On Thursday last week, I had one of the
worst overdoses I've had in years. Recently, they've usually been on
psych meds, but not this time.
I took roughly 35,000mg paracetamol (70
tablets), many of which included codeine.
I'd been drinking and reading through
my old journal entries and notes relating to the abusive relationship
when I was a teen. The day marked the 10th anniversary of
when I met him. It's been ten years. Ten. Fucking. Years. A decade of
my life lost.
I'd had an overdose on oxazepam the
night before. An amount that has landed me in hospital many times,
but this time, I just woke up the next day as usual. I don't remember
much of the day. By the evening, I started looking at when I had left
in my stash. My usual go-to, an over-the-counter sleeping pill, had
disappeared. I had a box of paracetamol/codeine (500/30mg), and a box
of cold & flu that had both paracetamol and codeine. There was
also a sheet or two of plain old paracetamol.
As a rule, I generally don't keep
paracetamol around. I know the dangers all too well. I had a bad
overdose when I was 13, with hundreds of pills, everything in the
house (including paracetamol, ritalin, post-surgery painkillers –
anything I could find). Two weeks in hospital, one week in the ICU,
most of that week in an induced coma. Since then, the cupboards are
kept bare and everyone stashes their medication where I can't get to
it.
After taking them, and writing down
what I'd taken, how much, what time, and how many drinks I'd had
(because not knowing/remembering just makes things more difficult for
everyone), I drifted off to sleep.
When I woke up on Friday, the room was
spinning as I lay in bed. I got up and stumbled to the bathroom.
Trying to pee, I instead puked black liquid all over myself and the
floor.
#imsogothipukeblack
I rinsed myself off and changed into
clean clothes, and made my way to the kitchen, desperate for
something to drink. I measured out my low calorie cordial into a
drink bottle, topped it off with water, then sank to the floor. I
called out to mum, who was outside with her coffee, that I thought I
needed help.
I gulped down the cordial, desperate
for water, and threw up again. Mum was on the phone to 000. They told
her not to let me drink anything. All I wanted to do was chug down
the entire liter, even if it came back up again. Soon, three
paramedics arrived and whisked me off to hospital.
I don't remember much of this day,
either. A doctor gave me a lovely speech about how paracetamol can
cause liver failure, and liver failure requires transplants, and most
people who need new livers don't get them. I had to have the antidote
drip for the next 24 hours. They put the drip in, moved me to the
short stay unit, and I slept for most of the day, only waking up to
throw up.
On Saturday, they took more bloods. An
hour later, the doctor came back with the psych with the results. I
thought it'd be to plan discharge. But they told me my blood tests
showed my liver function was still declining, and was worse than when
I was admitted. They'd be talking to doctors at one of the biggest
hospitals in Melbourne to get advice. I thought I'd be out after the
24hr drip, but with my liver getting worse, they told me I needed
another 16hr drip after the first one finished, and see where things
go from there.
I'd been watching the time on the IV
crawl down, my countdown for when I might be able to sneak out for a
smoke. Not having smoked at all the day before, I was gagging for
one. I asked the nurse, and after checking with the doctors, the
nurse unplugged the heart monitor and let me outside, where I sucked
down two before going back in.
When the psych came to see me (who is much nicer than the Horrible Psychiatrist who used
to work there), he asked the general questions – are you still at
risk, do you think you'll do it again, do you have any more at home.
I told him I feel more passively, not actively, suicidal, but that an
overdose will probably happen again. Whether it's in a month or a
decade, it's probably going to happen again at some point. But it
wouldn't happen again as soon as I got home, as there wasn't a single
pill of anything in the house outside of mum's (heavily guarded)
lockbox.
After maybe four hours on the second
drip, I was sent home to follow up with my GP on Monday. A GI doctor
had come in and poked at my gut, and apparently that was enough to
counteract the whole “your liver function is declining” thing.
I wasn't exactly filled with confidence, and couldn't help but worry
about the test results. As it turned out, I was right to worry, and
all was not well.
On Sunday, I slept most of the day. Mum
said I looked like I should've stayed in hospital. Everyone seems
frustrated at the hospital for discharging me when they did - myself
included - as things got worse after I was discharged.
By Monday, the nausea had started to
ease off, which they said was a side effect of the drip. I still felt
sick though. It was like I had a lump in my abdomen.
I went to get the follow-up blood test,
wondering whether my liver had kept getting worse, or had started to
recover after the doctor poked and prodded at me. I'd written a note
for my GP, explaining what had been going on, asking her to arrange
an appointment for later that week. Although she'd have a letter from
the hospital, I felt it important to explain myself.
I gave the note to reception, asking if
they could pass it along, and went to get my bloods. On the way out,
my GP was at reception, holding the note. She booked an appointment
for me, but didn't have any gaps until Friday, but I ended up seeing
her before then anyway. Mum even agreed to drive me to blood tests
and appointments as it was follow-up from the hospital.
On Tuesday, my GP texted in the
morning, asking for my mum to call her. I immediately panicked. When
she called, my GP told me I needed another blood test that morning.
My liver function had gotten a lot worse since the hospital
discharged me. She told mum to keep an eye out for signs of
confusion, as my brain may start to swell.
On admission, my ALT level was 76, when
it should be under 45. When they discharged me, it was 132. By
Monday, it was up to 1,237. As of my last blood test it had come down
a bit and was at 1,066, but I'm not out of the woods yet. I've had
bloods every day this week, except for yesterday and today, being the
weekend.
Wednesday, I had an awful headache/neck
ache. When it started on Tuesday morning, I thought it was just
stress, until I woke up in the middle of the night in pain and
couldn't move my head without my neck hurting. When I was getting my
bloods done, mum went to the pharmacist to ask about painkillers.
They couldn't give me permission to take anything, and my GP had the
day off, so I just had to wait it out.
When I saw my GP on Thursday, she told
me that the pain was my brain responding to the paracetamol. She gave
me paracetamol/codeine (500/30), to take one at a time, four times a
day. I've actually been taking them as instructed. This week, I should be able to wean off them. She thinks my
bloods should be improving this week too.
My blood pressure has also been very
low. I've been checking it at home, but it's not changing much. On
Thursday at my GP's, it dropped from 104/59 sitting to 72/50
standing. I just feel like crap physically. She said to drink more water, as my organs are holding on
to it, but it's proving difficult to get more than my regular 3-4 liters a day.
Mum even asked me if I wanted to set up the couch with pillows and blankets, which I did. I think she wants to keep an eye on me for signs of confusion or anything like that. She's even checked on me when I'm asleep in my room in the middle of the night. I think she's scared too, but it's nice to feel like she actually cares. She actually visited me in hospital a couple of times, and picked me up when I was discharged, which she never does anymore. During a breakdown on Tuesday night, she actually gave me a hug. I can't remember the last time she did that.
Since the overdose, I've just been
taking it slow. I'm completely exhausted, mentally and physically.
I've been told to try not to drink as
it could make my liver worse. I've had drinks three nights since the
overdose, but only 4-5 drinks, instead of 10-15. I know I shouldn't,
but I need an escape, and my only other coping mechanisms are
self-harm and overdosing. And I'd be lying if I said part of me
doesn't hope it'll mess up my liver even more. By the fifth drink, I
end up feeling sick and giving up, despite how much I wish I could
just get drunk.
I didn't necessarily want to die. I
wanted to hurt, which is why I take most overdoses in the first
place. It's self-harm, not a suicide attempt. Thinking of taking the
paracetamol did worry me, knowing the dangers, but I was desperate.
But between things like drinking in the
hopes my liver will get worse, and the fact I'd do it again if
someone handed me a 100pk of paracetamol, it's got me thinking. I
don't think my suicidal ideations are are passive as I thought they
were.
I'm not coping with life,
traumaversaries, moving out, medical issues, depression in general.
Part of my is scared I'll do it again. Part of me wants to do it
again. Mostly because it was very effective as self-harm, but part of
me hopes my liver fails, and the decision to live or die will be
taken out of my hands.
I also saw my psych on Monday. We spoke
about the trauma for the first time, as it's always a difficult time
of year. She wants me to do 10 appointments in the next eight weeks
because I'm 'suicidal' (I really don't know if I am or not). I want
to ask her about an admission to the Clinic. This week, I'm seeing
her on Wednesday, which is the worst trauma date, then again on
Friday, plus my GP and dietician on Tuesday. We made a safety plan,
which I haven't done for years. Is it sad that my only 'friends and
family' contacts are my GP, dietician, and psych? Or that my only
'reason to stay alive' is “I don't want to die fat”?
I know this post is long, but there's
been a lot going on. I haven't been talking to people about it,
because I didn't want anyone to worry, but since my liver seems to
have turned a corner, I thought I better update.
xxBella
