DoggoMom Member Profile

...See more Right now I'm struggling, a lot. I'm having a hard time financially, with my mental and physical health, with my academics, with my jobs, with my friends, with my relationship. That's hard for me to say but I'm trying to get used to validating my own struggles. I default to minimizing them, because they can't hurt me if they aren't that bad (doesn't actually work but that's what I tell myself). In the interest of that, I want to tell the story about Wednesday. It already doesn't feel real and I've already forgotten a lot, but I want to validate my experience the best that I can. I apologize in advance for the length of this. Wednesday started off different to most Wednesdays. I had an appointment with a cardiologist - to discuss my trachycardia. After meeting with me, asking me questions, and hearing my story he told me I have POTS. He gave me some typical instructions to reduce the effect my symptoms have on me: increase my sodium and fluid intake, ask my psychiatrist about a specific medication that might help, and above all that he would be more than willing to help me find a doctor who could actually help me. My depression has been back with a vengeance, so after the cardiologist I went home and crawled into bed. I booted up my laptop and started to Google. I learned more about POTS, about the medication he recommended, about Vanderbilt and the Mayo Clinic, about some potential options for more intensive care. About residential and inpatient programs near me. I learned a lot of helpful things, but I did get lost in Google. I missed Genetics, and I also missed the appointment with my SSS TRIO advisor that I was really looking forward to. I made a conscious choice to fight my urge to self-isolate and instead followed through with my plans with my best friends K&J. We hang out every Wednesday night. We get great food, sometimes get some homework done, support each other, and generally have a good night. "Wednesday friendsday" is my favorite part of the week. Wednesday friendsday was normal. Until it wasn't. Without warning, about 15min after eating a cheeseburger and fries I felt myself slowly lose any semblance of muscle tone. Then I couldn't move. My hands were limp, my head had fallen forward, and my jaw was slack. At first I was just annoyed... until it didn't go away. Then I was really really scared. I didn't know what was going on or how long it would last. After about 10 minutes, K noticed something was wrong. I could move my eyes, so she tried her damned best to work out a way for me to communicate by blinking. Eventually she called 911 to get an ambulance to take me to the ER. She called J out of the bath to turn the outside lights on for the paramedics and to put our two dogs into the bedroom. We were all really scared. The blinking system didn't work very well so we were all also really frustrated. I couldn't explain that I hadn't eaten anything I could be allergic to. I couldn't explain that I hadn't tried to hurt myself by taking too many pills. I couldn't explain that nothing like that had ever happened before. I couldn't explain that the only part of me that was in pain was a searing fire that seemed to be burning in my neck. I couldn't explain that I desperately wanted to be able to move. That I WAS trying to talk to them. That I WAS trying to help them get me on to the bed that would take me to the ambulance. I didn't understand why the paramedics didn't think that I was doing all I could. The paramedics couldn't figure out what was happening to me. With some struggle, they got me into the bed. They took me out to the ambulance and put in an IV for a basic saline drip. They reluctantly let K ride in the front seat. J followed behind in the car. They discussed possibilities of what could be happening to me with each other. They continued to get more & more frustrated. I couldn't answer their questions, and I didn't fit what they would expect from... anything. My muscle weakness wasn't only on one side. My temperature was only at 99.5. My blood sugar was 85. My throat and tongue weren't swollen. I was alert. At around this point they turned to each other and said "this must be behavioral." That's how I got passed on to the team at the ER. They told K she had to go through the front doors, and the didn't let her back for over an hour and a half. The ER team made it obvious from the beginning that they "knew" I was faking it. The problem is.. I wasn't. The doctor asked me what was wrong. He asked me when my birthday was. He asked me for my address. He asked me when this started. He asked me if I was having an allergic reaction. He asked me if I took too many pills. He asked me if this had ever happened to me before. He asked me so many different questions. He took it very personally that I didn't answer. He shoved a wooden tongue depressor into my mouth to check to see if something was lodged in my throat. He told me that my throat and tongue weren't swollen so I had no excuse not to talk. He told me that if I didn't start talking they would have to stick a tube down my thoard. He told me that he was going to give me Benadryl and that if I didn't get better he'd get a CT scan. He told me that the nurse, Tyler, would take care of me. Tyler gave me Benadryl through my IV. Tyler tried asking me the same questions. Tyler took it even more personally that I didn't answer. The doctor came back and told me that if I didn't get better I'd get a CT scan. He told me that a CT scan would increase my risk of cancer. I wasn't better. He ordered the CT scan. Tyler and the woman who would give me the CT scan came back to get me ready for the CT scan. I needed to get into a hospital robe. They told me to take my shirt and bra off. They told me to sit up. When I didn't listen, they told me that if I didn't take them off they would have to cut them off. Eventually, she and Tyler took my shirt and bra off over my head and put a hospital robe on me. They were very rough, so it hurt a lot. Tyler and the doctor told me that I needed to get on to a different bed so I could be taken to get a CT scan. They told me if I help them get me on the other bed they would let me fall. When I didn't help them, they called other people into the room to help them get me on to the other bed. K&J were in the waiting room, and trying to give the staff my information. They guessed my medical history. Guessed the doses and names of my prescriptions. Guessed my address. Guessed my birthday. Tyler brought me a medical braclet with the information they gave and asked me if it was correct. It was all right except for the my birthday. The year and month were right but the day was not. Tyler was very upset that I didn't tell him what was wrong or what was correct. When someone else asked me how to pronounce my name, Tyler told them "good luck". In the CT room they told me I needed to get onto the CT bed and if I didn't help them they'd have to put me on a stretch board. They had to put me on the stretch board. When the woman draped the protective blanket over my ovaries, she told me how expensive that blanket was. She told me good luck paying for it. I got the CT scan. They used the stretch board again to put me on the moving bed. They used the stretch board to put me back in the bed in my room as well. The CT scan came back normal. They told me nothing was wrong with me. That I needed to go home. At this point I had limited and weak control over some of my muscles. I could make limited noises with my throat, but couldn't talk. I couldn't move my tongue or jaw nearly enough for that. I could control my fingers and toes enough to wiggle them but not enough to move them. I couldn't lift my arms or legs. I had crazy explanations to try to make sense of what was happening each time I was threatened or joked about. It couldn't be real, after all. I thought I must be having psychotic hallucinations. I was having a nightmare. I was in a simulation program designed to make people experience their worst fears. That the doctors would end up killing me if I didn't get better quick enough. I was in a treatment facility that made people so miserable that they finally admitted they have been faking everything. I was on a reality program like the Truman show where people watched me experience awful things my entire life from the moment I was born for entertainment. That K&J were in on it and encouraged the doctors to treat me horribly. Each time one of these explanations popped up, I realized I was being ridiculous and snapped myself back into the present. I tried to give them the benefit of the doubt and try to believe they had my best interest at heart. Each time they didn't, I went back into crazy explanation mode. I thought to myself "well, if I didn't have (c)PTSD before, I definitely will after this." Finally, a receptionist asked if my friends could come back. It made all the difference in the world. The doctor, Tyler, and the other staff members were still frustrated with me but they stopped being outwardly hostile. Instead it was limited to them rolling their eyes and being distant. They told K&J that everything looked fine, that I was normal, that I needed to go home. Then they asked K&J to leave the room. I freaked out. Sobbing and trying the best I could to say no. I couldn't bear to go back to feeling so unsafe and being treated so horribly. The doctor pulled K out and told her that I was faking it. That by giving me attention it would just encourage me. She stuck up for me, saying that we spend most of our time together and I wouldn't fake something like this. That I was CLEARLY distressed. Begrudgingly, he told her that "it's anxiety then" and that she and J could stay as long as they tried to push me to talk and feel better. After about a half hour of them sitting with me and pushing me, I could get some words out and move a little more. The doctor said that he really didn't want to, but that he'd have to order an MRI if I didn't get better soon. That I should've been better already. I wasn't back to normal soon enough, so I ended up getting the MRI. Had to take my pants off for that. Tyler pulled them off. He was rougher than necessary and hurt me again. Waited for the results for about an hour, and by then I was mostly back to normal. The MRI was normal. I answered their questions. Gave them all the information I could. My correct birth day, my insurance information, my prescriptions, etc. I was discharged. Tyler gave me the papers, told me I was treated for anxiety. K looked it up and found a paper on conversion disorder. Told me that's what happened. I'm trying to believe her. It makes sense in a lot of ways. Anyway... I already don't remember most of it. I only remember what I told K&J, and what I wrote down after. It doesn't seem real. If K&J weren't there, I would genuinely think it didn't happen at all. I don't know how to process it. K&J don't either. I wanted to write it down somewhere semi-public so that I can't eventually convince myself it wasn't real. I wanted to write it down here because its safe and I can't handle anyone else blaming me for everything that happened (I'm blaming myself). I'm sorry this was so long and I'm sorry if I broke any rules. If anyone reads all or any of this, thank you for listening. Mostly thank you for giving me a place to write this all out.

Bio

Recent forum posts

Considering Therapy?

About Us

Get Started

Online Therapy

Terms

Bio

Recent forum posts

Considering Therapy?

About Us

Get Started

Online Therapy

Terms

Personal Conversation Requests

General Conversation Requests

New Messages