Friday, September 28, 2012

Quittin' The Hard Stuff With Help From Dr. Google

*****You all know I'm batshit crazy, borderline psychotic,  and of questionable moral character.  But this time, I really need y'all to pay attention.  I AM NOT A DOCTOR.  I never even dated a pre-med student.  Please ALWAYS talk to your doc before doing anything stupid.  Pretty much what I'm saying is, "do as I say, not as I do".  :::ahem:::

I'm a complete pill junkie

Me, anti-pill.  Anti-western medicine.  Gobbling 30+ pills a day. Except when I forget to fill my 2-week supply containers, that is.  :::sheepish:::  But that doesn't happen much, I've gotten better about it, less ambivalent.

But, I'm over some of the pills. 

I ditched the Ambien.  Gladly.  My credit cards couldn't take much more, I assure you.

Next up: Cymbalta.

Many moons ago, when I was a sad, pain-filled fibromyaglia patient, before I new the depth of my health problems, they put me on Cymbalta.  They meaning the Rheumatologist I fired, and the first primary care doc I fired.  They said it would help with the constant pain in all my extremities, and the bonus it, I wouldn't be a crying stabby mess.  So I reluctantly began a 2 year journey on antidepressants.

They fucked me up.  I was quiet (like, serial killer quiet) for the first couple months.  MONTHS.  Not that Sky King didn't enjoy the break at times, I'm sure.  But quiet Aimee is you're-in-trouble Aimee.  Not good.  So, our convos went like this, mostly:

SK: Everything okay?

Me:  mmmhmmm

SK: Okay.

:::five minutes later:::

SK: Everything okay?

Me:  mmmhmmm

SK: Okay.

Lather, rinse, repeat.

Then, I acclimated.  The pain was diminishing, and the side effects weren't intolerable.  I had to make some adjustments, because antidepressants are known to effect :::ahem::: desire.  So, mental fixes there. I had dry mouth.  CONSTANTLY.  Fine, whatevs, carry water.  It's good for me, anyway, right? Night sweats? Not fab, I can assure you.  Especially at 39.  Mood stabilized, so that I was more chill, less quick to anger, unlikely to hide bodies in shallow graves.

Then I had to up them.  Then, my insurance changed, and $6 a day for pills that trash my liver, keep me from enjoying a couple glasses of wine, and *might* be causing more side effects?  Nah.  Not so much.

You see, when you have to take a bunch of crazy pills for even crazier diseases, and you are constantly hit with new symptoms, new reactions, new contraindications, and you get to the point that you're all, "Fuck this shit.  What can I give up?"

So, of course, the ones that cost me the most, on many levels, are the first to go.

Since my most recent primary care doc, who I actually like except for the fact that he's regularly running two hours late, by 8:30 am, seemed unable to call me back about my desire to quit cymbalta.  So, I called Dr. Google.  He's always there when I need him, btw. 

It seems that when people are coming off cymbalta, the withdrawals are fucking brutal.  2-week migraines.  Murderous rage for one, please.  Sensory disruptions.  In the middle of all this, I'm already having issues with (I think) one of my antibiotics, that is fucking with my ability to see stuff.  Not good, right?

So it seems the message board say this:  Docs put you on Prozac.  Then, they wean you off Cymbalta.  Then, wean you off Prozac.  Easy peasy, as far as 6 months go.  Right?


So, I went back to the message boards.  They have one called,  What the what?

And it seems, there are people that have researched the pharmacology of the shit.  And each capsule is filled with little balls.  Each ball is coated, for time release. So, people went in, counted that shit out, tapered down.

So did I.  Because really, my street cred as a junkie wasn't quite up to par.

After three weeks, I'm not quite so homicidal.  Depends on the day, or minute, really. Mornings are rough, what with the "trying to get everyone out on time without casualties" thing.  Setbacks, like irritating landlords, stubbed toes, mounting medical bills, and stupid people in the car in front of me, and shit gets a little dicey.

But I'm done.  It's been 5 weeks, I tapered down slowly-if not so consistently-with my acupuncturist giving me stuff to detox the ickies out, and the promise that I would totally detox at the end of it, which I'm in the middle of, now.  and no one is wandering around, wondering why they have a hatchet in the back of their skulls.

Progress, I say. 

So, I'm fully committed to going with only the meds that have obvious need.  Yes, I could use to have my mood a little less psychotic.  I'm sure MANY others agree.  Especially the poor people sitting near me when my son is playing football, and the refs have a bad call.  And the people near me when I cuss out the morons in front of me while driving.  And a bunch of other people.  But, at the risk of humanity, I am siding with my liver.  My poor poor liver that has been through so very much.  College was taxing for it, and when I began having health problems when I was 12, things were not looking good for my poor little liver.  It's time for the damn thing to get a break, right?

I'm hoping, as is half of Northern California, to find something that will keep me from being a complete anti-social ass. 

Suggestions, and prayers for humanity, welcome.

No comments:

Post a Comment