Hunter S. Thompson and Me

Drugs.  I'm not a fan.  Especially when I HAVE TA.  I HATE having to do something.  But when you are saddled with a bunch of crazy shit that half the docs in the universe don't believe in, AND your sun rises and sets on this imaginary hell, you learn to compromise.

And so now I am a pill-popping fiend.

But still, my anarchist tendencies rear their little pointed heads.  Like when I realized I was addicted to Ambien.  While the ride was fun, it was like a roller coaster stuck in FF.  Eventually, the fun dies, and you want to barf in your best friend's lap. Ambien has been quite a ride---ups and downs, trials and tribulations, blah blah blah.  Sky King will not miss it, I assure you.

Now that I have become such a seasoned junky, I can't help but think back to my time reading Hunter S. Thompson.  It's like we are soul-siblings:

“We had two bags of grass, seventy-five pellets of mescaline, five sheets of high powered blotter acid, a salt shaker half full of cocaine, and a whole galaxy of multi-colored uppers, downers, screamers, laughers... and also a quart of tequila, a quart of rum, a case of Budweiser, a pint of raw ether and two dozen amyls.
Not that we needed all that for the trip, but once you get locked into a serious drug collection, the tendency is to push it as far as you can.”
― Hunter S. Thompson, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas: A Savage Journey to the Heart of the American Dream 

You may recall I have a hate-hate relationship with Ambien.  While I hate pharmaceuticals, I also hate not sleeping.  And I can't get well if I don't sleep.  Dr. Lyme was clear when he told me I would not get well if I could not sleep.  And I can't sleep without help.

But the Ambien?  It's not working as well as I'd like.  So the next step, in Dr. Lyme's opinion, was to ramp up to something stronger.  With the whole "get well" thing going on, I can certainly work with that.  But, I'm not feeling the whole "add more pharmaceuticals" thing, especially when the "ramp up" suggestion is typically used to have crazy love-monkey sex with a comatose chick who would normally give you the stink-eye, rather than to induce happy dreams of candy and rainbows.  Basically, roofies.  He wanted me to take roofies.  Ummm, no.

Part of my hesitation is that every time I add something, I go to the manufacturer's website.  I look at the side effects, paying close attention to the "common side effects" and the "holy shit! Call 911, stat!!!" list.  When the second list has side effects I ALREADY HAVE from some other drug, or some other ailment, I begin to feel a teensy bit angry.

Teensy, monumentally, potato, potahtoe. 

So I decided that, Ambien may not be the only way to get sleep.  I was done.  DONE.

Maybe part of my success was related to my resolve?

Anywho, I switched to a natural herbal remedy that has no contraindications, does not trash my liver, and does not give me side effects.  I weaned off the Ambien, slowly substituting my herbal, and BAM!  I freaking sleep as well as when I'm on Ambien, if not better.  And my dreams?  Not nearly as vivid, or as creepy.  Bonus.

Next up?  I'm ditching my antidepressants.  I just have to make it through my next period without a murderous rage, and I think I will be ready.

Wish us ALL luck.  And a sincere lack of sharp objects.

Sick Of Sick, Part I

Dr. Lyme and I had a pow-wow the other day.

He's unimpressed with me lately.

Dr. Lyme: How have you been feeling?
Me: Not great. I've turned serial apathetic
(I didn't really say that.  What I DID say is that I am blah, don't want to be awake OR asleep, don't want to participate in stuff, want to nap all day, can barely muster the strength and desire to overeat desserts, etc etc etc)
Dr. Lyme: Ah.  When did that start?
Me: About 3 weeks ago.
Dr. Lyme: Okay.  Let's see. How is your joint pain?
Me: It seems to be getting worse. I've had to take more pain pills that usual.
Dr. Lyme: When did you notice that?
Me: About three weeks ago.
Dr. Lyme: Mmhm. And how are you sleeping?
Me: Good for the first 4 hours, then I wake every 45 minutes to an hour, til 7. Then I want a nap around 10.
Dr. Lyme: When did that begin?
Me: About three weeks ago.
Dr. Lyme: So.  I think it all comes down to you not getting enough quality rest.

(This has all become apparent to Sky King and me during the course of this discussion. This is common for me: what remains elusive during hours and hours of soul searching always becomes crystal clear when you verbalize something in front of someone that makes $200 per hour. You too?)

So.  I'm already on Ambien for sleep.  a half dose worked for the first couple weeks, then I had to increase to a full 10 mg pill.  Dr. Lyme is thinking that, since I cannot sleep without it (AT ALL, it turns out), I need something different.

But he's not a sleep guy.  He wants my primary, or my sleep doc, to handle it.  He is thinking that a drug, Sodium Oxybate, would be a good choice.  It's liquid, and I would take a half-dose at bedtime, then the remaining bit when I wake in the middle of the night.  Sounds fine. Whatever.  I just want to SLEEP.  Without the sleep, I won't get the better.  Without the better, I won't be able to to keep from stabbing people in the neck with sporks.  Vicious cycle.  So sleep drugs. Check.

We got through the rest of the visit, with him changing out my antibiotics.

I left, and went straight to Dr. Google.  Dr. Google has assured me that Sodium Oxybate is perfectly safe.  If I am a mixed drink in a bar, held by an unsuspecting future rape victim-Sodium Oxybate is known "in da 'hood" as GHB.  The latest "date rape" drug.  You know, because roofies are sooo 2004.

Side effects include bedwetting, difficulty falling asleep, and dry-humping strangers in seedy bar bathroom stalls.  2 of those are especially alarming.  I have a REALLY nice mattress that I would hate to "soil".  And, the whole reason for taking the drug is TO SLEEP.  Seriously, people.  As for the third? I just won't sleep in fishnets and a tube top, and I should be good. 

Stay tuned for part 2 of the the exciting Dr. Lyme visit.

Three Sides of the Same Coin

While sitting in a very interesting training, my mind began to wander, as it does.  I was thinking about how "things used to be" and the differences from now.  Part of the thoughts centered around my quest for relief from what ails me; a sincere desire to get back to the old me.  Now don't get me wrong; I don't want to go back to the lifestyle I once had, flitting from obligation to obligation, falling down exhausted each night, having people remark that hearing my schedule makes THEM exhausted. No, what I want is some part of the energy I once had, and the ability to react to things that sometimes require my complete energy and focus.

Not to mention the ability to completely ignore a "wet floor" sign, rather than go forward with trepidation, simultaneously watching for wet patches and scanning for little old ladies to support me if I start to fall.

It occurred to me during these daydreams that there are three distinct "Me"s.

Fun Aimee-
This used to be reserved for the Aimee that had had a wee bit too much to drink.  She's likely to speak loudly, and with passion.  She might fall down, dragging some unsuspecting soul with her.  She is ALSO likely to flail about.  During this flailing, she is likely to hit a girl in the face, and remark, "Oh, sorry about your FACE!", then falling into a fit of giggles while her friends try desperately to keep Aimee from getting her ass beat. (Good gracious-it's truly amazing I made it this far in life without being beaten to a pulp.)

Fun Aimee also loves to hug everyone, to sit on laps of cute boys (cue Pearl Jam music and red Solo cups full of Natural Light) and to generally be the life of the party, even when the party ends.  Good thing Fun Aimee doesn't know the party is over, because Fun Aimee doesn't like shit that makes her stop having fun.  That's the subtle joy of Fun Aimee-there's no stopping that fun train.  Well, a trip to the bathroom to vomit might slow things down a bit.  But one shot of Goldschlager, and she's back on track. (Who would do shots of tequila after vomiting? Eeew.)

Nowadays, Fun Aimee consists of a pain pill and exactly 1.75 glasses of wine. Too little wine and she passes out falls asleep, too much wine and she gets mouthy and will pretty much alienate those she loves.  Also, 1.75 glasses of wine and a pain pill is the ideal prescription for a very happy Sky King. Ambien Aimee would come close for a while there, but Ambien Aimee became reminiscent of Jump-on-the-back-of-a-cop-on-the-street-just-for-giggles-Aimee, and Sky King has grown weary of her antics. WEARY.

Modified Aimee-
This is me, minus the pain pills and wine. I am at about 10% capacity, which would be about 30% for normal humans. Remember, I used to do way too much with immeasurable amounts of energy, so comparing me now to how I used to be is quite dramatic.

I only work about 12 hours per week-anything more than that and I am a zombie.  People have remarked they can see in my eyes when I lose my energy, that the look is obvious.

I also have to save a couple spoons for helping Monkey Boy with homework.  He has some issues that make following directions a challenge.  Some day, his wife will accuse him of not listening to her, and she will be right. He won't ever know it, though because he'll be walking around, saying ".....uh....what?" to everything.

I have had to learn to relax, which in and of itself nearly killed me. Now, I get the whole concept, and I end up on Friday afternoon, all, "Well, what do we have going on this weekend?  Nothing? Again?  Nice...." I do have to get out of the house still, or I will completely explode.

What I would like, when this Lyme shit is all said and done is this:
I want to be able to work part time, spend time with my family, and still have the energy and/or spoons to have shit go down, and I can step things up to save the day.  Really, is that asking too much?  I'm going to call that Aimee, Aimee 3000.  New and Improved.  Not as much swagger as Andre' 3000, but not nearly the potential for felony convictions as Fun Aimee.

It seems like a nice compromise. One I can live with. I hope.

Personal Growth or, Dad, This One's About Sex-Sorry.

Different things in life teach us different lessons-there could be a life lesson in just about anything.  For instance, you can learn a lot about yourself during a week of being sick.  I did.

I learned how to be.

Just, to be.  Sit, gaze out into the yard, do nothing.  It sounds small, but it was significant for a recovering control freak like me.

I sat.  And sat and sat and sat.  It was not painful.

Painful was the coughing.  You know the kind of cough where you retch at the end, screaming obscenities at the world?  Where you have a barf bowl handy at all times?  Where you consume so much lemon water each and every time you cough, or almost cough, that your pee is clear, and you are getting cardio going back and forth to the fridge for more lemon water, or the bathroom to expel it?

Yep.  That was me. 

I also learned that Ambien is an aphrodesiac.  As is Nyquil.


Many of you know that I used to be wary of drug-pharmaceuticals were an issue for me.  I spent many of my formative years hanging with hippies, so I was always more likely to do lines of echinacea, than amoxicillin.  All that changed with Lyme Disease.  Now, I'm a pill popping fiend.

I even took cough syrup last week like clockwork.  All week, every 2 hours.  Just so my throat could heal, so I could cough.  And at night? Sky King turned me on to Nyquil-the nighttime-sniffling-sneezing-torturingyourhusband-tossing-turning-being-miserable medicine.  (Isn't that the commercial?)

Basically, I was attempting to knock myself out so bad, I would be almost Michael-Jackson-Propofol catatonic.  I think my last words were: make sure I keep breathing.

So, gulp would go the Nyquil (followed by lots of water because Nyquil tastes like liquefied corpses), along with my usual pile 'o pills.  Including Ambien.

Ambien makes me not remember things that happen roughly 20 minutes after consumption.  I go upstairs, take my meds, go through my nighttime routine.  Pretty soon, I hit the hay, and maybe surf the TV for about 3.7 minutes, until sleep hits me over the head with a cartoon mallet.  It's heavenly. But sometimes I have crazy conversations with Sky King.  In fact, I have told him, "No talking to me once I go upstairs" because he would mock me if I said something funny.  Which I tend to do.  Apparently, I needed to set broader parameters.  Like, "No taking advantage of your incapacitated wife in a sexual way."

I have learned I have a predisposition to respond favorably to offers of lovin' when hopped up on Ambien.  And the results tend to be......ahem......exceptional. (sorry, Dad.  The TITLE even said not to read this. And Mom, I know you can take it.)

Nyquil + Ambien?   Super Duper Mega Favorable.  As in, wake-up-without-panties-which-is-the-only-indication-I-put-out-and-have-to-piece-the-night-together-over-coffee Favorable.  Sky King?  Fan.  BIG FAN.

:::bow chicka wow wow:::

Once I got better though, he was not able to take advantage of an invalid.  So sad for him.

But last night?  I got into bed, snuggled in.  We chatted briefly, while our breaths slowed.  Then, I jumped up, turned on the light, popped my pills.

Sky King took notice.  Like a seedy college guy who sees a cute young thing at the bar get a roofie slipped to her, he knew his moment was near.

Him: Oooh.  Ambien sex.  Yessssss.
Me: No.
Him: C'mon.  Ambien sex is awesome.  You are extra frisky.
Me: No Ambien sex for you.  Don't touch me. I'm tired.
Him: I hear you, but it sounds like, "give me 15 minutes to get sleepy then you can have your way with me."
Me: That is NOT what I said.
Him.  Uh huuuuuuhh.  I'm sure of it. And you aren't wearing pants.

Me: Don't touch me.  I'm tired.

Him: See you in 15 minutes.

:::tic, toc, tic, toc, zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz::::



I woke up without panties again.

Sleeping Cutie

I'm cute.  I'm MUCH cuter when I am well-rested. So, if you are new to me and my blog, I will become increasingly attractive to you over the next few months. Don't say I didn't warn you.

I have begun to sleep.  Well, I might add.

Long story short, I have not slept well in about a year.  After a sleep study in which I slept at the hospital hooked up to machines while a stranger watched my every move on video, I finally got the results of that study:
I do NOT have sleep apnea.  This is great!  However, I still don't sleep well. This is bad.

So, after hemming and hawing, my doctor, Dr F (my Sleep Medicine Doctor) said she could give me some medication to try. These are what she recommended:

• Something based on Melatonin-this is a fat NO, due to my creepy realistic dreams.  Un uh. 
• Ambien and Lunesta. These are FOR sleep, and only sleep. I'm game, but all the horror stories about sleep-eating, sleep-driving, and sleep-shopping have Sky King a bit wary.  He's rightfully cautious, because of my "issues" with Nordstrom. But I sure would look great in some new boots after sleep-shopping---alas, we all know that's a treacherous path to go down.
• The next group are a group of older meds for anxiety-Sign me up, right?  They tend to make you sleepy, so right before bed is perfect.  They work with the Cymbalta for the Fibro pain, also fab.  So I get a script for Mirazapine.  

I slept!  Albeit, the night before a major cognitive function test  to address my memory issues which could have been planned better.
But, 4 days later, I am still sleeping!

:::cue angels and harp music:::

I feel good when I wake, but am having a hard time wanting to get up. Maybe it is catching up on a year's worth of good sleep? Maybe the med is too strong?  I'm going to give it a couple weeks, then make a firm assessment.


Yay, Sleep!

Pick-a-Stalker Program

As part of UC Davis' Pick-a-Stalker Program, I get to pick the people that will watch me sleep. It's all part of a program designed to make creeps mainstreamed into normal society, and the premise is that, if we know the people that will be creeping us out, maybe they will be less creepy.

Or, I am going to the hospital for a Sleep Study tonight. At this point, I have lost track, because I am soooo flipping tired.

You see, I, along with my fellow spoonies, don't sleep well.  I look at the clock approximately 10 times per night.  So, I turned the clock.  Now I wake 10 times a night, but I have no idea when I wake, because the clock is turned.  

I have covered the alarm system keypad with black paper.  I flip my cell phone over so that the blinking "someone sent you an email" light does not wake me (it used to).  I make sure the room is as dark as possible, and I do everything I can to have a good night's sleep. But I don't.  They finally sent me to a neurologist, who got to hear my life story in 20 minutes, and then decided maybe a sleep study would be a good tool to figure out why I don't sleep. all because I said I snore.  I also said that I grind my teeth, smack my mouth, and talk in my sleep, but whatevs. The snoring is the issue, in case I have apnea.

So, let me get this straight-I don't sleep well.  So I go on down to the local germ-infested hospital, park in a large structure that costs money, pay a co-pay to some overworked imbecile, change into my "jammies" which I normally don't wear, hook up to a ton of wires and circle thingies, and sleep in a strange bed in a strange room, while people watch me from another room through the security-type cameras.  Sounds relaxing, right? 

I just hope the intercoms are working right so that I get to hear "code blue-room 2645, stat" all night-it's like a bonus, where I get to pretend that I am living on the set of "House" for the night.  Now if only I could have some strange health problems that no one can figure out....oh, wait....

To combat my sleep problems, I have tried numerous things.

• I bought a Sleep Number bed-truly one of the most remarkable inventions of the 21st century, just after toilet paper and Nordstrom.  
• I covered everything that emits light in my room
• I take relaxing herbs at bedtime
• I tried Melatonin, a supplement that helps adjust the circadian clock in your body when it is out of whack.

Let's pause for a moment to talk about melatonin.   I have taken it off and on, with mixed reviews.  I DO seem to sleep better.  But.  And this is a big butt---my dreams when I take it are extremely vivid, realistic and memorable.

For instance, this morning I woke up, and my reality seemed to be:
I had just met my husband's family for the first time, and they were a very large black family.  They were very inviting, but they were a little hesitant about my history in the juvenile detention facility. You can't blame them, but they didn't want to hear my story about why I had spent most of my youth in Juvie.  This is why...
When I was younger, I was helping a friend walk to the car repair place.  It was night, and there weren't any street lights in the area of town we were in.  Eventually, we lost track of each other, and I wandered down a street, looking for open repair shops. I finally found one, but my friend was not there. I asked around, and a woman that ran the counter had seen her further down the road, and she walked me down to where she saw her go.  Apparently, my friend (who looks like a friend I had in high school) had decided to spend the night in a tree, nestled in the branches.  I tried to join her, but I was concerned about the quality of sleep I would get, so I encouraged her to jump down so we could find another place to stay.  Just then, there seemed to be a party going on in a back yard, so we joined them.  They were all very nice to us, being new to the area.  Then, a group of stereotypical-looking thugs showed up, who also turned out to be remarkably nice.
This is where things get ugly.  All of a sudden, there is a fight and some shooting-I remember two different weapons being fired.  One of the "thugs" gave me a large stack of twenties, and sent me on my way.
Things get fuzzy at this point, and next thing I know, I am awake in a juvenile facility.  I have a small cubby hole with a bed and a triangular shelf for my belongings.  My cell phone and some old donuts are my possessions.  I am not allowed to have a phone charger, though so things are rough, and I have to turn the phone off after each text. Also, the facility seems to be in the middle of some sort of race war, and my fellow pals are getting picked off by people on the other side of the fence.
I bide my time on my little cubby, and try to get some sleep. I know that I have been here for a long time, but I'm not sure how long.
All of a sudden, my real mother barges in and throws her crazy child on me.  We gather up my stuff including a bucket of paint, and take off.
They take me to a restaurant, where I try in vain to get gluten-free pot stickers.  My "real" mom had abandoned me many years before, and wants to get to know her daughter, but she isn't very nice. She even takes my wrapper-less pot sticker.  Somehow, I ditch her, along with my child (a 2-year-old Princess) that has just appeared, in search of this guy named Mike that raised me.
Along the way, I lose my child, but don't seem to notice. I then get caught up with some bad people again, and sneak into a house for protection. After the bad people go away, I manage to find my way to a family dinner at my husband's family's home. They are all very nice, and serve a good meal.  I keep nudging my husband, though because it has been a long day and I am tired.  Finally, we leave, and I can't find my cell phone.  Luckily, I remember that I have not upgraded yet, so I plan to call Verizon as soon as I get home to get the new Droid X2, and I remember hoping I had updated my backup on the computer recently, because I know I have to call in my Girl Scout cookie order soon, and I can't do it without all the information stored in my phone.


Yep, 12 hours later, this is how vivid my dreams are.

No thank you-I'll take my chances with Ambien, thankyouverymuch.  I hear people do crazy things like sleep-eat and sleep-shop while on it.  At least now, I will get wonderful boots by mail randomly.  It will be like Christmas every few weeks!

Wish me luck-G'Night!