In a Perfect World...

This week's event to humble me is very basic and not something someone who works in Health care should be having trouble with. I blush a not uncomely shade of Valentine's red as I recant to you the details.

In the snow and ice that lasted ever through December and January, many unpleasantries occurred not the least of which was a fall outside a client's home. This particular client lives just one long address off the accessible road and has a small residence at the front of a very large acreage belonging to a family member. The driveway to the home had been ploughed once or twice but was still very much packed ice. My car had been stuck in this very driveway a week or so before.

Not wanting to spend another hour going back and forth to free my vehicle, I parked nearer to the very start of this driveway. I was blessing my new shoes which are stamped *WORKSAFE* as I trundled my way along. As I left the home, my client told me how she had watched me the week before and had a good hearty laugh over my antics. At least it had amusement value....

So chuckling to myself, I round the house and begin my trek down the driveway. 1-2-3-4-5-6-CRASH! A fall! Me, the fall preventer- fell! argh! As I went down, I only barely had the presence of mind to drop my books and put out a hand. All my soft round feminine divine weight came down on my wrist. I sat on the ice for 5 minutes, waiting for the burning sensation to depart. At first I believed my wrist to be broken but as the minutes went on and function returned I realised I was one lucky girl.

Banishing all humilating thoughts from my mind, I continued on continuing on. For a few more days, my wrist ached and I had a road rash along my arm. Thankful that I had averted serious trouble, I took it with a smile. One night as I lay fitfully turning and wondering what was wrong with my shoulder, it came to me! All my weight coming down on my right hand. hmmm.

Now there are several spots here where you could say: HEY that doesn't sound like company policy. Or: HEY shouldn't you have gone to the Doctor and had yourself checked out? In my mind, I was viewing it as an *almost*. I was mistaken.

The moment it was reported to my employer I was booked off. The moment I entered the Doctor's office I was told it was an WCB claim. And oh good... off with no pay.
grrr. My Doctor presecribed Naproxen for the inflammation and told me to beware my stomach as it is a drug notorious for causing trouble that way. All week I took my Naproxen and was sick until taking 2 or 3 Tums. I did not seem to be getting better.

Follow-up visit to my Doctor and I tell him how the Tums are keeping the bile down but the Naproxen doesn't seem to be worth it. "Tums? " he says quizzically. "They will neutralise the Naproxen - take Zantac 75 and you'll be fine."

So he said and so I did and so I am.
D-oh!

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“Supposing you have tried and failed again and again. You may have a fresh start any moment you choose, for this thing that we call "Failure" is not the falling down, but the staying down.”

--Mary Pickford

Obligatory Rant on Brain Meds.

Risk versus benefit.
The cruelty of beneficial medication for brain problems.

Nevermind the Short Term Memory Loss.
Nevermind the acid reflux.
Never even mind the scary notion that in ten years or less my liver might be so damaged it won't matter what shape my mind is in - this is what irks me about brain meds:

Having grown up with a pharmaceutical junkie, that is someone who took dozens of pills daily for everything but the real problem- I was always opposed to the use of prescription drugs unless direly indicated. Climbing aboard the good ship brain medications was only done when my own ship capsized for the umpteenth time. before I was cognizant that I had a brain injury. Years of neglect and absentee parents had left me psychologically scarred, but I did not yet know that I had a traumatic brain injury in my past. The informed mind over matter thing, despite being incredibly interesting did not work for longterm management.
All that information.
All those therapies tried.
No regrets - I learned more about the workings of the mind than I could have in two Doctorate theses. Interesting.

Succumbing to a brain accident or stroke was becoming more and more probable. I did not sleep more than 2 hours a night for weeks on end. Once every 4 to 5 weeks I would crash. This had been my pattern for as far back as I could remember. Nothing - not alcohol, drugs or unending sexual pursuits had calmed this pattern. I also had the ability to think about many things at once; way way too many things, and combined with my hypersenses made life in the big city almost unbearable. Almost because I wore light sensitive glasses and wore earplugs.

Finally, it came to an end. I was done. Grudgingly, kicking and screaming all the way, I consented to try brain meds.
The difference after 3 months was flabbergasting. I slept. SLEPT!
The sleep debt got paid off in little bits. It was fabulous. Now I truly understood what other people took for granted - normalcy of a kind was mine. Heaven for awhile.

Five years into Brain Meds I had a seizure. Or five.
Always a heavy dreamer, a parasomniac, nighttime became a terror for those around me. Sleepwalking. Sleeptalking. Sleep SCREAMING.
Then I blanked out during the daytime. The weirdness had arrived.

This was the PTSD diagnosis.
I still have trouble saying that. But it is true.
So I have new meds. Different meds.

I am one year into this treatment.
This is what life now is:
I have a new body. It is 25 pounds heavier than my olde one.
I have a slower mind. A new ability to sleep ten hours with minimal yelling.

Is it worth it?
Well -
(heavy sigh)

I am still alive. I have not stroked out.
But I am profoundly depressed over side effects. The same medication that has kept my brain in check has also sucked my ambition and enthusiasm. I have gone from freakishly off the charts high energy levels to very low energy. I have acid reflux. My short term memory is suspect.

So we are back to the start of the rant.
This cruel choice. The trade-off.