Love, Hate, and Modern Medicine

Today's blast from the past comes from June 2008.  Mere months before I relocated 180 miles away from my home town to start the next phase of my life.  Moral of today's story-- ALWAYS read the information given to you by the pharmacy.  Make sure you understand it, so you are able to make an informed decision about what's safe for you.  Don't be afraid to advocate for yourself.  You know your body, and doctors can make mistakes.



Gotta love the medical establishment.  Today is case in point as to why MDs either love or hate me.

Went to urgent care today because I need an antibiotic (will spare you details).  Been trying the holistic route and it hasn't been making much of a dent.  And my healer pretty much told me yesterday she wanted me to get a culture, so in I went.  I chose urgent care over my internist because
                  1-- I don't like him much, very brusque
                  2-- he's always hard to get into,
                  3-- he's always running late, and
                  4-- when Papa saw him this AM for a 10:00 appointment, he
                       was already running over an hour behind.

So I went to the clinic and got right in.  Lovely, fun RN took my history.  But the MD, I don't think he really looked at my chart, or at least not in depth.  I say this because as he was walking into the exam room the nurse verbally told him that I'm allergic to sulfa drugs-------------- something that he should have seen on the chart.  Sulfa is the drug of choice for what I have going on, and he still tried to prescribe it.  So he wasn't paying the best attention.

The doc prescribed Cippro, really bringing out the big guns.  I've never had it before, but do take Levaquin on occasion and it works well for me.  Picking up the script at the pharmacy I started reading the paper insert which said, among other things, the following:

                    --- please inform your doctor if you experience............. mood changes, weakness in limbs, dizziness...................  in extreme cases has been known to induce mania.............. do not take if you have a history of neurological problems [or] have taken and anti-seizure medication within the past year.................. may cause mild to extreme sun sensitivity.........

Yeah, SO not taking that.

so back to urgent care I went.  Now convinced he didn't look at my chart at ALL.  Just what exactly are Lexapro and Lamictal? ** [DUH]

Talked to the nurse and told her I wanted Levaquin, she was doubtful but said she'd talk to the MD.  To shorten the tale, I actually had the MD sit down with a PDR [Physicians Desk Reference] while there were no other patients there waiting to be seen.  He seemed amused by me wanting to look at the data as opposed to offended-- good sign.  Levaquin is the same family as Cippro, but the potential side effects are much lower.  And no drug interaction danger.  Plus, I've taken it several times before without difficulty.

So, maybe I need to give my internist a break.  He doesn't make accidental errors like that.  In fact, he doesn't give me ANYTHING without first consulting his PDR on PDA.  He knows he doesn't know jack about psychotropics.

6 of one, half a dozen the other.  Despite the inconvenience of going back, I was still done in at least half the time if I'd gotten in to see my regular doc today.  And, free medical care from the good sisters is nothing to complain about.  Sort of ;)  ***

**  medical lesson for the day.  Lexapro is an SSRI, a class of antidepressant.  Thus, looking for mood contraindications is important.  Lamictal is an anti-seizure, anti-manic medication.  Insert said not to take if you have a history of neurological problems.  Technically, MI is classified under neurology.  And Lamictal IS an anti-seizure. 

*** my home area has a Catholic run hospital.  The good sisters do not require a medical co-pay for people on public aid.

My Kinda Person!!!!

Today's post is a blast from the past-- January of 2009 to be specific.  I found this old entry a few weeks ago, and pulling out this happy memory helps me smile.  It tells the tale of a positive experience I had out in public with J.

Here's a little vignette that occurred last week. Maybe you'll appreciate it as much as I enjoyed the experience.

I'm in one of those modes--being winter and all--that I really need to LEAVE the house to get much of anything accomplished.  Case in point--- I have a LOT of writing and intentional energy work to do, but if I don't GO somewhere to sit and work, it's not happening.

So last Thursday night J and I went out to Uncle Bill's, a local 24-hour pancake place.  They've been in business FOREVER and are only 3 miles from our apartment.  I really like the atmosphere there. Anyway, we walk in around 11:30 and the on-duty waitress was up at the front.

I said, "one two-leg and one-four leg please."

Without pause she asked, "and do you, or does the dog, smoke?"

WOW!

She was so good and so fast, it took me a moment to respond.  Talk about a sense of humor.  She was a delight.  We chatted a bit through her shift.  But seriously, MY kind of gal.  I wish her all the best and hope to be lucky enough to find more folks like her in the coming weeks.

It was so LOVELY to go into a restaurant and NOT be questioned about J that night.  She was fully dressed in service dog regalia per always, and that was all the waitress needed to see or know.  She didn't ask any rude or inappropriate questions-- SCORE!!!  She even inquired if J needed water, and we went back regularly to Uncle Bill's when we lived in that part of town.  Interestingly, sometimes it's the mom and pop establishments that are more accommodating.  Maybe they know the law better, or maybe they're just NICER.  Word of mouth keeps them in business, after all.

What do you think?

Red Tape Rant

Today's blast from the past comes from April 2008.  I was making steady strides towards relocating (autumn 2008) and was getting my ducks in a row.  And was slapped with the realities of how modern medicine has become a business in a not so happy way.  From the standpoint of recovery, I put this before you as evidence how the 'system' makes things difficult for patients.  What if I had been unable to pay, then what?

I'm posting it today because I'm running into a similar snag, or at least a related snag.  Once I have more paperwork and information I will post what is currently going on.

I had to go into P-town the other day, so I ran quite a few errands.  Gas prices and all that.  One of my stops included a quick visit to my psychiatrist’s office to sign a medical release.  The agency [where I'm moving] that can help me obtain services (as in, EVERYTHING once I move) needs my files for evaluation/intake, etc.

Keep in mind that I have signed similar releases for my internist, and all other specialists.

As I filled out the release, I was shown a payment scale.  Evidently, the hospital utilizes a secondary company to copy and send records.  Ok- so far not a big deal.  Such a large practice probably gets quite a few requests and the staff doesn’t have a lot of extra time.  But apparently, I am going to be charged PER PAGE to have my records copied and sent.

NOT AMUSED

I have never run into this before, so maybe it's common practice.  But with all the docs, meds, consults, services, et al, that I’ve had in the last ten years or so, I’ve probably signed upwards of 50 releases for transferring files.  (Not counting the standard gunk for charging insurance, etc)  Not once have I been told that there would be a charge and I would be receiving an invoice.  Apparently, even if I wanted my records from the office for my own files---something I am legally entitled to---there would be the same charge.

Is this what we’re coming too?  Isn’t the fact that I pay $100 a pop for some of these physicians (because public aid doesn’t cover everything, or some of the better docs) sufficient to cover copying 20 pages and faxing them?  I mean, stick the stupid originals in the fax machine and send them to the correct location for pete’s sake!

Just another joyous addition to the clusterfuck that is the American medical establishment.

For Those Who Came Before

Today's post is a blast from the past, originally written April 2008.  I was working hard and long on my recovery, processing a lot of emotions.  I was working towards relocating and starting another stage of my life.  I was excited and terrified, and more than a little overwhelmed by the sheer amount of WORK involved.  

So it goes without saying that I was a little moody.  I was doing a lot of journalling in those days, and much of it made it onto the blog I had then since I type far more quickly than I write.  There is a small possibility that you have already seen some of these 'blasts from the past' on the other site, but it's all my original work.  And I have since pulled them off that blog so as not to overload search engines.

I'm posting this here, today, because it will be a GREAT springboard to discussing many of the matters I want to address here on the recovery blog.  I've fixed some of the grammar, and made sure to conceal my friend's identity.  Beyond that, this post is whole as originally written back in spring 2008.  Fair warning, it IS long.  As Cleo says, I tend to channel dead Russian novelists when I write.  I hope you enjoy it, and that it gives you much to consider.

Pagan Princess
---------------------------------------------------------------------

OMG I'm crying my eyes out!!!!  But--before everyone starts rolling their eyes and wondering what has set me off THIS time....... it's a GOOD cry.  Truly.

But be warned, I'm trying to process so this will probably ramble a LOT!

The last several years of my life have been tough.  To say I've lost my way, and much of myself, would be a massive understatement.  Even more difficult, is that the people who knew me way back when...... pretty much aren't in my life anymore.  I started pulling away from many childhood friends my senior year of high school for various reasons.  One of which--I didn't know how to bridge the gap.  Socially awkward doesn't even BEGIN to cover it.  By graduation I was a virtual stranger.  I was so hell-bent on making my own way, carving out a new life.  I had to get away from my home town to understand just how desperately unhappy I had been, and that the ways I handled my pain alienated and wounded those around me.  My good friend, Greg, helped me to understand that.

Less than six months after graduation my friend, Ben died, and my world shattered.  I knew I loved him dearly, but didn't realize to what extent he was my best friend until he was gone.  Even reading emails from friends back home hurt too much to bear for oh-so-many reasons.  Several of my high school friends made an effort to tell me about Ben as soon as they heard.  They didn't want me to find out in a bad way.  And, as I tried to cope with our loss, they gave me many words of wisdom.  Most of which I wasn't ready to hear.  Walking away helped me submerge my heartbreak.

Within the last few months, a childhood/high school friend and I have been in correspondence.  Our friendship, and our competitive battles, were legend.  Probably still are.  Within our circle of acquaintances, he and I probably defined love/hate.  Greg never felt intimidated by my father.  That or he hid it VERY well.  Probably the ONLY person from my youth to be that way, or the only male anyway.  He was the first friend to vocalize, albeit maybe not recognize, the great damage my family circumstances inflicted upon my heart; and that maybe, just maybe, my parents were partly culpable.
 

I keep MEANING to write Greg, and it keeps getting away from me.  And I'm so scattered most days that I have difficulty remembering what I have discussed with whom and when.  UG!  But as my 'sister' Spazz says: when in doubt, blame it on the meds.

Greg was also the first person to get ahold of me about Ben, and by FAR the most persistent.  He called my dorm room at 15-30 minute intervals all morning long until he finally reached me.  He, better than anyone, knew how much Ben's passing would affect me.

About two? weeks ago Greg sent me a quick letter.  I had started giving him answers to questions one night back in February, but stopped after my hands got tired.  (read: about 90 minutes)  As those of you who read my blogs can attest, once I get going I channel a Russian novelist.  My emails are worse.  Being tired, I told him I'd get him part 2 later.

But I didn't.

So Herr Greg sent me a quick note just to check in.  That by ITSELF melted my heart.  When, oh WHEN was the last time someone called or emailed just to check in?

Anyway, Greg is to be married this October.  Couldn't happen to a nicer guy, truly.  And I have my own, private reasons for rejoicing in his happiness.  (Read--I know things about him you don't.)  I asked him recently where he and his lovely finacee were registered, and what he might like as a wedding present.

His response was so moving and encouraging, that just thinking of it tears me up:

And, from your earlier message, please do not consider any tangible gifts. If you really want to get me something that I will honestly treasure, then strive to get out and stand on your own two legs again. You may have forgotten, but Pagan Princess strives on proving people wrong...and she has no limitations despite what anyone, casual or professional, may say. She just needs to be ready to decide it and it's done.......  Do that by October and I promise that you'll have given me my most cherished wedding gift.

With one short missive he brought back everything we once were to each other ages ago.  This is the man who instead of putting a trite quip in my senior yearbook wrote a letter to my unborn children telling them how blessed they are to have me as a mother--because they could never have one finer than myself.  Tonight there was another letter awaiting my when I logged in.  From his words, I can almost see the girl I was eleven years ago.  I have forgotten her, utterly and completely in so many ways.  I'm not her anymore, and I can't be again.  I'm wise enough to know that.  I'm also pleased with many of the ways I have grown beyond her.

***But some days I miss her so keenly that I fear catching a glimpse of the razor blades that surely must protrude from my chest.  What happened to the brash teen, so full of her own hubris that she'd defy God Himself just because she knew she could?  Where did the strong, intelligent, not-yet-a-woman go?  Is she still in here somewhere?  First arrogance matured to confident assertion. 

Next, slowly and then suddenly the sickness came.  The agonizingly slow death of the her soul leaving only the ghostly shell of who she once was.***

How do you recapture what once was, when knowing there is no going back???

Then tonight's missive, more loving and specific than that which came before, and I can't stop crying!  But the most confusing thing is, I don't know why!!!!

Have I lost the ability to trust those around me?  Those whom I love with a desperation that terrifies, that whatever words of encouragement they send my way bounce off the tattered armor I clutch to my heart?  Why should the words of someone who knew me THEN have the power to undo me in ways that no one since has been able to acheive????

I suppose the simplest truth---is because he DID know me.  In all my glory and gore, Greg knew me; loved me, understood me.  Sadly, we probably hurt each other as much as we loved because in our own ways we were each young, damaged, and hurting.  Were I to ask, I'll wager he could recall many of my exploits in such vivid detail, you would think the narrative sprung from his active artist's imagination.  He certainly entertained the masses with his embellished recounting of my varied follies!  A truer jester I have never known, Greg.  Fifty years ago he'd have given Danny Kaye a run for his money.

So, here's to those who came before.  Who see and know things about us we may WISH to forget  and thus keep us in line.  Those who know our hurts, and always save time for a hug and prayer.  

Today I am crying, but for the first time in a long time I remember how it feels to be blessed.

***

not all of this paragraph is entirely, originally my own.  I know that some of it was inspired by Elizabeth Wurtzel's Prozac Nation, and other written sources.  And I often lose track of what metaphors I think of independently only to see in print later.

 

 

M. from Omaha

today's entry is again a blast from the past.  I originally journalled this back in summer 2006.  Looking at it now, I can see how early I was in my fledgling recovery.  Some of the themes still hit close to home on bad days, but also shows me how far I've come in the years since.  I think it will give many of you insight into how I process things.  And how much of an utterly clueless DORK I can be when it comes to the opposite sex.  Intellectualizing everything usually isn't the smartest course of action.  Interesting as I read it now, I wonder if I was trying to convince myself, or the all-knowing journal-person.  It feels maudlin, reading it now, but it's how I felt at that time. 

and remember kids-- feelings are neither good nor bad, they just are.

Well, it was fun while it lasted.

I joined a social networking service (emphasis on dating) in March.  Thus far it hasn’t yielded many results.  But that’s neither here nor there.  In May I started communication with M. from Omaha.  I thought this one had potential.

M. is intelligent, educated, articulate, cultured, funny, a successful businessman. But the real kickers------------he loves to ballroom dance and is a UU.  I can’t remember the last time I went dancing, just how sorely I miss it.  I know it was back during my junior year of college, and that’s been six years now.  Happily, as a Unitarian his philosophy would be VERY compatible with my pagan faith.

We had amazing conversations.  He was a wonderful flirt.  A friend of mine refers to it as “intellectual foreplay”.  Very accurate statement.  He stimulated my mind in challenging and delightful ways.  And the flirting was something I’ve nearly forgotten.  Certainly enjoyed it.   It’s been a long time since I’ve had a man express appreciation for me as a woman.  In ANY respect, let alone been able to access my mind at the same time.  The substance of our communiqués was sustaining on several levels.

But a little over two weeks ago, he finally asked about J.  While we hadn’t as of yet discussed particulars, I’m kind of confused how he missed her.  Must not have been paying attention.  I mention her right on my profile page.  The section specifically states “List three things in your life for which you are most thankful”.  I listed “my Labrador J”. After the Ren. faire at Jubilee I vented a bit about while the day was fun, she had been a nightmare.  He questioned who she was.

I was short and candid--------------J is my seven year old yellow Labrador.  She is also my service dog. Are you scared now?

The inevitable response came------------Are you blind?

I kept my answer brief but detailed.  Emphasized the positive such as my stability, careful planning, docs, support system.  Used the metaphor of denying a Type I diabetic her insulin.   I also enclosed several files of reading material. From laity to professional grade intel, complete with graphics.  Told him to digest and feel free to ask any Q’s he has.

And I haven’t heard from him since.

At the 8 day mark last week I send him a short missive.   The standard how are you, how you been, haven’t heard from you, hope you’re well, etc.  It has been over a week yet again, and I’m fairly certain he’s a lost cause.

I’m afraid I can’t suppress my disappointment.

I can completely understand how someone does not wish to pursue a relationship with someone differently-abled in the clinical sense of the term.  I know I do not.  While some may feel that I am being <fit negative adj here> in this desire, it is more a case of self-preservation.   I know I need a certain amount of stability and support.   I need a partner to be able to provide that on a consistent basis.  Bare fact.  An individual who has a certain degree of severity regarding their own challenges would not be able to provide that.  Neither he nor I need that stress and heartache.  Especially considering that mental illness can easily become short term, long term, or permanently disabling depending upon how the fates have aligned.

There is a part of me that wonders that if I fall into the abyss again, if I’ll be able to get back out.   It gets old, and more difficult each time.  And I get tired.  So very tired of fighting the good fight every single day.   I highly doubt my parents could survive me fully tanking again.  It would probably kill my mother.

I promised myself I would never be re-admitted to a psych ward.  And I meant it. I would rather “go home” permanently than be that sick again.  For the record, I self-admitted. So part of me was thinking wisely.  **

While I give thanks that my health has been fairly stable for a few years now, it was not always so.  There were YEARS when I was non-functional, to varying degrees of time and severity.   I’d stop eating, bathing, communicating with others.  Sleeping 18 hours a day only to get up to semi-watch tv was fairly common.  Having a basement apartment 10 miles from campus was one of the more foolish decisions I have made in the last ten years.  I depend on my support system at unpredictable times.

J does quite a bit, but she doesn’t talk, and can’t dole out pills.   Though she can bring them to me as well as water if told to do so.   Of course, I have to be VERBAL ENOUGH to give her the commands.  I forget how bad it can get, even for 24 hours, if I’m not mindful of it.  No amount of chemicals can fix everything, or keep me on the straight path by itself for any long stretch of time.

So I understand his decision.   I can’t help being hurt by it.   It’s discouraging.  And I feel that he could have had the courtesy to at least inform me that he was no longer interested.  It’s taken me a VERY long time to feel worthy of a partner despite my illness. Fairly consistent work for a good two years now.  This development doesn’t help that self-esteem issue.

I suppose what makes me so sad some times, like this evening, is how I see how others’ lives are unfolding.  I keep running into high school friends/acquaintances who are partnering up, starting families.  Quite a few have been married for years and have multiple children.   I have two adopted nieces and one nephew among my inner circle.  Ages 18 months to five.   Close friends who are very content with their partners.   Good, stable marriages, many of which are true mated pairings.   I can’t help feeling that I got left behind.

Feeling this way is a major pain in the ass. I do not regret the path I chose.  I was not ready for a long-term partner or a family earlier, even before the disease took control.  I am only now getting to that point.  I was education/career focused for a VERY long time.  Very one track mind.  Fairly ironic since I currently have neither career nor college degree.  Ten years ago I’d have thought I’d have my PhD and be working on tenure at a good university by now.  I wanted to be well-established before I thought about a major evolution in my personal life.  And I am thankful that I had the wisdom to NOT attempt either a physical or romantic partner during the times that I was NOT stable enough to maintain myself, let ALONE a relationship.

No one wants their partner to fall apart.   It’s hard when it happens, and not everyone has the strength to see it through.  And no one with a fair amount of wisdom chooses someone who is ill to the point of disability.  And I mean dis-ability, not someone functional who has a physical/mental challenge.  That one is my harsh vision of reality.  Feel free to disagree, but please don’t beat me up about it.  I know some people are capable of giving that much.  I am NOT, nor I don’t WANT to try.  At least not this lifetime.

That is why it has been so hard for me to even fathom someone wanting to be involved with me.

The last psuedo-date I had was over a year ago.  It wasn’t really a romantic relationship.  He is a very good friend with whom I had a “special friends” arrangement.  Our benefits were limited in scope and frequency.  Over time the situation caused me more pain than fulfilment.  Being a place-holder for someone who you KNOW doesn’t want everything with you in the long run…………… After a while my emotional needs just weren’t getting met.  We used each other as surrogates, and we both knew it.  Me more than him.  I walked into it eyes open, albeit not cognizant of the possible repercussions.  He is one of my closest friends, we love each other dearly, and are in regular contact.  We both suffer with him now living out of state.

This wanting a relationship is a new feeling for me, and I’m not quite sure how to handle it.   Ever since I reprogrammed the whole Western “you must have a wife/husband to be happy” mentality in early college it hasn’t been an issue. Next I tackled the “you must find your one, true soulmate to feel complete." Interesting that I am no longer satisfied to be a single female.   I don’t know how much of it is loneliness.   Maybe because I’m approaching 30.  Maybe because I can’t remember the last date I had.  I know there is a part of me that sorely misses the emotional intimacy that comes from dating someone.  Being around happy couples frustrates the hell out of me some days.

I really don’t know.  Thankfully, I get fulfilment and satisfaction from many things in my current life.  I am still balanced enough to feel complete without having that elusive partner.  If that changes, I will REALLY be in trouble.

** "go home" is a phrase referring to death.  Go home, to where one is pain-free be with those who you love and have gone before.

The Pond is Still

Today's post comes from a journal entry I originally wrote back in late May/early June of 2005.  J had been with me for about 9 months, and I had returned to work full time in late March.  It was a big adjustment, and very tiring.  I was working in a call center with all the fun that entails.  ;)  The company was very good to us, and gave me all the help and reasonable accommodations that I could have wished.

I had been having a few bad weeks, not sleeping well at ALL.  It was starting to impact my work and creating social problems for me at the office.

The only blessing I can see to being so heavily drugged, is that I slept straight through the night for the first time in over a month.   Don't particularly care for the zonked out, OD feeling I'm experiencing.  I'm overly calm and quiet on the phone, not myself at all.   I understanding how Shawn used to complain about being over-medicated when we were kids, feeling trapped inside your head yet outside your body.

I couldn't move quickly it I wanted to.  I just need to trust that the doc knows what he's doing with these significant med increases.  He even added a strong neural depressant--which I think is the main reason for this continual stupor. Maybe in a few days my system will adjust.  God I HOPE so!  I feel like an exhausted shell of myself.   Unable to even hold my head up and stare down the jerks who rudely spoke to and stared at me yesterday.  I don't even have pride to fall back on in this state.

I lay down for 10 minutes, the last few of my lunch break, and ended up sleeping for over 45!  My supervisor is going to kill me.  Especially after the lecture I got just last week on schedule adherence.

Phillip's been taking J out to the bathroom as I sit here like worthless bump on a chair.  Out of sorts--as Phillip puts it--doesn't even begin to scratch the surface.   It feels as though it takes eons for a single coherent thought to bubble up from the depths of my mind.

The pond is still, unnaturally so,
so that any breeze ruffling through the surrounding trees doesn't disturb the water.

The night is dark, no moon
                                              or stars,
and yet there is a faint light to see by.
No animals--

nothing stirs.


Just my barren, darkened mind
                                                         trying
to product thoughts,
wasting for lack of light.


Longing for sleep, yet
                                           fearing what comes
with true consciousness,
the realizations of pain caused.


Blissfully, another pill sinks beneath the surface of the pond.
For here pain is
                              dulled
                                                 and guilt
cannot intrude.