A fair warning of cursing ahead
September and I have a very bad history. It marks 3 years since my life imploded thanks to a jellyfish. It also marks another anniversary of something I have rarely covered, my mental health. If you’ve been reading my latest posts you might have noticed a more cynical, depressive tone taking over. That’s pretty common as the hell that is September comes.
But this year we throw onto the flames more trouble brewing, my latest cardiologist appointment didn’t bring fabulous news of a reversal of this prolonged QT. It’s in infant stages, meaning it’s not a severe, life threatening right now, oh lordy we are in danger, level, but it’s of concern if it sticks around. Throw onto that my repeat EKG showed abnormal T waves (aka hearts doing something mildly odd but we aren’t sure what or why). Even my “adjusted” number (meaning they account for your heart rate on top of your rhythm) was IDENTICAL to my previous. My doc had never seen that one before…shit. And this whole qrs-t abnormality that popped up is also another bad note. Again, infant stages, cardiologist isn’t panic stricken or concerned now, but if it hangs around or gets worse, it’s not good news. (to explain the short version- your heart is super complicated with how it pumps and the electrical currents running through it to make it pump. A long Qt means its taking longer to recharge between beats than the average person. QRS is is ventricular depolarization, and each letter is a part of the heart depolarizing. The T is the repolarizing portion. Here’s an entire paper devoted to understanding it if you need some confusing reading: https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/books/NBK2214/ )
However, an abnormal QRS-t long term or a large one/number is an indicator in patients for sudden cardiac death or complications. So a small one suddenly appearing doesn’t exactly make me feel great. I’ve got a nifty over priced cardiac monitor glued to my chest for a month with stickies that itch (thanks mcas for the adhesive allergy) and wires that tangle. The positive? Someone is literally live stream watching for my rhythm to jump out and calls my doc if something looks bad or weird and they’ll call me if it’s serious. So that’s one reassurance. However we are on a first name basis with the techs at this point since every single time I press the passed out button (my ever glorious fainting filled puke episodes) they have to call, get my symptoms and try to send me to the ER. It’s a nightly adventure.
But what isn’t reassuring is the fact that this kind of shit is dangerous and while I’m praying to the universe it’s malnutrition causing this, there’s a dozen other things that could be, and it wasn’t the antibiotic I had to be on. Oh and it also means I am STILL limited to things I’m actually allergic to that are safe to take for infections or whatever else and no anti-nausea meds. I have to avoid anything that could get me sick, even a common cold is serious business. I do get to try this lovely anti-anxiety multi med that my doc researched in the hopes it will stabilize my heart rate and help with the vomiting induced by my chaotic heart rate irregularities.
AND we are trying a new way to get benadryl continually infused into me from my Mast cell doc, which is sort of working. But back to that nifty multi med, it’s new (ish, I’ve had a version before for high heart rate pots attacks) to attempt to add but SURPRISE it messes with your digestion and slows gut motility. And my GI? STILL FOCUSED ON THE DAMN BENADRYL AS THE PROBLEM. This medicine holds a higher risk for causing issues…
Okay so back to why September sucks more than anything.
Mental Health. Period. I haven’t told this part of my story before and very few know it. Part of that was because I was bullied in high school over it, and in college, and in the “adult world”. I’ve been judged over it and it’s deeply personal. So why in the holy hell would I put it out there on a public platform? Because if just one person like me sees this, just one person doesn’t feel alone, then I have done something. Because these kinds of resources weren’t there for me as a teenager or kid. And Because it’s time to remove the stigma around mental health conditions overlapping with physical ones and the stigma in general. Whether you take medications or not. Whether you’ve got successful help or not. I’m very much over the divide. Slap some wood and ropes together and cross the damn bridge and meet in the middle. For everything. Mental health conditions and physical ones can overlap, cause each other, and also occur simultaneously but have nothing to do with each other. And I am tired of being told something is “jsut anxiety” when I’ve lived with anxiety for over a decade and know the difference.
So What’s my story?
Hold your hats, Here we go.
Way back in 2008 before I graduated middle school, I spent my 14th birthday having my appendix removed and blood from a ruptured ovarian cyst removed. I got handed a PCOS stamp and told to start birth control ASAP. So we did. But the year PRIOR to this, again my 13th birthday, I got handed the CRPS diagnosis and thrown on a tricyclic anti-depressant to treat it instead of a hospitalization and spinal block (my nemesis amitriptyline). Throw in that withing this next year leading up to 14, I lost 2 grandparents close together, developed panic attacks, AND we learned I had ADHD and dyslexia, and I was a right mess. I was seeing a therapist to try and work through some of this and bless her for being there when everything imploded.
So the birth control went terribly. I spent my summer sick as a dog puking every morning. Then I became almost catatonic with depression, or so we thought. A psychiatrist didn’t listen to a family history and threw…you guessed it, amitriptyline back at me! 3 weeks into starting high school and I’m already out for a week with a virus. I finally get back. And it all goes to shit. Most of that day in September I don’t have exact memories of, mostly a dream like state. But to sum it up, I lost my shit. Full psychotic break with reality, absolute manic breakdown, coconut was involved somehow. Off we went to a psych hospital for adolescents with my psychologist in tow (because I kept crying for her) where we waited for SIX hours to be seen. By then I was so exhausted I was half asleep and delirious. They recommended out patient therapy and sent me home. The next day I had a nightmare filled night about someone taking over my body, saw my psychologist, and off we went to a different psych hospital in the hopes they would help address what in the ever loving fuck was happening to me. 8 hours later and I’m checked in for the worst week of my life.
To my parent’s credit, they knew they weren’t equipped to handle this. Something else was going very very wrong in me. My first night was awful. The staff was rude and yelled at me. I’d been on that horrible amitriptyline drug for months and it makes you sleep and suddenly I don’t have it and can’t sleep, I’m having panic attacks, and yelling DOES NOT SOLVE THIS. Plus you have to sleep outside on the floor so they can stare at you (apparently this hospital was more of a suicide risk hospital than other mental health issues…). The next day you’re dragged up, weighed, blood drawn, and shoved off to terrible food (and told you can’t sit with certain people or too many at a table…very helpful for depressed teenagers- although I will say the “druggie” girls [weed only..seriously??] basically adopted me and yelled at the babysitters that letting me sit alone was more detrimental to my health than sitting with one extra person and to shut up), and then dragged into a circle meeting where you’re supposed to tell everyone why you’re there…except I have no fucking clue why or what’s wrong with me. They never gave me a diagnosis. So I sound like a nut job trying to stammer out why I’m there. Then groups, and a 15 minute visit with a doctor. Oh and your parents can only come twice a week for an hour and you get one phone call to speak to them.
So great, I’m a terrified kid who is constantly being snapped at by grumpy people and surrounded by anger management and depression cases. I have no idea why in the ever loving fuck I am in there because they won’t tell me, and then they start shoving meds back onto me. As a general note, taking someone off a medicine then throwing them on a 2x higher dose then removing it and swapping to another in 48 hours is a VERY BAD IDEA. My mom had to fight to get a proper diagnosis. They decided I was depressed and psychotic…except I have a family history of bipolar. And to literally anyone whose taken a psych intro course- I was a classic rapid cycling case of type 2. And my mother was calling every few hours to check on me which they offered little to no updates. Being told to walk in circles around a bare gym for 45 minutes is not so good on the whole mental health thing. Nor is being told you have to sit on a couch gender segregated and shut up for an hour, or color randomly, or lectured in group about not giving someone a note to remind them that other people do care about them and suicide isn’t the answer (apparently showing kindness to someone privately is very bad..??).
The only highlight and work around we found for this ridiculous place of misery were a few select people. My minister was allowed to see me daily for “religious purposes” and she showed up. Every single time. Just to check on me and make sure I was okay and relay messages to my mom. I had one early morning/over night nurse who was probably the only guy on staff who wasn’t a jerk. He was polite and woke everyone up kindly and told us where we had to go for morning crap and never yelled. The teacher who let us do school work away from everyone else- that guy was the best. I could hide away from all the chaos and just do school work in a quiet space with a calm and nice person whose only goal was to get us educated. My only other highlight? A med student in rotation who asked to take my case as her case study. She actually spent time with me away from all the other bull shit and asked questions and GAVE ME MY DIAGNOSIS I WAS DENIED FOR FOUR DAYS. Which was extremely helpful and meant a lot. So Doc Celeste where ever you ended up, thank you.
But anyway, back to the crazy camp as I called it. I decided then and there I was going into medicine for sure and going to change how crappy adolescent mental health was handled. I faked my way out of in patient care. I am very good at it as it turns out. And only my mother caught on during my “review” about what an upbeat and helpful person I was…that my ass wanted out and I was not confronting any problems. But I got out and did out patient work for two more weeks before I was stuck with the psychiatrist and at least a new therapist.
Here’s where the story takes a bit of a turn. My mom fought for the right diagnosis, then took me off a medicine that was absolutely wrong for me and causing bad side effect (anti-psychotics) thanks to a family friend whose daughter had been on the same medicine and started the same side effects- risperidol, You are a shit drug. Period.
But I had to keep going back to this shit psychiatrist for three years until we found my current one. Now here’s the real kicker. These medications at the doses I was on basically make you a zombie. A zombie that gains weight doing nothing. And that asshole psychiatrist made me get on a scale every single time I saw him, not look at it, and commented on it. I had always been thin and fit and athletic, but hormones change your body and to have someone commenting on it? Well, turns out that can cause an eating disorder without you ever knowing it until you dig really deep into your past and find out…surprise surprise, years later I found the source of mine.
Anyway, I spent the next 3 months with teachers coming to my home twice a week to bring homework and other school work so I could keep up and re join school in November, right before homecoming where I was on the decorating committee. And yes, I did go decorate but I didn’t go. I wasn’t prepared for it yet. I was struggling in classes, we had to pull me from health class and move my schedule around to put me in Latin over stress filled Spanish, and get a 504b plan in place to help.
My mental health didn’t really improve but it stabilized. I’m missing chunks of my time in high school, teachers names, events, actual positive things…By senior year I all but refused to go back to school. The bullying got worse, I was isolated and not improving. So we loop holed me into college courses and externships so I spent only 2-4 hours a day at school max. I was still being pummeled by drug side effects and my new psychiatrist (who I’ve now been with for 10 years) reduced the medications, considered narcolepsy, and even sent me to a functional med doc to attempt to help balance things out.
I wasn’t healthy. I was in a dangerously bad relationship, I was hiding from the world by overworking myself with a job and externships and literally anything else to get away from it all. I was lonely and depressed and unwilling to see anything positive despite the good things around me. I wasn’t doing well in the college classes and told I was a failure at writing and would never succeed.
But I got into college. All of them. With scholarships. Because of an essay I wrote in 20 minutes about an experience confronting death in an ER and the fact I was determined as hell to prove something and be someone.
When I think back to all that shit year, loosing my Grandmother the day before Christmas, deciding at her funeral I was headed to Transy for college because that university was founded in her Church, working two jobs just to stay away from everything; I feel sad. I have regrets of what I wish I had done. In the moments I could have been a better friend to someone or I could have stood up for myself, I instead get memories of regrets of not being there sooner for the people who stuck around me when they could have used my help. I still hold trivial resentment for never getting to do a senior theater showcase or be in a school production because I was never good enough (although I did get a small theater scholarship for college), never being good enough on the sports teams, never being a good enough academic. Even college holds dark memories and hurt from being left out, isolated, not popular, the weird dietary kid, the always sick kid. It spiraled me for years so deep I didn’t even see it. I never saw the positive where I could have. I saw and remembered the negatives and the pain of never feeling like I was enough.
But then I get moments of memories of things people did FOR me without even knowing the level of impact they had. My high school Guidance counselor who made sure she announced at senior awards (and printed a damn certificate) not only did I get a scholarship to a “top liberal arts private school” but I also had a theater scholarship. She knew I was struggling, yet she came through for me. And for that single moment, I felt special and like I wasn’t a problem. My Latin teacher who was the ONLY teacher who came to every 504b plan meeting for the year and helped me create a club devoted to the love of Latin mythology. The executive council teacher who was always there for me when I was running around decorating for homecoming and feeling under appreciated (I was never in the group photos) and made sure she told me how successful my idea or decorations were. The friends who stayed by me and never hurt me with my secrets.
And by far one of the most impactful ones: my first college professor for august term. I wasn’t ready for college probably. I was already going in thinking I would never succeed at writing. My first paper we had to do for our august term/introduction month? A+. I asked her why, I’m a terrible writer. She explained I was never a bad writer, just not organized yet and how could she punish someone who got their point across even if it got there a round about way? This led to this first teacher pushing me towards the right first writing/english teacher who took the time (as a published poet) to explain a better way to write. I passed with A’s. I still encountered bad teachers, ones who hated my ideas I wanted to write about (jokes on them because my theme for my senior thesis? Written about by a leader in that field two years later almost identical to my topic just way more professional- eat shit jerk teacher, you had to read that entire article and I’m sure attend a lecture held by him), one’s who disliked my struggles, the whole enchilada.
By the time college was in full swing I was still cycling between extreme lows and highs. My eating disorder showed up and started becoming an issue. Anxiety and panic attacks became debilitating. Yet amid all that, the light started shining. I left that terrible relationship pretty quickly into freshman year (only to jump into a few more bad ones along the way), I fell in love with neuroscience, I discovered a passion for Chinese. I got to travel. I got to grow. I got to experience CHINA (amid THREE medical incidents in a single month while there…yet I still consider it one of the best experiences). I found a few friends who may stick around or may not. I learned to stand up for myself and others. I stood my ground against bullies for once (although it was on someone else’s behalf…I think it counts). I managed to pull myself back together after a medical emergency where my university forced me to withdraw for emergency surgery back home (turns out that nasty pcos we kinda just left alone? IT CAME BACK. With disastrous results, bad doctors, long ER waits, and a mysteriously moving surgical staple- a tale for another time).
My parents fought on my behalf to get me accepted back into school, we should have just thrown a law suit in there thinking back. And my senior year, when they finally relented and I was back in school and ready to take on my struggles? I learned and began to understand that all these social issues had nothing to do with me. My mental health? A chemical problem not a me problem (thank you abnormal psychology for that help). My eating issues? Fueled by a long ago fear ingrained in me by a doctor and social pressures. I did my best ever in classes. I wrote better papers, had stronger arguments, was in a theater production, and said F the world. I graduated after missing an entire semester of school in 4 years.
I came home and got my health back in order. I started to heal. I found a balance. I reconnected with the right people who believed in me. I realized the friends I should have been paying more attention to, the true blue friends? They were still there. They never left me. I got a job, I moved up quickly, I scored incredibly well on GREs, I planned to go to medical school after extra courses. I still struggled with loneliness and a lack of friends, Isolation and not being included even in casual friendships. But I moved forwards regardless, determined and fueled by a level of strength I developed and crap ton of spite.
And then came fucking September and a god damned jellyfish 3 years ago.
Part of me hates September. It brings back anguish and heartbreak. Bad memories and days of tears. But part of me is learning to accept it. Part of me has to keep saying- this is pushing you in the right direction. Part of me HAS to believe everything happens for a reason and as much hell as I have been through, there are plenty of others who have faced that and more. The only reason I’m too stubborn to let this never ending cascade of conditions take me down is because I learned 13 years ago that my mental health will always be a struggle, but I, and I mean I, have to be the one in control of it. I have to be stronger, more determined, and a fighter. And yes I am totally letting spite fuel me here, I think I am allowed that one. I won’t be facing down cancer with a bell at the end. Instead I’ll be listing off the number of shots and IV’s I’ve given myself on my CV I send to medical school. Yes I’ll be years behind peers but I have to be stronger and more determined than ever to get where I want to be. To be the change I wish I had all along, years ago, last week, yesterday in the medical world. Somehow, someway, My ass is getting there, no matter how tired and worn down I get.
And I’ll be damned if a stupid month stops me.
So Stay strong my friends
Life On Fire 