept pushing for me to take meds, when she is a psychologist, not a psychiatrist. She claims she went into the wrong field and SHOULD be in psychiatry, as she knows enough about meds.

Uh-huh. I see.

Anyway, I saw the psychologist this past Monday, as I said. On this particular day, I had awakened to a 99.8°F temperature, but still went in to work. I experienced low uterine pain and low back pain for much of the day, and generally was highly emotional all day. By the time I got to my shrink appointment, it’s what we ended up talking about was the fact that I was PMSing and in a bit of pain.

The psychologist - I haven’t mentioned this before - but there are two things I really, really dislike about her. One, she flutters her eyelids and often goes on for entire paragraphs worth of talk with her eyes closed and/or fluttering. Two, she rambles and doesn’t let me get a word in edge-wise, often talking about something meaningless to my situation, or trying to relate something to my situation that doesn’t relate at all. I finally have to say STOP! loudly to get her attention, so that I can TELL her that what she is saying holds no meaning for me whatsoever.
The last example of the meaningless is when she told me for the third time that she knows for a FACT that *I* will not experience side effects on Lamictal, because she has first-hand experience, seeing her daughter on Lamictal, and she was FINE.

Okay, number one, it’s SECOND-HAND EXPERIENCE, because it’s your daughter, not you. And number two, your daughter does not have endometriosis. She has a seizure disorder. So you cannot tell me for a FACT that *I* will not experience any bad side effects.

She of course wrote me off when I boldly spoke up.

So there we were, talking about my PMS and cramping and my ongoing major depression, when she mentioned that I try to get on disability. I told her I tried that already and was rejected by both federal and state.
This woman sat there and tried to convince me to play the state and federal governments! She told me to miss more work so that I *can* qualify for disability! I told her flat out that I will NOT play sick JUST to get disability pay, because in playing sick, I commit to routine check-ups and drive-bys from the state and federal government, who will make sure that I am in fact, truly disabled.
When they photograph me at the grocery store with a basket on one arm, or photograph me driving in my car, or photograph me going to the gym or whatever - I will lose my benefits. Then what? I have a stain on my record as someone who was a fraud. I may be fined or worse. Then I have to try to get a job again.

The disability insurance people do ’spy’ and take photos - it is part of their job. I worked for an insurance company which provided disability benefits to auto workers. I had to be the one to make the pay cut-off phone calls after people were caught on film doing things they said they could not do. It’s just part of the job in that industry.

So I told the psychologist that going down that road meant playing sick ALL THE TIME, and I will not do that. I told her I have my precious 7-14 days each month where I am active and can get shit done, and I’m not going to give that up just to collect some disability pay.
She kept making a point to stress how much pain and suffering I’m in, and how SHE doesn’t like to see me in so much pain, and wouldn’t it just HELP if I went on disability?

I told her NO, it WOULDN’T help. I told her about the joy I get from the children at work. I told her about how much I love to be able to get on my bike to go to work or run errands. I told her I like roller skating and going dancing - when I am able to do these things, I DO them. I told her that if she takes these things away, I WILL go ahead and kill myself.

When I left the psychology appointment, I was MAD. I went home, changed into my workout clothes, and went to the gym for an hour, despite the low-grade temperature and the uterine pain and low back pain.
Then I walked a half mile to Walgreens and back again to pick up my refill of Lorazepam. I popped two on the walk back home. When I got home, my husband was home from work. I collapsed on the couch in tears, and told him about the visit to the shrink and how I’d rebelled by all the exercise I did. I said the exercise made me feel better, but overall I was more depressed because of the psychologist.

My husband was hopping mad at this woman, of course. He held me and sided with my every reason for not wanting to go on disability. I love my husband.

I stewed over the shrink all of Tuesday, and then on Wednesday (yesterday), I was feeling outright rage. I called on my lunch break and left a message for her.
She called me back and left two voicemails. I could not answer the phone because I was in a meeting with my school director, who wants to place me at the other school location. I’ll go more into detail about that later on, if the move happens.

When I finally had time to listen to the voicemails, the psychologist sounded shaky and emotional, and repeated herself no less than four times about how she never meant for me to go on permanent disability - she was only referring to my post-op, and going on temporary disability.

I called her back or she called me back last night, and I told her in so many words she was full of shit. I brought up my pet peeves with her, and rehashed how the convo in session had gone. She apologised again, and said she’d had an excruciating headache for two days, and should not have come to work that day. I rolled my eyes. Excuses, excuses.
At the end of the phone call, we agreed to meet again next week to give it another chance. But actually, a day after my phone conversation with her, I’m still feeling really pissed off.

These psychologists - they’re more mentally ill than I am! I swear! I’ve not had one yet who I can endorse!!!

I’ve made up my mind. The psychologist is fired.

This leads me to the psychiatrist. I saw her a total of three times; once in January, once in February, and once in September. In-between that time, she was on maternity leave, and then I’d forgotten to reschedule with her. So the third visit counts as #1 all over again. A do-over as it were, since much had changed since February. On that first re-visit, she reviewed my history, and got caught up with my new history, including the cannabidiol incident (documented here and here). The psychiatrist told me there are several documented cases, including some of her own patients, who experienced depersonalisation and bi-polar-like symptoms after using marijuana or any form of cannabis. She assured me I am not crazy or alone in this.

And yet she wanted to prescribe Abilify, which is an anti-psychotic, often prescribed to schizophrenics and people with Bipolar I.

I asked her if she feels I am Bipolar. She said she’s not sure, based upon the fact that cannabis was involved. So I asked why she wanted me on Abilify. She said I should be on some kind of antipsychotic or mood stabiliser to get back to a baseline.

Up til this point, I had told myself I needed mood stabilisers. Now that the psychiatrist, on the first visit, wanted to give me antipsychotic medication, I began to get The Fear.

I told her I’d research the side effects and get back to her.

I called her a few days later and said no to Abilify and asked what else she could recommend.
Lamictal, the same thing my psychologist had suggested, was mentioned. So I said yes, and the prescription was filled.

I went so far as to cut all the pills in half as instructed.

But I haven’t taken one pill, yet.

I have The Fear.

It’s the fear of exactly what happened to me on Yasmin happening all over again (read more about that descent here).

I just don’t want to take another chance. I am convinced that the major depression and bipolar like tendencies I’ve had since the end of July are *because* of a medication (cannabidiol), and therefore I am convinced that taking *more* psychotropic medication is NOT the answer.

Let me work through this. Specifically, let me be active and work out the anxiety and the inner and outer restlessness.

I have been to the gym only 9 times this year. I have bicycled to and from work 17 times this year.

Ten of those 17 times have been within the current school year (which began August 31, 2010).

It is my personal expert medical opinion that I need to up the gym time. I need to become an exercise fanatic. THAT will manage my mental imbalance.

Give me some time to see this through.

If it doesn’t solve the issue, I’ll stare at the bottle of Lamictal again.

I should start noting my mental state here. I’ve been seeing a psychologist, and I saw a psychiatrist on September 14. Both think I may be bi-polar, but they do not agree on which type of bi-polar I am.

The psychiatrist gave me a prescription for abilify, but I refused to take it. I asked for and got Lamictal, instead. I still haven’t taken it, though. I am afraid of more side effects. I’m done with more and more mental stuff going wrong with me.

I’ll restate what I said in my previous entry -
Because I’ve not really enjoyed a pain-free or sick-free or allergy-reaction-free day in about seven weeks, I have hit my breaking point emotionally.

I’ve already been wrestling with what I call ‘dangerous depression’ since the end of July.

Well, it’s getting louder in the head, and more externally vocalised.

I went with my husband to a Victorian-era home showing that happens every year in our city. There were eight homes on the bill to walk through. I did not enjoy it this year. It was painful to move. My low back pain crept back in to flare with the trapped nerve in the shoulder, every time I had to climb stairs, or really move at all. And I was still in pain from one visit to the gym last Thursday.

I was super depressed.

I guess it doesn’t help that I’ve been on Soma (muscle relaxer) for two weeks, and I know from experience that it adds to my depression. I have not had a dose of it today and will refrain from taking any more of it.

After the home showing, there was the annual parking lot sale over at the famous tiki bar in town, so we went on over.
I immediately went for the booze. First time in 51 days that I got absolutely full on drunk. My husband had gone off to his sacred game night, leaving me in the company of friends still at the tiki bar. I was still going when his game session got out around 10pm. He picked me up and took my sorry ass home. Thankfully, no tears or puke or hangover this time. I drank lots and lots of water, thanks to a very attentive bartender, and was a good girl and drank lots of water when I got home, and took vitamins and advil.

I remain dangerously depressed.

Today at work, while rocking a child at naptime, I got stabbing right side ovarian pain that lasted for about five minutes. It went away until now. I’m just sitting on the couch, typing, and the ovary is pulsing a low stabbing pain. Today is Day 10 of the new cycle, so I guess it’s mittelschmerz, which usually happens at Day 8 of the cycle, but has been off by a day or three for a few months, sometimes not happening at all. I blame it on the endometriomas on both ovaries.

I bicycled home from work in 95°F heat - thankfully the ovary did not stab me on the ride home.
But I am wiped out after spending some time in the outdoors at work today. Ugh.

So this mental health thing. The meds. I’m so tired of meds. Today I started a detox diet - the one I tried to start back in July or August and didn’t keep up with. So I started it over today. Lots of supplemental pills to take with every meal.
And then either tonight or sometime this week, I might begin taking the Lamictal. I’m terrified of it. Read all the horrific side effects here. If you think that looks bad, read the side effects for Abilify, which is what the psychologist originally wanted me on and I said no way.

Now, let me tell you again what I’ve said before. I have been going through what I call dangerous depression since the end of July, 2010, because of all my pain conditions and reactions to medications.

This is also known as, yes I will spell it out and face up to it: suicidal ideation.

I have wrestled with suicidal ideation for much of my life, so this is nothing new. The frequency is what is worrying me.

But look here, if I take Lamictal or Abilify, the warning is basically the same:

Patients, their caregivers, and families should be counseled that AEDs, including LAMICTAL, may increase the risk of suicidal thoughts and behavior and should be advised of the need to be alert for the emergence or worsening of symptoms of depression, any unusual changes in mood or behavior, or the emergence of suicidal thoughts, behavior, or thoughts about self-harm. Behaviors of concern should be reported immediately to healthcare providers.

Why would I want to take a drug that will make me MORE suicidal than I already am?

I already went down that road once, with SSRIs (Paxil), back in 2000.

Honestly, I probably won’t take the medication. I’ll get my diagnosis officially recorded as bi-polar something and then I’ll manage it myself. I’ve lived this long…