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?

Not.

So, I went back to the message boards.  They have one called, cymbaltawithdrawals.com.  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.

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.