Seriously?

Seriously?

I am so annoyed right now that I had to get up at 4 a.m. to write.  Those of you that know me well know that there are few things that will ever get me up at 4 a.m. even under ideal life circumstances.   I have struggled with making my journal public.  But I also found that if I was not writing from the mindset that someone is reading this, I just don’t write.  I find that if I know someone is going to read it, I am much more thoughtful and honest with my words.

After writing Zombie Mom, I sort of freaked myself out not to mention pretty much anyone that read it.  All of it was 100% accurate.  It is how I feel.  So hopeless.  Physically I feel like I have been deteriorating at a fast pace.  I live with a pacemaker and constant awareness of all things cardiac.  I am at high risk for cardiac events, blood pressure issues, arrhythmia and heart rate issues.  So these physical red flags are huge stress markers.

It has been 8 weeks since I left the hospital without my daughter.  Initially I had a prescription for Xanax before leaving the hospital and was using it steadily.  Lately I have found I can do without most of the day if I am at home.  As someone that has struggled with insomnia for years you can imagine how this situation made that issue even worse.  I have said before the hardest times are from around 4:00 pm until I can finally sleep, usually anywhere between eleven and three.  I knew from past experience that this lack of sleep could spiral out of control quickly.  A long nap during the day was becoming a habit and I literally could not function without it.  This left me awake during my most vulnerable times.  I have felt like I have been outside of my body, moving slow, and just physical bone deep fatigue.  All of these symptoms have gotten worse.  These physical sturggles have a direct effect on my mental and emotional state.  I have felt so hopeless this past week.  Before I hit the publish button on Zombie Mom,  I made a doctor’s appointment.  I knew my friends would demand it.  I can name a couple that, pardon the crude phrase, would be up my butt immediately until I had an appointment.

So yesterday I was in the office again of my beloved primary care physician.  I told her about my pacemaker check up.  I showed her the one cardiac event that triggered the pacemaker to record.  That event took place at the exact time I watched my daughter die and the attempts to save her.  The scientific side of my mind (not really a side, maybe a small piece, was not my best subject in school) found it fascinating that I could view on paper a glimpse in time.  I could hold in my hands and see in black and white exactly how my heart responded to the absolute most terrifying and tragic moment of my life.

I told her about my symptoms.  I told her my biggest worry was gaining 30 pounds in 6 weeks.  I feel so uncomfortable.  My joints hurt.  I feel disconnected from my body at times.  My sleep is not ideal.  My fatigue is mind numbing.  I struggle to find words when speaking.  I want to lay completely still and cannot get up without a struggle.  Everything is a struggle physically.  When I approached a friend at her doorway a few weeks ago, she immediately said “are you hurt?”.  Nope, just moving slowly, probably having a Fibromyalgia flare up.  Fibromyalgia is a painful autoimmune disorder that comes and goes like the tides.  Traumatic situations can trigger really bad flare ups.  You don’t feel like moving because everything hurts.  Fatigue is your enemy.  I cannot think of a more traumatic event than losing my daughter.  A flare up was my own self diagnosis except for, holy s#%t, 30 pounds in 6 weeks.  I don’t have anything but sweats to wear and this new weight is all in my stomach.  I look and feel overdue to deliver a set of 10 pound twins.  Not to mention my panic and horror when I realized I weigh at least 20 pounds more than my 6 foot husband.  So wrong.

The first thing my doctor said was, you are probably feeding your grief with food that makes you feel good.  Ok, yes I have had a sugar addiction for a long time, but this was different.  In the past I did not blow up like Violet Beauregarde in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. She looked at my blood work.  “Your thyroid is fine”.  Dammit, that is an easy one to fix.  Okay, what else?  I told her the cardiologist nurse mentioned edema, extra fluid and particularly worrisome, fluid around my heart that could be caused by “broken heart syndrome”.  Yes, it is a real thing.  The meal train we received has been amazing, but I just could not grasp that it was 30 pounds good.  An image came to mind of my friends lining up at my porch with bowls in their hand and pouring the food into a trough on my porch where I could waddle out and eat like a prize 4H Hog.  (this is where I wish I could draw cartoons)

Her response was I know you have been getting no exercise either.  Nailed it, curled in a ball on the couch does not count as cardio.  Okay, I didn’t go to medical school, but I know that this is not normal even during a time that is anything but normal.

“How’s your sleep?” she asked.  I answered with the very medical term of “shitty”.  I said “Shitty, even though you prescribed a new sleep drug”.  I reminded her that the pharmacy specialist on staff had called me to help me work through my medications and to find a crutch for me during this slow walk through hell.  I remember rejecting the obvious sleep aids like Ambien.  I had been addicted to Ambien in the past and did not want to go down that path again.  I Ambien posted on social media, shopped Amazon Fresh and had no recollection of some pretty bizarre nighttime behavior.  As much as my friends enjoyed reading what I wrote during the night, I did not want to go down that path again.  I was already relying on Xanax to keep me from losing my mind completely.  Images of Heath Ledger came to mind.  Ambien is a dangerous drug to mix with anything.  I already take two other medications for Fibromyalgia and the depression that goes along with chronic illness, pain, your dog dying, a friend dying, and losing your job.  She was a great listener, I have worked with her before to balance my heart and fibromyalgia medications.  She prescribed me a sleep aid with instructions that said “take one-half to one tablet by mouth at bedtime as needed for sleep.”  Terrific.  I can do that as I went straight for the whole tablet.

As I mentioned when the sun goes down and the clock says Hayley should be home in her bed I struggle with the reality of our situation.  With this medication I could usually fall asleep and stay asleep.  I could generally sleep 6-10 hours, waking when I needed to.  Not having to work right now has been the one thing that I will forever be grateful for.  For Both Scott and I.  With the financial weight partially lifted by the go fund me page that a friend set up, we have felt at least some semblance of peace and it has allowed us to grieve at our own pace.

When I could not name this drug, her fingers clicked away on the keyboard.  I watched her slouch suddenly, shake her head and do this little hmm, hmm sound she does.  “Are you taking the Remeron?”  The what?  Remeron, sounds like something you see a commercial for that you might take as a suppository.

I said “do you mean the sleep aid, the pharmacy gal recommended?, does that cause weight gain?”  She said absolutely, it is one of the “if this happens stop taking it” side effects.  She said I would think 30 pounds in 6 weeks qualifies as “rapid weight gain”.  With your other health issues that is a huge problem.  I groaned at her usage and emphasis she placed on the word huge.  I slumped in relief because for once in my life one of my medical issues had been solved in one doctor’s visit.  Not so fast.  She then explained that the problem was that this medication is not a sleep aid.  Yes, it will make you drowsy, but it is a strong anti anxiety drug.  Wait, what?  I am already taking Xanax as and needing less of that………..ooooohhhhhhh, I thought I was getting my shit together during the day, it was that medication doing it’s job huh?  Probably.

Here is the rub.  Mystery solved.  But I now have an extra 30 pounds on top of the 50 I already needed to lose.  That 30 pounds is not going to just magically go away when I stop taking this drug.  On top of that I have to wean off of it.  She then wants to add a sleep aid and she says this is not the time to worry about sleep aid addiction.  That is the least of my worries.

Terrific, I was already failing miserably at weight watchers prior to the bottom dropping out of my life.  I reluctantly admit that as I type this I am enjoying my newest comfort food, a root beer float.  The string of swear words that were going through my head would have made my potty mouthed daughter proud.  I am pretty sure they were loud enough for my doctor to hear because she gave me another shake of her head and hum of sympathy.

What has me so mad at myself is that I am a “researcher”.  When it comes to the safety of my family, I research the crap out of our purchases.  One of the reasons that we have not turned over a lot of cars in the last 25 years is that I take at least 6 months to research the safety features, compare the pros and cons and drive Scott nuts.  I also was obsessed with my young children’s car safety.  One of Scott’s many endearing jokes was shortly after we laid down at night he would say “Hey Dawn, I am having trouble falling asleep can you tell me about the safety features of all car seats”.  For him this one never got old.  But I could tell you all about them and make you yawn within 5 minutes.  I knew the best ones and if something better came along, I replaced the one we had.  We probably went through, counting that we had one in each car at all times, at least 8 car seats and boosters.  While other women might be known by name at the the Kate Spade store or have a personal shopper at Nordstrom, I was the number one customer for Britax.  Oh and don’t get me started when they came out with the cover that looked like a black and white cow.  Henry loved the Smith Brothers milk truck that looked the same so I had to have that one.

I have always put the same diligence in researching the pharmaceuticals I put in my body.  I even have two friends that are the same way and often give them the names of drugs to research for me.  One I am related to, so that may be a gene thing.  But this time, I didn’t even think twice.  The relief that I so desperately needed drove me to be willing to try anything.  I blindly followed when normally I lead.

So here I am 8 weeks out from my own apocalypse faced with the daunting task of losing 80 pounds.  I struggled with my weight for the past five years.  How can I even fathom that kind of challenge when I can barely function as I drown in my grief.  Seven season of the walking dead and they still don’t have a cure.  I found the cure for zombie mom in one day.

In addition to weight gain let me share some of the side effects of this drug.  Then re-read Zombie Mom.  They should just put my picture on the side effects tab for this sucker.  The major usage is for “major depressive disorder”.  Which would have been handy without the following side effects:

• weight gain – Ding, ding ding, we have a winner
• Diahphoresis – had to look this one up – sweating, especially to an unusual degree as a symptom of disease or a side effect of a drug. – Bingo.  Thanks friends that mentioned I could be starting menopause
• mood or mental changes, including abnormal thinking, agitation, anxiety, confusion, and feelings of not caring  – Not even going to answer that one.
• shortness of breath – remember when I said the counselor pointed out that I am breathing shallow
• mood or mental changes, including anger, feelings of being outside the body, hallucinations (seeing, hearing, or feeling things that are not there), mood swings, and unusual excitement – check, check, check, except I think that same list is under symptoms of grieving
• Increased appetite – I love that this is a separate bullet point from “weight gain”, no shit people.

I am stopping now, but there are at least 8 other side effects listed that have been a constant source of worry for me.  Worry that this is normal?  Is this grief?  What will happen when I stop this anti anxiety medication?  I never understood when listening to commercials for anti depressants or other drugs why the list of side effects sounded worse than the problem you have in the first place.  So I have been on an anti anxiety medication for this past 8 weeks and I feel like I am barely surviving my grief.  NOW I am even more anxious and feeling agitated.

People ask me why I write this very public journal.  My first answer is to help me hold myself accountable.  When I try to journal just for myself, I find it not happening or I don’t delve very deep.  Why write it down, it is already there in my head.  It doesn’t go away because I write it down.  But when I write with the knowledge others will read it, I find myself being more detailed, more honest and this allows me to really see in black and white what is going on and what grief means to me.  This is a perfect example.  I wrote a very honest and somewhat disturbing entry about how I was feeling physically, mentally and emotionally.  By putting it out there and reading the many responses it held me accountable.  I went to the doctor.  Without any doubt we have not solved all of the issues, but at least because of that appointment I can eliminate at least one obstacle.

My days are filled with obstacles and emotional land minds.  These land mines are everywhere.  Scott and I drove Henry and a friend to Mox, a place in Bellevue where they play card games that I don’t understand.  We picked them up, as I got back in the car, I immediately bent down to pull my phone out of my purse.  I thought I should let Hayley know we are on our way home and see if she needs me to pick her up dinner since we already ate.  Scott was observant enough to catch me starting to speak “I am calling…” and then sense my severe mood change.  All in just a few seconds.  He asked me what was wrong.  I said I forgot for a moment.  He knew what I meant.

There is no pill for that kind of pain.  No bomb sniffing dog to lead you around the land mines.  The new normal is on the other side of this vast, desolate and dangerous landscape in front of you.   You can’t go around it.  You can’t go over or under it.  You have to go through it. 

And you know what?                             It fucking sucks.