Got my Meds Back. Thankfully!

Doc has decided I should start back on the meds, a low dose for a week and slowly going up - and getting another thyroid panel in a month. Oh my gosh I thought I was going to melt into my couch, I had so little energy. Then yesterday I had a lower and upper GI to see if I was losing blood anywhere to account for my anemia, nothing found there, but when I got home I slept the rest of the day away.

Today was a slow day too, by tomorrow I will have been back on my meds for 4 days, and while it's a super low dose - at least it's better than nothing. Hoping to get something done around the house tomorrow before the work week starts again. There has to be more to life than watching Autopsy, the last minutes of so and so's life and Breaking the Band.

Feel a bit like I've seen both sides now, the energized, active side, and the lay on the couch, lazy side. I would love to be the energized, active person ALL the time. Makes me wonder if all those people out there who are uber lazy just have undiagnosed thyroid issues! I mean - I wouldn't choose lazy, if I had a choice. Some people might? But it's SO boring. Just sayin'.

Oh, and I need to stop talking about my health, OLD people do that! Need to change my message.

REALLY crazy cat lady.

Seems my days have been a blur of opening cans of cat food, pouches, and sometimes unscrewing baby food jars.  Popping pills in the kitty's mouth, offering water and food and constantly monitoring.  Norah seems to be doing well sometimes, but now she isn't eating much again, to the point I had to force feed her with a syringe yesterday.  She hides when she thinks I am going to give her fluids, and tries to get away while I'm doing it.  She's wearing me down.  But then she comes and climbs into my lap, she's never been a lap cat, and she doesn't seem in pain or on the verge of death.  But her kidneys aren't functioning properly and if the only way to keep her going is with constant IV fluids - well - that's not going to happen.  Last night I was tired and had just finished forcing some food into Norah's mouth while she looked at me with that look only a cat can give as if to say -  "what the f*&k are you doing to me???"

Staying out of reach so she doesn't have to
have her sub-cue fluids.

As tears started to sting my eyes and I sat down to give in to despair I thought "HOLY CRAP!  I'M OFF MY MEDS!!!"

With everything that's been happening lately I have gotten lax about my own medication and must have gone a few days too many without my meds.  Not that the idea of possibly losing a cat shouldn't make one cry, but being properly medicated allows me to cope better.  YIKES.  I can't take care of my cats at the expense of my own health.  No matter how much I love them.

Norah goes back to the vet Thursday morning, we will see what the prognosis is then.
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THIS makes torturing my cat a little bit easier.

So crabby old man cat Riley gets thyroid meds in tablet form every day.  Actually it's only a quarter of a tablet, twice a day.  He also gets an oral stool softener twice a day.  I enjoy giving it to him SO much!  Not.  Now Jake needs the same thyroid meds, same amount, same form.  Thank God she doesn't need the stool softener too. I get that stuff on Canada's black market.  Don't want to break the law on a greater scale than I already am.


Riley is easy to give meds too.  He doesn't like it, that he makes clear.  But he knows food will follow so he doesn't fight.  Jake on the other hand is like a Pez dispenser.  I put that pill in her mouth, her head goes back and out pops the pill again, immediately.  It's kind of amazing really that she can do it every. single. time.  Brought her back to the vet today and she has only gained 1 oz since November.  Obviously more of the meds are ending up in the bathroom rug than down her gullet.

Enter the pill shooter.   


I'd never seen one before, much less used one.  But tonight I held Jake by the scruff - which for you non-cat people, reduces many cats to kittens responding to their mother holding them that way, they get calm and hold still.  Anyway, I held her still by the scruff, stuck the pill shooter (with pill inside) into the side of Jakes mouth and shot it!  She looked at me like - what was that??  And then proceeded to eat the food she had been waiting for.  


Oh please please PLEASE let this continue to work.  You really feel like a failure when an itty bitty kitty defeats you every. single. time.


I need my dignity back.
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I suppose my trophies ARE a bit tarnished ..

Everybody has something they are good at. Something they have worked really hard at or something that comes as naturally to them as breathing. Or – sleeping.

I have always excelled at sleeping. If there was a gold medal, a blue ribbon, or a trophy for snoozing, I would have it. I would have to have a separate room just for my awards; I have always done it so well.

But I have been so tired this past year or so, all I have wanted to do is sleep. I have to force myself to get up in the morning, yawn all day, and daydream about taking a nap as soon as I get home from work. Frequently during the day I can be heard exclaiming “I’m dying here.”

On the weekend it’s not unusual for me to simply not wake up till noon or later. And then – 2 or 3 hours later – curling up on the couch for a nap. Except my naps are like a nights’ sleep for some people. 3 hour naps would be considered the norm for me.

I have always marveled at people who just wake up in the morning – early in the morning, which means any time before 10:00. And not only wake up, actually get up and out of bed. If I wake up early it’s only to trudge to the bathroom or clumsily turn over – and then I’m back to sleep again before you know it.

My doctor suggested that maybe with all this sleeping and never feeling rested, I am not sleeping well. My reaction was “What??? I sleep like a champ!” It never ever in a million years would have occurred to me that I am not actually getting good sleep. Heck, I thought ALL sleep was good sleep!

So when he suggested I try taking something to help me sleep, a test, to see if it would be a different kind of sleep, I balked. “I don’t need anything to sleep, wanna see? I’ll lay down right here on this narrow paper-covered exam table and show you! Just give me 10 minutes.”

I ended up agreeing to his little experiment, more out of desperation than anything else. I am so tired of being tired.

I have been taking mama’s little helper for a week now. Getting to bed at approximately the same time every night, and getting up at my usual time in the morning. I haven’t taken any naps, although there have been days that by 8:00pm I am just waiting for it to be 10:00 o’clock so I can take a quick shower, get my stuff ready for morning, and climb into bed.

This morning, Sunday, I woke up at an ungodly hour. I laid there for a while, looking at the cats that were surrounding me sensing that I was awake and would soon be the bearer of food. I looked at the clock, closed my eyes again, somewhat confused. Confused, because I was awake. I probably could have gone back to sleep if I tried, but I didn’t feel like I needed to try.

I don’t really have an addictive personality, unless you count cigarettes which I did finally quit, and carbs which I haven’t. But I have had diet pills – nah – tossed them in a drawer. Anti-anxiety meds – quit taking them when I felt I didn’t need them anymore. So I am not worried about taking this medication for too long or in a way that isn’t good for me.

It’s only been a week. I don’t want to get too excited. I can’t jump to any conclusions or give my doctor any credit (especially since he’s such a smart-ass) when the experiment is only 7 days old.

But this morning? This morning I woke up all on my own, without an alarm or a cat touching my face with her paw. I didn’t wake up because I had to pee or to turn over. And this morning, I got out of bed at 8:30 am. And not because I had to.

For a lot of people that’s normal. For me? Momentous!

Mama scored some drugs!

*
The clinic called me at work today. A nice girl named Laura told me the Doctor had okayed the meds I had asked for. However, they wouldn’t have the amount I was asking for until Thursday or Friday.

Panic set in. “Can you give me some today? Even if it’s a little bit? Then I can get the rest of it later in the week, but he really needs this now. He’s gone all weekend without.”

“Okay” Laura was agreeable. “That shouldn’t be a problem, a little today and the rest later in the week. You’ll be in to pick it up today?”

“Oh yes. Right after work” I answered.

As I was driving to the clinic I was hoping he hadn’t gone too long without the meds. Argh-h-h, he gets so cranky and lethargic, he snarls at me and frequently gets physically ill. “If I can just get some into him as soon as I get home.”

Leaving the clinic I realized I was clutching the bottle in my hand thinking “I need to get home. Need to get home.”

As soon as I arrived home and came into the house, I dropped my purse, my mug and my lunchbox on the desk and headed to the kitchen. I plucked a syringe out of the drawer next to the sink, and uncapped the bottle I had been clutching. Putting the syringe into the opening in the bottle I turned it upside down and drew some of the liquid into it. Enough.

Now I just have to get him to take it. What kind of mood is he in? Will he fight me? He knows this is the only thing that makes him feel better, his body craves it, but he hates taking it. He’s there, at the kitchen table, eyeing me as if to say “oh no you don’t!”

I move up on him quickly and grab his face, circling around behind him and forcing his jaws open. He does fight me some but he knows I am stronger. I see my chance and squirt some of the coveted medication into his mouth. Make sure he swallows it. And I breathe a sigh of relief.

I know if I give him some of the meds oh – 3 days in a row instead of every other day, he will catch up and things will start to regulate again. Then and only then will this cranky old man cat be able to process things normally through his digestive track without drooling incessantly and puking on any flat surface in the house! He is simply the most constipated cat I have ever owned!

But – I win! I will be picking up 16oz of this miracle kitty stool softener later in the week! Woo hoo! Better to fight with him to take the meds then to be cleaning his puke from the carpet.

Sleep old man, because tomorrow - we will go through this again. *rubbing my hands together* And you will not puke on my rugs!

*

There is just nothing easy about it. Part IV

It's a bit bewildering and can be very frustrating trying to find the right medication for depression. First you have to stop denying something is wrong and get diagnosed which is a huge step. In my case, talk therapy helped with immediate issues like damaged self-esteem and all the other gifts that go along with divorce. But when the talk stopped helping, it was time for drugs. For me anyway.

My therapist was a psychologist which meant he could not prescribe drugs. He wrote a request for me to bring to my regular doctor who is an internist, asking that he prescribe an appropriate medication for someone with dysthemia. Low level, chronic, depression. My favorite description for that is "a lack of joy."

I remember sitting on the chair in the exam room that day when my doc walked in. He is an excellent doctor (driver, excellent driver, buys his underwear at K-Mart) and he is also a smart ass. A gi-normous smart ass. He asked me the usual, how was I feeling, anything new, why did I come that day, etc. I handed him the note from my therapist feeling every bit the little girl handing a note from Mommy to the teacher. No, maybe the principal. He read the note and said "I won't be anybody's prescription pad. Hop up on the table."

After taking my blood pressure and listening to my heart, thumping on my back and pushing on my belly, he finally said something else. "So. What makes you think you are depressed?" I think he was sorry he asked. I immediately burst into tears. I tried to tell him about my divorce and my husband sleeping with half the western world and how I had anxiety attacks and would get diarrhea and I could barely leave the house and I was afraid I was a bad mom and.. and.. and .. by the time I took a breath I saw my doctors face with the look a lot of men get when women cry. The - 'I will do anything if only you would stop crying!' face. That may have been the only visit to his office, ever, that he did not make a crack about his wife, tell me how brilliant his son was or give me a tip on the ponies.

I left with a prescription for Prozac. It was the drug of the moment, everyone was doing it. It was not necessarily the answer for me but it was a place to start. Unfortunately the only way to find out if a med will work for you - is to try it. And if you don't know what you should feel like, don't know what "normal" feels like - it's an arduous and sometimes very long process to find the right drug for you. I tried many many drugs, some for as long as a year, some for as short as a week or two, and when I was asked if it was helping my answer was generally close to the same thing. "I don't know. Maybe. It's hard to tell." Which I know now, for me, meant NO. Because when I did find the right medication - or actually - combination of meds - I knew it.

It was night and day for me. But first I went through going to the OB/Gyne because I was sure I was experiencing peri-menopause and was put on the pill for a while. I tried drugs that made me physically ill and some that made my mouth so dry I could not spit. I took meds that did seem to help. A little. When I found the right med it just so happened it was at the same time I was on the pill. I thought hmmm, why not find out if it is the birth control pill or the anti-depressant that is helping me. Hormones on one hand, depression on the other. I'm a nutcase on one hand, I'm a normally hormonally crazy woman on the other. Hmmm.

I went off the anti-depressant first. I realized about 2 weeks later that there was this sort of darkness creeping in. Irritability, apathy, the hopelessness was starting to envelop me. It wasn't as bad as it had been - but I recognized it. It was almost like pulling a light blanket over my head, just enough to dull the world around me and put up a barrier. I knew for a fact that the blanket over my head would become heavier and more than I wanted to bear again. I went back on the meds. A few weeks later the light started to show through again. Ah-h-h. Picture a hammock, sunshine, and drinks with umbrellas ahh-h-h-h-h.

When I say it was like day and night for me - I do not mean the change was apparent immediately. It was a gradual thing, I needed to recognize 'happy' - and learn how to not be frightened to apply the word to myself. Surprisingly, coming out of depression can be a scary experience in it's own right. Sadness may be the only thing some people remember feeling. Being happy - or knowing just what that is and how to BE it - can be a daunting task when all you have known is NOT. It doesn't happen overnight but it is so worth it. It's much easier to learn 'happy' when you don't have bad feelings dragging you down. Hope becomes something you can feel - and oh what a gift that is!

I still have days when I get in a mood, feel down or sorry for myself, but the difference is that those days don't last. Everybody has those days and they don't frighten me anymore. I wish I could say now this is what you have to do to feel better. This is the way to achieve happiness. I don't hold the key, or any keys for that matter. I just know what I went through.

As far as trying different meds and wondering how to tell if one is effective or not? My advice - give it at least four or five months if it doesn't have side effects that bother you. Then ask yourself how you feel. If your answer is "I don't know" or "okay I guess" - and not - "good!" - then move on. You should know when you feel good. You need to have faith that you will recognize 'happy' when it hits you.

Some people never need medication, and some people suffer from a much more debilitating depression than I ever have. It's a complex thing, there isn't one answer for everyone and God knows I'm not a doctor - hell - I don't even play one on TV. So that's always the first place to start. Your doctor. And if your doctor doesn't listen to you - get louder, say it again, let them know you're serious. If that doesn't work - find a new doctor.

Being happy is not over rated I'm telling you. If you think you may need to seek help - you probably do. Just like millions (and I do mean millions) of other people out there. We aren't alone. It just feels like it when you are depressed.

Nite. :)