Between Christmas and various other triggers I've yet to really write about, I haven't been coping very well lately, especially with trauma stuff.
This week I found myself in my GP's office, desperate for someone to listen. I put my hands over my ears and blurted, things I haven't said before. The words were difficult, but came with release. In the end, she was going to call both a counselling service and a local psych clinic to see if they had a bed for a short admission.
She also asked mum to monitor my meds, and bring them to me with a glass of water when they're due. Recently, I've either been not taking any of them, or going back and taking all the ones I've skipped.
I took the jump with the private psych clinic, the closest I've gotten to a psychiatrist in years. That probably says how desperate I feel.
I was really nervous about it. I'd had 3 admissions there n the past, all less than 24 hours. Plus, half the clinic is an ED clinic, and I really didn't want to end up in their program. My GP asked me to try for just 24 hours, and see what happened after that. As much as I don't like being in the house and have very valid reasons to, it's still a daunting prospect to go anywhere else.
She called the next day to tell me they had beds free, despite the holiday rush. She'd spoken to the psych on call, who I hadn't met before, and they agreed it would be a short admission for crisis intervention and assessing & stabilizing of my meds. They agreed the dietician handles the ED side of things. They'd just make sure I'm eating and drinking something and keep an eye on my OBs and whatnot.
Things were starting to look up. She did a quick physical, then it was just waiting for the phone call. The next morning, I packed my bags and off we went.
Despite the anxiety, things were going okay at the start. We did the paperwork, they took an ID photo for the med charts, and I sat and waited for a nurse to come collect me.
As the minutes turned into an hour, I started to have second thoughts. It crept up on me, slowly.
"I don't know if I want to be here."
"I don't feel safe here."
The next thing I remember was the rough of the carpet on my cheek, waking up on the floor with a nurse.
Yep, it was another seizure.
Apparently fell forward, and started convulsing. I bit my tongue so hard it bled (again) and still hurts today. The ambos had already been called by the time I woke up.
"Do you know where you are?"
"The clinic..."
"Do you know what day it is?"
"... ... no.
They scooped me up into a wheelchair and took me to a room with my mum, a few nurses and staff, and one of my worst fears - my old ED psychiatrist.
And as it turned out, my fears were extremely valid. My old ED psych was there - not the one my GP had spoken to - and eventually said I had two options. I could go to A&E with the ambos, or be sectioned.
I lost it. I jumped out of the chair and went for the door, but the psych blocked my way.
Then I just kept crying "I just want to go home."
"You don't even know what day it is."
"I just want to go home. I'll see my GP tomorrow."
By some stroke of luck or divine intervention, she let me go home.
"...but I'm not admitting you here again."
Which kinda fucks up any future treatment prospects, as it's the only psych place I'll go voluntarily, but fuck, I'm not going anywhere near her or that clinic again. That's my second lucky escape with being sectioned, and I'm not taking the risk again. I thought the clinic might be safe, as all their patients are voluntary, but I was wrong.
At home, later in the day, more seizures, another call to 000 (twice in one day!). I'm not too sure how I got out of this one, except for saying I'd get to my GP as soon as possible.
Seizures are a lot more exhausting than you'd think. Apart from where I bit my tongue and banged my knee on the way down, my whole body just aches. It feels like I've run a marathon, and moving my arms and legs just hurts.
I'm seeing my GP this week to get a referral to a neurologist and try to figure out what the hell's going on. After my first seizures at the start of the year (this was my third lot), I had tests done and all was fine.
I'm starting to think it's not just the crap I smoke, though. The first time, I had a seizure within 30 seconds of smoking. This time, it's much more delayed and random. Maybe hitting my head as my main form of self-harm is starting to take a toll.
And Happy New Year to all of you out there in the blogosphere. I hope 2016 brings all your hearts' desires.
xxBella
Sunday, 3 January 2016
Sunday, 27 December 2015
Christmas 2015
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Merry Christmas,
xxBella
Saturday, 19 December 2015
Where's Bella?
I know it's been just over two weeks now since I last posted... In case you couldn't guess, things have been pretty full-on in my little world. There have been seizures, ambulance rides, sneaking out, breakdowns, confessions, appointments and infections.
I've been trying to write a post for weeks with no luck. The two most significant events were probably the big group appointment with the new Mental Health Nurse, my dietician and GP, and the fact I landed in A&E last weekend after suffering from a couple of seizures.
(The sneaking out story is also pretty epic, in a 'who are you and what've you done with Bella?' kind of way, complete with jumping fences, so I'll save that for a post of it's own.)
The first seizure happened early in the morning. I have no memory of it, and wouldn't have known it happened if I'd not woken up being asked if I was okay. I assumed it was a one off, and didn't think much of it.
Then, around midday, I had another seizure. Knowing my luck, I was sat on the toilet at the time. This one lasted much longer, around 10 minutes compared to 30 seconds earlier.
I'm covered in cuts and bruises, still. I smashed a ceramic toilet roll holder on the way down, though thankfully avoided going head-first through the asbestos wall.
Mum called an ambulance and I spent ~5 hours in A&E, panicking about being in the same building as the Horrible Psychiatrist, not being able to go to the private hospital because they 'don't do seizures'. Billy whimpered and howled so loudly when mum was on the phone, the operator could hear him on the other end of the line.
Apparently one of the ambos had attended me when I had seizures in a similar situation earlier in the year. Including the time I randomly passed out and hit my head while weighing myself, that's the third ambulance call-out I've had this year. (I got the bill this morning - $1,690. Pay your Ambulance Membership/cherish your pension, folks.)
I don't really want to go into it that much, but my GP thinks it was a combination of smoking and not having slept the night before. I wrote a little about it here, but mostly don't really talk about my smoking. In fact, I think this is only the second time I've mentioned synthetics on here - the first time being when I last had seizures.
The doctor in A&E gave me a lecture about the dangers of synthetics and the risk of permanent damage. After some years on-and-off synthetics, and the natural stuff, I probably know this better than anyone. It scares the shit out of me. But what scares me more, is that it isn't enough to stop it.
Then, on Wednesday, I had my big appointment with the new mental health nurse, with both my dietician and GP there. It was the first time I've seen her in months. My GP was in the waiting room when I got there, and the dietician came in a few minutes later.
The MHN started saying she'd thought about writing a letter for the past few months, but wasn't sure if it'd be overstepping boundaries since we'd only had the one appointment. She said she wasn't sure if something she'd said came across the wrong way, and that humans aren't infallible. I couldn't bring it up. It seemed so obvious to me - how can she not know?
My GP spoke for a bit about her role and the structure of the team, how my appointments work and a bit about what's been going on for me lately. She bought up the topic of a 'potential relationship' (and that's a whole 'nother post, jesus christ, it's been a crazy few weeks). The dietician looked excited and grabbed my knee.
"Name?"
"Not worth talking about."
So yeah.
The dietician spoke for a bit about her role, and explained how weigh-ins are working - every 6 weeks, with a need for open honesty with the numbers and no room for miscommunication. That said, I was supposed to be weighed last week, but didn't (...I think).
I was supposed to see the MHN again this week, but didn't get there. I knew I'd had another rough weekend, particularly with meds and self-harm. There's been a lot of trauma-related stuff bubbling to the surface, but again, that's another post. I was stoked to see the dietician on Thursday, because apart from the team appointment, I hadn't seen her in a month.
I went in, and we were chatting for a while, and then she commented that I was looking a lot better than Tuesday. Apparently I was a total wreck and completely beside myself. Mum had deemed it an emergency, and so I went to see the dietician, and made an appointment for the GP later that morning. I had no memory of seeing the dietician, or the GP, or the nurse, or the days surrounding.
tl;dr, I'm not dead
xxBella
The first seizure happened early in the morning. I have no memory of it, and wouldn't have known it happened if I'd not woken up being asked if I was okay. I assumed it was a one off, and didn't think much of it.
Then, around midday, I had another seizure. Knowing my luck, I was sat on the toilet at the time. This one lasted much longer, around 10 minutes compared to 30 seconds earlier.
I'm covered in cuts and bruises, still. I smashed a ceramic toilet roll holder on the way down, though thankfully avoided going head-first through the asbestos wall.
Mum called an ambulance and I spent ~5 hours in A&E, panicking about being in the same building as the Horrible Psychiatrist, not being able to go to the private hospital because they 'don't do seizures'. Billy whimpered and howled so loudly when mum was on the phone, the operator could hear him on the other end of the line.
Apparently one of the ambos had attended me when I had seizures in a similar situation earlier in the year. Including the time I randomly passed out and hit my head while weighing myself, that's the third ambulance call-out I've had this year. (I got the bill this morning - $1,690. Pay your Ambulance Membership/cherish your pension, folks.)
I don't really want to go into it that much, but my GP thinks it was a combination of smoking and not having slept the night before. I wrote a little about it here, but mostly don't really talk about my smoking. In fact, I think this is only the second time I've mentioned synthetics on here - the first time being when I last had seizures.
The doctor in A&E gave me a lecture about the dangers of synthetics and the risk of permanent damage. After some years on-and-off synthetics, and the natural stuff, I probably know this better than anyone. It scares the shit out of me. But what scares me more, is that it isn't enough to stop it.
Then, on Wednesday, I had my big appointment with the new mental health nurse, with both my dietician and GP there. It was the first time I've seen her in months. My GP was in the waiting room when I got there, and the dietician came in a few minutes later.
The MHN started saying she'd thought about writing a letter for the past few months, but wasn't sure if it'd be overstepping boundaries since we'd only had the one appointment. She said she wasn't sure if something she'd said came across the wrong way, and that humans aren't infallible. I couldn't bring it up. It seemed so obvious to me - how can she not know?
My GP spoke for a bit about her role and the structure of the team, how my appointments work and a bit about what's been going on for me lately. She bought up the topic of a 'potential relationship' (and that's a whole 'nother post, jesus christ, it's been a crazy few weeks). The dietician looked excited and grabbed my knee.
"Name?"
"Not worth talking about."
So yeah.
The dietician spoke for a bit about her role, and explained how weigh-ins are working - every 6 weeks, with a need for open honesty with the numbers and no room for miscommunication. That said, I was supposed to be weighed last week, but didn't (...I think).
I was supposed to see the MHN again this week, but didn't get there. I knew I'd had another rough weekend, particularly with meds and self-harm. There's been a lot of trauma-related stuff bubbling to the surface, but again, that's another post. I was stoked to see the dietician on Thursday, because apart from the team appointment, I hadn't seen her in a month.
I went in, and we were chatting for a while, and then she commented that I was looking a lot better than Tuesday. Apparently I was a total wreck and completely beside myself. Mum had deemed it an emergency, and so I went to see the dietician, and made an appointment for the GP later that morning. I had no memory of seeing the dietician, or the GP, or the nurse, or the days surrounding.
tl;dr, I'm not dead
xxBella
Wednesday, 2 December 2015
Isolation is the Best Medication
For the past week I've been holed up in my bedroom. Anyone who's been reading for a while will know this room is a huge trigger for me, and usually I spend as little time in there as possible.
I don't really know why. I just don't want to deal with the world, with people. I don't want to go outside, not even to my back porch. And so I've been stuck in here, leaving for maybe an hour or two max each day.
A few days ago the dams broke and I just started crying, tears that have barely stopped since.
I'm losing days and losing track and I don't know which way's up.
Seeing the GP next Friday. Dietician next week. I cancelled on her again yesterday, because really, what's the point?
I'm making her an apron for Christmas. There's only two appointments left until she goes away.
In other news, I've been talking to someone on Facebook for the last few weeks and, well, got asked out.
I don't even know where to start explaining why this is such a complicated issue.
I kind of want to tell him he's wasting his time because I don't go out much and am not in the place to cope with a relationship or any of that.
For those playing along at home, I've had a total of maybe six social encounters since I started blogging.
It's all such a confusing mess and I really don't know if I'm in the right place to be able to deal with any of it. I'm going to try to get my thoughts straight and will check in with how it went later in the week, but I just wanted to quickly check in as I know a few of you were worried.
xxBella
Monday, 23 November 2015
One by one...
The last few weeks at home have not been the most pleasant. When I last posted, I'd just seen the dietician that morning, and in the afternoon, mum got back from her mini-vacation. After a horror weekend alone, I told her we really needed to change the carer's payment situation, and she told me to move out while I'm at it.
It hit me as a bit of a shock, for her to say that. It hurt. I didn't have the energy to sit there and pointlessly argue. I went out the garage, and smoked and broke down until the tears ran dry. Then I went back to the porch. I accepted it. It is her house, her life, and ultimately her decision.
I have to make this clear. I'm not angry or frustrated at mum for not being able to continue as my carer. I do get it. I'm angry that she won't accept it means losing the payment, and whenever I've tried to discuss it with her, she gets offended and argumentative, and I had to draw the line. (I should note: I do pay my own way covering everything I eat, my share of bills, the housework etc.)
She's a great mum. I think (or hope) most of you guys know that. She's just not fulfilling the role of 'carer'. It's a fact, not a judgement. I honestly think that if we redid the forms, which I'll be asking my GP to do, the outcome would be different now. It's not a sudden change - it's been building all year.
She's burnt out. I get it. Before I was ill, she cared for my brother for some years too. It isn't a 'blame' situation, not by a long shot. It's just the way life works. I just need to know what's going on so I can start looking at my other options.
To me, though, it just confirms everything The Horrible Psychiatrist said all those years ago.
I always knew he was right on that one. Now, I'm taking his second piece of advice.
After that discussion and the aftermath on Tuesday, I made an appointment to see the dietician again on Thursday. That didn't happen.
For the last few months, mum has been pushing me to do more by myself, especially at appointments. It started with going to every appointment alone, and currently, she is pushing me to go to reception, talk to them by myself, go back afterwards and talk to them again to pay. For reference, the most I've been able to interact with the girls at the desk is saying 'hi' and 'thanks' in the last few months, and even that has been a huge challenge. Before that, it was just a smile, sometimes a wave.
And I couldn't do it. I know it sounds ridiculous, but it was too much. If I were in a better place I might consider the challenge, but at the moment it's just another roadblock in getting to appointments. I asked mum if she could please put a 'pause' on her agenda, because I'm already struggling enough with food and getting to appointments as it is. No.
But I'm not going to push it. In the end, mum is backing away for a reason, and I can't change that. So I cancelled Thursday, and cancelled tomorrow's regular appointment too. Like I said before, I'm just rolling over and accepting it. It is her house, her life, and ultimately her decision.
So I guess you could say, appointments are currently up in the air. I still have my weekly standing appointments with the dietician, and have an appointment with my GP next week, but it could go either way. I feel like my supports are crumbling one by one, and I don't have the self-caring factor to be pushed in to these scary situations, just to get to appointments, and for whose benefit...?
And I want to thank you all for you comments, support, input, feedback and opinions on my last post. I was actually kind of scared to check the comments for a few days. I think I prepare myself for others to judge me just as harshly as I do. I checked a few days later, expecting the worst, but instead they made me cry. I really don't know what I'd do without the support and friendship of all of those in the blogosphere.
At the moment, I'm just trying to find my feet, my routine, and keep up with the human race in general.
As for the whole thing with my friend, I don't have a friggin' clue what's going on there, but I think I'm good with that. Or, more to the point, I'm just over. I don't have the time or energy to waste on social dramas right now. Isolation is the best medication.
xxBella
It hit me as a bit of a shock, for her to say that. It hurt. I didn't have the energy to sit there and pointlessly argue. I went out the garage, and smoked and broke down until the tears ran dry. Then I went back to the porch. I accepted it. It is her house, her life, and ultimately her decision.
I have to make this clear. I'm not angry or frustrated at mum for not being able to continue as my carer. I do get it. I'm angry that she won't accept it means losing the payment, and whenever I've tried to discuss it with her, she gets offended and argumentative, and I had to draw the line. (I should note: I do pay my own way covering everything I eat, my share of bills, the housework etc.)
She's a great mum. I think (or hope) most of you guys know that. She's just not fulfilling the role of 'carer'. It's a fact, not a judgement. I honestly think that if we redid the forms, which I'll be asking my GP to do, the outcome would be different now. It's not a sudden change - it's been building all year.
She's burnt out. I get it. Before I was ill, she cared for my brother for some years too. It isn't a 'blame' situation, not by a long shot. It's just the way life works. I just need to know what's going on so I can start looking at my other options.
To me, though, it just confirms everything The Horrible Psychiatrist said all those years ago.
"They will get tired, and they will leave."
Mum looked him straight in the eye, and told him he was wrong. His reaction was basically,
"Just wait."
I always knew he was right on that one. Now, I'm taking his second piece of advice.
"You should free mum from her role as carer."
After that discussion and the aftermath on Tuesday, I made an appointment to see the dietician again on Thursday. That didn't happen.
For the last few months, mum has been pushing me to do more by myself, especially at appointments. It started with going to every appointment alone, and currently, she is pushing me to go to reception, talk to them by myself, go back afterwards and talk to them again to pay. For reference, the most I've been able to interact with the girls at the desk is saying 'hi' and 'thanks' in the last few months, and even that has been a huge challenge. Before that, it was just a smile, sometimes a wave.
And I couldn't do it. I know it sounds ridiculous, but it was too much. If I were in a better place I might consider the challenge, but at the moment it's just another roadblock in getting to appointments. I asked mum if she could please put a 'pause' on her agenda, because I'm already struggling enough with food and getting to appointments as it is. No.
But I'm not going to push it. In the end, mum is backing away for a reason, and I can't change that. So I cancelled Thursday, and cancelled tomorrow's regular appointment too. Like I said before, I'm just rolling over and accepting it. It is her house, her life, and ultimately her decision.
So I guess you could say, appointments are currently up in the air. I still have my weekly standing appointments with the dietician, and have an appointment with my GP next week, but it could go either way. I feel like my supports are crumbling one by one, and I don't have the self-caring factor to be pushed in to these scary situations, just to get to appointments, and for whose benefit...?
And I want to thank you all for you comments, support, input, feedback and opinions on my last post. I was actually kind of scared to check the comments for a few days. I think I prepare myself for others to judge me just as harshly as I do. I checked a few days later, expecting the worst, but instead they made me cry. I really don't know what I'd do without the support and friendship of all of those in the blogosphere.
At the moment, I'm just trying to find my feet, my routine, and keep up with the human race in general.
As for the whole thing with my friend, I don't have a friggin' clue what's going on there, but I think I'm good with that. Or, more to the point, I'm just over. I don't have the time or energy to waste on social dramas right now. Isolation is the best medication.
xxBella
Tuesday, 17 November 2015
Home Alone
This past week has been really full-on, hence my lack of writing. I was to be left home alone for 5-6 days, and things did not go as planned.
Last week, I actually worked up the cojones to ask a friend to come over and keep me company for part of the weekend. He asked when my mum and brother were going away, and said he'd come over for most of Friday and Saturday, and only be 10 minutes away if I needed. I thought I had a safety net, and that at least a couple of days wouldn't be so hard.
I don't even know what happened. I really don't even know. I think that's the worst part. My social life is very much a case of "the less said, the better". He came over, we talked and drank and watched Inside Out. It was nice. He had a bag and a new bottle of scotch. I thought he was going to stay. The scotch never got opened.
One of the first things he said was that he'd been dating a girl for four months, and she wasn't too happy about him visiting. Obviously, this is where the shit hit the fan, with constant texts flying, but I don't know what or why.
He left sometime around 1am, I'm not entirely sure. I wasn't expecting it, and it was a shock to the system like having ice water poured all over me. Everything in me sunk and all I felt was fear. I can't even explain how or why it makes such a difference just having someone around. I just needed someone there and I had no one else to call on.
We haven't talked since, which isn't unusual for me, but I don't know when or why plans changed or if I've stepped on toes or what. If it had been a known, I would have tried to sort something else out so I wouldn't be left alone, even if it meant a respite carer.
As a bonus, toward the end of the night, my stomach decided to pull it's magic trick where it randomly ejects its contents. I don't think it was even alcohol-induced, as I didn't drink that much, and I kept being sick until about 4pm the next day.
Saturday was one of the hardest days I've had in a long time. The morning was hell. Between the stress and being physically sick, I wasn't coping. I called mum 10, 20, 30 times, only to hear she'd be turning off her phone in 15 minutes for the wedding. I didn't even know what to say. I then called my brother, who very calmly asked the routine questions and asked if I needed him to come home.
My brother flew back on Saturday. I feel terrible because he'd only left the night before, but I didn't know what else to do. I felt so alone and scared, and it's not like I exactly have lots of local friends to call.
I waited in curiousity to see if I'd hear from him on Saturday. Nothing. I think I've managed to unintentionally fuck up my last local friendship.
A strange phenomenon happens when mum leaves, and I lose all sense of time, all structure, and arguably the majority of my mind. When I started smoking weed, I referred to it as the Eternal Twilight. The same happens when I'm alone. Life is just one, big, long fucking day.
I've missed most of my meds and skipped most of my meals. Saturday, I didn't eat until 6pm when I made an egg with bacon on toast. Just under 200 cals for the day. The next day, I had an Ensure at the end of the day, but that was it. I've had another supplement this morning, and I'm going to try to go and cook a proper dinner after I finish this post.
I should mention, this whole week had been a result of bad timing, with both my mum and brother booking trips some time ago for the same weekend. Unfortunately, no one realised the clash until a few weeks ago, and by then it was too late to change anything.
I had a talk with the dietician this morning, which helped a lot. I might try to see her again on Thursday, just because the last couple of weeks have been so hard with intake and weight. I've lost 2.5kg since she weighed me two weeks ago, and there's four more weeks until I next have to be weighed. She asked if I wanted to do it this morning to get it out of the way, and I thought about it, but ended up chickening out.
Mum got home a couple of hours ago. I told her that
"After this weekend, I don't think I want you on carer's allowance any more."
This has been a highly debated topic in our household of late, as it's been building for a while. And she got really pissed off and said
"Fine, cancel it, and move out while you're at it."
...
xxBella
Last week, I actually worked up the cojones to ask a friend to come over and keep me company for part of the weekend. He asked when my mum and brother were going away, and said he'd come over for most of Friday and Saturday, and only be 10 minutes away if I needed. I thought I had a safety net, and that at least a couple of days wouldn't be so hard.
I don't even know what happened. I really don't even know. I think that's the worst part. My social life is very much a case of "the less said, the better". He came over, we talked and drank and watched Inside Out. It was nice. He had a bag and a new bottle of scotch. I thought he was going to stay. The scotch never got opened.
One of the first things he said was that he'd been dating a girl for four months, and she wasn't too happy about him visiting. Obviously, this is where the shit hit the fan, with constant texts flying, but I don't know what or why.
He left sometime around 1am, I'm not entirely sure. I wasn't expecting it, and it was a shock to the system like having ice water poured all over me. Everything in me sunk and all I felt was fear. I can't even explain how or why it makes such a difference just having someone around. I just needed someone there and I had no one else to call on.
We haven't talked since, which isn't unusual for me, but I don't know when or why plans changed or if I've stepped on toes or what. If it had been a known, I would have tried to sort something else out so I wouldn't be left alone, even if it meant a respite carer.
As a bonus, toward the end of the night, my stomach decided to pull it's magic trick where it randomly ejects its contents. I don't think it was even alcohol-induced, as I didn't drink that much, and I kept being sick until about 4pm the next day.
Saturday was one of the hardest days I've had in a long time. The morning was hell. Between the stress and being physically sick, I wasn't coping. I called mum 10, 20, 30 times, only to hear she'd be turning off her phone in 15 minutes for the wedding. I didn't even know what to say. I then called my brother, who very calmly asked the routine questions and asked if I needed him to come home.
My brother flew back on Saturday. I feel terrible because he'd only left the night before, but I didn't know what else to do. I felt so alone and scared, and it's not like I exactly have lots of local friends to call.
I waited in curiousity to see if I'd hear from him on Saturday. Nothing. I think I've managed to unintentionally fuck up my last local friendship.
A strange phenomenon happens when mum leaves, and I lose all sense of time, all structure, and arguably the majority of my mind. When I started smoking weed, I referred to it as the Eternal Twilight. The same happens when I'm alone. Life is just one, big, long fucking day.
I've missed most of my meds and skipped most of my meals. Saturday, I didn't eat until 6pm when I made an egg with bacon on toast. Just under 200 cals for the day. The next day, I had an Ensure at the end of the day, but that was it. I've had another supplement this morning, and I'm going to try to go and cook a proper dinner after I finish this post.
I should mention, this whole week had been a result of bad timing, with both my mum and brother booking trips some time ago for the same weekend. Unfortunately, no one realised the clash until a few weeks ago, and by then it was too late to change anything.
I had a talk with the dietician this morning, which helped a lot. I might try to see her again on Thursday, just because the last couple of weeks have been so hard with intake and weight. I've lost 2.5kg since she weighed me two weeks ago, and there's four more weeks until I next have to be weighed. She asked if I wanted to do it this morning to get it out of the way, and I thought about it, but ended up chickening out.
Mum got home a couple of hours ago. I told her that
"After this weekend, I don't think I want you on carer's allowance any more."
This has been a highly debated topic in our household of late, as it's been building for a while. And she got really pissed off and said
"Fine, cancel it, and move out while you're at it."
...
xxBella
Friday, 6 November 2015
Scales and Sickness
This week was my 6-weekly weigh in with the dietician.
I've started being more open with her lately, as our relationship recover's from last year's scale screw-over.
At home, on the Wii, I weighed 46.1kg. At the dietician's office, clothed and full of coffee, I weighed 48.3kg. I figure I'm somewhere in between, so let's say 47.2-ish. The bathroom scales still seem so daunting, so I'm still weighing in on the Wii, but I know I'll have to get on the real scales soon. This time between weighs, I lost 2.0kg.
She asked how I felt about it, and I told her straight up that it was a relief to be further away from the 50kg mark. When she asked if I wanted to lose more, I told her the truth (in my head, I'm planning to start maintaining again in January). She said she'd really freak out if I lost any more with my current BMI. I at least agreed to have two Ensures/Forticremes this week.
However, I've been feeling pretty sick since then, and I've dropped another 1.5kg in two days, putting me around 45.7kg (BMI 13.2). I'm actually going to ask if we can redo this week's weight. It was just horrendous timing that I got sick and dropped further, and I don't want her to freak out.
I've been feeling pretty crappy since Tuesday night, when I woke up vomiting. Since then it's been coughs, puke, aches, chills, fevers, night sweats, and complete exhaustion. It's making a lot harder to eat, even when I want to, even the smell of food makes me want to puke.
My intake has been lower than it's been in a while. The last two days, I've finished the day under 300 cals, despite actually trying to eat more. I tried to have an Ensure last night, but the first sip made me retch. Today I'm going to try to get to 600. I've had an egg and bacon on toast (149), and I made it through a whole Ensure (226). The Ensure took half an hour, but it got down and stayed down. I think dinner's going to be toast/bread, so I should get there today, nausea permitting.
On Thursday I saw my GP. I told her I think I've go a chest infection or something brewing. She asked if I could please try to take the antibiotics that I've practically refused over the last few months. Amazingly enough, I actually had one this morning. Yay.
When she did my OBs, my heart rate was in the 140s just resting. It's rarely below 120 at home. She checked it three times before asking how long it's been since my thyroid was checked. Looking through my records, it's been five years, and she wrote up for my next blood test to include thyroid.
As for the old mental health nurse, who said she'd call but still hasn't? I'm pretty over it all. Again, she said she'd call, and again, I was naive enough to believe her. My GP is not impressed, and is now advancing from phone calls to writing her a letter.
"Honestly, I don't know if I even want to talk to her any more. The only thing I have to say to her is 'Why didn't you call?', both at the start of the year and again now."
She just nodded sadly. My singular good experience with the MH system has been marred by her saying she'd call, but never did (twice!). I mean, why even bother saying it if you don't mean it?
Plans are in the works for getting me back to the new MHN, but the fear is still so strong. I'm talking to the dietician about it on Tuesday, and hopefully it won't be too much longer before everyone's schedules line up so she and my GP can accompany me as they kindly offered.
I think that's about it for today. For now, I think I'm going to spend he weekend on the couch resting and recuperating,
xxBella
I've started being more open with her lately, as our relationship recover's from last year's scale screw-over.
At home, on the Wii, I weighed 46.1kg. At the dietician's office, clothed and full of coffee, I weighed 48.3kg. I figure I'm somewhere in between, so let's say 47.2-ish. The bathroom scales still seem so daunting, so I'm still weighing in on the Wii, but I know I'll have to get on the real scales soon. This time between weighs, I lost 2.0kg.
She asked how I felt about it, and I told her straight up that it was a relief to be further away from the 50kg mark. When she asked if I wanted to lose more, I told her the truth (in my head, I'm planning to start maintaining again in January). She said she'd really freak out if I lost any more with my current BMI. I at least agreed to have two Ensures/Forticremes this week.
However, I've been feeling pretty sick since then, and I've dropped another 1.5kg in two days, putting me around 45.7kg (BMI 13.2). I'm actually going to ask if we can redo this week's weight. It was just horrendous timing that I got sick and dropped further, and I don't want her to freak out.
I've been feeling pretty crappy since Tuesday night, when I woke up vomiting. Since then it's been coughs, puke, aches, chills, fevers, night sweats, and complete exhaustion. It's making a lot harder to eat, even when I want to, even the smell of food makes me want to puke.
My intake has been lower than it's been in a while. The last two days, I've finished the day under 300 cals, despite actually trying to eat more. I tried to have an Ensure last night, but the first sip made me retch. Today I'm going to try to get to 600. I've had an egg and bacon on toast (149), and I made it through a whole Ensure (226). The Ensure took half an hour, but it got down and stayed down. I think dinner's going to be toast/bread, so I should get there today, nausea permitting.
On Thursday I saw my GP. I told her I think I've go a chest infection or something brewing. She asked if I could please try to take the antibiotics that I've practically refused over the last few months. Amazingly enough, I actually had one this morning. Yay.
When she did my OBs, my heart rate was in the 140s just resting. It's rarely below 120 at home. She checked it three times before asking how long it's been since my thyroid was checked. Looking through my records, it's been five years, and she wrote up for my next blood test to include thyroid.
As for the old mental health nurse, who said she'd call but still hasn't? I'm pretty over it all. Again, she said she'd call, and again, I was naive enough to believe her. My GP is not impressed, and is now advancing from phone calls to writing her a letter.
"Honestly, I don't know if I even want to talk to her any more. The only thing I have to say to her is 'Why didn't you call?', both at the start of the year and again now."
She just nodded sadly. My singular good experience with the MH system has been marred by her saying she'd call, but never did (twice!). I mean, why even bother saying it if you don't mean it?
Plans are in the works for getting me back to the new MHN, but the fear is still so strong. I'm talking to the dietician about it on Tuesday, and hopefully it won't be too much longer before everyone's schedules line up so she and my GP can accompany me as they kindly offered.
I think that's about it for today. For now, I think I'm going to spend he weekend on the couch resting and recuperating,
xxBella
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