Thursday, June 19, 2014
Goodbye Withdrawal! Bonne Chance!
Thankful I can stop living on ginger ale and saltines as they've made me regain six pounds, thankful the dizziness, agitation, sweats, stomach aches, and muscle pains have stopped! Thankful I can eat again without feeling every bite of regular food might make me hurl!
I'm also just a little bit proud of myself that I rode this out and came out the other side without caving and going right back on the drug like I have every other time I've tried weaning off.
Of course, during my Bible-thumping fundamentalist days I would have never gone to the doctor in the first place, merely prayed my severe asthma and colitis would come into alignment with the word of God, stop acting a fool and tell Satin.. errr, Satan, he had no right to put those things on me because I am a CHILD of the MOST HIGH GOD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!11111111Eleventy
And as a result would have spent more time in the hospital and more time feeling like I'd been sat on by an elephant, right on my lungs. More time dragging around looking like death warmed over a few dozen times. More time in ICU from trying to slay a dragon with a toothpick of over the counter drugs.
The sick sad thing about those days is that when I did break down and see a physician I was told I wasn't trusting in God, but trusting in the idol of modern medicine.
Sometimes changing your attitude isn't enough to 'cure' you.
Now I'm much more balanced. I hit a wall in my withdrawal last Wednesday afternoon when I visited my new pulmonologist. I was crying in her office, telling her how incredibly frustrating it is to try and get disability payments for something that kept me too sick to go to work around 50% of the time.
Her response? I needed to go to a therapist to work on my frustration levels because crying is an unacceptable and mentally unbalanced response to frustration.
The more we talked, the more she started telling me to get on some sort of SSRI or psych drugs or go back on Lexapro and do the talk therapy thing. She seemed completely unwilling to consider that the withdrawal was kicking my ass and driving some of my emotional response. I have a therapist and I do go when I feel myself in need of it, which has been quite a long time now. But the drugs are now on a big no-no list for me.
Her reaction to me upset for a day or so, until my darling Jim did something so sweet and wonderful it helped me get past it and helped me hang in there to get over the drug. He told me about myself, reminded me of who I am and how I react and why he loves me for it.
The truth is that I am sensitive and cry easily, or I deal with my sensitivity with flip sarcasm. Jim loves that I'm sensitive. I guess that's a good thing.
One of the ways I coped more successfully with my agitation was to go up to my sewing room and quilt daily. I've churned out three quilts in two weeks, one of which I am putting the finishing touches on now, a Game of Thrones quilt.
Sometimes the medical profession, and always fundamentalism, wants to squish you into a one size fits all box and insists you stay there. Thankfully we're all different and our boxes are a rainbow of colors and infinite shapes and sizes.
Posted by Calulu at 12:57 PM