It's 12:30am and I'm wired but tired as usual. I get my second wind at night- a little reprieve though I really wouldn't even call it that.
I just finished listening to a Podcast called Sincerely X.
It's an anonymous version of a Ted Talk, where people get to share their much needed ideas and stories in a confidential manner.
The one I listened to today was about a Doctor whose clinical burnout likely caused the death of a patient indirectly.
It got me thinking about all the doctors that prescribed this poison and many other poisons so cavalierly. It got me thinking more and more about how many of the doctors treated us after we came back for help. They wanted us to be wrong. They needed us to be the rare patient. They insisted that "they have never seen this before" because it protected them from potentially losing everything, or admitting to themselves and another that they fucked up. They fucked up BAD.
This doctor was brave to speak out about her own clinical burnout and that she stopped seeing patients as humans but rather began to see them as diseases, lab reports and lab values. She stopped caring altogether and that this is when a doctor is the most dangerous-when they stop caring.
She revealed that this is an extremely common problem among not only doctors, but therapists, and all people in the healing arts. No surprise there. I know for myself I was the kind of worker that answered emails late at night, texts weren't off limits, paperwork that needed to be done got done, problems that needed to be solved asap were solved. I worked late nights and after hours even when I had small children. I went back to work after 6 weeks post partum. Believe me, I didn't want to. But I was the one over working and at least from my perspective my husband was under working.
Tonight, I have the case of the shoulda woulda coulda's. Or maybe this is my unlucky fate.
If the doctor who first called in CIPRO over the phone without even examining me had taken the time to not prescribe a black box warning heavy duty antibiotic for a suspected UTI, I would not be here.
If she had taken the time to talk with me, fully comprehend my sensitive history and warn me that you can NEVER in your lifetime take a floraquinalone if you have previously been on a benzo, I would not be here.
If a doctor hadn't decided to give me a steroid shot needlessly after a case of strep, or understood how cipro and a steroid interact in a toxic manner I would not be here.
My life in shambles. My kids without a mother. A needless loss of health and wellness.
I would not be here if an acupuncturist MD I trusted would not have pushed a benzo on me after these other medication injuries.
If he had taken the time to work with me naturally and not insist I needed a pill to sleep, I would not be here.
If I had done more research, which is so like me to do, I would not be here.
If I would have followed my advice to never trust a doctor based on my PTSD experience with a 10 year medical mystery (Interstitial Cystitis) I would not be here.
If I hadn't been lunged at and bitten by a dog while I was pacing in terror and akathisia up and down a mountain and rushed to get a tetanus shot I would not be here.
The assault upon assault of my gaba system scares the fuck out of me.
I have a case of the woulda shoulda coulda's. I want my life and health back.
I want to feel less disabled.
I did one thing today-- I made it to the grocery store and the pharmacy. Because I HAD to.
I listened to a pod cast.
Since when is this a victory?
How will we get more doctors to listen, wake up and start caring again.
No one likes being bashed and I don't blame them. But simply saying, " I'm sorry" or " I don't know what is going on but I'm going to be right here and I'm not going to give up on you" matters. It matters a lot.
I can't believe my life guys. I'm a broken record.
Today my throat feels as if its covered in acid.
My nerves in my chest burn so badly, I actually feel as though I'm being stabbed with large knives. The large knives are being twisted around in circles by some fucking sadist called benzodiazepine withdrawal syndrome.
I nearly jumped out of my chair twice today when the doorbell rang. Just having a guy come and put in a filter in my air purifier felt like a JOB. A JOB?!! Yes. Opening the door and letting someone in felt like a job.
Someone who found themselves accidentally dependent and suffered an iatrogenic injury from medications that were prescribed. Sharing experience, strength and hope with others. This is written as a person on this winding path and NOT as a professional. Please contact a licensed professional for any medical/psychological care or advice. This is NOT a substitute for medical or psychological care. What is written here reflects my own personal experience ONLY.