Digging up the Past

Thanks to Facebook, I was reminded today that it’s been six years now since I was released from a ten day stay in the hospital. Now that might not seem like a big deal for someone with as many conditions as I have, but this particular hospital stay was life changing (and not at the same time). I haven’t talked about it much, but maybe it’s time I did.

In other blog posts I’ve mentioned my close call with suicide, but just in case this is your first time reading my posts, I’ll give you the cliff-notes version. I had it all planned out, car accident (faulty brakes) and no one else hurt, but in the end I couldn’t go through with it. My kids were too important to me, I couldn’t put them through that. But that’s not why I was in the hospital. I went to an out-patient rehab facility for that one. That was over a year before my ten day hospital stay.

Six years ago (and a few months) I started seeing a new pain management doctor. He was unimpressed with how ineffective my treatment had been up to that point, especially with regards to my medications. Specifically after my “attempted” suicide (personally I don’t consider it attempted, but that’s what they kept calling it).  He wanted to completely redo my meds, but that would require drastic measures. I had become so dependent on my prescriptions, I would have to be hospitalized and weened off of them. Just weening off one at a time would take three months per med, WAY too long! But there was a catch… I had been suicidal. Legally, they had to put me on suicide watch. So, I went to the “Psych Ward” to detox from prescription medications.

Now I am not a prude, but I am also a “good girl”. I have never smoked (gross, seriously), drank alcohol (see my post “The Drinking Game”), or done any illegal drugs of any kind (I’m not opposed to medical marijuana, it’s just not legal here yet). So, this felt like an incredible low in my life! I was on 24 hour watch. I had to sleep with the door open, an aid had to accompany me when I took a shower (really), and that was just the humiliating stuff. The worst part was the actual detoxing!

There was a reason I was there, which I quickly began to understand. After only a day of reducing my meds, I had a constant migraine. After a few days, I was extremely sick. It was was nice to have other people there that were going through very similar problems. We had group therapy sessions, but I was often in too much pain to really concentrate. It was still nice though. Eventually I was completely off all my old medications, and I was miserable. My husband came to see me as often as he could, and even brought the kids when I felt strong enough. I’m a very good faker, I wanted to see my kids as much as possible. It made a huge difference!

After about a week, they started introducing the new medications he was putting me on and life began to get back to “normal”. My numbers were looking good and they decided I could be released in a few days if I kept doing so well. I had even made a few friends, I was getting used to sleeping in a hospital bed (to the point I’ve had trouble sleeping in a regular bed since then and had to get an adjustable bed, weird I know), and my spirits were climbing. Things that were not getting better… my headache, my appetite, and my general need for privacy.

I have never spent so much time with strangers in my life! I do not recommend it. I may seem like an outgoing person, but I’m actually quite shy (until you get to know me). I’m the kind of person that will end up being your best friend for life, but you’re going to have to be the one to start the conversation… because I’m not going to do it. I am a social armadillo, I see people and roll up into my shell like “don’t mind me, I’m just a rock”. But once you get to know me, I swear I’m a nice person (under my shell). So to be thrown into a situation where I have to interact with that many people, for ten whole days was exhausting! The group therapy sessions weren’t so bad, because I could just sit quietly unless I had something to say. But unless I wanted to just sit in my room all day and stare at a wall, I would have to go out into the common room and interact with people. Ugh. It was intentional, I know that, but I was very happy to be going home!

I finally got the okay to go home and everything really hit me. What if I have a relapse? What if these new meds turn on me and stop working? What if this? What if that? I started having a panic attack, but I didn’t want to draw attention to myself. the last thing I wanted was to stay there another day! This had happened to me before, several times. I finally got myself calmed down. I knew that there was no point in playing the “what if” game, and the best medicine for me right now was holding my kids. So, I went home, gratefully.

Less than a year later, my insurance changed and one of the medications that I was put on (that was actually really helping control my pain) was no longer covered. I had to immediately stop taking it. I did everything I could to get even enough to ween off of it, but there was nothing I could do. If I had known, I would have been weening down off of it for a month, but instead I had to go “cold turkey” I got extremely ill. I also lost the doctor that helped me in the insurance change. So all the progress I made in the hospital went down the drain within a year. It was detrimental to my health. So, I look back at my time in the hospital with mixed feelings. There were some very positive moments, and some that I wish I could forget. There are some medications that I started taking there that I’m still on that are still helping me, so that’s good. But all-in-all, because of a change in insurance, I’m back where I started.