Disclaimer: This post is not meant to incite any hatred, mud-slinging, flaming or general bitchiness (except maybe for me to rant--but only about my own life and not anyone else's.) There seems to be enough of that going around the flogosphere these days and I won't add to it. So please try and not take anything I say out of context. Religion is always a touchy subject but I feel like utter hell at the moment so why not toss it out there. Perhaps I would have fit right in there with the self-flagellants if I did believe during that time in history.
I am an atheist. I don't "preach" about it but if asked I don't hide this fact. I have been an atheist for...well, quite a long time now. I guess I would have to say for at least 10 years if I had to hazard a guess. Prior to that I would have to say that I was agnostic. My sister is a Jehovah's Witness, My father converted to Roman Catholicism in order to marry his third wife although be he and my mother were raised (loosely) in the Anglican Church. Oh, and my mother believes she is The Second Coming of Christ. No, I'm not joking. She's believed this ever since I was a child. Not in literal form but she believes that she is here to re-create a New World Order and she is to lead it. She has been "Sent By God" to do this. It's really fucking scary. And let's not forget the little gem drilled in to me since Day One that "I was Chosen By God to live." That's just too much weight (and guilt) for a small child to bear.
Aside: if you hadn't known about that there is some chance that my mother miscarried during her first trimester and lost a twin but I survived.
I have no problem with worship per se. Organized religion kind of gets my goat but I won't ramble on too much about that as it can get a bit heated and I don't want to go too off topic and start up. And I'm tired and sick. I do, however, respect everyone's right to believe what they wish. I have studied many religions of the world going back to my teens. I may need a bit of a refresher on some but at the end of the day, if it makes you a better, stronger person and can help you sleep well at night, what's the harm? I've seen my sister go through some frightful things in life and the members of her faith and Congregation were better to her than I could believe!
I've been envious at times of those with strong faiths. But I can't reconcile my own beliefs with that of organized religion for starters and that of a "Higher Power." I just haven't found anything that fits in my brain. Something that I can understand and accept. Something that makes sense.
I know a lot of people that believe in God and have faith say that you just have to "let go" and believe in things and have the faith and that is part of the process but I just can't. I can't believe in something that I can't have some sort of proof of...I can't just sit around and wait and wonder and merely "accept" something "on a promise." I do and have done enough of that already. I would simply rather adhere to what I can already intuit and see and derive. It makes me comfortable.
I don't want to turn this into a huge forum about religion. In fact, I kind of don't like arguing (errr... debating...) about it anyway and certainly not with zealots. As I stated above, I do not have a problem with anyone practising whatever religion they choose if it makes them a better person. I would respect the same treatment in return. I don't like people trying to convert me. I've had enough of that before, even from within my own family (not immediate but extended--my uncle is a Minister and they even tried to "faith heal" me many years ago...yikes it was a little scary as I was younger and didn't want them to do it but they kept pressuring me.)
I'm already kind of debating hitting the little orange "Publish" button as it is because I feel so low today. However, as they say, blogging is good for the "soul?"
Showing posts with label You Decide. Show all posts
Showing posts with label You Decide. Show all posts
Monday, March 19, 2007
Thursday, March 8, 2007
Confusing the Psychiatrists
Well, I just returned from my second psych evaluation. I never blogged about the first, I don't think? I can't remember. Well if I did (or did not) here's a brief review.
Of course with my "doctor anxiety" I was nervous as hell. Add to the fact that I hadn't had a full consult in about seven or eight years. I had no idea what to expect. It went alright, however. The psychiatrist at this "institution" had a gentle demeanor and a soft voice and we actually ran over the allotted time. I felt okay with it and he allowed me to ask as many questions as I needed.
Alright, I thought, this whole evaluation thing isn't so bad. Granted, it was difficult to pack your entire life's woes and psychological/neurological history into such a brief time span. I didn't cover everything in perhaps as much depth as I wanted with this man. The reason being, this consult was a "one off" and I did not expect any further appointments or follow ups with him. And again, I was nervous, unprepared and it was difficult. However, we went through Medication History, Family History/Trauma, Bipolar Disorder, Self Injurious Behaviour, Hospitalizations, ADD and a little bit about Aspergers.
After it all, he said he would "try and put something cohesive together" for my GP. I had to laugh a bit at that one.
Today was a bit different, however. I was mistaken about a lot of things. First, my appointment duration. I was told an hour, I only received 30 minutes. Also, I was under the impression I would be seeing this psychiatrist on an ongoing basis. Nope. But more on that later. Also, this man was not as...well, he certainly had a different "demeanor" than the first psychiatrist I saw.
It was a good thing I was a bit more prepared for this appointment. 30 minutes! We very briefly touched on all of the above mentioned in the first appointment. He asked some fairly simple and straightforward questions and I answered them. I gave him my prepared "dossier" and he flipped through some of the pages. Basically some self-prepared notes about ADD and Aspergers and some highlighted notes from referenced materials etc...
He asked if he could keep all of it. I told him the copies were his.
He basically told me about a counselling group (i.e group therapy) for women who are trauma survivors and how I could take advantage of that. He also told me that I would not benefit from ongoing psychiatric treatment from a psychiatrist due to my problems with functioning and other issues. I have no idea what this means. I don't know if this is an allusion to the fact that I have Aspergers or not. He said that seeing a psychiatrist would only exacerbate my problems. He said that I already have a therapist, see a neurologist and have a GP so that is good enough. Well, then why offer me group therapy? During all of this I simply stated that people with Aspergers do not usually do well in therapy. He agreed.
I still remain confused.
I did manage to get out of him his med recommendations. He had five. Ooh, decisions, decisions! He also casually mentioned one of them, Risperdal, would be helpful with both Bipolar and Aspergers. I told him that yes, I knew this. I also had to remind him of another med that would probably be helpful. He agreed and wrote it down. I so often wonder what doctors think of me when I stroll into their offices and spout such things.
So at that point, time was pretty much up. I felt unfulfilled. I asked him what he thought of the ADD and Aspergers. He said it was hard to tell due to "other issues" and the trauma I had been through. Alright. I understand all about truama and it does not preclude neurological disorders. I also argued high comorbidity rates (and even had that reference material with me.) I asked him if he planned on reading what I had brought him. He said that yes, he would. As I was putting on my coat, I asked again, "So it wasn't all in vain, then?" He said that no, it wasn't.
Yes, I can be terribly blunt.
Now I understand that clinicians can not provide diagnoses on the spot and I did give him a fair amount of documentation to review but a little more feedback would have been helpful.
Shoot, I can't stream the song I wanted for my new MP3 so you'll just have to go with my second choice. "One In Ten Words" by The Spoons. Canadian Band and the poppy little song is from my youth...it makes me laugh about communication.
Of course with my "doctor anxiety" I was nervous as hell. Add to the fact that I hadn't had a full consult in about seven or eight years. I had no idea what to expect. It went alright, however. The psychiatrist at this "institution" had a gentle demeanor and a soft voice and we actually ran over the allotted time. I felt okay with it and he allowed me to ask as many questions as I needed.
Alright, I thought, this whole evaluation thing isn't so bad. Granted, it was difficult to pack your entire life's woes and psychological/neurological history into such a brief time span. I didn't cover everything in perhaps as much depth as I wanted with this man. The reason being, this consult was a "one off" and I did not expect any further appointments or follow ups with him. And again, I was nervous, unprepared and it was difficult. However, we went through Medication History, Family History/Trauma, Bipolar Disorder, Self Injurious Behaviour, Hospitalizations, ADD and a little bit about Aspergers.
After it all, he said he would "try and put something cohesive together" for my GP. I had to laugh a bit at that one.
Today was a bit different, however. I was mistaken about a lot of things. First, my appointment duration. I was told an hour, I only received 30 minutes. Also, I was under the impression I would be seeing this psychiatrist on an ongoing basis. Nope. But more on that later. Also, this man was not as...well, he certainly had a different "demeanor" than the first psychiatrist I saw.
It was a good thing I was a bit more prepared for this appointment. 30 minutes! We very briefly touched on all of the above mentioned in the first appointment. He asked some fairly simple and straightforward questions and I answered them. I gave him my prepared "dossier" and he flipped through some of the pages. Basically some self-prepared notes about ADD and Aspergers and some highlighted notes from referenced materials etc...
He asked if he could keep all of it. I told him the copies were his.
He basically told me about a counselling group (i.e group therapy) for women who are trauma survivors and how I could take advantage of that. He also told me that I would not benefit from ongoing psychiatric treatment from a psychiatrist due to my problems with functioning and other issues. I have no idea what this means. I don't know if this is an allusion to the fact that I have Aspergers or not. He said that seeing a psychiatrist would only exacerbate my problems. He said that I already have a therapist, see a neurologist and have a GP so that is good enough. Well, then why offer me group therapy? During all of this I simply stated that people with Aspergers do not usually do well in therapy. He agreed.
I still remain confused.
I did manage to get out of him his med recommendations. He had five. Ooh, decisions, decisions! He also casually mentioned one of them, Risperdal, would be helpful with both Bipolar and Aspergers. I told him that yes, I knew this. I also had to remind him of another med that would probably be helpful. He agreed and wrote it down. I so often wonder what doctors think of me when I stroll into their offices and spout such things.
So at that point, time was pretty much up. I felt unfulfilled. I asked him what he thought of the ADD and Aspergers. He said it was hard to tell due to "other issues" and the trauma I had been through. Alright. I understand all about truama and it does not preclude neurological disorders. I also argued high comorbidity rates (and even had that reference material with me.) I asked him if he planned on reading what I had brought him. He said that yes, he would. As I was putting on my coat, I asked again, "So it wasn't all in vain, then?" He said that no, it wasn't.
Yes, I can be terribly blunt.
Now I understand that clinicians can not provide diagnoses on the spot and I did give him a fair amount of documentation to review but a little more feedback would have been helpful.
Shoot, I can't stream the song I wanted for my new MP3 so you'll just have to go with my second choice. "One In Ten Words" by The Spoons. Canadian Band and the poppy little song is from my youth...it makes me laugh about communication.
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
Karmic Retribution?
I just had a wonderful, long talk with an old friend of mine.
Years ago, I was fired from a job for being "mentally ill." Of course, this was not the reason they gave but no matter, we all knew that was the truth. I had chosen to be open about my illness--I had no recourse. I had been hospitalized twice; I had even been visited during one of them by my Manager and Supervisor (much to my horror!) I believed they were trying to be supportive. Maybe at the time they were. I do not know.
I had no means for litigation--I was broke! I was close to living on the street as I had to barter my last month's rent by painting and doing some odd job work in another unit in the building lest my landlord try to evict me. I chose another "free" route via the government to seek what was owed to me.
I was "vindicated," I suppose. I did not receive the full settlement I was entitled to by law but I did receive a portion of it. That was all they were willing to give and I could have rejected it but I couldn't face going through the entire process again. It was too lenghty and too upsetting.
The company could have appealed everything entirely but they chose not to. I guess this means that in doing so, they were admitting that they were in fact liable and it was a case of "wrongful dismissal." I did not receive any apologies, however. The victory seemed hollow.
And it was truly brutal facing my Ex-Manager (who was now also my Ex-Friend,) my Ex-Supervisor, the head of Human Resources and the completely ridiculous lawyer they had hired all by myself.
Anyway, I had not spoken to this friend of mine in a long time. He still works there. Many changes have taken place since I left. I have found out that Ex-Manager/Friend and Ex-Supervisor had "been removed" perhaps due to performance issues and one has failed miserably (Ex-Supervisor) in a new position. I have also found out that the company has lost the contract where we all worked and will probably never get it back--it was worth a lot of money. I have also found out that over the years, several other people have deluged them with other wrongful dismissal claims.
I wonder how they made out?
Call me a bitch but I am still bitter to the core about this. I was treated horribly and the things I was asked to do, the way I was made to "behave" after I came back to work at this job--it was sickening. I was trying at the time to figure a way to get out but apparently that decision was made for my by a bunch of ignorant, discriminatory, unfeeling assholes.
Years ago, I was fired from a job for being "mentally ill." Of course, this was not the reason they gave but no matter, we all knew that was the truth. I had chosen to be open about my illness--I had no recourse. I had been hospitalized twice; I had even been visited during one of them by my Manager and Supervisor (much to my horror!) I believed they were trying to be supportive. Maybe at the time they were. I do not know.
I had no means for litigation--I was broke! I was close to living on the street as I had to barter my last month's rent by painting and doing some odd job work in another unit in the building lest my landlord try to evict me. I chose another "free" route via the government to seek what was owed to me.
I was "vindicated," I suppose. I did not receive the full settlement I was entitled to by law but I did receive a portion of it. That was all they were willing to give and I could have rejected it but I couldn't face going through the entire process again. It was too lenghty and too upsetting.
The company could have appealed everything entirely but they chose not to. I guess this means that in doing so, they were admitting that they were in fact liable and it was a case of "wrongful dismissal." I did not receive any apologies, however. The victory seemed hollow.
And it was truly brutal facing my Ex-Manager (who was now also my Ex-Friend,) my Ex-Supervisor, the head of Human Resources and the completely ridiculous lawyer they had hired all by myself.
Anyway, I had not spoken to this friend of mine in a long time. He still works there. Many changes have taken place since I left. I have found out that Ex-Manager/Friend and Ex-Supervisor had "been removed" perhaps due to performance issues and one has failed miserably (Ex-Supervisor) in a new position. I have also found out that the company has lost the contract where we all worked and will probably never get it back--it was worth a lot of money. I have also found out that over the years, several other people have deluged them with other wrongful dismissal claims.
I wonder how they made out?
Call me a bitch but I am still bitter to the core about this. I was treated horribly and the things I was asked to do, the way I was made to "behave" after I came back to work at this job--it was sickening. I was trying at the time to figure a way to get out but apparently that decision was made for my by a bunch of ignorant, discriminatory, unfeeling assholes.
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
And Speaking Of Impulsiveness And Decision Making...
I was drooling over MacBooks while bored at work today. I have taken to sitting up at night working on my obsolete PowerBook where equally obsolete pieces of writing reside. Well, some of the pieces are still useful, I have found. Also slightly out of date but useful is some of the software on the machine.
I mentioned this to my partner when I came home and she simply said:
"Well, you can afford it. Buy it!"
Perhaps not the sort of encouragement I need?!
Now the first order of business would be the ability to transfer my entire iTunes library from PC to Mac. I believe this can be done? And then presumably, my current iPod should work? I believe at time of purchase, when you specify for Mac or PC the only reason is for the software. Otherwise, the unit is the same?
Forgive me for I art technologically dumb.
I hate the PC we have at home. It's a Dell which should be reputable but it has been buggy since it was first purchased.
So what do you think, everyone? Should I get a MacBook?
I mentioned this to my partner when I came home and she simply said:
"Well, you can afford it. Buy it!"
Perhaps not the sort of encouragement I need?!
Now the first order of business would be the ability to transfer my entire iTunes library from PC to Mac. I believe this can be done? And then presumably, my current iPod should work? I believe at time of purchase, when you specify for Mac or PC the only reason is for the software. Otherwise, the unit is the same?
Forgive me for I art technologically dumb.
I hate the PC we have at home. It's a Dell which should be reputable but it has been buggy since it was first purchased.
So what do you think, everyone? Should I get a MacBook?
Monday, February 19, 2007
Some People Are Just Mean?
Some symptoms you can alleviate and some you just can't?
I've met a lot of mean people in my life and well, I don't think their stripes will ever change.
Edit: There was a hyperlink here but the NYT archived the article. So for those of you that do not have online access to read said archived articles, here is the story:
Further Edit: You know, contrary to popular opinion(?) PA does have a conscience and you know, I just can't bring myself to post the damned copyrighted article!
So I will give you a choice. You may either link to the NYT and just type in your personal info to access it (it's free, no biggie) here. If it doesn't take you directly to the article it is called "About That Mean Streak of Yours: Psychiatry Can Only Do So Much"
Conversely, someone else on their blog has posted it so if you wish to engage in illegal copyright perusal, you may read it here. They apparently have more chutzpah than I do.
This post has obviously been more stress inducing than intended for me. Maybe time for a yet another blogging break?
I've met a lot of mean people in my life and well, I don't think their stripes will ever change.
Edit: There was a hyperlink here but the NYT archived the article. So for those of you that do not have online access to read said archived articles, here is the story:
Further Edit: You know, contrary to popular opinion(?) PA does have a conscience and you know, I just can't bring myself to post the damned copyrighted article!
So I will give you a choice. You may either link to the NYT and just type in your personal info to access it (it's free, no biggie) here. If it doesn't take you directly to the article it is called "About That Mean Streak of Yours: Psychiatry Can Only Do So Much"
Conversely, someone else on their blog has posted it so if you wish to engage in illegal copyright perusal, you may read it here. They apparently have more chutzpah than I do.
This post has obviously been more stress inducing than intended for me. Maybe time for a yet another blogging break?
Thursday, February 15, 2007
My Psych Hospitalizations: The Good, The Bad...And The Slightly Out Of Control? - Part I
When I had a psych consult earlier this week, one of the questions posed to me was, have my previous hospitalizations been helpful to me. On balance, I would say yes. I do advocate hospitalization whenever you are in crisis, absolute dire straits, suicidal or in danger of hurting yourself or anyone else.
I've been thinking of how to write about my hospitalization experiences for a long time now. I've had five, in total. I've thought over and over how to make it all cohesive and coherent but I'm not sure if I can. That might be okay as when you're inpatient, you may not be all that cohesive and coherent yourself.
So I think I'll just give it a go. Be forewarned, this will be long and will contain some rather...how can I describe it...intimate, graphic, ludicrous detail? However, this blog being what it is it should not surprise you.
Hospitalization #5: Cutting - Medically Helpful Yes, Psychiatrically Helpful No
I had self harmed for the second time and required stitches. I knew that this would result in me needing to be admitted to the psychiatric ward but there was no way around it. The cut was bad. And really, I was in pretty rough shape. In retrospect, I think I had been cycling all over the place and had pretty much reached a peak. I knew the drill since this was number five. I packed a bag with all of my essentials, called a cab and off I went.
Now I had not been hospitalized in several years. My how things had changed! I was stitched up in the ER by a decent enough doctor who was certainly not unsympathetic. She wasn't overly kind but at least she didn't treat me in any negative way. I was seen by the Head of Psychiatry early in the morning and he actually remembered me from previous stays. This was kind of impressive but I really didn't care. I just wanted to get out of the ER.
So there began my stay. I wasn't sure how long I would stay but it quickly became evident that it would be the minimum 72 hours. The nurses were locked behind some kind of fishbowl and were completely inattentive or rude. And I don't say this with any ill-tempered patient judgment. I love nurses! I wanted to be one! It is just plain fact. No one could get any sort of help if they needed it. You couldn't even ask a simple question. You were routinely ignored. This was not the psych wards of days gone past!
So I actually took it upon myself to assist patients in need. Oh it was sad. One poor soul couldn't even cut her food she was so distraught! She asked me to and I thought, well shit, half the time everyone's so damn depressed they don't want to eat, the least I can do is help the poor woman out!
I met a young-ish (slightly younger than me) man with Schizophrenia and we seemed to get along. He was terribly awkward and shy but he was somehow drawn to me and eventually we began to dialogue a bit. So one evening, we went and talked in my room (after I had stolen a bunch of scientific-type magazines to try and read from "the lounge.") We were promptly interruped by a nurse who told us that men and women weren't allowed in each others' rooms! What the...? We were just talking. What on earth did they think we were going to start doing? We departed to the "the lounge" where they told us we had to go but with everyone else congregating there and banging and clattering, he withdrew and no longer wanted to talk. Very helpful.
They did try to "stimulate" us with crafts and some type of art therapy. I was so bored out of my skull I thought I'd give it a try. And I was curious. I'd never done this while hospitalized as it was simply never offered. Well the crafts were a bloody joke. Something about making things called "happy boxes" or something with ridiculous cartoon quotes inside. I turned mine into something that looked like an acid trip/horror movie prop. I don't think the group leader was amused.
The art therapy was kind of interesting, however. We were asked to draw "how we felt at that moment." Then, if we could we were to try and explain the drawing to the class. Oh dear. I'm the sort of person that can't really draw a straight line with a ruler. Most people drew stick figures representing themselves. Not me. I came up with something that was actually kind of impressive. In a freakish sort of way. Rather abstract and morbid. I don't know if I impressed everyone or shocked them or a bit of both.
Anyway, after running around doing a whole lot of nothing, I decided to leave. My psychiatrist there was not willing to discuss any treatment options other than what he had already decided in his mind so I was out of there as soon as I could discharge myself.
Postscript: In reviewing this, I've decided that I will post each hospitalization separately as otherwise, this entire piece is going to be way too long for everyone to read.
I've been thinking of how to write about my hospitalization experiences for a long time now. I've had five, in total. I've thought over and over how to make it all cohesive and coherent but I'm not sure if I can. That might be okay as when you're inpatient, you may not be all that cohesive and coherent yourself.
So I think I'll just give it a go. Be forewarned, this will be long and will contain some rather...how can I describe it...intimate, graphic, ludicrous detail? However, this blog being what it is it should not surprise you.
Hospitalization #5: Cutting - Medically Helpful Yes, Psychiatrically Helpful No
I had self harmed for the second time and required stitches. I knew that this would result in me needing to be admitted to the psychiatric ward but there was no way around it. The cut was bad. And really, I was in pretty rough shape. In retrospect, I think I had been cycling all over the place and had pretty much reached a peak. I knew the drill since this was number five. I packed a bag with all of my essentials, called a cab and off I went.
Now I had not been hospitalized in several years. My how things had changed! I was stitched up in the ER by a decent enough doctor who was certainly not unsympathetic. She wasn't overly kind but at least she didn't treat me in any negative way. I was seen by the Head of Psychiatry early in the morning and he actually remembered me from previous stays. This was kind of impressive but I really didn't care. I just wanted to get out of the ER.
So there began my stay. I wasn't sure how long I would stay but it quickly became evident that it would be the minimum 72 hours. The nurses were locked behind some kind of fishbowl and were completely inattentive or rude. And I don't say this with any ill-tempered patient judgment. I love nurses! I wanted to be one! It is just plain fact. No one could get any sort of help if they needed it. You couldn't even ask a simple question. You were routinely ignored. This was not the psych wards of days gone past!
So I actually took it upon myself to assist patients in need. Oh it was sad. One poor soul couldn't even cut her food she was so distraught! She asked me to and I thought, well shit, half the time everyone's so damn depressed they don't want to eat, the least I can do is help the poor woman out!
I met a young-ish (slightly younger than me) man with Schizophrenia and we seemed to get along. He was terribly awkward and shy but he was somehow drawn to me and eventually we began to dialogue a bit. So one evening, we went and talked in my room (after I had stolen a bunch of scientific-type magazines to try and read from "the lounge.") We were promptly interruped by a nurse who told us that men and women weren't allowed in each others' rooms! What the...? We were just talking. What on earth did they think we were going to start doing? We departed to the "the lounge" where they told us we had to go but with everyone else congregating there and banging and clattering, he withdrew and no longer wanted to talk. Very helpful.
They did try to "stimulate" us with crafts and some type of art therapy. I was so bored out of my skull I thought I'd give it a try. And I was curious. I'd never done this while hospitalized as it was simply never offered. Well the crafts were a bloody joke. Something about making things called "happy boxes" or something with ridiculous cartoon quotes inside. I turned mine into something that looked like an acid trip/horror movie prop. I don't think the group leader was amused.
The art therapy was kind of interesting, however. We were asked to draw "how we felt at that moment." Then, if we could we were to try and explain the drawing to the class. Oh dear. I'm the sort of person that can't really draw a straight line with a ruler. Most people drew stick figures representing themselves. Not me. I came up with something that was actually kind of impressive. In a freakish sort of way. Rather abstract and morbid. I don't know if I impressed everyone or shocked them or a bit of both.
Anyway, after running around doing a whole lot of nothing, I decided to leave. My psychiatrist there was not willing to discuss any treatment options other than what he had already decided in his mind so I was out of there as soon as I could discharge myself.
Postscript: In reviewing this, I've decided that I will post each hospitalization separately as otherwise, this entire piece is going to be way too long for everyone to read.
My Psych Hospitalizations: The Good, The Bad And The Slightly Out Of Control? - Part II
Hospitalization #4 Overdose - Medically Helpful Absolutely, Psychiatrically Helpful Somewhat
I suffered my second and worst overdose and the last thing I remembered was opening the door for the paramedics. The next thing I remembered was waking up in the ER hooked up to several pieces of equipment many hours later. This obviously necessitated a psychiatric stay.
When a bed was ready for me, I was wheeled up to the ward and there I lay in that bed for several days. I did not eat much. I just lied there, thinking of what I had done. No one visited me. I don't remember any of the patients. I don't remember any of the nurses. It was like they were all ghosts.
At the end of my 72 hour hold, my psychiatrist asked me if I was still suicidal. I answered him directly that yes, of course I was. I always would be. That is what it is like to have Bipolar Disorder. It is just something that I would need to learn to live with and to manage.
He asked me if I wanted to go home. I told him yes and was discharged.
I suffered my second and worst overdose and the last thing I remembered was opening the door for the paramedics. The next thing I remembered was waking up in the ER hooked up to several pieces of equipment many hours later. This obviously necessitated a psychiatric stay.
When a bed was ready for me, I was wheeled up to the ward and there I lay in that bed for several days. I did not eat much. I just lied there, thinking of what I had done. No one visited me. I don't remember any of the patients. I don't remember any of the nurses. It was like they were all ghosts.
At the end of my 72 hour hold, my psychiatrist asked me if I was still suicidal. I answered him directly that yes, of course I was. I always would be. That is what it is like to have Bipolar Disorder. It is just something that I would need to learn to live with and to manage.
He asked me if I wanted to go home. I told him yes and was discharged.
My Psych Hospitalizations: The Good, The Bad And The Slightly Out Of Control? - Part III
Hospitalization #3 Voluntary Walk In - Medically Helpful N/A, Psychiatrically Helpful Definitely
I had a friend (from hospitalization #1...wait for it...) actually drive me to the hospital (and take care of my now deceased cat and apartment) as I felt that I was starting to lose it. I waltzed right in to the ER and stated something to the effect that my meds weren't working and that I needed help. I was told that "they were full" and there was nothing they could do. I didn't relish doing this but it was time to pull out the "crazy card." Apparently my "cry for help" wasn't loud enough.
I started crying, not really yelling but basically anything I could do to get their attention and indicate that I needed help. It worked and I was sent in an ambulance to another hospital. I was actually quite angry that I had to go to such lengths but it was worth it.
Catching yourself before you actually go into crisis, I find, is extremely rare. I don't know how I managed to do it but I somehow did. I've certainly never been able to do it again.
This hospital stay was the most relaxing ever. The ward was quiet, I just stayed in bed and it was almost like being on holiday! Since I was not suicidal I didn't have any ward restrictions, I could go outside for walks if I wanted, it was spring so the weather was nice so I did indeed go out for brief spells and sit in the sun.
After a week, I felt much better able to cope with everything.
I had a friend (from hospitalization #1...wait for it...) actually drive me to the hospital (and take care of my now deceased cat and apartment) as I felt that I was starting to lose it. I waltzed right in to the ER and stated something to the effect that my meds weren't working and that I needed help. I was told that "they were full" and there was nothing they could do. I didn't relish doing this but it was time to pull out the "crazy card." Apparently my "cry for help" wasn't loud enough.
I started crying, not really yelling but basically anything I could do to get their attention and indicate that I needed help. It worked and I was sent in an ambulance to another hospital. I was actually quite angry that I had to go to such lengths but it was worth it.
Catching yourself before you actually go into crisis, I find, is extremely rare. I don't know how I managed to do it but I somehow did. I've certainly never been able to do it again.
This hospital stay was the most relaxing ever. The ward was quiet, I just stayed in bed and it was almost like being on holiday! Since I was not suicidal I didn't have any ward restrictions, I could go outside for walks if I wanted, it was spring so the weather was nice so I did indeed go out for brief spells and sit in the sun.
After a week, I felt much better able to cope with everything.
My Psych Hospitalizations: The Good, The Bad And The Slightly Out Of Control? - Part IV
Hospitalization #2 Cutting - Medically Helpful Absolutely, Psychiatrically Helpful Toss Up
This cutting was very bad. It required surgery as I severed 3/4 or my median nerve in my wrist. All of the doctors were amazed that I did not hit any major arteries or veins. As a result, I was placed on a surgical ward and not on a psych ward. I did have a volunteer "minder" to watch me. I guess I must have been placed on some sort of "suicide watch?" I don't really know as I was so completely out of my mind on either Morphine, Demerol or both I didn't care. I do recall once that I did get up to use the bathroom and he started to follow me.
"Do you mind?"
"I'm supposed to keep an eye on you?"
"I have to go to the bathroom. Are you required to watch that too?"
Minder returned to his seat and awaited my return from the bathroom. Which was forthcoming and since I am still here he did a fine job of keeping me from killing myself.
This was a strange stay. I don't even recall speaking to a psychiatrist and I was never moved to a psych floor after the surgery was done and I had a few days of recovery time. Again, I was simply given the option to go home. Maybe a psychiatrist came to speak to me when I was all pumped up on the pain meds and I don't remember! HA! If so, I wonder what on earth I said! I do remember trying to talk on them and oh...I was making absolutely no sense at all. They just kept shooting me up and then gave me a self-administered unit... I don't even know if I needed that much medication but I wasn't going to say no to it. Not in that state of mind.
Probably the best part of that stay? The nurses! The nurses on that surgical floor were just the best. So kind and thoughtful. Always checking in on me and actually talking to me. They really made the stay so much better.
This cutting was very bad. It required surgery as I severed 3/4 or my median nerve in my wrist. All of the doctors were amazed that I did not hit any major arteries or veins. As a result, I was placed on a surgical ward and not on a psych ward. I did have a volunteer "minder" to watch me. I guess I must have been placed on some sort of "suicide watch?" I don't really know as I was so completely out of my mind on either Morphine, Demerol or both I didn't care. I do recall once that I did get up to use the bathroom and he started to follow me.
"Do you mind?"
"I'm supposed to keep an eye on you?"
"I have to go to the bathroom. Are you required to watch that too?"
Minder returned to his seat and awaited my return from the bathroom. Which was forthcoming and since I am still here he did a fine job of keeping me from killing myself.
This was a strange stay. I don't even recall speaking to a psychiatrist and I was never moved to a psych floor after the surgery was done and I had a few days of recovery time. Again, I was simply given the option to go home. Maybe a psychiatrist came to speak to me when I was all pumped up on the pain meds and I don't remember! HA! If so, I wonder what on earth I said! I do remember trying to talk on them and oh...I was making absolutely no sense at all. They just kept shooting me up and then gave me a self-administered unit... I don't even know if I needed that much medication but I wasn't going to say no to it. Not in that state of mind.
Probably the best part of that stay? The nurses! The nurses on that surgical floor were just the best. So kind and thoughtful. Always checking in on me and actually talking to me. They really made the stay so much better.
My Psych Hospitalizations: The Good, The Bad And The Slightly Out Of Control? - Part V
Hospitalization #1 Overdose - Medically Helpful Yes, Psychiatrically Helpful Yes
Well, we've reached the long end of the road folks but hang on to your hats. This ride gets a little bumpy. This overdose wasn't as bad as my second but it was significant enough. I did not lose consciousness but I did become very sick. Activated charcoal was used and that seemed to do the trick. But I had taken the pills dry (i.e. with no liquids--I had been driving) and developed a nasty case of thrush. And of course I would need to be admitted to the psych floor.
I was so scared. I had never been admitted to a psychiatric part of a hospital before. What would await me? But I was so sick and tired and completely a wreck that part of me just abandoned myself to the idea of whatever fate awaited me.
I was there for two weeks. For the first three days I was kept in a state of "detox" and literally did not move from my bed. Except perhaps to get up and go to the bathroom I just laid there and slept. I did have a few visitors but apart from that, they would bring my food, I would let it sit. I just laid in a ball.
The ward was noisy and large. This was a big hospital. I would try to shut the door but I was sharing the room with two other women. It was impossible to get any rest, any peace.
Finally on day three, the nurse stopped bringing me food. She told me that if I wanted to eat, I would need to come to the dining room like everyone else. Nice ploy. Trying to get me out of bed, are you? I wasn't all that hungry, maybe a little bit but I was thirsty and I wanted my juice! I waited until everyone had finished eating and it was quiet and I snuck into the dining area. A few people still remained. I grabbed my tray and picked at my food, drank my liquids. A fellow patient asked if she could have my dessert. I gave it to her. A loud voice called over:
"Hey, we won't bite, you know!"
I big smiling face looked at me. I tried to avoid eye contact. He laughed. "It's okay. Really."
And so began my "adventures" at this particular facility.
I spoke to this man as I continued to pick at my food. He was nice and made me feel more at ease. As a couple of days passed, I felt more confident and began leaving my room. I would always be met by him and he started introducing me to other patients. Pretty soon, we had a whole motley crew of us wreaking havoc.
We ranged in ages from teen years up to about mid-thirties and we all really got along. The man who I first met was kind of our "ringleader" and the one who liked to sort of act as a pseudo-father figure to anyone who needed one. I certainly didn't but I allowed him to assume a "protector" role regarding me if it made him feel better.
Some of the things we did? We snuck beer into the hospital and a few of us got drunk. Some of us had off ward privileges so we could smoke in an indoor smoking area but otherwise, you had to go outside. Well, it was the dead of winter so a lot of the time, we'd just smoke in the stairwells. As for others? I'm not really sure but there were a few fights on the ward. Mostly verbal altercations. As for me? Well, a few friends came and took me out for dinner and I got drunk and came back and fell asleep in "ringleader's" bed with him. It was innocent, we were just talking and I passed out! This next part...well, this was not so "innocent."
I became romantically involved with another patient during my stay at this hospital. We also saw each other briefly when we were discharged as outpatients but the relationship did not last. I didn't want to do it though! In fact, I fought it from the get go but this woman really got to me and being completely unstable...well, what can I say? Except: I do not recommend trolling for dates in a psych ward.
There was other zaniness. One "regular" to this ward was growing pot (and smoking it) in "the lounge." He also--and I have no idea how he did this--stole unbelievable amounts of medical/surgical supplies from the hospital and hid them in his room! How he managed to get off the ward and do this unnoticed is unfathomable! Another cute thing he did was run around and steal afghans for all of the women on the floor because it was winter and he didn't want us all to be cold. Once caught, we had them all taken away as they were made by some women's auxilliary or something. And yes, stealing is bad.
What's the phrase? The lunatics are running the asylum?
Ah yes...and another: Never as good as the first time.
Well, we've reached the long end of the road folks but hang on to your hats. This ride gets a little bumpy. This overdose wasn't as bad as my second but it was significant enough. I did not lose consciousness but I did become very sick. Activated charcoal was used and that seemed to do the trick. But I had taken the pills dry (i.e. with no liquids--I had been driving) and developed a nasty case of thrush. And of course I would need to be admitted to the psych floor.
I was so scared. I had never been admitted to a psychiatric part of a hospital before. What would await me? But I was so sick and tired and completely a wreck that part of me just abandoned myself to the idea of whatever fate awaited me.
I was there for two weeks. For the first three days I was kept in a state of "detox" and literally did not move from my bed. Except perhaps to get up and go to the bathroom I just laid there and slept. I did have a few visitors but apart from that, they would bring my food, I would let it sit. I just laid in a ball.
The ward was noisy and large. This was a big hospital. I would try to shut the door but I was sharing the room with two other women. It was impossible to get any rest, any peace.
Finally on day three, the nurse stopped bringing me food. She told me that if I wanted to eat, I would need to come to the dining room like everyone else. Nice ploy. Trying to get me out of bed, are you? I wasn't all that hungry, maybe a little bit but I was thirsty and I wanted my juice! I waited until everyone had finished eating and it was quiet and I snuck into the dining area. A few people still remained. I grabbed my tray and picked at my food, drank my liquids. A fellow patient asked if she could have my dessert. I gave it to her. A loud voice called over:
"Hey, we won't bite, you know!"
I big smiling face looked at me. I tried to avoid eye contact. He laughed. "It's okay. Really."
And so began my "adventures" at this particular facility.
I spoke to this man as I continued to pick at my food. He was nice and made me feel more at ease. As a couple of days passed, I felt more confident and began leaving my room. I would always be met by him and he started introducing me to other patients. Pretty soon, we had a whole motley crew of us wreaking havoc.
We ranged in ages from teen years up to about mid-thirties and we all really got along. The man who I first met was kind of our "ringleader" and the one who liked to sort of act as a pseudo-father figure to anyone who needed one. I certainly didn't but I allowed him to assume a "protector" role regarding me if it made him feel better.
Some of the things we did? We snuck beer into the hospital and a few of us got drunk. Some of us had off ward privileges so we could smoke in an indoor smoking area but otherwise, you had to go outside. Well, it was the dead of winter so a lot of the time, we'd just smoke in the stairwells. As for others? I'm not really sure but there were a few fights on the ward. Mostly verbal altercations. As for me? Well, a few friends came and took me out for dinner and I got drunk and came back and fell asleep in "ringleader's" bed with him. It was innocent, we were just talking and I passed out! This next part...well, this was not so "innocent."
I became romantically involved with another patient during my stay at this hospital. We also saw each other briefly when we were discharged as outpatients but the relationship did not last. I didn't want to do it though! In fact, I fought it from the get go but this woman really got to me and being completely unstable...well, what can I say? Except: I do not recommend trolling for dates in a psych ward.
There was other zaniness. One "regular" to this ward was growing pot (and smoking it) in "the lounge." He also--and I have no idea how he did this--stole unbelievable amounts of medical/surgical supplies from the hospital and hid them in his room! How he managed to get off the ward and do this unnoticed is unfathomable! Another cute thing he did was run around and steal afghans for all of the women on the floor because it was winter and he didn't want us all to be cold. Once caught, we had them all taken away as they were made by some women's auxilliary or something. And yes, stealing is bad.
What's the phrase? The lunatics are running the asylum?
Ah yes...and another: Never as good as the first time.
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
Finding A Muse For Blogging
Do you ever dream of your blogging life? That is to say, while you are asleep. I have said here that I don't remember my dreams very often but lately I have been dreaming of blogging. I have also said that I wanted to try and use this blog to help me write more creatively. The following piece is based on a recurring dream that I had over and over as a teenager.
Speaking of other "dreams," in my 20s I fantasized of becoming a "great writer" and eventually being published. I entered a Publishing Program in a university and the first thing I was told was that if you wanted to become a writer, do not enter the publishing world. I see.
I fear that I have suffered a bit of Hypomanic Hope-Extension over the years. It is similar to a physical condition that I sometimes experience as the result of taking my medication: Orthostatic Hypotension. With, OH, if you rise too quickly, your blood pressure drops and if you're not careful, you may fall and hurt yourself. With HH-E, if you are in a somewhat altered state of mind and believe that you are greater than you really are, your hopes may be somewhat dashed and again, you may be at risk of falling.
Nonetheless, I am still trying to be "inspired."
Here is the what would would greet me regularly upon awakening. And for those curious about dream detail it was always in black and white.
Speaking of other "dreams," in my 20s I fantasized of becoming a "great writer" and eventually being published. I entered a Publishing Program in a university and the first thing I was told was that if you wanted to become a writer, do not enter the publishing world. I see.
I fear that I have suffered a bit of Hypomanic Hope-Extension over the years. It is similar to a physical condition that I sometimes experience as the result of taking my medication: Orthostatic Hypotension. With, OH, if you rise too quickly, your blood pressure drops and if you're not careful, you may fall and hurt yourself. With HH-E, if you are in a somewhat altered state of mind and believe that you are greater than you really are, your hopes may be somewhat dashed and again, you may be at risk of falling.
Nonetheless, I am still trying to be "inspired."
Here is the what would would greet me regularly upon awakening. And for those curious about dream detail it was always in black and white.
He called to me from high above the cliff top. I stared into the sunlight attempting to discern his shaded form. He beckoned me closer to him with the wave of an arm. I slowly walked in the heavy, thick sand toward the mountainside and began climbing. It was treacherous as I reached for any piece of abutment I could grasp. A slab of rock that jutted out or what remained of a long lost root of a tree.
Wasted of breath and damp with sweat I was greeted with the warmest of smiles. He was older than I had expected. Perhaps as old as my grandfather? And certainly much larger than the tiny speck I had seen from down by the shore! Not overly tall but slightly rotund. We did not speak but only stared into each other’s eyes. Nothing changed except his smile, which seemed to only feel more enveloping as it slowly crept further across his face
Finally, he broke away from my gaze and looked up toward the sky. He raised his hands toward his mouth and uttered something inaudible to me. I followed his eyes to the clear, cloudless sky and within seconds a gull came soaring over our heads. The man turned back to me and smiled his same smile. The gull disappeared.
I stared at him, slightly confused. The man began to laugh and shook his head. He repeated his act, raised his head skyward, called again, silently to the air and again, the gull returned. This time, I stared a bit longer at the gull in amazement. What was this power, this magic? Who was this man? I turned back to him to now show him my pleasure and satisfaction and to in fact, say thank you but when I did, the man was gone. I spun around and looked everywhere but could not find him.
I was being called, yet again but this time from back down on the beach. The man was now standing where I originally was when he first summoned me to him. I carefully climbed down to meet him, as I desperately wanted to see more! When I reached his side, he again lifted his head back and called to the gull. I waited and with certainty the gull returned.
I watched it float effortlessly above us but after a few minutes, its flight changed course and it plunged directly into the ocean. I stood stiff with horror. I waited. Endlessly. Finally, I saw something shimmer in the water, not merely the bright sunlight’s reflection but movement. It was something round. First one, then several figures. And then they all grew larger. They became the bodies of SCUBA-clad divers and in their arms they carried a young woman.
Monday, February 12, 2007
Well, Someone Took My Request Literally (i.e. I Will Blog For You?)
Kidding. Again.
I received an email over the weekend with a link to some research (or as stated from the outset, a hypothesis) about Paternal Age and Schizophrenia. There's a wee bit about Autism in there as well. The person suggested that I have a look at it and perhaps blog about it.
Well, I'm not sure what to say other than a) it was interesting b) I have always loved genetics c) I am not an expert and d) I suppose I am always happy to satisfy what small reading public that I have.
I have also survived a rather long psychiatric evaluation today and am rather exhausted.
So perhaps I will just throw out the link and see if it engages any interesting discussion or debate. Perhaps you, dear readers, will be able to stimulate me further.
If interested, please read about it here.
I received an email over the weekend with a link to some research (or as stated from the outset, a hypothesis) about Paternal Age and Schizophrenia. There's a wee bit about Autism in there as well. The person suggested that I have a look at it and perhaps blog about it.
Well, I'm not sure what to say other than a) it was interesting b) I have always loved genetics c) I am not an expert and d) I suppose I am always happy to satisfy what small reading public that I have.
I have also survived a rather long psychiatric evaluation today and am rather exhausted.
So perhaps I will just throw out the link and see if it engages any interesting discussion or debate. Perhaps you, dear readers, will be able to stimulate me further.
If interested, please read about it here.
Tuesday, February 6, 2007
Writing: Bipolar
So as I've been in a bit of a blogging "funk" lately, I dug out my ancient Mac PowerBook last night to look at some of my old writing.
For those of you Macheads out there, you'll get a laugh out of this. It's a 5300cs. Basically a glorified typewriter/paperweight these days. With the emphasis on the "weight" part. It's not even fit for an internet connection. It still cranks away, though. It only froze on me once and gave me one disk error when I transferred this to a floppy disk to move it to a PC to place it here.
Yes, a floppy disk. Who uses those anymore?! I had to scavenge my desk at work to even try to find one!
I should try to rescue what's on it before it dies altogether although I think I have most of what's there in hardcopy form somewhere in the house?
Anyway, I wrote this a a few years ago. I can't quite remember when. I'm not sure if I like it or not. But it was written at a time in a place to capture a moment so here it is. And I have a thing for water. I just realized that as it also came up in my "writing assignment" from Cathy's "I Shall Not Waste My Days In Trying To Prolong Them" here.
I found something else, a fairly short story that I had started but it needs some further work so I think I may post that in the future as well.
For those of you Macheads out there, you'll get a laugh out of this. It's a 5300cs. Basically a glorified typewriter/paperweight these days. With the emphasis on the "weight" part. It's not even fit for an internet connection. It still cranks away, though. It only froze on me once and gave me one disk error when I transferred this to a floppy disk to move it to a PC to place it here.
Yes, a floppy disk. Who uses those anymore?! I had to scavenge my desk at work to even try to find one!
I should try to rescue what's on it before it dies altogether although I think I have most of what's there in hardcopy form somewhere in the house?
Anyway, I wrote this a a few years ago. I can't quite remember when. I'm not sure if I like it or not. But it was written at a time in a place to capture a moment so here it is. And I have a thing for water. I just realized that as it also came up in my "writing assignment" from Cathy's "I Shall Not Waste My Days In Trying To Prolong Them" here.
I found something else, a fairly short story that I had started but it needs some further work so I think I may post that in the future as well.
Bipolar
Battling the ocean is what it’s like. Inside your body. The waves crash up against you inside. That almighty, amorphous sea that has lived for ages and shaped the earth now fills such a tiny space that is you and it is now up to you to try and tame it. That is what bipolar feels like. That same force that has moved icebergs, created continents, slain dinosaurs and destroyed battleships is now your own Demon.
It “feels” like the waves of the ocean inside you. As your moods shift, you have a “high tide,” and a “low tide.” At times there is a palpable, physical, internal force as you try to resist the internal change. And sometimes you can even get nauseous. A seasickness perhaps? For you feel it coming.
I can it feel it coming. I know the struggle. Sometimes I resist and sometimes I welcome the waves crashing in like old friends. This is bipolar. This is my bipolar. An endless ebb and flow. An endless cycle, older than all its sufferers.
Ever more it will take in its wake.
Saturday, January 27, 2007
I Don't Get People
Something has happened that has, yet again, astigmatized my view of my/the world. I am a very reliable person. If you need me, I am there. If I can not be there for you, then I will do my utmost to explain and offer you reason/s why not. But it is very rare that I am not there for people.
Partner says that most people in the world are not reliable. But what about your friends?
Perhaps I need to lower my expectations. But I didn't think they were that high to begin with?
Partner says that most people in the world are not reliable. But what about your friends?
Perhaps I need to lower my expectations. But I didn't think they were that high to begin with?
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
"Bound" And Less Determined
I had no idea how to title this and I am still not sure how to write this without it descending into some sort of lurid expose into Patient Anonymous' past experiences and dalliances. That is not what this is about. But I need to put how I made an interesting self-observation into context so that will necessitate some self-revelation. And really, if you've been following this blog at all--nothing should surprise you anymore. We're all adults here. If this shocks you or you find it "titillating," get your head out of your ass.
I have worn one of these. Several times. But not in a psychiatric setting. Many years ago, I did a tour of the BDSM/fetish scene. And yes, the Bipolar was in full swing (undiagnosed, untreated.) This is no "value judgement" on "the scene" or myself if you will, it is simply the point where I was in my life.
I was introduced to all of this by a friend who was involved and asked me to go to a BDSM safe practices session put on by a local advocacy group. I found it rather amusing that she thought I might be "interested." Sure, why not? So I attended with her and her male partner.
Interesting, indeed! Wow, they pulled out all the stops! There was so much to look at! Some items seemed as if pulled out of some kind of medieval torture chamber and others just looked kind of neat and fun! At a certain point, the session leaders asked for volunteers to put on some type of bondage gear and then share their experiences with the group later on. Oh, I was excited! Pick me! The offer for the straightjackets came up and several arms shot up in the air. I was selected. Now the cardinal rule of S&M is "Safe, Sane and Consensual." So if at any time, anyone became uncomfortable, or agitated in their "restraints" they were to notify someone immediately and they would be taken care of.
Oh my. What a strange feeling. I had never had my body placed in such a position. At first, it was incredibly awkward but I realized that if I didn't fight it, if I just relaxed into it... All of the sudden, something rather strange began to happen to me. I felt comforted like I couldn't believe! I sat in that straightjacket for hours! I honestly don't remember how long it was but it was most of the afternoon of the full day session. I didn't want to take it off!
I later met a man who owned two straightjackets (who also coincidentally was diagnosed with MDD and ADD.) We are still friends to this day. He also designed bondage gear. We both found it incredibly calming and soothing and would occasionally get together (outside of the public scene where we did this as well) and basically tie each other up in our homes for comfort! Other elements of sensory deprivation could/would/might be employed.
When things got really, really rough for me and I couldn't sleep, I would occasionally employ self-restraint techniques in order to somehow try and calm myself down. My friend even offered me one of his straightjackets but I never got the knack of getting in/out of one solo (Houdini, I am not.) I managed with some personal and self-styled gear.
Think this all sounds a little bizarre? Temple Grandin (along with my friend) may not agree. If you do not know her, she is Autistic and has done some work (but not limited to) The Calming Effects of Deep Touch Pressure. Now, I am not on the Autistic Spectrum and despite how many similarities I may think I have with my friends' Autistic son, I don't believe I would fit the diagnostic criteria. Asperger's might be the closest I could come and even that would be a stretch. But it is interesting to see the similarities with the ADD children. And I do and always have had some other "sensory" issues. Probably not enough to again, meet the criteria for Sensory Integration Disorder but still, it makes me think!
I've always loved being loaded down with extra blankets on top of the duvet or I'll even throw all my partially worn clothes on my side of the bed, just to have that "added weight." I've always loved the feel of restrictive clothes (tights, leggings, bodysuits etc...--not "nylons" or "pantyhose" though--the fabric needs to be heavier!) I've been like this since I was a kid!
And no, you don't need to go as far as Temple's "Squeeze Machine" if that sort of freaks you out. It does look a little scary. A lot of Occupational Therapists advocate the use of weighted vests or blankets with kids that are Autistic, ADD, PDD or have SID. The affects of these have not really been studied (and neither has Grandin's machine) but I did manage to find this.
Perhaps I've managed to trade some of it in for "chemical" restraints now? And no, I don't want to bring up the whole debate about restraint usage in hospitals/institutions. That's not what this post is about either.
And if any of you out there are giggling away, stop it right now. If anyone actually has any serious questions pertaining to BDSM, contact me privately and I may or may not answer them--depending upon if you cross any boundaries or if you are completely inappropriate.
Edit March 09 2007: Aspergers has now entered the picture in terms of my psychological/neurological profile. I am still awaiting "confirmation" or at least an opinion from two separate psychiatrists.
I have worn one of these. Several times. But not in a psychiatric setting. Many years ago, I did a tour of the BDSM/fetish scene. And yes, the Bipolar was in full swing (undiagnosed, untreated.) This is no "value judgement" on "the scene" or myself if you will, it is simply the point where I was in my life.I was introduced to all of this by a friend who was involved and asked me to go to a BDSM safe practices session put on by a local advocacy group. I found it rather amusing that she thought I might be "interested." Sure, why not? So I attended with her and her male partner.
Interesting, indeed! Wow, they pulled out all the stops! There was so much to look at! Some items seemed as if pulled out of some kind of medieval torture chamber and others just looked kind of neat and fun! At a certain point, the session leaders asked for volunteers to put on some type of bondage gear and then share their experiences with the group later on. Oh, I was excited! Pick me! The offer for the straightjackets came up and several arms shot up in the air. I was selected. Now the cardinal rule of S&M is "Safe, Sane and Consensual." So if at any time, anyone became uncomfortable, or agitated in their "restraints" they were to notify someone immediately and they would be taken care of.
Oh my. What a strange feeling. I had never had my body placed in such a position. At first, it was incredibly awkward but I realized that if I didn't fight it, if I just relaxed into it... All of the sudden, something rather strange began to happen to me. I felt comforted like I couldn't believe! I sat in that straightjacket for hours! I honestly don't remember how long it was but it was most of the afternoon of the full day session. I didn't want to take it off!
I later met a man who owned two straightjackets (who also coincidentally was diagnosed with MDD and ADD.) We are still friends to this day. He also designed bondage gear. We both found it incredibly calming and soothing and would occasionally get together (outside of the public scene where we did this as well) and basically tie each other up in our homes for comfort! Other elements of sensory deprivation could/would/might be employed.
When things got really, really rough for me and I couldn't sleep, I would occasionally employ self-restraint techniques in order to somehow try and calm myself down. My friend even offered me one of his straightjackets but I never got the knack of getting in/out of one solo (Houdini, I am not.) I managed with some personal and self-styled gear.
Think this all sounds a little bizarre? Temple Grandin (along with my friend) may not agree. If you do not know her, she is Autistic and has done some work (but not limited to) The Calming Effects of Deep Touch Pressure. Now, I am not on the Autistic Spectrum and despite how many similarities I may think I have with my friends' Autistic son, I don't believe I would fit the diagnostic criteria. Asperger's might be the closest I could come and even that would be a stretch. But it is interesting to see the similarities with the ADD children. And I do and always have had some other "sensory" issues. Probably not enough to again, meet the criteria for Sensory Integration Disorder but still, it makes me think!
I've always loved being loaded down with extra blankets on top of the duvet or I'll even throw all my partially worn clothes on my side of the bed, just to have that "added weight." I've always loved the feel of restrictive clothes (tights, leggings, bodysuits etc...--not "nylons" or "pantyhose" though--the fabric needs to be heavier!) I've been like this since I was a kid!
And no, you don't need to go as far as Temple's "Squeeze Machine" if that sort of freaks you out. It does look a little scary. A lot of Occupational Therapists advocate the use of weighted vests or blankets with kids that are Autistic, ADD, PDD or have SID. The affects of these have not really been studied (and neither has Grandin's machine) but I did manage to find this.
Perhaps I've managed to trade some of it in for "chemical" restraints now? And no, I don't want to bring up the whole debate about restraint usage in hospitals/institutions. That's not what this post is about either.
And if any of you out there are giggling away, stop it right now. If anyone actually has any serious questions pertaining to BDSM, contact me privately and I may or may not answer them--depending upon if you cross any boundaries or if you are completely inappropriate.
Edit March 09 2007: Aspergers has now entered the picture in terms of my psychological/neurological profile. I am still awaiting "confirmation" or at least an opinion from two separate psychiatrists.
Monday, January 22, 2007
Good Fucking God...
So staring mournfully at my bookshelves last night, I decided that I would attempt to read something in preparation for King Lear. Perhaps some poetry. It's short.
I don't have a lot of literature. Most of it was sold when I needed the money at a certain point in my life. However, I do have loads of books that I've bought over the years that I just haven't gotten around to reading. I plucked a volume of selected T.S. Eliot poems off the shelf. A gift from some friends during my first psych hospitalization. I never even bothered to look at it.
I'm not a real literary genius. And I don't think I'm a huge Eliot fan. But this is what I read first.
Now this poem has been analyzed to death. But when I read it, it hit my like a bullet. That's the "fun" of interpretation! I think I need to remove myself from all stimuli now and place myself in a sensory deprivation tank for an indeterminate period of time.
And yes, some translation. The beginning is from Dante's inferno (how appropriate that?) and reads:
I don't have a lot of literature. Most of it was sold when I needed the money at a certain point in my life. However, I do have loads of books that I've bought over the years that I just haven't gotten around to reading. I plucked a volume of selected T.S. Eliot poems off the shelf. A gift from some friends during my first psych hospitalization. I never even bothered to look at it.
I'm not a real literary genius. And I don't think I'm a huge Eliot fan. But this is what I read first.
Now this poem has been analyzed to death. But when I read it, it hit my like a bullet. That's the "fun" of interpretation! I think I need to remove myself from all stimuli now and place myself in a sensory deprivation tank for an indeterminate period of time.
And yes, some translation. The beginning is from Dante's inferno (how appropriate that?) and reads:
- "If I thought my answer were given
- to anyone who would ever return to the world,
- this flame would stand still without moving any further.
- But since never from this abyss
- has anyone ever returned alive, if what I hear is true,
- without fear of infamy I answer you."
S’io credesse che mia risposta fosse
A persona che mai tornasse al mondo
Questa fiamma staria sensa piu scosse.
Ma perciocche giammai di questo fondo
Non torno vivo alcun, s’i’odo il vero
Sensa tema d’infamia ti rispondo.
Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherized upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question . . .
Oh, do not ask, ‘What is it?’
Let us go and make our visit.
In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.
The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes,
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,
And seeing that it was a soft October night,
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.
And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.
In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.
And indeed there will be time
To wonder, ‘Do I dare?’ and, ‘Do I dare?’
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair—
[They will say: ‘How his hair is growing thin!’]
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin—
[They will say: ‘But how his arms and legs are thin!’]
Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.
For I have known them all already, known them all—
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?
And I have known the eyes already, known them all—
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?
And how should I presume?
And I have known the arms already, known them all—
Arms that are braceleted and white and bare
[But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!]
Is it perfume from a dress
That makes me so digress?
Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.
And should I then presume?
And how should I begin?
. . . . .
Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets
And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes
Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows? . . .
I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.
. . . . .
And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!
Smoothed by long fingers,
Asleep . . . tired . . . or it malingers
Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.
Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
Though I have seen my head [grown slightly bald] brought in upon a platter
I am no prophet—and here’s no great matter;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid.
And would it have been worth it, after all,
After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,
Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,
Would it have been worth while
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it toward some overwhelming question,
To say: ‘I am Lazarus, come from the dead,
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all’—
If one, settling a pillow by her head,
Should say: ‘That is not what I meant at all.
That is not it, at all.’
And would it have been worth it, after all,
Would it have been worth while,
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor—
And this, and so much more?—
It is impossible to say just what I mean!
But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:
Would it have been worth while
If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,
And turning toward the window, should say:
‘That is not it at all,
That is not what I meant at all.’
No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,
Deferential, glad to be of use,
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous—
Almost, at times, the Fool.
I grow old . . . I grow old . . .
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.
Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.
I do not think that they will sing to me.
I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.
We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.
Friday, January 19, 2007
Caution: This Post May Sense No Make
I need an IV, Earl Grey, Stat! And push 30 Espresso! Okay, that's a little ridiculous. Maybe I've been watching too many medical "dramas."
I've actually had a coffee and a tea. I don't even like coffee but it gives me more of an immediate jolt than tea. I'm a mess. I keep dropping things, picking up the wrong items in place of others. I'm mumbling and my speech is full of incorrect word usage.
I had the worst night's sleep last night. I got 6 hours (I know, I know, I can almost feel the chronic insomniacs hurling objects at me) but it was the quality of sleep that was bad too. I was plagued with nightmares (a popular/recurring one is me being transported back to my old job where I was fired for being mentally ill and another where I was being chased through a labyrinth where I urinated on myself.) Fear? Shame? I did actually have to go to the bathroom when I woke up so perhaps there is a physiological basis to some of the latter dream. But I've never had a dream where I've actually pissed myself out of such fear! And I know I've said that I'm not big on "dream interpretation"--despite my therapist's urging to "delve deeper" into them.
And then the leg cramps kicked in (ha, no pun intended!) I've never been shot but the pain is so intense and jarring that I often wonder if that is what it feels like to on the business end of a bullet. I've had them on and off throughout my entire life. So here I am, the sun not quite in the sky, writhing in pain trying not to scream, lest I wake my snoozing partner. I limp to the bathroom to take care of things there.
Yesterday was not one of my more stellar days. Hence my problems with sleep? I had taken my hypnotic and two hours later I lay wide awake, my brain still abuzz. I finally just rolled over and thought I'd better try to get some shuteye or I'd be a real mess for work in the morning. I don't know how much that made a difference but here I sit.
Have you ever in life (well not literally so let me rephrase) in your mind, set up things, like a series of dominoes? It can be any number of pieces, multi-coloured, in any shape or pattern but you do it, sometimes even painstakingly. You step back, admire your work. But one day, you feel the urge to tip that first domino.
Now in life, there are always choices. Yesterday, I decided to tip the domino. I didn't have to but I did. At first I was pleased! Hey, look what I did! Think back to when you were a child and you would watch a set of strategically stacked dominoes fall. Wow! How, empowering! But then, a short while later, I sat amidst a rubble of fallen dominoes and there I was, feeeling like a child amidst a sea of broken toys. What did I do? This of course can then lead to: Oh my god! What's going to happen now? and all sorts of various scenarios can invariably pop into your head about the future. And they're all bad.
In psychology, this is known as Catastrophic Thinking. Now, I did not get to this point. I have at other times in my life but yesterday, thankfully, some semblance of my logic and black and white/absolute thinking kept me away from that place. What a surprise that these things could actually work to my advantage. I looked at my pile of spilled dominoes and realized, well, what is the absolute worst that can happen here? It might be really fucking shitty but I made the decision to tip the first one and set it all in motion so I'm just going to have to live with it. I stand by the decision that I made. That doesn't mean I still felt rather upset about it all but it helped me try and put it in some sort of perspective at least. I put on my "sane face" for the rest of the day, laughed and smiled on cue and I don't think anyone was the wiser.
I'm not sure but maybe I'm the sort of person that needs to learn things by "tipping her dominoes." And part of me doesn't even know what the hell that means.
On a lighter note, I love my boss. She is hilarious. I was accosted by her when I walked in to work this morning. She pulled my headphones off and as I am still trying to convince myself that I am useful on this planet, I am currently dousing myself in Mercyfuck by Mary Prankster (see MP3 of the moment, if you dare.) That may seem counterintuitive but we all have our ways of dealing with things. I suggested that perhaps I should turn the volume down as it was probably the most profane song ever written. She asked what it was so I told her roughly what it was about and by whom and she can't wait to download it! It's her birthday this weekend so we (some colleagues) went out and bought her a bottle of wine (a Shiraz from Oz) called "The Lackey." We just couldn't resist the name.
I've actually had a coffee and a tea. I don't even like coffee but it gives me more of an immediate jolt than tea. I'm a mess. I keep dropping things, picking up the wrong items in place of others. I'm mumbling and my speech is full of incorrect word usage.
I had the worst night's sleep last night. I got 6 hours (I know, I know, I can almost feel the chronic insomniacs hurling objects at me) but it was the quality of sleep that was bad too. I was plagued with nightmares (a popular/recurring one is me being transported back to my old job where I was fired for being mentally ill and another where I was being chased through a labyrinth where I urinated on myself.) Fear? Shame? I did actually have to go to the bathroom when I woke up so perhaps there is a physiological basis to some of the latter dream. But I've never had a dream where I've actually pissed myself out of such fear! And I know I've said that I'm not big on "dream interpretation"--despite my therapist's urging to "delve deeper" into them.
And then the leg cramps kicked in (ha, no pun intended!) I've never been shot but the pain is so intense and jarring that I often wonder if that is what it feels like to on the business end of a bullet. I've had them on and off throughout my entire life. So here I am, the sun not quite in the sky, writhing in pain trying not to scream, lest I wake my snoozing partner. I limp to the bathroom to take care of things there.
Yesterday was not one of my more stellar days. Hence my problems with sleep? I had taken my hypnotic and two hours later I lay wide awake, my brain still abuzz. I finally just rolled over and thought I'd better try to get some shuteye or I'd be a real mess for work in the morning. I don't know how much that made a difference but here I sit.
Have you ever in life (well not literally so let me rephrase) in your mind, set up things, like a series of dominoes? It can be any number of pieces, multi-coloured, in any shape or pattern but you do it, sometimes even painstakingly. You step back, admire your work. But one day, you feel the urge to tip that first domino.
Now in life, there are always choices. Yesterday, I decided to tip the domino. I didn't have to but I did. At first I was pleased! Hey, look what I did! Think back to when you were a child and you would watch a set of strategically stacked dominoes fall. Wow! How, empowering! But then, a short while later, I sat amidst a rubble of fallen dominoes and there I was, feeeling like a child amidst a sea of broken toys. What did I do? This of course can then lead to: Oh my god! What's going to happen now? and all sorts of various scenarios can invariably pop into your head about the future. And they're all bad.
In psychology, this is known as Catastrophic Thinking. Now, I did not get to this point. I have at other times in my life but yesterday, thankfully, some semblance of my logic and black and white/absolute thinking kept me away from that place. What a surprise that these things could actually work to my advantage. I looked at my pile of spilled dominoes and realized, well, what is the absolute worst that can happen here? It might be really fucking shitty but I made the decision to tip the first one and set it all in motion so I'm just going to have to live with it. I stand by the decision that I made. That doesn't mean I still felt rather upset about it all but it helped me try and put it in some sort of perspective at least. I put on my "sane face" for the rest of the day, laughed and smiled on cue and I don't think anyone was the wiser.
I'm not sure but maybe I'm the sort of person that needs to learn things by "tipping her dominoes." And part of me doesn't even know what the hell that means.
On a lighter note, I love my boss. She is hilarious. I was accosted by her when I walked in to work this morning. She pulled my headphones off and as I am still trying to convince myself that I am useful on this planet, I am currently dousing myself in Mercyfuck by Mary Prankster (see MP3 of the moment, if you dare.) That may seem counterintuitive but we all have our ways of dealing with things. I suggested that perhaps I should turn the volume down as it was probably the most profane song ever written. She asked what it was so I told her roughly what it was about and by whom and she can't wait to download it! It's her birthday this weekend so we (some colleagues) went out and bought her a bottle of wine (a Shiraz from Oz) called "The Lackey." We just couldn't resist the name.
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
EBM: A Balanced Approach?
Okay, I may be making a huge ass out of myself for posting about Evidence Based Medicine but I've been doing some reading and it's kind of bugging me. I'm not a health practictioner (as my blogger name says!) but I am health consumer.
So I've been trying to wrap my head around EBM and all the fuss. I've been reading both sides of the argument and really, I can see where it works in theory but not always in practice?
Of course it's always good to pay attention to studies and be "judicous" in looking at them (that word comes up a lot in EBM) but isn't there more to practising medicine? It's not just about the facts and figures and statistics. I know proponents (or even non-proponents) of EBM may be laughing at me right now, saying that I'm totally taking it out of context and I have no idea what I'm saying?
And yes, there are people out there that claim to be "experts" that do need to be weeded out so yes, cite your references, always. But that's just common sense! If I read someone who claims to be an expert, I want to see their data.
But I think you also need to take into consideration so many other factors that EBM just doesn't allow room for. I'd be an EBM nightmare. Co-morbidities, taking meds off-label--but they work! I'm living proof! But according to EBM, I would not fit the criteria, therefore I may not be able to take my precious Topamax/Topiramate if one of my docs was a real EBM hardass! Well, perhaps I could...if I armwrestled him/her.
I somehow feel that EBM as a "movement" as it has been termed has the capability to go a little too far. From what I gather, they deem what is appropriate in terms of evidence and dictate proper guidelines. It just feels a little too militaristic.
Yes, there are "rules" to science but healing is an art. Let's not lose that in the overall approach to medicine. Let's not completely put the blinders on and have professionals buried in the latest "research" looking only at that (which may only give a partial picture, anyway.) Supposedly, EBM doesn't preclude the patient but it doesn't exactly give me a warm feeling.
Alright, ending this now. I'm just a patient.
So I've been trying to wrap my head around EBM and all the fuss. I've been reading both sides of the argument and really, I can see where it works in theory but not always in practice?
Of course it's always good to pay attention to studies and be "judicous" in looking at them (that word comes up a lot in EBM) but isn't there more to practising medicine? It's not just about the facts and figures and statistics. I know proponents (or even non-proponents) of EBM may be laughing at me right now, saying that I'm totally taking it out of context and I have no idea what I'm saying?
And yes, there are people out there that claim to be "experts" that do need to be weeded out so yes, cite your references, always. But that's just common sense! If I read someone who claims to be an expert, I want to see their data.
But I think you also need to take into consideration so many other factors that EBM just doesn't allow room for. I'd be an EBM nightmare. Co-morbidities, taking meds off-label--but they work! I'm living proof! But according to EBM, I would not fit the criteria, therefore I may not be able to take my precious Topamax/Topiramate if one of my docs was a real EBM hardass! Well, perhaps I could...if I armwrestled him/her.
I somehow feel that EBM as a "movement" as it has been termed has the capability to go a little too far. From what I gather, they deem what is appropriate in terms of evidence and dictate proper guidelines. It just feels a little too militaristic.
Yes, there are "rules" to science but healing is an art. Let's not lose that in the overall approach to medicine. Let's not completely put the blinders on and have professionals buried in the latest "research" looking only at that (which may only give a partial picture, anyway.) Supposedly, EBM doesn't preclude the patient but it doesn't exactly give me a warm feeling.
Alright, ending this now. I'm just a patient.
Thursday, January 11, 2007
Doctor Anxiety and "PA"tients
Why is it that Patient Anonymous becomes so stressed when she has to see doctors these days? No matter who it is I need to visit, first thing in the morning, my pulse quickens, my stomach churns and my brain just seems to lose all focus.
I have a dentist appointment today and I'm just a mess. I don't have a fear of dentists and my dentist is a really nice man. And so are all the hygienists. My original family dentist who I saw since childhood was awesome so I never had any bad experiences.
And I don't have a problem with doctors. I love you! I idolize you! I don't put you on pedestals as I understand that you are all human but I do admire you and have great respect for you. In fact, I am willing to put up with a lot. You might tick me off if we disagree on my treatment or if you screw up but in the goal of working together to make me well, I'll persevere. Believe me, one specialist almost drove me to litigation (not against him) for making a "boo boo" but once he realized how badly he'd messed up, he did try to remedy the situation. It was too late, however. Still, did I take it out on him? No. It wouldn't have mattered, anyway. He would have gotten away with a slap on the wrist at worst. Still, I suffered greatly so maybe that's one reason I'm a little nervous.
I've had some other bad experiences.
I had no physician when I was in university so I went to the first person I could see in the clinic there when I fell ill with some infection. He invited me to his private practice. My Bipolar Disorder was in its infancy and not yet diagnosed so I was just beginning to act out in many ways, one of which was hypersexuality. This did not bode well with him, it seems. It did not make sense to him that a self-proclaimed "lesbian" would suddenly need "the morning after pill" or emergency contraception in a flaming panic one day. I was never treated the same after.
I once went to an OB/GYN many years ago for recurrent UTI infections. When he examined me, he tapped my clitoris a few times and asked, "Can you feel that?" I was stunned. That had never happened before. I didn't know what to say or do so I simply answered, "Yes."
I have since learned that this is not part of a standard pelvic examination. I don't think it's part of a "non-standard" pelvic examination! Someone, please correct me if I am wrong. Then we moved forward with catheterization for output flow and I screamed! That was probably the most painful thing I have ever experienced in my life. I felt really bad for the other women awaiting any procedures after me. He also prescribed me a little too much Valium/Diazepam along with my antibiotics. I was a little wary of OB/GYNs after that.
And then there are some of the problems that I've experienced with Endoscopies that I blogged about here. Thankfully my new Gastroenterologist has assured me that he can knock me out with a general for any procedures he needs to do from this point forward.
Finally, I managed to escape the clutches of a very unhealthy relationship with my Family Practitioner that I had been seeing for years. I wrote about it here. It also talks a little bit about my fear of doctors as "authority figures." But not much. Just that I have that fear; I really don't know why.
So maybe I've answered my own question here? I'm not really sure. I've finally found a new Family Practitioner but the relationship is still new and I'm still being lined up with a lot of new specialists so it's all rather daunting. I've worked on this in therapy but I still haven't managed to conquer my fear and anxiety over "dealing" with physicians. I know that they are relationships that I will always need to have, however. I don't need to be treated with "kid gloves" per se but I do need, I guess, certain types of doctors that will be kind, caring, patient, intelligent, careful, willing to work collaboratively and treat me with respect. Is that a lot to ask?
I have a dentist appointment today and I'm just a mess. I don't have a fear of dentists and my dentist is a really nice man. And so are all the hygienists. My original family dentist who I saw since childhood was awesome so I never had any bad experiences.
And I don't have a problem with doctors. I love you! I idolize you! I don't put you on pedestals as I understand that you are all human but I do admire you and have great respect for you. In fact, I am willing to put up with a lot. You might tick me off if we disagree on my treatment or if you screw up but in the goal of working together to make me well, I'll persevere. Believe me, one specialist almost drove me to litigation (not against him) for making a "boo boo" but once he realized how badly he'd messed up, he did try to remedy the situation. It was too late, however. Still, did I take it out on him? No. It wouldn't have mattered, anyway. He would have gotten away with a slap on the wrist at worst. Still, I suffered greatly so maybe that's one reason I'm a little nervous.
I've had some other bad experiences.
I had no physician when I was in university so I went to the first person I could see in the clinic there when I fell ill with some infection. He invited me to his private practice. My Bipolar Disorder was in its infancy and not yet diagnosed so I was just beginning to act out in many ways, one of which was hypersexuality. This did not bode well with him, it seems. It did not make sense to him that a self-proclaimed "lesbian" would suddenly need "the morning after pill" or emergency contraception in a flaming panic one day. I was never treated the same after.
I once went to an OB/GYN many years ago for recurrent UTI infections. When he examined me, he tapped my clitoris a few times and asked, "Can you feel that?" I was stunned. That had never happened before. I didn't know what to say or do so I simply answered, "Yes."
I have since learned that this is not part of a standard pelvic examination. I don't think it's part of a "non-standard" pelvic examination! Someone, please correct me if I am wrong. Then we moved forward with catheterization for output flow and I screamed! That was probably the most painful thing I have ever experienced in my life. I felt really bad for the other women awaiting any procedures after me. He also prescribed me a little too much Valium/Diazepam along with my antibiotics. I was a little wary of OB/GYNs after that.
And then there are some of the problems that I've experienced with Endoscopies that I blogged about here. Thankfully my new Gastroenterologist has assured me that he can knock me out with a general for any procedures he needs to do from this point forward.
Finally, I managed to escape the clutches of a very unhealthy relationship with my Family Practitioner that I had been seeing for years. I wrote about it here. It also talks a little bit about my fear of doctors as "authority figures." But not much. Just that I have that fear; I really don't know why.
So maybe I've answered my own question here? I'm not really sure. I've finally found a new Family Practitioner but the relationship is still new and I'm still being lined up with a lot of new specialists so it's all rather daunting. I've worked on this in therapy but I still haven't managed to conquer my fear and anxiety over "dealing" with physicians. I know that they are relationships that I will always need to have, however. I don't need to be treated with "kid gloves" per se but I do need, I guess, certain types of doctors that will be kind, caring, patient, intelligent, careful, willing to work collaboratively and treat me with respect. Is that a lot to ask?
Friday, January 5, 2007
Losing It
I just about posted utter shit on someone's blog (but quickly recovered...) and just made a joke about *wanting* to post something inappropriate.
I just emailed another blogger about something that's been bothering me for a long time--am I being oversensitive? Did I fuck up? Am I an idiot?
Okay...I'm almost crying at my desk...
What the fuck is going on?
I'm almost scared to post this...as all of my (few) readers will probably disappear after they see this. This is supposed to be a respectable and intelligent blog!
Forgive me. I've been posting nothing but crap lately.
------------------------------
Edit: Okay, maybe I'm a bit stressed with some personal stuff. Confession: Self-flagellation of the Psyche is hobby of Patient Anonymous'... She's much harder on herself than she is on others.
Yes, this is the place where I'll let it all hang out. Be forewarned.
I just emailed another blogger about something that's been bothering me for a long time--am I being oversensitive? Did I fuck up? Am I an idiot?
Okay...I'm almost crying at my desk...
What the fuck is going on?
I'm almost scared to post this...as all of my (few) readers will probably disappear after they see this. This is supposed to be a respectable and intelligent blog!
Forgive me. I've been posting nothing but crap lately.
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Edit: Okay, maybe I'm a bit stressed with some personal stuff. Confession: Self-flagellation of the Psyche is hobby of Patient Anonymous'... She's much harder on herself than she is on others.
Yes, this is the place where I'll let it all hang out. Be forewarned.
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