Tuesday, March 3, 2015

Emerging from My Latest Crazy

Top of the mornin' to you, bl'eaders. Or bottom of the morning? It's 3:30am as I begin writing. (I crashed somewhere around 7pm while the family was dog-piled in bed around me and I'd had to take a Coma Pill.* We were watching E.T., after seeing Gremlins on Sunday. I suddenly got on a kick of trying to share 80s childhood magic with Bird. She preferred Gremlins, stating that it was awesome-scary and her great shriek of delight when she first saw Gizmo caused temporary deafness all across our hollow.

In my drugged sleep haze, I had a very sweet sex dream about Billy from GremlIns, though his hair was a bit more stylish and he was my age. Very pretty boy, that one. Also there were butterflies the size of eagles which were incredibly gorgeous as long as they didn't come near enough for me to see their evil insect faces and bodies. It's a legit phobia, and I am not proud. 

But at least I didn't bang a cute childlike alien.

So my drugs wore off cold at 3:00 and my muscles are behaving now but my nerves and bones are not, so I took a Percocet and ate an apple because an empty stomach is not my friend when I take those fuckers. They also keep me awake, so I'm not looking for any more sleep to happen this morning.

You may notice that after a blogging absence I tend to emerge with a story about the colorful way in which I was temporarily crazy. The thing is, the chemistry of my body is rivaled only by its surrealist structure.

I met with my pain specialist on the 12th, and we discussed switching me to tramodol (Ultram) for pain. It's a schedule IV medication rather than II, thus safer. I used to get it injected and my dad-in-law mentioned taking it orally, so it jogged my memory and I asked about switching.

I started taking it immediately and it was helping with the pain pretty well. It wasn't quite as effective as the Percocet but it was close enough to manage. I was heading into Hell Week, so when I got crazy cranked up and anxious I assumed it was just a bad PMDD month.

Then it persisted into my period when usually little goddess fairies sing and sweet blissful peace enfolds me with relief. 

Instead I was doubleplus ungood and crying hysterically every single second I was alone. 

I looked up side effects of the Ultram and found that while it's an opioid too, it binds to different receptors than Percocet and Vicodin and the like. It also affects seratonin and norepinephrine.

That's when I noticed this flavor of crazy felt familiar: I'd tried a couple of antidepressants that act on both seratonin and norepinephrine (rather than a straight up SSRI) before, and stopped them because suicidal ideation and losing ten pounds in a week is a solid reason to 86 a drug. 

I saw the doctor again last week and he agreed that batshit crazy is not a preferred medical outcome. I'm back on my good old loopy narcotics and holding steady at regular Heidi levels of mild crazypants.

I learned some new fucked up information about changing drug laws. My doc and I chat a lot because a) I talk a lot with everyone who'll listen and b) I'm deeply fascinated with medicine and he indulges me. There's a tangle of legal fuckery coming down that requires its own post, though.

I'm going to read a while now, nestled up with the Birdy as long as my eyeballs allow, since my glasses are in Shane's room and if I go in there he startles something awful.

There will be more writing soon, darlings, and a drawing that says "O Winter, you are ever so delicately lovely. Please consider this a loving and reverent Fuck Off."

Until then, stoned virtual hugs to you and piping-hot, yfresh sanity for me.


*the only muscle relaxer that does jack shit for me invariably puts me to sleep, and then I wake with fewer spasms. Spoonie life is a process. A process of 'meh' and so many cost v. reward exchanges.

{Image courtesy Wikipedia with Snapseed manipulation.}

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