Showing posts with label pristiq. Show all posts
Showing posts with label pristiq. Show all posts

Sunday, June 23, 2013

That Which Makes You Stronger

For three years now I have, before getting out of bed, before even sitting up properly, popped tablets from blisters and tossed one, two, maybe three back with a mouthful of water. Across time zones and continents, in transit, when accidentally away from home, when knowing I'm about to go straight back to sleep, when fighting off nausea. The image of all those pills sitting in one gigantic pile has just hit me. Green and white capsules, white round bitter coins, and clay tablets ranging from terracotta to stucco. Three years worth. Every day.

I can tell you that these magic medicines have kept me from suicide, alleviated my physical pain levels to manageable daily levels and lessened my depression. Because of these tablets I am living an absolutely amazing life, and will continue to do so. There is a lot to be thankful for.

And yet, even still I must every morning force myself to take them. Every morning it is a conscious decision to break the foil again. Some mornings I will lie still for minutes, putting it off. Pretending I don't need them.

Three years is not enough time to accept. Three years is not enough time to wear out resentment. 

A lifetime may not be enough.

Thursday, April 25, 2013

Self & Prescribed

Three days ago I switched from taking Effexor to Pristiq, or venlafaxine to desvenlafaxine. The latter is a sort of 'remastered' release of the former, in order to keep the pharmaceutical patent alive, but although the molecular difference is cosmetic, the actual affect is quite marked. All anti-depressants have dulled my mind, bruised my memory capacity and generally made me vague and scatterbrained, but Effexor takes that dumbening to new depths. Unfortunately, Pristiq is not available in the EU/UK, so for the past year I have been endumbened.

It's amazing how little it takes to shake an awareness up and down. Mere milligrams is what I, we, the medicated sorehearts, take. Measures so small as to mean absolutely nothing in that small terracotta pill in the palm of your hand, which you're sure is comprised mostly of chalk and hope. Molecules, a mere additional arm, nothing, and these three days you've felt such an upheaval in your nethermind. Tearstorms and rotten softness where once you thought you were strong. You tell your friends and you tell your family; it isn't me. It's just chemistry. It'll be done in a week or so.

You tell yourself it isn't you.

We, you, I rarely speak of the faith required of medication. The invisible substance you take will alter you, and alter your ability to perceive this alteration. It will gift you with an emotional vertigo unwarranted by your surroundings. It will make you worse, so much worse, and the only thing you can do is trust, believe, hope, that it will get better. It must get better.

Please let it get better.

Last week I attended a PostSecret event at the Arts Centre. I've been following PostSecret for years, and so was not unprepared for the heartstring tugging that those hours contained. Strangers stood before a crowd of hundreds and confessed to personal crimes that stole their voices, a powerful and what should have been liberating and uplifting act, but when I left and stood at the station waiting for my train, I felt tired, deeply worn, helpless. There is so much hurt walking around these ordinary streets behind these ordinary faces. Tasting the scope of this suffering is to stop where you stand, close your eyes, and lie down right there.

There was one secret shared - the only man to stand and bare himself - in which the words spoken were a carefully crafted fish hook on a very long line, and I didn't realise I was caught and leaving a tangled trail behind me as I walked all over town.

He said that anti-depressants saved him,  have made him so much better, but it was before he started taking them that he has never felt so alive.

It's been years of medication and health obstacles, and nothing has changed except my perspective. I want to write, now. I'm not scared any more. Actually I've been bashing my head at writing for some months now, and a growing part of me suspects that this medication truly is interfering. Or is that the excuse I've come up with to hide behind? I don't know. I can't tell.

Still, strive for this. Stretch and strain. My application for part-time has been approved, and now every Wednesday is mine. The driving motivation for this was pain management, as the last three Fridays I've had a major meltdown from the stress of trying to hold myself together through the working week, as the pain signal gets steadily louder and more ragged. Fatigue has continued to dog my heels, so I must assume it is not merely the rigor of travel that was flattening me previously. Hopefully breaking the week in two will offer enough respite that I shall be able to keep on top of things, whatever those things may be.

Sadly that old paradigm remains in place, and on what should be a day of rest I will feel guilt for using my time for myself.

But maybe that's the medication talking. Maybe it's all just chemistry.










What I want, what I miss, what I long for more than anything else is Loch Broom.   I want that cold North Sea water, a finger of the Minch sneaking into the west coast of Scotland to lie lazy between the hills. A beach of rocks worn delightfully smooth, older than dinosaurs and covered in lost kelp and discarded crab shells. The languid wail of herring gulls punctuated by the piping of oyster catchers. I miss the constant salt in the air, air that has been tossed over the isles and mountains and seas. I miss the hills, barren of trees but so full of hunched life, heather and gorse grumpy and gorgeous. I miss the way the sun  would play through the mountain passes and the clouds would curl over the peaks as though suddenly shy. I miss the certainty that, no matter how much turbulence I carried in my heart, I could look out a window and see-


Sunday, March 11, 2012

Attempting to Settle With Fibromyalgia

There is only one bus for Ullapool on Sundays. Tonight I will sleep in a bed that will be my bed for at least a couple of months to come. On Wednesday I will no longer be Master of My Own Fate, I will be employed, with a boss, with tasks and responsibilities and my time will no longer be my own.

This will probably be good for me, but I have to admit the notion leaves me somewhat disgruntled.

Coincidentally, I'm coming up on the last of my medication. I was given a slab of Pristiq before I left, enough to last me through the uncertainties of travel in various countries in the EU, also enough that would see me having been on a stable dosage for in excess of six months. It doesn't pay to tweak dosage and medication too much, and my psychologist was quite adamant that before attempting to lower my dosage I should sit pretty for at least six months.

Pristiq, or Desvenlafaxine, is not available in the UK.

The doctor I saw in the Bank Medi Centre did a fair amount of checking her references, and qave me a prescription for Effexor, or Venlafaxine. She was thorough in calculating comparative doses. The prescription given will be a slight reduction, but less than dropping from 150mq to 100mq of Pristiq.

This will be a direct chop and change. As soon as the Pristiq is done I will commence the Effexor. Much as this sounds dubious, I did the same when switching from Cymbalta to Pristiq, and on the recommendation and assurance of both my GP and psychologist, with no notable side-effects to speak of. Apart from space-cadetness. Vague I can deal with, however. Amplified depression, not so much.

I am still shit fucking scared.

The Fibromyalgia Support Group in Inverness has not responded to my email, and further searching has not indicated any particular doctors with an understanding of fibromyalgia in the area. In this case, I figure I'll save myself the travel and register at the medical clinic in Ullapool. There's only one. There are a few practicing doctors there, so even if none of them have any experience with fibromyalgia there must surely be at least one I feel comfortable talking to.

This lead to me attempting to research how one goes about joining the NHS. Should anyone else happen to follow in my footsteps, I have some very simple advice: don't.

The websites, which I am not goinq to link to because they are all confusing and lacking in anything that looks like administrative process, have nothing, naaaasink, on how to go about joining, or information for expats. A friend who had already navigated this told me to simply make an appointment and register with a doctor, and it will sort itself out there. Cool? Cool.






And while rummaging around online learning all this I read about my medications all over again, and about fibromyalgia all over again, and the words THERE IS NO CURE have lodged in my throat, all the descriptions of pain, fatigue, depression, aches, all the limits and restrictions, the unending unceasing reality of it, I remembered these things all over again.

I start work on Wednesday. There is a frightening amount of hope pinned upon this menial job.

Thursday, September 29, 2011

Only Symbolic

That was my last head doctor appointment.

It was a gesture only, in order to make sure all my medication is in order for the journey ahead. (It wasn't, by the way, thanks to my GP screwing up medications a second time. I will not be seeing him again. Thankfully psychiatrist actually knows her stuff.)

It should be a triumph to announce that was your last medical appointment, as usually that indicates you no longer require special care. I have to keep reminding myself that while I am free of all these appointments and receipts and referrals and specialists and tests, I am not free of the problem.

I've been on 150mg daily of Pristiq for nearly two months. As an anti-depressant it isn't too bad, probably comparable in effect to the Cymbalta; still hit some very low notes, but generally able to cope with life. No horrific side-effects, at least no new ones. Sleep appears to have been a bit better than previous.

Pain relief has been notable.

Which pretty much proves the psychiatrist, gp and rheumatologist right. I have fibromyalgia.

Which means walking away from a desk job will not necessarily have any impact on the perpetual discomfort in my body. It means I may just be stuck like this forever.

I'm very tired. I've pulled so much wool over my eyes to trick myself into going on a few more days, just a bit further, I don't know what or why or how the landscape of my mind grows. This grief continues, but I know longer know what it is for.

Go on. Keep going. Just a little further. Every day. For the rest of your life.

Thursday, August 04, 2011

you are angels and drunks, you are magi

First Pristiq tablet yesterday at 0840 hours. No immediate effects noticed. MASSIVE NIGHT SWEAT.

Second Pristiq tablet today at 0840 hours. No immediate effects noticed until I realised I was chipper to the point of manic. Those of you on twitter copped the brunt of it. Below is the gist of my tweeting for the day, and by 'gist' I mean 'everything but the yes/no @ replies'. It's very shouty. (Start at the bottom and work your way up. It's a pain I know.)

  • Extra points if the lie involves lemon meringue pie.
  • Yeah, I'm clocked off, but you can still sit on my lap and have your ear licked. Just tell me a lie and make me believe it.
  • Our hero enters the train mid-flight, the doors closing in on her, and squealing like a stuck schoolgirl piglet. #stylin'
  • Now; lion hunting.
  • Oh thank fuck I can stop being so loudly awesome. Was giving myself a headache.
  • HOME TIME HOME TIME THIS IS YOUR CASE WORKER AT THE MINISTRY OF LOVE, SIGNING OFF. SNOGS AND PAWINGS, MY FREAKY DARLINGS, SNOGS AND PAWINGS.
  • @battledinosaur SWEET LITTLE PEACHASAURUS YOU ARE WALKING CUTENESS EVEN IN YOUR SLEEP
  • @ZacDavies NAH MATE I JUST REALLY LOVE TEA CHEERS MATE
  • I WOULD LOVE A THIRD CUP OF TEA. LOVE ONE. LOVE IT. SWALLOW THAT FUCKER WHOLE. PHWOAR.
  • @trickyidnego YOU LEARN WELL, GRASSHOPPER. HAVE SOME ROSES.
  • @tyronotron @emlypie MAY THE LOVIN' BE IN YOU.
  • DOES THIS SMELL LIKE CHEAP ROMANCE TO YOU?
  • I WANT YOU TO WANT ME TO LOVE YOU. SO I CAN SPURN YOU. SCHOOL OF LIFE, CLASS IS IN.
  • @emlypie @tyronotron SING IT BACK BRING IT BACK SING IT BACK TO MEEEEEE
  • @emlypie WELL I LOVE HER ANYWAY. SHE GAVE ME A BISCUIT.
  • @idreamofcodeine AND BY THROW YOU MEAN HURL IN THEIR FACE. AWWW. YOU KNOW ME SO WELL. C'MERE YOU SACK OF SUGAR.
  • HEY @emlypie I'M GONNA STAND OUTSIDE @tyronotron's DOOR I KNOW HE'S HOME.
  • @emlypie WELL DAYUM WOMAN YOU SHOODA CALLED AHEAD YOUR MUM IS LOOKING AT ME FUNNY I THINK SHE JUDGES MY LOVE
  • @ZacDavies MORON 1+4 LAWL
  • I'M GOING TO WALK 100 MILES TO STAND OUTSIDE @emlypie's DOOR, WHICH ISN'T CREEPY AT ALL.
  • @ZacDavies NO REALLY. THAT SHIT IS BANANAS.
  • 4 hours ago
  • I'M FROM THE MINISTRY OF LOVE, I'M HERE TO HELP. YOU WILL BE LOVED. LIKE A MAROON5 SONG. NO I DON'T CARE IF YOU DON'T LIKE MAROON5. FFS.
  • @Marxamus @simonnix IF I DO IT REALITY DISTORTS AND IT DOES NOT SUCK
  • @simonnix BA-DUM-CHING
  • THE LACK OF FLOWERS YOU HAVE BROUGHT ME HAS NOT GONE UNNOTICED.
  • I think when she's drinking she's drowning some riot, what is my friend trying to hide...
  • @tyronotron TALK TO YOUR ANCESTORS, THEY'RE THE ONES WHO EVOLVED EARS.
  • @simonnix FUNNY IS PROBABLY GOING TO FILE A SEXUAL HARASSMENT CLAIM.
  • RT @charlesatan: @sirtessa I FIGURED EVERYTHING WOULD STILL BE IN ALL CAPS IF YOU WERE SPEAKING IN REAL LIFE
  • ALTHOUGH I WAS INDEED YELLING AT YOU BEFORE BECAUSE YOU ARE A JERK. BRING ME A CUP OF TEA AND I SHALL CONSIDER YOUR PARDON.
  • IT IS NOT ALLCAPS, IT IS MY AWESOMNIC FIELD DISTORTING REALITY.
  • [cries, rides off into the sunset.]
  • SURE, TAKE MY LOVE, BUT YOU SHOULD KNOW I DON'T LIKE YOU, NEVER LIKED YOU, YOU'RE A JERK.
  • NO REALLY THAT IS JUST FINE.
  • WHATEVER.
  • FINE. JUST FINE.
  • I'LL LOVE YOU IF I WANT YOUR ARGUMENT IS INVALID
  • You dispute my love? What are you saying, that I have bad taste in love? Who the fuck are you to tell me who to love?
  • [The previous tweet true for a limited time only.]
  • I love you, and am prepared to go to war if you refuse this love. Think carefully. I have elephants, triceratops and velociraptorbearsharks
  • @PoppyGallico you are ahead of me, and clearly branched off into an alternate universe in which lunch was uh maze ink.
  • Those of you in lagging time zones, here's a heads up: your lunch for Thursday is pretty bland. #youarewelcome
  • I DUB @tyronotron THE NEXT STAGE OF HUMAN EVOLUTION.
  • @Jazpuh_ special clauses and amendments for you, milady.
  • 7 hours ago
  • @Genghis_Dong I like to play benevolent dictator now and then.
  • SEE I DON'T SUCK RT @idreamofcodeine: @sirtessa you're adorable...your existence on my twitter feed brightens my day :)
  • @tyronotron I ACKNOWLEDGE YOUR EXISTENCE YOU REQUIRE NOTHING ELSE IN LIFE
  • @hannahrochelle I am not. Everyone else is irrelevant.
  • I have risen from my morose depths and lo the sun doth hide its face because verily I am a badass muthafucka like that. #sorrymelbourne
  • @hannahrochelle BOYS BOYS HAVE ALL THE FUN WE SAW @allyouzombies WITH HIS PANTS UNDONE
  • @jamesgorman the city sirens are BLARING IN MAH EARS
  • PHRASE REPETITION. SEPPUKU YOU FILTHY WORD ABUSER.
  • Right now @purrsikat & @_twertle are the most adorable things in my world right now. Dare you to usurp them.
  • Mirrorball is an appropriate soundtrack for burning buildings and toasting souls.
  • Spirals down 11 flights with the music up to awesome.
  • Of course they call a fire evacuation drill as I'm evacuating my bladder.
  • @nosubstance headbop sidestep blinky-blink headbop sidestep blinky-blink
  • @Genghis_Dong blink
  • @nosubstance blinky-blink headbop headbop headbop HUGE STARING EYES GLARE GLARE GLARE STOP hammer time
  • blinky-blink turn head all the way around squint blinky-blink-blink
  • i feel owlish. Like, i'm doing that suspicious blinky-blink thing owls do.
  • Dear friends; you are angels and drunks, you are magi...
  • Bayonets and banana bread; let me share the glorious death of this day with you, over and over, we rise as kings and rest as usurpers.
  • @hannahrochelle congratulations on leveling up, minihannah!
  • Is the abseiling window-washer harassing the seagulls, or are they harassing him? (Would love to have that job.)
  • Last night my body attempted to commit suicide via massive dehydration. #nightsweat

On the train ride home I switched from twitter to texts, and sent a lot of shouty texts to people who would not get in trouble or freak out to be the recipient of shouty amorous texts.

High as my yellow diamond kite with blue and green streamers. Cheery and directionless and useful as a marshmallow. I meant everything I said. I mean everything I say.

This message is for you II by sirtessa

I don't care if this is an artificially and medically induced high. It is here, and I must use and abuse the shit out of it while it is. I will suck it dry and leave myself empty and hollow, because when it leaves - and it is leaving - I will not be able to say any of these things with the fierceness they deserve.

You are magnificent. Be flawed and make magic.

I apologise for none of this.

Tuesday, August 02, 2011

no more please no more

I think the cold has contributed greatly, in that aside from getting into my bones I spend most days wearing heavy coats, hunching my shoulders and hunkering down in them, with my hands in my pockets. Bad posture. Bad for hands.

Been chewing Nurofen Plus like they're lollies. Terrible bad lollies that, if I take two at a time and wait an hour or so, provide real tangible relief. They're the shit. They've also burned a hole in my gut and when I shit I stain the bowl bloody. Lots of it. Clots of it. Fresh and infringing on McDonalds red.

I stopped taking them of my own volition, and stuck it out until my next GP appointment. Told him this. He told me I should not have been taking ibuprofen with Celebrex. I don't recall this, I'm sure I've checked with multiple pharmacists every time I buy yet another box of Nurofen. I'm sure I've even checked with my GP, multiple times. But, these drugs, they make things fall out of my head. Maybe they made that fall out of my head.

Clearly the Celebrex was not enough, so he gave me a prescription for Tramadol, to be taken twice a day instead of the Celebrex. He told me it was an opiate, and there may be some nausea and drowsiness, and it was simply a matter of getting my dosage right. He's still treating me for fibrmyalgia, he says, so this will be targeting neurological pain. I asked him if it was okay to take Nurofen with this. He said no, I wouldn't need to take it you see. But you said we had to get the dosage right-

Off I went with my prescription. $38 later. The pharmacist sought me out. I shouldn't be taking Tramadol with Cymbalta, and should talk to my GP. My GP prescribed them. Oh. Well. They really shouldn't be taken together, so if you feel any nausea, any side effects, stop taking them immediately.

First tablet Sunday morning. No noticeable effect. Second tablet Sunday night. No noticeable effect. The pain could have been less, but it's hard to judge on weekends, there being considerably less time spent in front of the computer.

Third tablet Monday morning. Intense cold sweats, shakes and faintness on the train in, to the point of pushing for a seat and still not being sure that I wasn't going to keel over. This getting progressively worse during the day. Not having any flex time or sick leave without certificate to my name. Not being able to go home because I'm so behind at work I just can't justify it. Not being able to go home because I was certain I wouldn't last the trip. Spent five hours of work day mostly faceplanted on my desk and concentrating very hard on breathing.

Early afternoon the nausea took a step back, only to be replaced by drowsiness. "Drowsiness" is too light a word however. Diet narcolepsy perhaps. I did a quick dirty google on Tramadol. Lots of talk of seizures, and Serotonin Syndrome, and the fact that it is highly addictive both physically and psychologically.

I left work early to head over to Richmond, where I finally had an appointment with a psychiatrist.

Finally? I don't know. As if that is a good thing. The first session is always given to backstory and context, and I cried, because I can't break any of this down into small, easy to swallow pieces. It is either all - drowning and choking on everything - or nothing.

Cymbalta and Tramadol, the psychiatrist said. They should not be taken together, ever. The interaction can bring on Serotonin Syndrome, which isn't something that requires a dosage level be met, but can come on at any time. Stop taking it immediately.

Try Pristiq.

Who the hell comes up with drug names.

I've prescribed Pristiq to patients with both depression and fibromyalgia and had success, she says. You'll only have to take the one pill a day.

She does not give me a prescription, but sends a report to my GP, whom I am seeing later in the week.

For some reason, I am not relieved to be given professional permission to cease the Tramadol.

The drowsiness remains for the following day. I nearly miss my station. I nod off in a meeting I am chairing. I nod off while penning a sentence. I nearly miss my station again.

Questions. What the fuck was my GP thinking prescribing me these two drugs that would interact negatively? Does he have any fucking idea what he's doing?

Do I really want to try yet another drug?

And fail?

Friday. I see my GP. I tell him that the drug incapacitated me, and that the pharmacist and psychiatrist both stated emphatically that Cymbalta and Tramadol should not be taken together.

He shrugs and says "Well, that's where we're at now isn't it? We have to try these things, because we're running out of options."

He told me nothing other than it was an opiate and I'd probably get a bit of nausea. He did not inform me of anything. He made the decision for me. If I'd known, I would have decided against. I keep my mouth shut. He writes me a prescription for Pristiq. A box of 100mg and 50mg. Take the 100mg for a week, and then bump the dose to 150mg daily.

He doesn't tell me anything about this drug either.

I go home, and read about it. All the standard side effects you'd expect from an SNRI. Welcome home night sweats and muscle contractions, hello again insomnia and appetite loss.

What frightens me this time, what really frightens me, is that Pristiq has a much shorter half-life than Cymbalta. Pristiq is also marketed as Effexor, and I have read and heard many stories of people caught out by that - not randoms, people I know and trust - and being hit by severe withdrawal within hours of missing a dose, if that. Cymbalta has quite a long half-life. When I first started taking it I was prescribed Seroquel as well, in order to have a crutch to support me for the three to four weeks it took for the Cymbalta to kick in. Weekdays I take my dose when getting out of bed, at sixish. That's fine, that's regular. Weekends, however, I might not surface til 10, 11, 12.

Cannot do that on Pristiq.

Went to pick up prescription. Different pharmacist pulled me aside. Gave me advice regarding what other pain relief medications may be taken in conjunction with - Nurofen and Panadol with codeine are good for go. When I described the effect of the Tramadol, he said I'd probably had the beginnings of Serotonin Syndrome.

Had I? I didn't think- don't I know the effec- I've researched Sero-

The drugs. They make things fall out of my head.

$68 later, and I can tell you Pristiq are small, pink and square.













I am so tired of this. I don't believe I have fibromyalgia and therefore treating fibromyalgia won't help me. I hate these drugs. I hate what they do to my mind and so what they do to me as an idea. I'm in here somewhere. I must be. But I'm so tired of this. I'm so scared. I don't want to do this anymore.