Sore Fingers Today

I have severe hypoglycemia.  It’s a real bitch too because I have had two grand mal (tonic-clonic) seizures from it and I live in absolute fear that I’ll have a really bad low, won’t be home and I’ll have a seizure.  I blame my 30# weight gain on it AND my food addiction.  I just worry that I won’t be able to keep it steady so I eat all the time OR it drops and I eat and then it drops unexpectedly and I eat and well, you get the picture. 30# later if I am not full ALL THE FREAKING time, I panic.

It’s a sad way to live.

I finally decided I had to see an endocrinologist and I decided to go the distance and see the one I’d been seeing before I left for Israel.  In some ways it was a good choice because he had my records from 2010 when I was there for (go ahead and guess) hypoglycemia although it wasn’t so good because his middle name is NOT bedside manner.

He told me that my failed glucose tolerance test meant absolutely nothing to him (thanks, I drank that nasty ass orange crap and had a 40 low for nothing then) and that I’d have to go “make nice” with the lab and then get myself into a bad situation (read: nasty low) and go get gallons of blood drawn for half a gabillion weird tests that no one has ever heard of.

And that’s not exaggerating because when I went and made nice with the lab (good tactic if I do say so because….) they hadn’t even HEARD of two of tests and had to call their regional HQ to get the coding for them and even the regional HQ had to look them up.  Even THEN they couldn’t identify two others without calling the doctor AGAIN for guidance.

The supervisor at the lab keyed it all in and then told me that when I hit that “sweet spot” and had a good low to get myself in pronto and they’d take me right away.

So…I talked to him last week when he called me to tell me not do strenuous exercise before one of the tests (really?) and assured himthat today would be the day.  Actually it had to BE the day since it was the only day when poor Scott wasn’t running everyone back and forth all over Gd’s creation to doctor’s appointments and whatnot.

This morning I got up and started off with toast with apple butter.  When Scott got up at 7:30 I was at 180.  We talked about when we wanted to have to low hit and I knew it would happen about an hour after I ate something so terrible it couldn’t even be classified as food.

In this case it was going to be two packages of Little Debbie Swiss Rolls (I am gagging even as I write this.)

So…Scott went to get his hair cut and I sat in the car and ate 3 of the 4 rolls.  There was no way for love or money you could get me to eat that 4th roll.  I was almost ready to just hurl it all out and I couldn’t imagine anyone ever eating more than one package of these even though I know there are those who do (and I am NOT judging) – all I wanted as a hash brown or something that didn’t taste like crusted sugar and chocolate to cleanse my overloaded palate.

But…I had to suck it up.

So we went to pay the insurance, get Scott’s license picture taken and do some shopping at the grocery store which is where I hit the sweet spot.

I knew it when I couldn’t see anymore so we scurried into line, paid even though there was a HUGE error on our receipt and ran out and across the parking lot to the lab.  I was shaking and in a sweat.  I checked my glucose and I was at 50.  I knew we were on borrowed time before my liver decided to take some of my fat and send it northward to my pancreas so we ran in and wrote RUSH on the signin.  Scott even told the tech that his wife needed to be drawm immediately for her blood sugar before she had a seizure!

HUZZAH!

That pulled me past two folks who were there with appointments who weren’t really pleased with my cutting line (I am SOOOO sorry…really) even though I sort of had an appointment which I sort of made three weeks ago sort of but hey, they wouldn’t have known that would they?  Sorry again.

Once we were done I was STARVING so I had a 7 layer burrito and a taco (now you know why I am FAT) and went to my therapy appointment.

I have to admit my fingers are sore from all the finger sticks I did today.  I have hit three lows since that induced one and I know the rest of the week will suck until I can get a good diet of fruit, veg and protein back into my system.  But strangely that’s okay.

I know that I still could have a seizure but I also know that MAYBE this time something can be done.  MAYBE something WILL be done.  When I was in Israel my endocrinologist put me on acarbose and that worked really well.  I’d like to do something like that again.  Something that will keep me steady.  Then I can get on a good, low calorie diet…more activity including my daily 5k…and hopefully kick my metabolism back into gear.

So…while I may have very sore fingers today..I also have hope.  I think it’s a fair trade off.  I’ll keep you posted.

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What Makes You Happy

It’s easy to write a blog post about those things that make me unhappy…and Lord knows I have written a lot of those lately.  But what about those things that make me happy?  I know it shouldn’t be that hard so why don’t I write more about them?  Tonight I plan to do just that.

Sometimes when I am in the abyss it’s hard to think of anything that would make me really HAPPY.  I mean what IS happiness anyway?  But the reality is I know what happiness is.  Happiness is beig with my son even when he’s rambing away for the gabillionth time about exacting revenge on the unsuspecting victim of the day as his alter ego, the Oera Ghost.  Happiness is looking at my two freaky dogs when they are sleeping and wanting to hug and kiss them.  Happiness is listening t o “I’m Just a Gigilo” at the end of my walk when I am on my way home.  Happiness is hugging Scott when he comes home from work.

See?  That’s not so hard.

Happiness is knowing Shabbat is right around the corner.  Happiness is being an Israeli citizen and aving had the greatest experience in my life of living in Jerusalem with my son.  Happiness is having a warm home and a soft bed and heat and air conditioning and a mixer to make cookies with.  Happiness is having running water.  Really.

Happiness is having a best friend who listens when the going gets rough and who isn’t afraid to say, hey, listen to ME when I get lost in myself.  Happiness is being safe.  Happiness is being loved.

There are so many things to be happy about.  Probably way more than there are to be sad or angry about but sometimes it seems that the bad things seem so enormous and overwhelming.  At least to me they can be consuming.

I hope that when I am down or sad or overwhelmed I’l remember to come back to this post or even just to my private journal and be happy in the moment because there are so many happys to put the bads in their place.

Life As A Headcase: Doctor, Doctor…Breaking Up Is NOT So Hard To Do

This is a post about me and my doctor.  However, as weird as this may be it starts off with the story of my migraines but bear with me, we WILL get to the actual message of this blog…just hang in there and trust me.

Besides everything else that is going on with me, I also suffer from Chronic Migraines.  I don’t know why this is…does anyone ever know what causes a migraine?  Well, seriously, I guess some people can tell you what triggers theirs but I am not so sure anyone really knows what causes them.

Or even how they feel or how they present.

My migraines happen about 4 days a week.  My neuro was very conservative
and gave me 15 Fioricet pills a month.  That’s one every two days or estimating a month containing just 15 migraines.  With 4 headache days a week, my month has about 20 migraines.  This caused me to hoard meds because I was always so afraid I’d run out JUST when I needed it.  He also prescribed compazine for the accompanying nausea.

Still with me, because now we are at the heart of the matter…I told
you we’d get there right?

Now here comes the rant (because you knew there WAS one right?)  I had to
choose a primary care doctor so I picked one I didn’t know simply because all the ones I DID know either didn’t take my insurance or weren’t taking new patients.  So I picked a guy I didn’t know but who was in a practice and could see me in a closeby office on Wednesdays (the day I can get a ride.)

Well, yesterday I saw him.  While I was in the hospital, my treating psychiatrists and doctors (yes, GPs) prescribed a couple new things (Abilify, Remeron) and changed a few things (Klonopin to Xanax and upped the Fioricet/Compazine cocktail to one time a day when needed.)
So here I am, going to see Dr. Pompous Ass.  He didn’t get this name until yesterday but boy, he earned it.  I get why he said what he did by the way.  My rant is more about his attitude.  Dick.

Anyway, I gave his nurse all my paperwork with all my new meds.  Dr. PA walks in and says, “I don’t want to deal with all of your meds.  I only want to deal with your regular meds.  Your shrink can deal with your happy pills.”  Then he started listing them.

After feeling like the biggest hypochondriac EVAH or at least a simulated medicine cabinet for the entire Israeli army, he concludes he won’t deal with my Lamictal, Compazine, Fioricet, or Remeron.
Well, for your information, Dr. Pompous Ass, the Lamictal is for seizures, the Compazine/Fioricet cocktail is for unrelenting headaches that I actually came to YOU for several months ago despite the fact my neuro had at ONE time prescribed the combo for a post lumbar headache I got.  And…the Remeron, it’s not for depression, you ass, like I told you, and like I have asked you for for months, it’s prescribed so I can sleep longer than 2 hours at a time.

Idiot.

I am not even sure he put these back on the list but he treated me like I was a head case (okay, I am but I don’t need to be treated like one) and was actually rude.  Scott was there and he thought the dr. was a pompous ass too.

I mean I get why he’d want my shrink to handle the cocktail of happy meds I am
on (I counted, I am on four altogether so its not like I am on some ungodly number) and that was fine.  I am NOT fine that he won’t deal with the others so…

We broke up.

I haven’t told him yet since I have to see my new doctor first and that won’t be until August 27.

Don’t burn the bridge that renews your meds, right?

On August 27, Evan and I are changing to a really nice doctor who is a woman
(yeah!) and who also has a specialization in pediatrics as well as family meds.  This should be really good for Evan since she’ll be able to understand the autism and how that affects him.  I think that will be a win win for him and for me.  I am not sure how she’ll handle my head case but I am confident that it HAS to be better than what I am getting now and even if it’s the same…I KNOW it can’t get worse.

The whole thing pisses me off but I don’t have a great rapport OR history with Dr. Pompous Ass so changing now is the right time.  Also, this doctor is affiliated with the hospital I go to and I plan to hook her up with my shrink with a release so they can share information.  As long as she deals with all of my OTHER meds I have NO issue at all with her passing the pipe of my happy meds to my shrink.

I just want what I need and what has been prescribed to be respected and
handled properly.  I want to be respected and treated with dignity and not treated like I am asking for something that I am not actually holding paperwork to show you it has been prescribed for me.

Let’s hope this works.

Life As A Headcase: Out of the Darkness

I am really sorry that my last post scared people (I have to admit, I was pretty scared too!) but I appreciate the concern you all showed. Yes, it WAS a bad situation but not to worry…I have very qualified and competent professionals who care and who DID care for and about me.  I have collected the very best Circle of Trust around me and they lifted me up through the terrible time I went through.

Yes, if you feel as low as I did…call for help.  Call your friend, your bestie, your mom…your therapist.  Call 911.  Call a helpline.  Whatever you do, call.  I probably should have done that and believe me, it’s in my speed dial now.  All of my circle is in my speed dial.  I only have to hit it.  Someone will answer to help.

It would have helped.

In the long run though, I am better than ever.  I feel confident and empowered.
My meds are JUST right which hasn’t been the case for TOO long as I switched between psychiatrists – my latest waiting 12 weeks between dosage changes and med changes and that was too long.  If that happens again, I have the tools to know what to do.  I won’t like losing my therapist but then again, I don’t want to lose me either.

For the first time ever I can tell you, I love this girl.  And she means the world to me.  And I will do what I have to do to keep her safe, empowered, happy and protected.  Go into debt, act silly, whatever.  Her happiness is my goal. So don’t worry, I’m back. I hope you’ll stay with me.  As I said to my therapist, Shrinkette, I promise I will
ask for help WAY before I need it.

To paraphrase one of my favorite Ghostbusters, Winston Zeddemore, I have the tools and now I have the talent.

I journal OFFLINE and that journal is just between me and my Maker.  I have a Circle of Trust and have taken GREAT measures to emulate my Howard-Hughes-like son who is obsessed with privacy as far as my facebook is concerned.

It took a long time to decide if I could continue my blog but I think it’s important for many people and in many ways.  Maybe it IS a freak show that folks like to see.  But maybe someone has BPD too and maybe some of the things I have said and plan to say will help.

I am here to be helpful.  But the best part for me is that I AM HERE.

 

This post has also been crossposted on my blog located at BlogHer.com.

Life As A Headcase: Frustration

I love to use websites for inspiration for my writing, especially when I can’t seem to come up with anything I think is worth writing.  My favorite site is Thoughts From The Blue Notebook and today’s topic deals with frustration.  Which…I guess is a good topic for me because Frustration is a great friend of mine.

Back that one up, maybe not a great FRIEND but due to my physical issues, it is a constant companion.

Frustration comes to visit right along with the Darks.  I feel down and I get frustrated because it makes me feel inadequate, lazy and whiny.  I am afraid I am getting a reputation as a hypochondriac because I have so many things on my health plate.  I get myoclonic seizures which annoy the hell out of me.  Imagine having your reflexes tested non stop for minutes or even hours!  And there’s nothing I can do to stop it except take medication that I often run out of if I have a particularly bad month.

Frustration is there beside of me.

I want to take my son to the book store, have a mocha latte and read a magazine on home remodeling.  I can’t because I have seizures and my license has been gone since September.  I am optimistic though that I’ll get it back but Mr. Frustration mocks me now.  And the time drags.

I think time and Mr. Frustration are close, personal friends…or just in on this together.

I’m content and happy with my life but I have this part of me that longs for the
magical recreation of those happy moments in my life.  It’s like this part of me whom I call The Little Dreamer Girl wants to collect all the happy she can so we can just fall into it and roll around naked.  (Okay TMI, I know but that’s what it’s like).

And very often this quest to bring me baskets of happy blows up in her tear stained face because like a cat bringing home a dead rabbit, only to make it’s owner happy, other people don’t really understand what she’s all about.  Hell, I hardly understand all these parts of me.  How can I expect anyone else to get it.  And when they don’t get it, how can I even explain that it’s not ME doing this.  It’s Little Dreamer Girl and I really have a hard time stopping her from gathering those happy things and bringing them home.

Frustration holds her hand I think and I wish she’d quit going off with him.

Frustration digs deep into my soul, what little I have left, when old friends won’t talk to me anymore.  When people I thought would be there forever don’t want anything to do with me.  And especially when they stop by and say hi never to return. Frustration exacts his revenge and takes his pound of my flesh and blood, and mind, and runs, cackling into the darkness.

Frustration is a contant in my life.  Not MY constant (ala LOST) but constant enough that I am not surprised anymore when I feel his presence.  I just try to remind myself that Frustration comes and goes, although at his own whim.  I never know when he’ll show up or even when he’ll go.

He knows of my neshamale’s (Little Soul in Hebrew) deep connection to Israel and Jerusalem and he sits by the sidelines taunting me, enveloping me in sadness and homesickness, and making sure I know it will never be in my grasp again. He plays with my life like tinker toys.  Some days he let’s me be built up and other’s he pulls me apart.  His exaltation comes when there is absolutely nothing I can do, when I feel completely overwhelmed, powerless and empty.

But that’s how Frustration is.  And sadly, I have to learn, somehow, to live with him.  He will always be there and somehow I have to find a safe place and never let him win.