NB: To spare any misunderstanding, this is NOT a suicide note.
Ambition: Not to wake up one morning. Lurching from crisis to crisis almost daily & no end in sight. Really don’t want to live like this.
The plan was to post that on Twitter this morning, but I thought maybe it needs some clarification – very much not a cry for help, but of exasperation; desperation, too. I’ve been seriously ill for 65 of my 67 years, but thanks to an innate bloody-mindedness I’ve never once thought about just giving in to it.
Until now – I simply have no reserves left.
I’ve been trying to find out, empirically, the cause of my permanent nausea and, since Christmas, vomiting. I noticed that, when I woke at 06.00 to take my first meds of the day, I wasn’t nauseous, but when I woke again a couple of hours later, there it was.
A few days ago, because I forgot to put up my meds the previous night, I didn’t take them at 06.00, Nor, for some reason, could I get back to sleep, so I lay there feeling the nausea build up to its usual “Oh god, I’m gonna puke!” level (I live, 24/7, with a bowl within reach). Some days I wish I could puke, to maybe get what’s causing the problem out of my system – other days I wish I could stop!
So, anyway, it’s not my meds causing it, as I’d thought. Unless the constant intake of toxins (all drugs are toxic on some level), for so long has completely screwed up my system. Not, I think, an impossibility.
Currently – and have for quite a long time – I’m taking 16 drugs a day, minimum, 12 of which are tablets or capsules, the rest inhalers. If I take my supplements as well (for ME, and which, for now, I’ve stopped), that’s 40-odd tabs and caps a day, plus antibiotics when needed. So, yes, I think it’s quite possible that my system is rebelling at the long-term abuse. Trouble is, there’s not a hell of a lot I can do about that.
There’s also the problem that putting anything in my mouth – food, tablets, drinks, whatever – triggers the gag reflex. As does coughing (it seems my body can’t differentiate between expectoration and emesis any longer).
As a child I had this problem with tablets – unfortunate because even then I had rather a lot – and could only take them crushed in a teaspoon of jam. Fast forward to adulthood, and I could happily toss a dozen or more tabs and caps in my mouth at once, and wash them down with no problems. Now, though, since Christmas, I seem to be 5 years old again, in that respect. Not quite reduced to crushing them in jam – mainly because I don’t have any!
On the plus side, I have finally eliminated the possibility of lactose or casein intolerance, by the simple expedient of drinking 2 pints of whole milk and waiting to see what happened, which turned out to be nothing.
So why did I have problems with cheese, and with Clover spread? Unless it was the fat content, I have no idea (despite the paranoia over whole milk, it’s only 3% fat). I have no problems with soya or sunflower oil spread, other than the latter tastes of almost nothing, but they are a lot lower in fat than Clover. QED maybe?
I stopped taking it and, in three days, my bowels had returned almost to normal, until late last night, when the diarrhoea returned as if it had never been away. And, of course, vomiting goes hand in hand with it. For reasons that entirely elude me, a bowel movement = must puke!
At the time of writing, I’ve eaten nothing for 3 days, getting by on just milk, but still I try to puke. Involuntarily, I hasten to add!
It seems all I can tolerate, to eat, is canned fish sprinkled with balsamic vinegar – at least if I can get it down I can keep it down – the big problem is getting past the extreme nausea to eat it in the first place.
I ordered a lot of my favourite foods a few days ago – mostly frozen fish and canned soup – in the hope I’d be encouraged to eat. The frozen stuff is in the freezer, the cans are still where the delivery guy left them, just inside the door – I just don’t have the strength or the energy to move them.
I have, rightly or wrongly, little doubt that I’m dying – I just wish it wouldn’t take so long.
I caught sight of myself in the bathroom mirror last night – I look appalling and my hair has gone almost entirely white in the last couple of weeks.
I can hear some of you saying “Why the hell doesn’t he get the doctor out?”
Fair question. First there’s the problem of actually getting a home visit – they only turn out for emergencies, and my problems are chronic. Their response the last few times I’ve asked for a home visit, has been “Get an ambulance!”
Then there’s the almost cast-iron certainty that I’ll be admitted to Arrowe Park Hospital, where I sincerely doubt I’d survive. They had a bloody good go at killing me two years ago through sheer incompetence;** I’m in no hurry to give them another chance.
**Check out this post re i-v saline. It also clarifies why I have no desire to end up in APH ever again.
There’s only one thing I’m sure of, right now, and it’s that I have had enough. Forever.