Every good thing in life must come to an end. I have decided to discontinue taking Effexor XR, my crutch for depression. Effexor has been a “miracle drug” for me, sort of. While it handles my depressive episodes beautifully, I can no longer tolerate the side effects that have come along with this particular drug.
I have several reasons for wanting to discontinue the medication; the side effects of weight gain, headaches, insomnia, irritability, and wild swings between hypo-mania and depression – sometimes only days apart.
Every time I have been on effexor I swear I will never take it again. The withdrawal off of this medication is like living four weeks in hell. Irritability, vision problems, migraines, oh and did I mention irritability? Then I end up going back because it works so well.
So after being treated like scum and being actively accused of being a drug addict, on Monday I ventured back to the hospital to get my records. What I saw was horrifying. The lack of attention to the important stuff, and the lack of medical information in my file was disturbing.
Scrutinizing the records I found that the following medical conditions were nowhere to be found within my file:
Diabetes, hypothyroidism, clotting disorder, and bipolar.
Also, my medications were not listed, and there was no record of the panic and anxiety attacks I had, all three of them. What I did find was the doctor stating that I was “dramatically” (underlined twice) rolling around in the bed screaming in pain, unable to say more than two or three words before screaming again in pain. Wow. Yes it was dramatic because it hurt worse than childbirth - I told them so!
While laying in the bed hyperventilating clutching my father’s shirt and burying my head in his chest, I am feeling weaker and weaker. I am overwhelmed with anxiety and paranoia, unable to even get my head together. A nurse comes beside me telling me to breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth. I couldn’t, my nose was so stuffy from all the crying I couldn’t use my breathing practices. Not to mention I was so hysterical I could not calm down. Do they help me? No.
The nurse leaves the room and with the room quiet my father talks me through the attack, soothing me, and trying to calm me down. I had finally calmed down some and within a couple of minutes another nurse walks in and I immediately (without even the slightest warning from my body) begin severely hyperventilating again, begging someone to help me because I can’t breathe. Do they help me? No.
My father had to leave the emergency department for “threatening” the staff because they were refusing medical treatment to his very sick daughter. Security walks him out and stands by the door. I notice another security guard at my door watching me.
So, I am in the emergency room at a hospital out of town. I am in terrible pain - certain I am passing a kidney stone. The doctor has labelled me a “drug seeker” without collecting my health history, my medications, or even asking why I am flipping out so bad. He is one arrogant jerk.
I go for my CT, they had given me .5 mg of dilauded. The pain was still there but at least tolerable – I mean, I could move. I am fussing to the woman giving me the CT scan and complaining about this doctor who wont listen to me. He wont take my medical history, he wont help me. She tells me he’s not the greatest and puts in a call to the ER to ask for me to have a different doctor.
He is the only doctor there.
I went to visit my family over the weekend. It was a trip planned for quite some time. I loaded up the three kids on Friday, kissed my husband goodbye, and happily began the five hour journey to visit my family. The drive was completely uneventful. I was happy things were going so smooth.
Friday night I began having pain in my side. I’d passed a kidney stone before and knew of the pain involved but I had no idea the pain could get as bad as it did on Friday night. I called my dad and stepmother and asked them to come get me — I had to go to the emergency room. They did and they were trying to “advocate” for me in the ER because by the time we walked in the door I was hysterical in pain. It was comparable to labor, if not a little worse.
In the waiting room I continued to cry, doing my best to keep composure. The front staff were very accommodating. I (between bouts of pain) managed to provide them with all my medications before losing my mind to confusion because the pain was too much for me to even try to tolerate.
Is it time to fire my psychiatrist? It has been an ongoing question hanging out in my mind. It felt very much like I was ending a bad relationship where I felt I was getting the raw end of the deal. I felt neglected, misunderstood and very alone. I never would have tolerated any relationship that was (in my mind) somewhat abusive. I should have done it sooner.
I haven’t been to my psychiatrist for about 7 weeks. The thought of making the appointment to see her was agonizing. I shouldn’t dread going to see her. I shouldn’t feel like I have to suit up in armor just to make it through the session.
Then the decision became clear. It’s time to take a new path.
Sometimes I really have to wonder if I don’t have ADHD! I am so scatterbrained today, I just don’t have a clue what is wrong with me! I have been trying to do my chores today while taking care of all 3 kids and I am so frustrated. The more I clean the messier my house gets. It is really irritating that I can’t complete even one task.
I start the morning with Walmart – that was eventful. I hate Walmart, they need to build a Target in my town and that will relieve at least 50% of my stress! Anyway, I return from Walmart and stack my several bags on the counter. My husband scurries off to work and my kids go bananas. So I round them up and threaten them with no mini cupcakes if they don’t quit fighting and they quickly calm down. So here is where we begin the mad chaos – my attempt at house cleaning.
I am so lost and I really have no clue what to do. I’d like to think I always have all the answers in life but sometimes I’m left speechless and feeling helpless. This is one of those times.
There is a girl that my oldest son was good friends with that lives up the road from us. She’s a great girl and spends a lot of time here with me and the kids. Her and I have gotten pretty close. My son had told me of times her family has been abusive toward her and how angry it made him, but teenagers can sometimes blow things up to be more than they are. I started paying attention, and what is happening is hurting me deeply.
She was over last night telling me about the things she is experiencing at home. Her mother slaps her around, and her older brother and younger sister beat her up. She’s a very kind girl with a very soft heart, and from what she says she has turned into their own personal punching bag. My heart breaks for her.
When my autistic little sweetheart was born a couple weeks earlier than expected weighing a healthy 7 lbs 4 oz, I had no idea what that new little guy of mine was going to teach me about life and love. I am blessed.
I remember when I was in the hospital loving and adoring my new baby, he was perfectly adorable in every way just as my other three children were. He had fat little cheeks and a tiny pointy chin, an itty bitty nose and fat little thighs. He was my adorable little chipmunk.
When I brought him home from the hospital I began to feel differently about him. He was a “special” kind of different but I couldn’t put my finger on it and I certainly didn’t understand it. I just knew, he was “special.” He never really cried much unless the house was too chaotic or it was bath time. He was very happy to be alone in his swing or his bed, and didn’t really like much fuss. He was so…different.
At 20 months we received the diagnoses: Autism.