Here are the highlights of the past few weeks.
Saw my psychiatrist on 3/2. I had run out of some of my meds and had tapered off taking them. (For the interested, they were Topomax, Lamictal, Trazadone and Adderall --yeah, I was taking them all for this bone crushing chronic depression I have suffered for SO LONG. I figured it out and I've been on an SSRI since Granger was 2 -- so nearly 15 years ...) I was still taking Cymbalta (too) but had tapered it down because I was running out. I was still also taking Wellbutrin every day.
I stopped taking them because I ran out and didn't make/take time to go get an appointment. But nothing had really been working to stop my depression anyway so I was not feeling much different when I was down to 1/2 dose of Cymbalta + regular dose of Wellbutrin.
He said this was a golden opportunity to try a relatively new drug, Emsam. It is an MAO inhibitor (a type of anti depressant used for a very long time). It isn't used much because dietary restrictions go with it -- nothing aged (cheese, wine, salami, etc.) and many overthecounter drugs interact with it badly. But Emsam had a new transdermal delivery system and so it doesn't come with the dietary restrictions (but is still sensitive with OTC drugs).
I went on Emsam and off everything else cold turkey. WHAT A MISTAKE. By 3/8 I was a gigantic puddle of slobber on the floor. Couldn't stop crying couldn't stop SCREAMING at my kids, couldn't concentrate at work ... cried cried cried. The best therapist in the world (he IS) told me to go back to the psychiatrist so I saw him again that night and he said it was just the withdrawal effects and give it another week. The next day it was so much worse that I went to the psychiatrist again and insisted on getting off the Emsam and back on the other stuff. He convinced me not to, and added Xanax (sweet xanax) to help me sleep/reduce anxiety.
I worked that Friday, then slept until 9 a.m. Monday (sweet xanax). (That's an exaggeration but not much -- I slept as much as possible because I couldn't bear to be awake). However, Saturday night I had a GIGANTIC fight with my kids' dad and got into a conversation with my therapist by phone from 10 p.m. to 2 a.m. (Told you he was the best therapist in the world.) He convinced me to go home finally and sleep. I did. Sunday I slept and on Monday I called in sick to work.
By Sunday late afternoon I knew the jig was up and I went to the ER. They admitted me with blood pressure 194/125 (OH MY GOD!) and blood sugar near 800 (Double OH MY GOD but I hadn't taken any insulin since Friday because I was sleeping, not eating ...).
I was there hoping to get relief from the withdrawal, but they treated the BP and diabetes aggressively as if the was my main complaint. I was in the ER from 9 p.m. to 6 a.m. and then around 10 a.m. this resident (I swear she was14 years old) came in to see how I was. I was no better -- hadn't even had a xanax by then for so long! She said they were going to put me back on the Emsam and keep the xanax going. Something in me snapped and I was pissed -- I said "I didn't need to come HERE to do that, why don't you re-examine the whole case and see what is really best in the big picture vs. the immediate situation." I didn't say it that nicely.
She said she'd take it back to 'the team' and talk about it. She then asked if I wanted to hurt myself (I didn't). Then she asked if I wanted to hurt anyone else. And I said "Only you. I want you to go put your highly educated brain to work and figure out how to help me. And give me something to sleep."
She said they were going to "hold off" on any medication, and then I stupidly said "Well that's stupid and it makes me want to hurt someone -- you. If you don't get out of here now I'll kick your ass." And then I decided I'd leave because at least my own psychiatrist would give me sleeping pills!!!!!!
She was back in 10 minutes with a form that put me on involuntary admission for 72 hours and I was PROMPTLY escorted to the locked ward. There are crazy people in there. OH MY GOD. The 72 hours passed v.e.r.y. s.l.o.w.l.y . and with no decision by 'the team' on what to do. First they decided on more MAO, but then changed t heir mind because they didn't think I'd comply with the dietary restrictions because of my track record with diabetes and failure to monitor the diet (true enough, but really -- I don't like gefeltefish and tofu and fava beans and rotted meat -- that was ACTUALLY on the restricted list -- so didn't think that would have been a big deal)
By the time my hold wore off I was better in general and was taking Abilify, an antianxiety drug (comfortingly called an "antipsychotic" though they assure me I am not psychotic ... who knows). It has made me somewhat manic and at the time in the hospital I couldn't sleep.
Did I mention the toothache? A back molar had an abscess, so they put me on antibiotics and said I couldn't go to the dentist because, well, I was locked up. I made a huge stink on Thursday about it and a dentist came to examine me that night said "I need to see her in my office tomorrow to drain that abscess." Friday? No appointment. A merry mixup I guess, no one coordinated a visit, guards to escort me, etc. I literally asked about it ever 15 minutes and kept track of what they said (Mostly "we're checking on it.")
That meant no appt Friday, and of course not Saturday and Sunday. When the 72 hour hold was up I was still SO PISSED about it all and then my tooth was KILLING ME. So guess what? A new hold! 14 days this time.
I asked for a hearing (my right) and contacted an attorney. The hearing was at 3 p.m. on Monday but at 11 a.m. they said t hey thought it was safe for me to go home. No new anti-depressants, I should see my psychiatrist. OH MY GOD. What I spent in the hospital for a week could have taken me to Hawaii for a week or two ... that may have been better in the long run. Who knows.
Oh, unless I want to do electroshock therapy. They offered to keep me and do that ... sheesh. No thanks, thanks very much but no thanks. I was in the hospital a total of 7 days.
Out on Monday, to the dentist immediately, he extracted the tooth (now I need a $2500 implant ...) and I instantly felt much better. Had to go buy a refrigerator since mine had been out for two weeks by then, so Granger and I went to the Great Mall and did that and I got home around 9 p.m. EXHAUSTED but had only xanax to sleep. Bad night.
Tuesday I was up at FIVE A.M. and cleaning out my kitchen s helves (the last thing I need to do -- the pile on the table is six feet high and I decide to clean INSIDE the cupboards?). Got it started, then took the kids to school, then to the coffee shop to check email. I cannot sit still, so decide to blow off the Abilify. My blood sugar and blood pressure are under control now that I am checking both and taking Lisinopril (however you spell it) for my BP. I hate being old.
Saw my psychiatrist Tuesday and he was happy to prescribe Ambien (sweet Ambien). He is a drug pusher. Really. Anyway, at least I can sleep. Still so jumpy when I saw my therapist on Wednesday he insisted I go BACK and ask for something to counter the effects of the Abilify or go off the Abilify. SO back to the psych and yeah, sure, there's a good drug (Cogentin?) that counters Abilify's manic side effects. So nice of him to offer it 24 hours earlier, eh?)
It's been no better from the jumpiness/can't sit still perspective since then, not sure what to do .... I have been up and down 15 times since starting this email. Today we had T-ball opening ceremonies, was there from 10 a.m. to 1:30, then my kiddo's sixth bday party from 2-4. What a day. Slept a little when I got home but just can't seem to get the napping science back down -- I used to be a champion napper. Can't say I feel BETTER or less depressed but at least I am functioning somewhat.
Did I mention I'm coach of the T-ball team? At a parent meeting Tuesday they said we can't have a team unless we have a coach. No one raised their hand so I stupidly did. I bought a book "How to Coach T-Ball," so we'll see how that goes. The first practice was good, I was up most of last night making the team flag for today's opening day and we had opening day activities in the hot hot sun today.
I've decided to take a month's leave of absence at work. I will get 66% of my salary, not bad and I think it will be OK. I need to get my chemicals in balance. I am so not optimistic about this, but have two new mantras: One moment at a time -- I can always count to five to get through something, even if I count my breath to five five million times.
And "One thing at a time." I can't drive and talk on the cell phone and drink a diet coke and supervise kids. I can't do this email plus a bath for Walter plus making zucchini bread and trying to do 1,000,000 loads of laundry. One thing at a time. Right?
*See the sculpture's page. Isn't it great?
2 comments:
I'm so sorry you had to go through this nightmare. Time of work sounds like a good idea right now.
"One thing at a time." Good advice.
JustMe,
This is what I posted on my blog (NOT a plug -- I subscribe to yours), but I thought it might be complimentary to this person's post. I was on the verge of being "committed." Though I checked myself in after some family members just sort of put me in the van and took me to the hospital, the hospital would have been right to keep me; I was in full blown BPD mode!
This is your blog, I like it, and you decide if and where this belongs.
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I have just returned from a Thursday night to Tuesday morning all expenses paid vacation in the hospital psych ward (I met my deductible during my January hospital stay…). Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD)…and deep depression. I had been really stressed recently. The anxiety was crushing, the sadness was devastating, and the depression was overwhelming.
I have felt this way before — right before I have fallen into a suicidal state or a violent state. One time I wanted to hurt someone (physically). One time…I hurt someone I love. :’(
This time I recognized I was getting to that point…that point of no return… That line that when crossed often leads to words and hurt that cannot be taken back. No one — not even those who love and willingly live with those of us with BPD — deserves to be maltreated. BPD might be a reason, but an excuse it is not. A longer stride into distorted reality might lead into physically hurting one’s self and / or others. This time, I did not succumb to the desire to cut myself to…cope. It would have been deep and bloody…and I would have wound up in the hospital non voluntarily. Farther across the line, behaviors that lead to costly damage and even legal troubles are also likely — even for me, and I consider myself nonviolent.
I was at the very edge of this line and leaning forward into distorted reality. Another move forward…and I don’t know if I would be writing this now. I made a choice. I made it while I still could — with my toes still in functional reality — before I could cross the line. I made the difficult choice to deny what I felt was real…and to take action based upon what negative experiences I have from the past when I felt this same way or similar. I had to break the chain of events leading into this distorted reality…a room for only for one.
I’ve been suicidal, prone to SI, desired to hurt someone else, and lashed out violently against others and myself and even inanimate objects. I’ve been a danger to myself and others. It’s a scary place in one’s own mind in which to dwell. Knowing, however, when I am on the edge and leaning forward is empowering. With that knowledge comes great responsibility. I may “lose it” and not know what I am doing at a given time, but if I failed to listen to my mind, body, and soul and fail to act upon these warnings — when I fail to listen to those around me who care — I am responsible for my actions whether I am aware of them at the time of action or I remember them afterwards. BPD does not excuse my behavior even though it might explain it very well.
On listening to others…several persons stating the same things might just be right… One or two people might be wrong, but I must listen and examine myself in the light of the words and deeds of others — especially those who are close to me. I might be in wise mind; I could be right — I know myself better than any other. However, as the comedian Tim Wilson says, “…but I could be wrong.”
I don’t have this down to a science though. I wasn’t in the hospital too long before my stay turned into me against the staff. I signed myself in, and I was going to sign myself out! Talking with my amazing therapist didn’t even change my mind…even though I knew, logically, she was right… The doctors, however, were going to use loopholes in the law and red tape to keep me there against my will. Later, a truly compassionate nurse pulled me aside and explained to me that I was displaying classic BPD behavior and that I had no business being anywhere but where I was — safe and secure surrounded by professionals. No one likes to be told something like, “You are acting just like your father,” and the idea that I was acting just like someone with BPD really got my attention!
I calmed down — way down — and started “playing nicely with others” at that point… They let me out w/o a fight — a day later than I would have liked — but I needed the extra day. I felt strong when I left the hospital. To get through that last day and a half, I just kept telling myself just one more night, just x more meals, just one more dose of medicine, and this will end. It did. I am back at my computer typing this message to all who might read it…and hopefully learn and / or be encouraged by it.
On a totally unrelated note: I find myself urgently desiring a new Mac (Mactop). My Mac mini isn’t quite so portable… This Gateway laptop has taken a beating physically, and I overwork it to the point that I find it underpowered for day to day use — my day to day use anyway: I have 12 windows open or minimized and about a half dozen apps running. Yes, I need all of them! Only God himself can count the number of background programs running and Windows processes siphoning off resources! A gig of RAM ain’t what it used to be…
I didn’t see my BPD symptoms working against me. Once the nurse and I talked and I saw reality for what it was, I calmed down, relaxed, rested, and let my medicines do their work. I learned a lot about how I am when my flavor of BPD begins to distort my thinking. I’ve learned a bit about control — or lack thereof — and I have learned a bit about letting others who care about me…help me.
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