Tag: mental health

This Is My Life Currently

Bones

christopher-windus-ys_PVhkEC6c-unsplashThe alarm goes off.  I groan, hit snooze, and roll over to steal some warmth from my amazing human who also doubles as a walking space heater.  The snooze alarm goes off and I whinge some more and convince myself I’m only going in for a little cuddle.  Several minutes later I get a nudge awake and I roll myself out of bed.  I stand up.

And promptly tilt over into the dresser.

That’s fine, there’s only a few centimetres between where I stand and the dresser, I’m not hurt in the least.  I stand myself back upright and lean on the bed as I grab my pants, put them on carefully one leg at a time (I’m also deeply inflexible first thing in the morning, so this is sometimes quite difficult), put my jumper and slippers on, and totter out.

My right eye is just a blur, like I’m not wearing my glasses.  My left eye works fine.

I stumble and list several more times on my way to the kitchen, but I manage to catch myself each time, usually with my feet, sometimes with my hands on a wall.  The cats yell at me to feed them.  Kettle goes on first, dog loses her shit because I’m up and that means breakfast, and the cats continue to yell at me.  They all have me whipped.

I continue to teeter my way around the house, feeding the various beasts, making my coffee, my amazing human’s coffee, my breakfast, until at last I can sit down and not expend additional energy catching myself as I start to tip sideways.  I subconsciously plan my routes to ensure I have either something structurally sound I can catch myself on, or something soft I can fall on, as much as possible.  I’m glad my floofy creature (cat, she rules our lives, and she knows it and loves it) is more interested in floofing in front of me – tail up and elegantly tipped to one side, glancing over her shoulder as she chirrups to make sure I’m following her – rather than doing a surprise floof directly in front of / under / between my feet as I’m walking.

By the time I’m seated with my breakfast and coffee my right eye is back to normal, if feeling uncomfortable (I’ve been to the optometrist who says it’s all beautiful and fine), and I spend my mornings relaxing and waiting for my body to stabilise a bit more.

Throughout all of this my jaw burns.  Well, not so much burns, as feels like it’s being eaten away.  It’s a diffuse ache with no distinct boundaries but a tapering off around a central pain.  Sometimes it’ll crawl down my mandible and into my chin.  Sometimes I’ll have flashes of sharp pain across the roots of my maxillary teeth.  More often than not I’ll have a frozen burning patch along the side of my nose.

I’ll browse through Facebook on my laptop.  My fingers will lightly spasm as I go through, so I have to make sure the mouse is off to the side of the screen so I don’t accidentally click on something.

After a little while I’ll get up, wind my way to a shower, and get on with my day.  I will have difficulty recalling things I did moments ago.  I will stumble over words.  My brain will supply me with an alternate word for the one I’m wanting, and I will have to logically work my way through an number of other words before I get to the correct one.  I will sometimes have intention tremors.

If I’m lucky, the wobbliness will be done by 10am.  Other times it lasts all day, and I will have to rely on my cane for balance.

I don’t know how much of this is the Tegretol or if this is an increasing severity of whatever is causing my trigeminal neuralgia.  Hopefully I will find out soon!

Thank You To My General Practitioner

Bones

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I have been seeing my general practitioner doctor for two years.

I first remember meeting him as a depressed and anxious wreck during winter, where he looked at me and prescribed me antidepressants immediately, with a recheck in a couple of weeks.  I revisited a few times, both of us delighted that the first SSRI was a winner, and then I didn’t see him for a bit.

I didn’t see him until after my physio suggested my overreaction to injury may be fibromyalgia.  I described my symptoms to him and he said the words I hoped to hear:  “it sounds like you have fibromyalgia”.  We tried amitrip, then he suggested we try pregabalin, as amitrip wasn’t working for me.  It was a winner.

Then I got face pain and I went straight in to see him.  He said the words I really did not hope to hear:  “it sounds like trigeminal neuralgia”, but we treated it for a possible ear infection and possible shingles in the ear (because one of his friends had it years ago and it took a very long time to figure that one out).

I have visited him every week for so long the receptionist knows my name.

We’re now going for a private MRI and a public neurologist to get this sorted as quickly as possible, because I won’t be able to continue my education next year if this pain keeps up.

I have been incredibly lucky to get an amazing doctor first up.  He has never doubted what I have to say, never told me its in my head, always done additional research to ensure he is providing optimal care, and has taken the time and effort to personalise the treatment to my peculiarities.  He has been an amazing point of support throughout all of this.

So to my general practitioner:  thank you.  You are amazing, and you are improving my quality of life more than I can say.

I don’t want the life I lead … or the life I’m heading into

Bones

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I sat on a foot stool in Spotlight, exhausted and in a not inconsiderable amount of pain, waiting for my mother to extricate herself from the yarn department.  I had bought two balls of lovely soft cotton and was contemplating what to do with them when my thoughts moved to when I would be able to do anything with them.

You see I have this week off, then a week of work experience, then I’m back at uni, which just sort of continues until December of next year as we go straight from this year into our final year, do not pass go, do not collect $100.  I have very limited time to do things that I enjoy, and usually by the time I get to them, I’m too exhausted to do them.  I don’t like this life that I lead.

But I’m sucking it up and doing it because it will get me into a career I am infinitely passionate about and absolutely what I should be doing with my life.  Unfortunately it’s also a career where overtime and overwork is just par for the course and rather expected of you.  Especially in our final year of university.  We’re not ’employees’, so there is no legislation preventing them from requiring us to be in clinic from 7am to 7pm, or later, or from going straight from that to an overnight shift.

I really don’t like the life I’m headed into.

But like all things, there’s the ability to mould that life into something you want.  In my case, being stern about in clinic hours and my own requirements, and ensuring that I will not be failed on the basis of only being able to be in clinic for reasonable hours.  And after university is finished, setting up alternative income streams (I almost feel gross saying those three words, they sound so … smarmy and corporatey) so that I can work part time, and find a place that will allow me to work part time.

It was a sad realisation, though, in that shop.  It’s the career I’ve worked most of my life towards, and my own body is making it so much more difficult than it needs to be.  My body is preventing me from doing what I want to do to the fullness I want to do it, and I’ve had to seriously adjust what I want to do to compensate that.

It seriously sucks.

So I’m going to allow myself to be a sad sack of potatoes about it for a little while, then grab myself a cuppa tea and start plotting an easier future.  My life won’t give me exactly what I want, so I will make a suitable compromise – one where I can still pursue the career I want, without exhausting myself to the point where I can’t do the other things I want to do.

I am doing good enough

Bones

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I find this notion of “I am doing good enough” incredibly difficult to define and accept.  As someone who has had chronic fatigue and chronic pain for over half her life, I don’t know what it’s like to not have it.  So, when I look at everyone else zooming around, doing so much, having all this energy, I think to myself how do they do that? why can’t I?  I still can’t tell myself I have a chronic illness that reduces my ability to do everything.  Not I have a chronic illness that stops me from doing things, because I am as stubborn as a mule and will chop my own nose off to spite my face, and if someone, even myself, tells me I cannot do a thing, damnit I will do the thing.

I still can’t tell myself it’s okay, I am doing as much as I can, and I am still doing well.  This is because I am comparing my achievements to able-bodied people.  Not only am I comparing my achievements to able-bodied people, but I am in a course where my achievements are compared to able-bodied people.

I am in one of the most difficult and gruelling degrees in the world, one that is hard for even able bodied people to undertake.  I am allowed to be doing not as well as them.

But I don’t see that.  I don’t think that.  I’ve gone my entire life thinking, and being told, that I’m normal, that I’m just lazy, that I just need to try harder, work harder, do more.  It’s a mentality I’m struggling to shift.

I suspect it’s a mentality many people with chronic illnesses and/or disabilities have difficulty with.

Sometimes I manage to remind myself.  Sometimes I even manage to feel it in my heart, instead of just in my head, but that goes away with so much as a stiff breeze or an assignment.  I try to keep up with my more able-bodied class-mates.  Sometimes I succeed.  Sometimes I struggle.

But at the end of the day, I am passing.  I would like to be getting ‘average’ marks, and each time I think that, I tell myself I am doing good enough.

Setbacks

Bones

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Sometimes things keep piling up and all you want is a break.

It’s been one of those months.

One of my beloved animals became very ill.  We spent a lot of time going to and from the emergency after hours.  She was admitted for a few days.  Fortunately she is now well on her way to recovery and back to shouting at me through the door as soon as my alarm goes off (“FEED ME, FEED ME HUMAN”).

Then my face started to hurt.  Just one side, around the temple, spreading to my zygomatic arch and down my jaw.  I went to the doctor, who discovered a red tympanic membrane (ear drum), so put me on antibiotics and NSAIDs with a recheck in 48 hours if the pain hadn’t gone away.

You guessed it, the pain hadn’t gone away.

Revisited and now I’m being treated for shingles (chicken pox take two) and trigeminal neuralgia.

Unfortunately I suspect it’s likely to be trigeminal neuralgia.  The tympanic membrane is looking much better.  I have no rash or blistering associated with shingles, and the pain is progressing from a tooth ache to stabby stabby.

I’d been stable on my new bunch of meds for quite some time, and I was quite liking it.  I’m not entirely pleased with this new spanner in the works, or the new medication (which makes me really sleepy).  But it is what it is, and I’m just going to have to live with it.