Well, I saw my meds doctor yesterday. As I've mentioned before, he has diagnosed bi-polar and depression, so he started me on a mood stabilizer called Seroquil. It was a disaster. Yesterday I went back to the doctor (well, nurse practitioner, if you want to get technical) and asked him for a change. He agreed that the Seroquil needed to go, and I asked him for my old combination back - Concerta + Prozac. I was happy on those meds. I was productive. I was skinny.
His response was this: Without a mood stabilizer, the ADD med (Concerta) mixed with the anti-depressant (Prozac) is "likely to send me into a manic state," which apparently would be really bad (the way he describes it is similar to Armageddon).
Honestly, I think a manic episode sounds pretty good right about now. The deep, dark hole I've been living in makes a manic state sound like Utopia. Anyway, he finally agreed to let me try Concerta again (YAY), but only after I am established on the mood-stabilizer (Lamictal). This takes 4 weeks to build up to the 100 mg dose I'll need to be taking, so I'll be living without my Concerta for another month. Hopefully, though, Lamictal will turn out to be a good thing, and then I'll have a nice cocktail of anti-crazy that I can work with. My marriage (and my sanity) could really use a boost like that!
As you probably already picked up on, mood stabilizers and amphetamines don't mix well with breastfeeding. (You'd be right.) In order to have this change, I need to stop breastfeeding altogether. As it was, I was only able to nurse Max a couple of times a day anyway, but I am still heartbroken over it. I tried for 8 months to produce enough milk for my baby, but after the NICU insisted on supplements (and Steve and I had to share time with the baby while we were separated), I was never able to come up with enough for him. Breastfeeding is something I feel really strongly about and really wanted to do exclusively, but it didn't work for us this time. I am letting it go for the sake of my sanity (and those around me).
Wish me luck with the trial-and-error! Lamictal, please be my answer.
Showing posts with label narrative. Show all posts
Showing posts with label narrative. Show all posts
Friday, July 16, 2010
Thursday, July 8, 2010
New Medication? Or... New Form of Torture?
So about a month ago, I went in to see a nurse practitioner for some medication. I used to take a fantastic cocktail of Prozac and Concerta (anti-depressant + ADD med), which kept me feeling happier and more productive (way more productive). I can't take Concerta while I'm pregnant or breastfeeding, so I've been without the medication I needed for more than a year now. My depression has gotten out of hand again, so I asked the nurse practitioner to find me something I can take during my breastfeeding to help me be okay.
One and a half hours of evaluation.
Diagnosis: Bipolar 2.
Prescription: Prozac (anti-depressant) + Seroquel (mood stabilizer)
I was informed that Seroquel might make me tired.
What they meant was: Seroquel will probably make you unable to open your eyes at all, sleep through your baby crying, pass out when you stand up to change his diaper, and throw up from the extreme nausea.
I guess you could say I am frustrated. Even two hours after Max woke up for the day, I was still unable to open my eyes or stand up to hold the baby. I am so dizzy and nauseated I can barely stand it, and I'm still traumatized by the passing out episode I had in the middle of the night when I was supposed to be taking care of Max. Luckily Steve woke up and was able to get Max a bottle and help me back to bed. Yet another reason having a husband has paid off. :)
I'm thinking this medication is off the table. Not being able to take care of my children is unacceptable. Now I'm struggling with the decision to quit breastfeeding altogether in order to get the right kind of medication, or just try to withstand no medication at all until he's a year old?
To be perfectly honest, I don't think being unmedicated is even an option. I am nearly suicidal at this point... something's gotta give.
One and a half hours of evaluation.
Diagnosis: Bipolar 2.
Prescription: Prozac (anti-depressant) + Seroquel (mood stabilizer)
I was informed that Seroquel might make me tired.
What they meant was: Seroquel will probably make you unable to open your eyes at all, sleep through your baby crying, pass out when you stand up to change his diaper, and throw up from the extreme nausea.
I guess you could say I am frustrated. Even two hours after Max woke up for the day, I was still unable to open my eyes or stand up to hold the baby. I am so dizzy and nauseated I can barely stand it, and I'm still traumatized by the passing out episode I had in the middle of the night when I was supposed to be taking care of Max. Luckily Steve woke up and was able to get Max a bottle and help me back to bed. Yet another reason having a husband has paid off. :)
I'm thinking this medication is off the table. Not being able to take care of my children is unacceptable. Now I'm struggling with the decision to quit breastfeeding altogether in order to get the right kind of medication, or just try to withstand no medication at all until he's a year old?
To be perfectly honest, I don't think being unmedicated is even an option. I am nearly suicidal at this point... something's gotta give.
Monday, July 5, 2010
Unplugged: Improvement or Detriment?
As you know, Steve and I quit facebook a while back (maybe a month now?), and now my cell phone has been shut off. With no facebook and no cell phone, I am beyond unplugged. I am completely and totally disconnected (except for this blog, which is private, so there's only a few of you who read now). It would be an extreme understatement to say that I am lonely.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day
Do you ever have those days? This morning Josh said to me, "I am just having a bad bad bad bad bad bad bad (repeat 60 more times) day!" I asked him why and he said he just can't seem to figure anything out.
I know what you mean, son. I know exactly what you mean. He told me all about how every time he tries to help Asher, Asher just yells at him or hits him. Well, that's true - can't blame him for being frustrated by that! But my saint of a son has never ONCE attempted to hit him back.
Asher walked up to me a minute ago and said, "Mom, your shirt looks pretty awful I think. And your pants look dirty." (I am wearing Steve's grey tank top and some purple corduroy pants. He's not far off when he says I look pretty awful, lol.) But... where did my sweet, complimentary little boy go? He's been replaced by this unrecognizable child. :(
From the moment I woke up yesterday until now, I have definitely been having a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.
My mom says some days are like that...
I know what you mean, son. I know exactly what you mean. He told me all about how every time he tries to help Asher, Asher just yells at him or hits him. Well, that's true - can't blame him for being frustrated by that! But my saint of a son has never ONCE attempted to hit him back.
Asher walked up to me a minute ago and said, "Mom, your shirt looks pretty awful I think. And your pants look dirty." (I am wearing Steve's grey tank top and some purple corduroy pants. He's not far off when he says I look pretty awful, lol.) But... where did my sweet, complimentary little boy go? He's been replaced by this unrecognizable child. :(
From the moment I woke up yesterday until now, I have definitely been having a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.
My mom says some days are like that...
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Fat.
My boys have always been the type to say things like, "You look beautiful, Mommy," or, "I like your pretty dress, Mommy," but lately I've been hearing a bit of a different tune.
Last week Asher came up to me, sat on my lap, pointed at my tummy and said, "Is that another baby, Mom?"
No, son. It's not another baby. Just what's left over from the last one - which apparently doesn't plan on going anywhere. I tried real hard and managed not to cry.
I put on a brave face and said, "No. That's just my tummy."
He looked extremely confused and said, "Oh."
Yesterday, I woke up, got ready, tried on about 6 different things - desperately trying to find something I could squeeze into - and went to my doctor appointment. The nurse told me in her most monotone voice, "Get on the scale." I tried not to look, I really did, but it was there staring at me, taunting me. I was not happy with the number - which, by the way, is dangerously close to the same number I had 6 months ago.
I cringed. Thinking we were done, I went to sit back down. "Let's get your girth," she said, holding up a tape measure. Girth?!? No. I should have just said no. Why do I always realize AFTER an event has happened that I could have just said no? I definitely did not look this time. There's nothing quite so awkward as someone "getting your girth".
So I went home, thinking all the while about my girth and that hideous number on the scale, and was almost recovered when Joshua came in looking for his shoes. "I wish I was as big as Mom," he said. I thought, "Yeah, don't wish too hard." He proceeded to walk through the living room with his arms stretched out in front of him in a bulbous shape, his legs waddling like oompaloompas. Steve said, "Josh, what are you doing?"
"Being fat," he said.
Like Mom.
After I recovered from the shock, and climbed back out of my bed, I put on a pair of pajamas and ordered a pizza. And you know what? It made me feel better.
Last week Asher came up to me, sat on my lap, pointed at my tummy and said, "Is that another baby, Mom?"
No, son. It's not another baby. Just what's left over from the last one - which apparently doesn't plan on going anywhere. I tried real hard and managed not to cry.
I put on a brave face and said, "No. That's just my tummy."
He looked extremely confused and said, "Oh."
Yesterday, I woke up, got ready, tried on about 6 different things - desperately trying to find something I could squeeze into - and went to my doctor appointment. The nurse told me in her most monotone voice, "Get on the scale." I tried not to look, I really did, but it was there staring at me, taunting me. I was not happy with the number - which, by the way, is dangerously close to the same number I had 6 months ago.
I cringed. Thinking we were done, I went to sit back down. "Let's get your girth," she said, holding up a tape measure. Girth?!? No. I should have just said no. Why do I always realize AFTER an event has happened that I could have just said no? I definitely did not look this time. There's nothing quite so awkward as someone "getting your girth".
So I went home, thinking all the while about my girth and that hideous number on the scale, and was almost recovered when Joshua came in looking for his shoes. "I wish I was as big as Mom," he said. I thought, "Yeah, don't wish too hard." He proceeded to walk through the living room with his arms stretched out in front of him in a bulbous shape, his legs waddling like oompaloompas. Steve said, "Josh, what are you doing?"
"Being fat," he said.
Like Mom.
After I recovered from the shock, and climbed back out of my bed, I put on a pair of pajamas and ordered a pizza. And you know what? It made me feel better.
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