Goodness sakes. I'm sick to death of being on this medication. I know, I'm sorry. I'll try not to whine. I'm down to 75mg which is actually pretty amazing Given that in February I was taking 400mg and two different medications. I feel more like myself most of the time. Wednesdays are total crap though, and are becoming increasingly difficult. I drop my dose on Tuesday at lunch and I'm usually in bed before my body notices that it didn't get all of it's dose. By morning? I'm not a good person on Wednesday as my body realizes "Hey!! What the?" and tries to work with less hormone than it normally has, which is way less than it's had in the past. I'm generally angry, irrational and overwhelmed not to mention totally exhausted. I fight a headache for the whole day and get zapped fairly frequently.
By Thursday I get zapped intensely and often one time after another. On a Thursday my mood is more even but the zaps are incredible. I can't deal with a sudden change in temperature, like walking outside, or opening the fridge. If I touch something cold (like go to pour Bella's milk) or drink something hot (like the coffee I refuse to live without) I will get a very strong electric shock in the base of my skull. Often they're bad enough that if I'm talking, I completely lose what I was about to say. I find myself confused and disoriented often. I don't love to drive on Thursday and funny things become really hard for me. Like sitting and standing too quickly or turning my head to look into the back seat to see how Bella is doing. Or shoulder check. Like I said, I shouldn't drive.
By Friday I feel not bad. My mood is controllable, the zaps aren't great in the morning but even out by afternoon and by Friday evening I feel good. Saturday is a give away. It goes either way. Lately, as the medication dose I am on is down, but the percentage that I give up every week rises (It's was a 33% drop this week, next week is 50%) Friday can be marginally better than Thursday, and Saturday can still be manageable but pretty crap. Sunday though, I am myself, and Monday is the best day of the week. My body feels fairly well adjusted to the new dose of medication, just in time for me to drop it again the next day and by Wednesday I'm a raving bitch again. Sorry for the language. The woman I talk to at Point of Return said that that's the actual medical term for it, and Peter reluctantly agreed that it was fairly accurate.
Robyn used to go to school for Monday, Tuesday and half of Wednesday. Luc, being the sensitive little guy that he was, used to be okay on Monday (he'd just seen her that morning), and on Tuesday you'd try and plan an activity or something to keep him distracted, but Wednesdays were just crap. Wednesdays he could throw himself on the floor at being gently told that ice cream was not a suitable breakfast option, and weep openly. We started using the phrase, "It's okay. Nothing's wrong, it's just Wednesday." Wednesday night by dinner Robyn would be home and he'd be great. It's funny how many things happen on Wednesday that we apply that to now.
In good news, the taper is hard, but I'm making it that way. I could go slower if I wanted to and my zaps would be fewer, my moods more even. But I'd have to look at that pill bottle for longer and I just can't. In two weeks, I could possibly be done. I might see what my work schedule looks like and wait for Peter to have a day off at home with me and take my last pill the day before. Then I know I'm ok if I have a rough patch. I'm praying that it'll just be another drop, but I'm scared of that. I may just load myself up on Gravol and try to sleep through it. But I'll be done.
I still am having trouble remembering big stretches of time over the last few months, but my health feels better, and I've been managing some very occasional exercise. In dropping the meds, and starting to actually care what I eat and what I look like, I've lost seven pounds so far with not very much effort at all. At the worst, I was only ten pounds lighter that I was the day I went in to have Bella. I remember not caring that I was going to be fat forever and never like the way I looked again. Now my disgust with my own body and the mental state that got me there knows no bounds, so that's a good thing. Any strong emotion that promotes action is a good thing since what we noticed most on the drug was my inability to really care about anything other than Bella. I noticed my horrifyingly messy house the other day and it upset me so much that Peter kicked me out to clean it. My old doctor would say that that proves my OCD diagnoses but he'd be wrong. It proves that I'm me, but still a little too drugged to deal with the overwhelmed feeling that a messy house has always given me. I know it sounds funny but those things make me happy to see returning. Bad self image is better than no self image. Plus those seven pounds gone make me happy. Really happy. Happy enough that if the sun shines, I might walk around Westwood lake tomorrow. Anyone want to come?
By Thursday I get zapped intensely and often one time after another. On a Thursday my mood is more even but the zaps are incredible. I can't deal with a sudden change in temperature, like walking outside, or opening the fridge. If I touch something cold (like go to pour Bella's milk) or drink something hot (like the coffee I refuse to live without) I will get a very strong electric shock in the base of my skull. Often they're bad enough that if I'm talking, I completely lose what I was about to say. I find myself confused and disoriented often. I don't love to drive on Thursday and funny things become really hard for me. Like sitting and standing too quickly or turning my head to look into the back seat to see how Bella is doing. Or shoulder check. Like I said, I shouldn't drive.
By Friday I feel not bad. My mood is controllable, the zaps aren't great in the morning but even out by afternoon and by Friday evening I feel good. Saturday is a give away. It goes either way. Lately, as the medication dose I am on is down, but the percentage that I give up every week rises (It's was a 33% drop this week, next week is 50%) Friday can be marginally better than Thursday, and Saturday can still be manageable but pretty crap. Sunday though, I am myself, and Monday is the best day of the week. My body feels fairly well adjusted to the new dose of medication, just in time for me to drop it again the next day and by Wednesday I'm a raving bitch again. Sorry for the language. The woman I talk to at Point of Return said that that's the actual medical term for it, and Peter reluctantly agreed that it was fairly accurate.
Robyn used to go to school for Monday, Tuesday and half of Wednesday. Luc, being the sensitive little guy that he was, used to be okay on Monday (he'd just seen her that morning), and on Tuesday you'd try and plan an activity or something to keep him distracted, but Wednesdays were just crap. Wednesdays he could throw himself on the floor at being gently told that ice cream was not a suitable breakfast option, and weep openly. We started using the phrase, "It's okay. Nothing's wrong, it's just Wednesday." Wednesday night by dinner Robyn would be home and he'd be great. It's funny how many things happen on Wednesday that we apply that to now.
In good news, the taper is hard, but I'm making it that way. I could go slower if I wanted to and my zaps would be fewer, my moods more even. But I'd have to look at that pill bottle for longer and I just can't. In two weeks, I could possibly be done. I might see what my work schedule looks like and wait for Peter to have a day off at home with me and take my last pill the day before. Then I know I'm ok if I have a rough patch. I'm praying that it'll just be another drop, but I'm scared of that. I may just load myself up on Gravol and try to sleep through it. But I'll be done.
I still am having trouble remembering big stretches of time over the last few months, but my health feels better, and I've been managing some very occasional exercise. In dropping the meds, and starting to actually care what I eat and what I look like, I've lost seven pounds so far with not very much effort at all. At the worst, I was only ten pounds lighter that I was the day I went in to have Bella. I remember not caring that I was going to be fat forever and never like the way I looked again. Now my disgust with my own body and the mental state that got me there knows no bounds, so that's a good thing. Any strong emotion that promotes action is a good thing since what we noticed most on the drug was my inability to really care about anything other than Bella. I noticed my horrifyingly messy house the other day and it upset me so much that Peter kicked me out to clean it. My old doctor would say that that proves my OCD diagnoses but he'd be wrong. It proves that I'm me, but still a little too drugged to deal with the overwhelmed feeling that a messy house has always given me. I know it sounds funny but those things make me happy to see returning. Bad self image is better than no self image. Plus those seven pounds gone make me happy. Really happy. Happy enough that if the sun shines, I might walk around Westwood lake tomorrow. Anyone want to come?
9:51 PM
I can't wait until you don't have to be on those meds anymore, too. We should have a party when you are done.
I'd love to come and walk around Westwood Lake with you... but unfortunately, school... or I could just skip my oral progress report? that sounds great.