The Bipolar Express

Last Train to Memphis?

Well, it might be the last train to nowhere, but we'll see.

At our therapy appointment on Monday - scheduled at noon Monday on a somewhat emergency basis - Mark assigned us to write down if we want to stay married, if we think we should stay married, and if yes, "how the hell are you finally gonna learn to show respect for yourselves and the other person?" (As I've mentioned before, the man doesn't mince words!)

So, after much thought and gnashing of teeth I've written a FOUR PAGE thesis in the third person. It reads like a social worker's write-up of a consultation with a couple. It sounds crazy, but using the third person was the only way I could keep my hyper-emotional self out of it. Crying until I puke is not going to get anything done during tonight's session.

In other news, my boss is going to place me on "informal intervention." It's like pre-probation. What it's really like is driving for hours and hours with a police car behind you. You make sure you do absolutely everything right, but you still have a knot in your stomach the whole time.

One of the things she's going to mention is my extremely poor attendance. I've consulted with my union rep and asked if he thinks I should reveal the bipolar disorder. It is basically at the root of everything that I am possibly doing wrong. Needing med changes, getting med changes cause psychiatric upheaval that cause me to miss work. Missing work, after my 10 days are up, means missing income, which causes more stress, which causes more anxiety which triggers a depressive episode. We have yet to find an anti-anxiety med that doesn't cause mania.

That's life today.

How're you?

Still here...

Well, for those of you who've wondered if I was still among the living, here I am.

The past few weeks have been insane, PLUS my school district has installed a block so now I can't read or write blogs from work. Sucks.

Our household is returning to some sense of normalcy, although it is by necessity a new "normal." Leigh is experiencing - none too unobtrusively - the wonderful hormone swings that accompany early pregnancy. it's a laugh a minute around here, let me tell you. (NOT!)

She's also developed some bipolar tendencies of her own - whether pregnancy related or psychological really doesn't matter. She wants Daddy and Stepmommy to be there when she needs/wants us, but the rest of the time we can pretty much "fuck off." That's the frequent refrain. Lovely language to blue up the air with around two twelve year olds. (I know they hear it, I'm not that naive, but I'd greatly prefer if they didn't hear it in their own home.)

Leigh is actively seeking employment. She has interviewed for a few jobs that would pay in the 30k range, which I think she could make work, and she hasn't ruled out law school. She's still waiting to hear from the two schools closest to us; one of which is extremely prestigious. (and extremely expensive.)

But yes, there are still other members of the family who deserve some blog time! :-)

Raymond just finished a 6-week stint in the pit orchestra for "Guys and Dolls." The past two weeks he's been at school until 10 pm. and beyond. Thank God Jack is a night owl and volunteered to pick him up. Ray still has to keep up on his homework and although I've reduced them somewhat, he does still have chores at home to do. He's pretty much the walking dead. I think it'll take a week for him to find a normal sleep cycle again.

And he's on the birthday countdown: 30 days from tomorrow, he drives solo. For any readers in Nebraska, I implore you: stay off the sidewalks! He's also planning his annual birthday party which has, for reasons unfathomable to me, become somewhat of a yearly tradition for his friends. They think I'm the "cool Mom." I don't know why. I spend most of the evening telling them they're too loud.

One thing they like is what I do when I'm serving the cake. Before they can have their piece of cake, they have to tell one embarassing thing about Ray from the previous year. Ray pretends to hate it, but he's a drama guy, so he really loves the attention.

Younger brother Andrew thinks he's gay. He's 12 1/2: a little young to know this, but I just go with the flow. Jack said the other day (we have one daughter and three sons) "So, if things continue as they are with Andrew, I'll have three sons-in-law and one daughter-in-law." LOL It's really no big thing around here. So you're gay. You're left-handed and blue-eyed too. Those things don't make you a freak, and neither does being gay. Embrace who you are, know that you always have a sanctuary within your family, and the hell with the rest of the world.

Michael just takes it all in: sister's pregnant, brothers are gay, Mom's a little crazy, Dad's a little grumpy and dinner's usually late. I may not make mother of the year, but in light of the circumstances that surround me at the moment, I think I'm doing pretty damned well.

Here's hoping it's not another three weeks till I post again. I'd really like to up the readership here, and especially those who offer comments, but I know if I don't post consistently, that won't happen.

Happy Monday. (did I mention I'm on spring break?) hee hee hee.

Mel

Holy Size 16's, Batman!

At my visit a month ago, my psychiatrist changed one of my scripts from 100 mg/day to 300 mg per day. Since then, I've noticed a pleasant decrease in my symptoms. But - big but, or gut, in my case - she missed something this time.

Seroquel, an antipsychotic used to treat biplolar disorder as well as schizophrenia, has a couple of interesting side-effects. First of all, it can cause an increase in blood sugar as well as diabetes. It can also cause weight gain. It's not supposed to be prescribed to people with a history of obesity or a family history of diabetes.

Gee, ya think???

I've gained 7 pounds in the month since the dosage increase. I crave carbs like a madwoman, I'm eating everything that's not nailed down. When I'm not eating carbs, I'm sleeping - typical behavior for someone who has unregulated blood sugar levels. Also, even on the lower 100 mg/day dosage, I'd gained 13 pounds over the summer.

On the DS board, they're always talking about being your own healthcare advocate. I would've expected my dr to know better than this after all the sessions we've had during which we talked about my WLS. Add to that the fact that I am STILL obese! My BMI is 31.07, for gawd's sake!

Are my choices to go through life fat and borderline-sane or merely-chubby and crazy?

I am so exhausted from waging a 16-year battle with depression and a lifelong one with obesity that I don't have much left in the way of "fight."

From Bad to Worse?

Things are bad here. Very bad.
I was going to "flunk" (read - gentlewoman's 'C') my advanced research class, so I dropped it.

I'm still home - unpaid - from my accident.

I have an appointment with my PS to talk about a scar revision for my belly. I have adhesions under the vertical scar because he did such a crappy job, and it hurts/pulls when I move.

Haven't exercised since before the 1/24 car accident. Have gained 7 pounds. Back to 180 again. It makes me cry to type that.

The family situation is horrid. I don't think Jack is ever going to be able to have a steady, loving relationship with my boys, and I positively cannot stand his daughter most days. It hasn't always been this way. But it is seriously time for her to graduate college and get the hell out on her own. She's almost 22 and acts it about 10% of the time. The rest of the time she acts like a irresponsible child with a filthy mouth. Nice combo, let me tell ya.

Example: over the weekend she borrowed R.J.'s car. She brought it back reeking of smoke, and with a nearly-empty tank. R.J. is allergic to cigarette smoke; it gives him migraines. So he can't even drive or ride in his own car. AND it has leather interior, so you know damned well someone was actually smoking in there; it wasn't just the amount of smokiness you get from "bar clothes." That wouldn't sink into leather that fast. I am so pissed.

I am pissed at life. I am teary, fat, in pain, and fear that my marriage and family are about to fall apart completely. I have no RL friends and I can't talk to my Mom about anything important, so I'm all alone.

I'm so tired of thinking that stability and happiness are just around the corner. There is no fucking corner. Just a cruel twist or turn here and there to make me think there's hope.

There isn't. Time I faced that.

To Medicate or Not to Medicate

On Marybeth's blog the other day, she was discussing psychotropic drugs, and how often they are prescribed willy-nilly. I had a response typed in, but it was longer than her blog entry, so I thought I'd write it here instead.

I take five different meds. Jack takes two. Leigh takes one, Michael takes one, and R.J. takes one. R.J. and I have a strong family history of clinical depression, so do Jack and Leigh. And, as I've mentioned before, Michael is bipolar. Andrew, the last of the lot, is the poster child for ADHD.

As a teacher, do I believe drs are handing out Ritalin and its ilk like candy? Sometimes. Do many kids need it? Yes, but probably not the number that are taking it.

Boys are exponentially more likely to demonstrate symptoms of ADHD. "Boys will be boys" has some truth in it. Boys do NOT learn in the same manner that girls do. Sitting six hours a day is NOT conducive to the way boys learn.

Girls generally suffer from ADD, distraction, and lack of focus. That type of ADD is far less likely to be diagnosed because those students don't cause distractions in the classroom.

I suffer from that type of ADD. I can't focus; can't maintain linear thinking. It's a bitch when you're trying to do legal research.

Do I think the meds are overprescribed? I don't know. I'm not a dr. I do know that there are lazy psychs who will start throwing drugs at a situtation before they discern whatever is wrong.

As for tests to determine whether or not a drug is effective, there are virtually none. Some drugs require periodic blood tests to be taken to make sure that the liver is not suffering from metabolizing the drug.

Much of determining whether or not a drug works is discerned through conversation with your psych. "How are you feeling?" etc.

I am convinced that I have one of the finest psychiatric physicians in the region, and she "plays" with my meds when things aren't working. She doesn't use the "shotgun approach;" changing a bunch of drugs at once. She is cautious, changing or adjusting the dose of one med at a time.

Yes, it necessitates more frequent visits and/or phone conversations with her, but I feel secure in the knowledge that she knows what she's doing.

She also does not throw meds at a situation that doesn't need it. For example, Michael suffers from bipolar disorder. She has him on a drug that is very effective. When I noticed his behavior taking a big turn for the worse, I took him right in and asked if he needed a higher dose.

She feels that his behavior needs to be modified, and that the organic component of his illness is as under control as it can be.

Don't get me wrong, I know that no doc is perfect, but this one's pretty terrific.

She also strongly recommends talk therapy for all six of us. Four of us see therapists regularly. The other two have less severe disorders, and do their talk therapy with her.

I don't know if I've cleared anything up, or if I've even been clear in expressing my own opinion. I am convinced, as a mother and a teacher, that there is a place for these types of drugs, but they must be carefully regulated.

Just my 2 cents. Worth exactly what you're paying for it. :-)

Mel

Mildly Freaking Out

You remember that memo I finished the other day for Advanced Legal Research? Well, I got it back this morning with a big, fat 85% at the top. The teacher was very positive in her comments, but a certain degree of frustration seeped through as well. Apparently in my citation work, I did not use the format we discussed in class. (I have no recollection of this discussion, but have no doubt that it took place. Did I mention that this class starts at 8:00 on a Saturday morning?????)

Our next assignment is another memo, but this one has two or three separate legal issues within it, rather than the single issue contained within the first memo. She said if this one is done well, it will be 7-10 pages long. (The last one was 4.)

Here's where the freaking out comes in: due to having an incompetent boob as a teacher for Intro to Legal Research, who didn't know how to lecture, explain, grade... in other words teach!! I ended up with a B. I don't mind getting a B (well, ok, I do, but not if I've earned it.) I earned an A in her class without a doubt.

If I end up with a B in Adv. Research, I will likely have trouble finding an internship and later a job. I know that sounds a bit extreme, but legal research is what paralegals do all day: look up an issue, find precedential cases, make the necessary arguments, etc., and wrap it in a nice neat document to submit to the supervising attorney(s.) If I'm not absolutely 100% sure of the techniques involved in this to be successful, I will not be retained long, even if I am hired.

Drugs: My psych just increased my mood stabilizer, but eliminated my Ritalin. She feels that the stimulant effect of the Ritalin is throwing me into manic episodes. Unfortunaely, the higher the manic, the lower the succeeding depression. So I'm an inattentive, spastic mess right now, who's future career requires a level-headed, detail-oriented person who simply doesn't make errors; at least not big ones, and not small ones often.

What's really sadly ironic is that I absolutely love to do research! (I know, I'm a freak. I also used to enjoy diagramming sentences!)

I'm going to make an outline for what I have to do this weekend, both for school, work, and home, and stick to it faithfully. My family is going to have to take back burner for awhile.

Oh, and I'm also behind at my job.

You know that pre-flight spiel you get about oxygen masks? "If you're traveling with someone who needs assistance, please secure your own mask first before assisting others." My household has turned into that atmosphere, and I keep running around adjusting everyone else's "masks" and then find myself unable to breathe. (sometimes literally.)

Mom's stuff's gotta come first for a few weeks, maybe longer. The youngest kids are 12, for god's sake. They should be able to function without me standing over them.

That reminds me: I was reading another blog which mentioned adult children who never really leave home; never really cut the apron strings. I think when I was a single Mom - even though it was only for 2.5 years - I babied them a lot. Probably out of guilt. Then, I've continued babying the twins because they're the size of 9 year-olds. So, I tend to treat them as if they were 8-9, and then when I get frustrated, I'm all - "You're 12 years old! It's time to grow up a little!!"

Poor kids.... Momma's nuts! lol...