just_cyd | Entries tagged with meds

Wednesday I gave up, took half a day PTO, and went to urgent care. it was the swollen tonsils that finally did me in, not being able to swallow without pain. my job is talking, and it was misery. Eyes still slightly goopy, still coughing up crud, maybe running a fever (none of my thermometers will register anything remotely normal on me).

Got into the Crumbl-adjacent urgent care quickly, and the checked me over. I was wildly uncooperative for the strep test (reflexes! I swear!), and agreed that "sinus infection" sounds like a solid diagnosis. got a shot of steroids to help with various inflammation, and three Rx for treatment: antibiotics, fluconozole because antibiotics, and cough syrup that knocks me on my ass.

Picked up soup and dumplings from the Asian place and a giant Diet Dr Pepper on my way home, and then crashed out. I felt too gross to want to stop in Crumbl; they didn't have my Pink Cookie this week, and the other offerings didn't appeal to me. roused myself long enough to get my drugs before the place closed, ingest some of everything, and crawl into bed. Ended up calling off Thursday, too, and spent it in a cough-syrup-induced coma, which was badly needed. not drinking enough, but WOW did uninterrupted sleep feel good.

All of this has dug up all manner of issues regarding illness and going to the doctor and the need for therapy to work this all out. I could type it all out, but I'm not really up for that just this moment. I think it's something I'll have to work out in bits, sit with it and separate what's my own formed opinion and what was forced on me.

feeling much better with drugs on board, and hoping to keep this trajectory so I'm delicately phlegm-free come mid-april.

I need help. I KNOW I need help. LOTS of help. Do you want the list alphabetically? Chronologically from when I first identified or asked? by order of importance or overall financial expense?

Historically, asking for help has not gone well. Asked for help with my flowerbeds once, only for the helpers to show up to take me to dinner, after which it was too dark to do anything outside. "oh, ha ha, sorry, we were hungry and wanted to treat you" was the wildly troubling response. Other requests were met with "oh, well, first we must take this trip, and then that trip, and see these people and then those, and how does the second Tuesday of never work for you?" My failure to pair-bond and spawn held against me with the most saccharine smile.

Asking friends for help at my rock-bottom lowest also backfired. I was in constant, unmanaged pain, my house was a wreck, but I was too [whatever the words are] to articulate what I needed. So the day was spent with a few friends helping with what ended up being mostly cosmetic things: removing wallpaper border from bathrooms, moving some other things around. one friend (since dropped) chastised me for my request not being "serious" enough, that she had given up a day with her husband & family for this, and how dare I ..... The entire day I was a hair's breadth away from losing my shit, having put myself out there so far to even ASK, then to be met with this.

I'm not sure I've asked for help from friends since. A single friend, maybe, if I'd keep an eye on her littles, her assistance also providing an escape from the confines of her house in the dead of winter.

more recently, friends have helped, in the form of readying my house for a roommate, moving and building furniture, appliances, hauling unwanted things off. Their kindness given freely, readily, if only I know what I want.

Since The Wreck (always capitalized, and usually assumed that others know what I mean, five years on), very few people have been to my house, tapering off as I got better and then the arrival of Covid restrictions. D has been the only one to see the horror of what it has become, The opening scenes of a Bravo TV Series. Those issues are fueled and compounded by the mental and physical issues, and the growing disconnect from reality. I am too embarrassed to list the things that need to be dealt with, but the cat tree in the corner might give you an idea.

Meds are off. I know they are. Or they're insufficient, or just plain wrong for what my grey matter needs right now. manic manic manic and oh, yes, manic. can't be depressed if you can't slow down long enough to wallow in it. the physical effects are starting to show, and the financial ramifications are blindingly clear week after week when I get the e-notices from my bank.

A friend recently told me the tale of her now-adult (how?!) daughter's "grippy socks vacation" and how it came about. my unspoken, knee-jerk, response was "oh, how lovely to have the freedom to spend two+ months focusing on mental health!". There's been half a dozen times this year alone that I wanted to scream "UNCLE!" and do whatever it takes to get whatever help I need, but then I look at my calendar, and realize "nope, that's not a good time for me." Hotels are non-refundable, and the trips are too tied to my happiness, that missing seeing my friends might do more damage than just letting this all go unchecked. I find myself getting hopeful over ND (among others), and then pull back, knowing I have no right to foist this level of crazy on him, especially without his express consent.

Driving down here, I cried no fewer than six times. Three for sure on the first leg, and at least on the second leg, believing for sure that Show #1 would add to the count. Last night it snuck up on me, pain being the catalyst, along with a jolt of nostalgia of seeing Darren, Holden remembering me, that full-circle moment of this journey. Today, I'm mostly OK, but starting to tense up knowing that tomorrow I must head home.

Am I delusional? perhaps. Am I separating realities in a possibly unhealthy way? signs point to yes. will I get to the point that my reality, and actual reality, become a Venn Diagram of two circles on opposite sides of a chart?

Current Location: Panera, Durham, NC
Current Music: coffee shop sounds

Stage banter asked "what are the five stages of grief?" while introducing a new-to-me song. We shouted out "anger!" and "denial!" and "bargaining!" and made it to four when he suggested Buc-ees as the fifth stage of grief. we all laughed, at least some of us familiar enough with roadside haven to get the joke.

I was filming, my phone battery low, or I would have googled it for him. I think that was closest he got to ever saying his wife got sick and died, but i'l have to listen to it again to be sure. my phone completely dead about 5 songs from the end, I wasn't able to to fill in the blank as we grudgingly said goodbye. back at my hotel, he was online so I googled it and let him know:

ME:
We missed depression

Denial
Anger
Bargaining
Depression
Acceptance

Not that I ever follow directions

HIM
I knew there were more than four!

ME:
I guess when depression is the default setting, you kinda forget about it?

HIM:
yeah, kind of a 60-cycle hum going through the whole thing

I should've stopped there. I didn't. too wound up, too thrilled to be chatting, too high on the thrill of whatever this is

ME:
for nearly 25 years now one of the tags I use in my online journaling is EKRcanKMA - Elisabeth Kubler-Ross can kiss my ass.

i'm currently too manic to notice any depression. like a toddler with the zoomies at bedtime.

-----

sleeping away my day, it occurred to me that Buc-ees is a good substitute for Depression, as it offers all the things Depression robs from your life: clean bathrooms, an amazing selection of food and drinks and toys and impulse buys and light, such violently bright light. I'm told the Richmond KY store can been for miles at night by the glow of the lights, an oasis in the dark hills of rural Kentucky.

They're also overrun with tourists, and there's nothing tourists love more than swarming in on a tragedy, dispensing pleasantries and platitudes, and then scurrying back to the bus for the ride to the next stop.

Dreams of a similar sort speckled my slumber - running away, by bicycle not car, in familiar cities changed by perspective of mode of transportation. searching for help and not finding it. Eventually running into him, the tractor beam of i-still-don't-know-what pulling me into his orbit, into his arms, into his promise of a steady, solid something. A message, in my ear, via his lips directly or via voice mail, assures me "I'm OK. We're OK. It's all OK." The tone is one used with an inconsolable child, a distraught friend, someone on the brink, someone who prefers the alternate ending to Cocoon. I took the "we" to be us two, not any other obvious groupings (his band, his family, his community), because that's what fits my delusional waking narrative.

-----

At the end of the night, he told me didn't know I was there until several songs into the show. Aghast, I exclaimed "I was sitting right in front of you! How could possibly miss all this?!", gesturing to my heft, my girth.

They took a break a good hour into their set, Jess's request. I stood up to move my aching bones, and he found me, said hello, and then offered a hug in case he didn't get to do so later, but then promising he would see me. I assume(d) that I was the cause for these decisions. don't rock the boat, don't anger the highly unstable woman. He hugged me again at the end of the night, and with both, I felt more the warm fuzziness of his velvet blazer against my cheek than his arms around me, disconnected from my self. We held on tightly, but briefly. The promise of Saturday's show giving me hope that it's not a "goodbye forever" but just a "farewell for now."

up until I set foot in that decommissioned church, I was a Very Hot Mess, on the very far end of the Scoville scale, crying multiple times over songs and scenarios my brain would conjure up and the brainweasels would run off with, leaving me bereft behind the wheel and nowhere to pull off. Once in the door, though, I had A Purpose - feed everyone! - and the music either melted away my worries, or threw me deep in denial and held me under for two-plus hours. I fully expected to cry at least one song more if they made the set list (not knowing the set list and show was fully Australian Rules music - "the rules are THERE ARE NO RULES!"). driving back to my hotel with a phone that was just being resurrected, but not willing to provide direction, I did mostly fine, as it was just two turns and a long dark road back to the interstate, and I roughly knew how far and which exit. back in the hotel room, well, scroll up to see what happened.

If envy is green, and sadness is blue, and anger is red, what is despair? Lonliness? Jealous rage that you have no business harboring but you do anyway because on the scale of Elsa to Javert, you make him looks like a well-adjusted member of society.

What color is the emptiness of holding onto things that you hope will be, maybe, someday, despite all evidence to the contrary? I've spent 2023 living my best life, but there's still a chasm inside me.

"Will that be enough
when you get what you want
Will that be enough
Will you be alright
If you let me go"

Darren Jessee asks in his song Will That Be Enough (Central Bridge 2023, Bar/None Records)

But what if you don't know what you want? You head towards something, and you start getting close, and realize "nope, not this. Not now."? Then what? I'm awash in a sea of dishwater grey and dull beige, not enough bold enough to be the puke brown you get when you mix all the colors together. So much is missing, there's no color to stand out.

I'm dragging my feet on some things, barging ahead in other things, putting my eggs in the wrong baskets and hoping like hell I can somehow limp through another month of dodging overdue bills and avoiding rage-quitting my job while somehow finding a new therapist & psychiatrist and then convincing them that the meds are maybe not working so well after all because who in their right, adequately-medicated mind would be suffering the brain weasels and dark thoughts that never.go.away.

Lack of ticket info has me reluctant to make he trek to Carrboro for Darren's Jan 19th show, and lack of funds pretty much cements it. But there are two events in April i will be attending, and I wonder if this time will be the time I just don't come back?

Started back on Trulicity two days ago. it's been brutal. I mean, when I started this two years ago it was brutal, but it was also a lower does. This time, they just renewed the current, higher does, so my body is REALLY not on board with this. Yesterday, I might have consumed 500 calories; today is more than that, but still well below 1000. I've got a bunch of protein drinks, eggs, fruit cups, applesauce and cottage cheese. As long as I remember to only eat a tiny bit at a time, I think I can get through this.

This is also a VERY strong indication as to why i will NEVER consent to any sort of weight loss surgery: this will fade with time, or if I just don't take the next shot. WLS is permanent, and the potential for malnutrition is pretty freaking high.

*~*~*~*~
nastygram from the condo association. i hate the threats but know I'm behind.

~*~*~*~*~*
booked hotels for Asheville and Atlanta. lovely juxtaposition to the line above, eh? Mental health is health, dammit. these road trips make me happy.

*~*~*~*~
Atlanta will include a visit with Ben, crashing at his place. As long as I don't lose my head, i'll be great. we had a five hour phonecall on Sunday, and it was lovely. Well, it started out because he was still freaked over his Saturday, but after talking it out, we were all over the map and laughing more than anything else.

~*~*~*~*~
Need to sign up for health insurance. so many very sucky options. $4k, $5k, or $10k deductible? separate policy for serious illness/hospitalizations? We used to get a 1-2 page summary with the premiums, but I've yet to find that info. deadline is 10/31/23. I guess I'm logging on this weekend to figure this out.

There's a lot of things I've not been properly prepared for, and navigating my own health care has been one of them.

I got lucky that when I moved back to Ohio in 1996, I was able to return to my family practice I'd been using when I moved away in 1993. Not having to re-invent the wheel with my medical history was nice, as uncomplicated as it was then. When things started getting interesting, this doc was able to refer me to the necessary specialists (and when that first one was a raging asshole, they found me another one).

What I was NOT prepared for, however, was reaching the point of being older than my doc. At least, with Dr M., his baby face gave the perception of him being much younger, when he's actually a year or two older. He still has the baby face, but a few grey hairs at the temples is helping him gain clout with his elderly patients. I see him on Tuesday, and I'm taking the whole day off for it. pupil dilation sucks.

Another thing I was never prepared for? My family doc retired. she's not that much older than me, but enough older, I suppose, to retire. or, as my mom did, "choose not to work"?

So while I'm badly dealing with the shit insurance I have, on Friday I'll see the PA (or NP?) in that same practice, and hope like hell we can keep things as-is with all the drugs I'm on.

Why can't something be easy??

Let me esplain. There is no time. Let me sum up:

1. got the Official Diabetes Diagnosis on June 3. A1c was 8, fasting blood sugar nearly 200. Not Good.

2. picked up glucometer and assorted accessories on the 5th. have been testing morning fasting numbers since.
2a. was give a vial of 25 test strips to last me a month. was prescribed more than that, but IDK what's up with only giving me one vial *grump*

3. began the ketogenic diet on Monday the 10th. first 4 days sucked. i had to do a lot of cooking and a lot of prepping. It's been too hot to go out to lunch, which has helped.

4. 12 days in, and i've lost 19 pounds. just barely starting to notice it in how my clothing fits. about 150 to go. doing pretty good at keeping things to 5% carbs, 75% fat and 20% protein.

5. Saturday, day 13 or so into this, was the first time i wanted to cheat. and sort of did. but it was a FAR CRY from prior to this, and wasn't terribly worth it.

6. I wake up hungry-ish, but not OMG FEED ME NOW OR I WILL DEVOUR TOKYO hungry. it's kinda nice.

7. starting to get a bit lazy about logging food. need to make sure i'm keeping good records, so i know i'm doing this right.

8. meet with the diabetes education nurse on Wednesday. So. many. questions!

9. Still haven't told anyone - Roommate, good friend J, and whatever necessary medical personnel. Oh, and whoever in benefits/HR that needs to know for the FMLA paperwork. Only told my boss i have yet another chronic health issue that must be dealt with. assured him it won't require surgery, just even more doctor's appointments.

10. I really, really don't want to tell D. I'm not sure if it's his judgement i fear, or what. eventually they'll find out, but not right now.

11. haven't started taking the metformin yet. going to ask the nurse about it before i begin. I'm a little worried that it'll be a downward spiral of increasing meds and whatnot. she's already added two more before this, so i'm sorta at capacity for choking down pills.

12. added Singulair at night for asthma/allergies, and neurontin for pain. it knocks me on my ass, so it's not fully in the rotation yet. no way in hell i can take it 3x/day!! "it can have a mild sedative effect" translated to "could not shake off the drugged feeling for an entire day" for me. yay?

13. really, really looking forward to the point when this isn't a full-time job for me, figuring out what i can eat, and i get away from being one of those Annoying Diet People. **I** am sick of me talking about it, so i can just imagine how my friends feel!!

Current Mood: blah

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Just Cyd.

Nothing more, nothing less

Entries tagged with meds

Giving up and giving in to the crud

Obviously, Captain

post script

ok, Pantone, spill it

Notes to self

Adulting and the US healthcare system

Ketomaniac