How is it July already?!
I've been greatly enjoying my summer semester. After last semester's workload, stress, and health issues this term is like a full on vacation! I am loving my pediatric and OB rotations. I am seriously looking into specializing in peds once I pass the NCLEX, in particular NICU. Last week I spent a day in NICU with the premie babies and loved every minute of it. Its got me thinking about getting my NP in peds. But, time will tell.
This semester has a mere 2 1/2 weeks left and then I am off to Denver for the better part of August. I'm looking forward to some time on the open road and having a chunk of time in Denver just being me.
I am still having some ongoing health issues, but nothing has been figured out yet. I will finally be seeing the cardiologist on July 22nd. Not sure how quickly I'll get results from that visit, but hopefully I'll at least be on the right path.
Its hard to believe I only have one semester left to go. In the beginning I wasn't sure if this would ever end or if I'd ever survive the program. Now I'm looking ahead and the end is in sight. This program has been more challenging, more expensive, and more strenuous than I had eve imagined, but I am still feeling grateful for the opportunity. And I feel confident that I will not only be a good nurse, but I will enjoy it. Its a really great feeling to have!
Peace and compassion...
Saturday, July 16, 2011
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
A Victory
First let me say, thank you so much to everyone who responded to my post on April 3rd, either on the blog, on FB, or via phone or text. It means so much to have such a broad and beautiful community that embraces me in my wholeness...good and bad.
That said, it seems appropriate to share my recent victory. While I have been doing public speaking since I was a teenager and have been doing LGBTQ specific training for at least 15 years, tonight marked my first time going public in a training setting about my rape. I've considered talking about it a few times in the past couple years, but for various reasons, never chose to go down that road in my presentations. Tonight I had an opportunity to do some education with the Wayne County SAFE (Sexual Assault Forensic Examiners) program. The group consists of nurses, PAs, and advocates who work with sexual assault survivors. Needless to say, I was a little apprehensive going into the training.
As it turned out, my apprehension was unnecessary. The group was very engaged and interested in learning about transgender culture and our specific needs. Talking about my assault was much easier than I anticipated. I was able to share my experience in a direct and honest way, as well as answer the questions that were asked of me. Now, I must acknowledge that my ability to take on this training request did not happen over night. I had lots of encouragement and support from many people. I also have come a long way in my own self-awareness and made sure not to isolate myself. I even reached out to my therapist in Denver to schedule an appointment for tomorrow, "just in case."
I think one of the things I realized in doing this training was how helpful it was to me and my own process. One of the challenges I always have when trying to figure out how to talk about what happened to me is my internal need to "take care" of those people who are close to me. I know the kind of impact my rape had on my friends and family and how much pain it caused them. I guess I didn't want to talk about it (or know how to talk about it) with any of them because I didn't want them to feel bad. Because this training was being given to virtual stranger, I didn't feel the same need to "protect" them. Aside from being strangers, I think the fact that they are all professionals in the field and have dealt with many survivors also made it easier.
In any case, I consider the evening a great success. I believe these providers will now be able to help transgender survivors in a more sensitive manner. And I believe the next time I am asked to talk about sexual assault it will be a little easier.
Peace and compassion...
That said, it seems appropriate to share my recent victory. While I have been doing public speaking since I was a teenager and have been doing LGBTQ specific training for at least 15 years, tonight marked my first time going public in a training setting about my rape. I've considered talking about it a few times in the past couple years, but for various reasons, never chose to go down that road in my presentations. Tonight I had an opportunity to do some education with the Wayne County SAFE (Sexual Assault Forensic Examiners) program. The group consists of nurses, PAs, and advocates who work with sexual assault survivors. Needless to say, I was a little apprehensive going into the training.
As it turned out, my apprehension was unnecessary. The group was very engaged and interested in learning about transgender culture and our specific needs. Talking about my assault was much easier than I anticipated. I was able to share my experience in a direct and honest way, as well as answer the questions that were asked of me. Now, I must acknowledge that my ability to take on this training request did not happen over night. I had lots of encouragement and support from many people. I also have come a long way in my own self-awareness and made sure not to isolate myself. I even reached out to my therapist in Denver to schedule an appointment for tomorrow, "just in case."
I think one of the things I realized in doing this training was how helpful it was to me and my own process. One of the challenges I always have when trying to figure out how to talk about what happened to me is my internal need to "take care" of those people who are close to me. I know the kind of impact my rape had on my friends and family and how much pain it caused them. I guess I didn't want to talk about it (or know how to talk about it) with any of them because I didn't want them to feel bad. Because this training was being given to virtual stranger, I didn't feel the same need to "protect" them. Aside from being strangers, I think the fact that they are all professionals in the field and have dealt with many survivors also made it easier.
In any case, I consider the evening a great success. I believe these providers will now be able to help transgender survivors in a more sensitive manner. And I believe the next time I am asked to talk about sexual assault it will be a little easier.
Peace and compassion...
Friday, April 29, 2011
Nick vs Table
Results: Nick 0 Table 1
So here are the details of my latest debacle. Still not sure exactly what happened. Was feeling great Wed morning (4/27/11). Got a good night's sleep the night before and ate breakfast. Walked to school for my first final of this semester and checked in with several friends who were very stressed out. Reminded folks to breathe and gave out lots of hugs. Then I ate a snack and settled into take my test.
About an hour into the exam I started feeling very warm, which is not unusual as this room is always very hot. I kept drinking water throughout the exam, but then I started feeling nauseous. Finally, when I couldn't take it anymore, I decided to go up and tell the instructor I really needed to step out. I managed to get out of my row, down the stairs and to the front. I don't remember what happened next, but I am told I passed out and went face first into a long table where the instructor was sitting. There was a very loud crash and I'm told the table moved about 4 feet.
I was laid out flat on my stomach, face down with arms at my side. A couple instructors and an EMT student turned me over, keeping my neck and spine aligned to make sure I was breathing. At some point I woke up, but was having a hard time staying awake. One of my professors just kept telling me to keep my eyes open. They asked what meds I was on, but I couldn't remember any of them. I did manage to remember I had them stored in my phone, so someone found them and wrote them down. Paramedics were called. I felt blood dripping down my face, but everything was very fuzzy. I could feel sweat dripping off my head too. I was so hot.
I guess it took atleast 10 minutes for EMS to get there. When they took my blood pressure, I remember them saying it was really low, but I don't remember the numbers. They put a c collar on me and put me on a backboard and transported me to the hospital. My BP was still low, but they didn't ask me any questions or do any neuro assessment. They cleared my neck and spine, took the collar off and gave me some morphine.
Eventually they stitched me up...4 on the inside of my lower lip, 2 on the inner layer of my chin, 6 on my chin (just below the lower lip). Then 3 more in the left corner of my lip. In addition, I chipped my two top center teeth and 2 teeth on the bottom (center left and the one right next to that).
My brain still feels a little fuzzy from time to time...I just feel slow. It also seems that I have sprained my jaw, it is very uncomfortable to open my mouth and talking for any length of time is quite painful. And I have some whiplash in my neck.
They don't know the underlying cause. Everyone was surprised the ER didn't do any xrays or MRIs. Sadly, with no health insurance, I'm not about to run out and get a bunch of tests done. I was so out of it at the ER, I didn't think to advocate for some tests. Plus, as many of you know being in an ER as a patient is a pretty stressful experience for me as a trans person. They did do a brief 12 lead to assess my heart and that seemed to be fine. They also drew blood.
So for now, I'm just being careful, drinking my meals and keeping on top of the pain. I am going to work on getting some low income MI based insurance this week and see if I can't do some follow up. This is the second time I have had a syncopal episode (passed out) in 3 months. Not a good sign. However, rest assured it will take more than a table to take me out!
Peace and compassion...
So here are the details of my latest debacle. Still not sure exactly what happened. Was feeling great Wed morning (4/27/11). Got a good night's sleep the night before and ate breakfast. Walked to school for my first final of this semester and checked in with several friends who were very stressed out. Reminded folks to breathe and gave out lots of hugs. Then I ate a snack and settled into take my test.
About an hour into the exam I started feeling very warm, which is not unusual as this room is always very hot. I kept drinking water throughout the exam, but then I started feeling nauseous. Finally, when I couldn't take it anymore, I decided to go up and tell the instructor I really needed to step out. I managed to get out of my row, down the stairs and to the front. I don't remember what happened next, but I am told I passed out and went face first into a long table where the instructor was sitting. There was a very loud crash and I'm told the table moved about 4 feet.
I was laid out flat on my stomach, face down with arms at my side. A couple instructors and an EMT student turned me over, keeping my neck and spine aligned to make sure I was breathing. At some point I woke up, but was having a hard time staying awake. One of my professors just kept telling me to keep my eyes open. They asked what meds I was on, but I couldn't remember any of them. I did manage to remember I had them stored in my phone, so someone found them and wrote them down. Paramedics were called. I felt blood dripping down my face, but everything was very fuzzy. I could feel sweat dripping off my head too. I was so hot.
I guess it took atleast 10 minutes for EMS to get there. When they took my blood pressure, I remember them saying it was really low, but I don't remember the numbers. They put a c collar on me and put me on a backboard and transported me to the hospital. My BP was still low, but they didn't ask me any questions or do any neuro assessment. They cleared my neck and spine, took the collar off and gave me some morphine.
Eventually they stitched me up...4 on the inside of my lower lip, 2 on the inner layer of my chin, 6 on my chin (just below the lower lip). Then 3 more in the left corner of my lip. In addition, I chipped my two top center teeth and 2 teeth on the bottom (center left and the one right next to that).
My brain still feels a little fuzzy from time to time...I just feel slow. It also seems that I have sprained my jaw, it is very uncomfortable to open my mouth and talking for any length of time is quite painful. And I have some whiplash in my neck.
They don't know the underlying cause. Everyone was surprised the ER didn't do any xrays or MRIs. Sadly, with no health insurance, I'm not about to run out and get a bunch of tests done. I was so out of it at the ER, I didn't think to advocate for some tests. Plus, as many of you know being in an ER as a patient is a pretty stressful experience for me as a trans person. They did do a brief 12 lead to assess my heart and that seemed to be fine. They also drew blood.
So for now, I'm just being careful, drinking my meals and keeping on top of the pain. I am going to work on getting some low income MI based insurance this week and see if I can't do some follow up. This is the second time I have had a syncopal episode (passed out) in 3 months. Not a good sign. However, rest assured it will take more than a table to take me out!
Peace and compassion...
Sunday, April 3, 2011
Marking an anniversary
***Warning*** This could be triggering for those sensitive to gay bashing and sexual assault
So tomorrow, April 4th, marks the fourth anniversary of my survival. In 2007, while taking a walk to clear my head along the Platte River in Denver, I was jumped by two young men who perceived me as a gay man. After knocking me face first into the ground while taunting me with every imaginable gay insult, they threatened to kill me if I lifted my head to look at them. They proceeded to kick and stomp on me, until one of them decided he would "show me what a 'real man' was." Sounds so cliche and yet that is what he said.
He yanked down my jeans, ripping the rear pocket as he did so. I distinctly remember the sound of the denim tearing as I felt gravel dig into my cheek and the back of my hands. In some ways it feels as though those moments lasted forever and in other ways it seemed they were running off before I even knew what hit me. In the course of the rape, the perpetrator discovered my transgender status. It seemed to freak him out and disgust him even more, yet not enough for him to stop right away.
Despite lots of therapy, I still have moments where I question myself on how I handled it all. I didn't scream or fight back...because I didn't know what kind of weapons they might have had and whether they would be true to their word that they would kill me. In the end, I suppose it doesn't really matter. What matters is that I survived.
That experience, although I didn't realize it at the time, began a pretty major turning point in my life. Some it for the better, some of it remains to be seen. My horrible experience at the ER and what felt like pretty insensitive treatment by the SANE nurse, was part of what propelled me to nursing school. I hope that my experiences and the knowledge that I will bring to nursing will make a difference.
However, one of the hardest impacts of the assault is the effect it had on my son and our relationship. To this day, I am still unsure of how to unpack it all, how to help him deal with the secondary trauma he experienced. I feel an irrational weight of guilt about it to this day. As I celebrate my survival, I also mourn the loss of some of his innocence and the chasm that began growing between us.
There aren't a lot of maps or guidebooks for leading the life I have led. It has taken me time, medication, and lots of therapy to "get to the other side," and yet I still have occasional flashbacks and nightmares. This anniversary always reminds me of how far I have come, but also of how far I have yet to go. And, how far we as a society have yet to go.
As you go about your busy day, please take a moment to send some light my way and AJ's way. We could both use it. And while you're at it, send some towards my two assailants as well, whoever they may be. They must have a pretty dark spot in their hearts to have done what they did. Perhaps if they feel some compassion from the world they will learn to reciprocate it in kind.
Peace and compassion...
So tomorrow, April 4th, marks the fourth anniversary of my survival. In 2007, while taking a walk to clear my head along the Platte River in Denver, I was jumped by two young men who perceived me as a gay man. After knocking me face first into the ground while taunting me with every imaginable gay insult, they threatened to kill me if I lifted my head to look at them. They proceeded to kick and stomp on me, until one of them decided he would "show me what a 'real man' was." Sounds so cliche and yet that is what he said.
He yanked down my jeans, ripping the rear pocket as he did so. I distinctly remember the sound of the denim tearing as I felt gravel dig into my cheek and the back of my hands. In some ways it feels as though those moments lasted forever and in other ways it seemed they were running off before I even knew what hit me. In the course of the rape, the perpetrator discovered my transgender status. It seemed to freak him out and disgust him even more, yet not enough for him to stop right away.
Despite lots of therapy, I still have moments where I question myself on how I handled it all. I didn't scream or fight back...because I didn't know what kind of weapons they might have had and whether they would be true to their word that they would kill me. In the end, I suppose it doesn't really matter. What matters is that I survived.
That experience, although I didn't realize it at the time, began a pretty major turning point in my life. Some it for the better, some of it remains to be seen. My horrible experience at the ER and what felt like pretty insensitive treatment by the SANE nurse, was part of what propelled me to nursing school. I hope that my experiences and the knowledge that I will bring to nursing will make a difference.
However, one of the hardest impacts of the assault is the effect it had on my son and our relationship. To this day, I am still unsure of how to unpack it all, how to help him deal with the secondary trauma he experienced. I feel an irrational weight of guilt about it to this day. As I celebrate my survival, I also mourn the loss of some of his innocence and the chasm that began growing between us.
There aren't a lot of maps or guidebooks for leading the life I have led. It has taken me time, medication, and lots of therapy to "get to the other side," and yet I still have occasional flashbacks and nightmares. This anniversary always reminds me of how far I have come, but also of how far I have yet to go. And, how far we as a society have yet to go.
As you go about your busy day, please take a moment to send some light my way and AJ's way. We could both use it. And while you're at it, send some towards my two assailants as well, whoever they may be. They must have a pretty dark spot in their hearts to have done what they did. Perhaps if they feel some compassion from the world they will learn to reciprocate it in kind.
Peace and compassion...
Saturday, March 26, 2011
Theory strikes a little too close to home
As I spend my birthday weekend studying for this week's upcoming exams, I am struck by how much of the content in my psych class mirrors my life...especially in this set of lectures. Two of the main exam areas this week are Major Depressive Disorder and Care of the Chemically Impaired. Its no secret that I suffer from depression and have for many years. I am finally coming to terms with the fact that I will likely always have relapses and that perhaps I should just resign myself to a lifetime of anti-depressants.
It has also been an interesting process in looking at my familial history. I won't go into too much detail out of respect for my family members' privacy, but it is quite evident to me that part of my depression has a genetic component. I have had discussions with some in my family about the shame and stigma that is still attached to depression, despite the fact that the lifetime risk for men developing it is 5-12% and 10-25% in women. It was certainly not something talked about in my childhood...that I recall anyway. Part of that I believe was due to a lack of information, but part of it I believe was the stigma of shame that was attached to any acknowledgment of mental illness.
I am hoping that by being open and honest about my journey, that perhaps my son and nieces will grow up with a different perception of the disorder. I know in many ways it has become a freeing process for me to be open about it. Much like my journey in coming out as lesbian, transgender, and queer, each step towards full honesty and acknowledgment of all of me is another step towards personal freedom.
Much of the same could be said about chemical dependency and addiction. I feel like I have been very aware of issues of addiction from a very young age. I think it really shaped by adolescence and early adulthood. I guess my personal response was to go in the opposite direction. I didn't drink or do drugs in high school. I was most likely to be found at work or at school working on an upcoming choir or theater production. On the rare occasion that I did go to a party, I always chose to be the designated driver.
When I left home at 18 for boot camp and then military college (New Mexico Military Institute), things changed a little. On our few weekends off, cadets would often drive down to El Paso, TX and cross the border into Jaurez, Mexico to drink. We always made sure someone stayed sober to get us back across the border safely. I think it is safe to say that I was somewhat of a binge drinker. I discovered that I had a very high tolerance to alcohol and as a then 18-20 year old female who weighed about 125 pounds, it was always good fun to drink the guys under the table. By the end of my two years at NMMI, I realized that wasn't how I wanted to live my life and I gave up drinking the day after I graduated.
I stayed a teetotaler until well after my 21st birthday, but eventually began drinking socially from time to time. I soon found myself married with a kid on the way and quickly realized my then husband was an alcoholic and addict. I tried to change him, fix him, threaten him...finally I realized he didn't think he had a problem and therefore wasn't going to change. So I left.
To make a long story short, I was 23, a single mom and on disability (I had fractured a vertebrae falling down some stairs at work while 8 weeks pregnant). I moved back to Michigan for a few years, began my coming out process, was diagnosed with clinical depression for the first time, and began to face the reality of raising a kid alone. Thankfully during all of that turmoil and struggle, I never once looked to alcohol or illicit drugs as an escape. To this day I am still not sure how I managed it. Even though I was quite suicidal at times back then, a part of me was fearful that if I began drinking I might not ever stop. I didn't want that for my kid...I had already seen what it had done to my step son.
It is strange to now be 41 and the parent of a 17 year old, who despite all my best efforts, educating him on his genetic risk factors, etc, has himself become an addict. While I know all the intellectual and scientific causes for his disease, and am able to call it a disease, there are still times when I wish I could just shake some sense into him. I think in some ways going through Psych Nursing this semester has been good for me. It helps me to refocus on the big picture. I still have sadness for the damage alcohol and drugs has caused in my life and my son's life. I will have a social drink or two on occasion, but I have a healthy amount of respect for it. And, now that I am back on anti-depressants I will once again refrain.
The last thing I will say tonight is how fascinating I find the teaching methods for this course. Given that there are 44 people in the class, the reality that a certain percentage of us either have ourselves or have experienced in our family a great many of the diseases and disorders we discuss, I am surprised that there isn't more opportunity to talk about how this affects us personally and professionally. There has been little to no discussion about how to cope with your own issues that may come up in the course of treating a patient. I would think that this would be an incredibly important topic, specifically in the field of Psych nursing. I guess that's why I have a blog. :) Thanks for reading.
Peace and compassion...
It has also been an interesting process in looking at my familial history. I won't go into too much detail out of respect for my family members' privacy, but it is quite evident to me that part of my depression has a genetic component. I have had discussions with some in my family about the shame and stigma that is still attached to depression, despite the fact that the lifetime risk for men developing it is 5-12% and 10-25% in women. It was certainly not something talked about in my childhood...that I recall anyway. Part of that I believe was due to a lack of information, but part of it I believe was the stigma of shame that was attached to any acknowledgment of mental illness.
I am hoping that by being open and honest about my journey, that perhaps my son and nieces will grow up with a different perception of the disorder. I know in many ways it has become a freeing process for me to be open about it. Much like my journey in coming out as lesbian, transgender, and queer, each step towards full honesty and acknowledgment of all of me is another step towards personal freedom.
Much of the same could be said about chemical dependency and addiction. I feel like I have been very aware of issues of addiction from a very young age. I think it really shaped by adolescence and early adulthood. I guess my personal response was to go in the opposite direction. I didn't drink or do drugs in high school. I was most likely to be found at work or at school working on an upcoming choir or theater production. On the rare occasion that I did go to a party, I always chose to be the designated driver.
When I left home at 18 for boot camp and then military college (New Mexico Military Institute), things changed a little. On our few weekends off, cadets would often drive down to El Paso, TX and cross the border into Jaurez, Mexico to drink. We always made sure someone stayed sober to get us back across the border safely. I think it is safe to say that I was somewhat of a binge drinker. I discovered that I had a very high tolerance to alcohol and as a then 18-20 year old female who weighed about 125 pounds, it was always good fun to drink the guys under the table. By the end of my two years at NMMI, I realized that wasn't how I wanted to live my life and I gave up drinking the day after I graduated.
I stayed a teetotaler until well after my 21st birthday, but eventually began drinking socially from time to time. I soon found myself married with a kid on the way and quickly realized my then husband was an alcoholic and addict. I tried to change him, fix him, threaten him...finally I realized he didn't think he had a problem and therefore wasn't going to change. So I left.
To make a long story short, I was 23, a single mom and on disability (I had fractured a vertebrae falling down some stairs at work while 8 weeks pregnant). I moved back to Michigan for a few years, began my coming out process, was diagnosed with clinical depression for the first time, and began to face the reality of raising a kid alone. Thankfully during all of that turmoil and struggle, I never once looked to alcohol or illicit drugs as an escape. To this day I am still not sure how I managed it. Even though I was quite suicidal at times back then, a part of me was fearful that if I began drinking I might not ever stop. I didn't want that for my kid...I had already seen what it had done to my step son.
It is strange to now be 41 and the parent of a 17 year old, who despite all my best efforts, educating him on his genetic risk factors, etc, has himself become an addict. While I know all the intellectual and scientific causes for his disease, and am able to call it a disease, there are still times when I wish I could just shake some sense into him. I think in some ways going through Psych Nursing this semester has been good for me. It helps me to refocus on the big picture. I still have sadness for the damage alcohol and drugs has caused in my life and my son's life. I will have a social drink or two on occasion, but I have a healthy amount of respect for it. And, now that I am back on anti-depressants I will once again refrain.
The last thing I will say tonight is how fascinating I find the teaching methods for this course. Given that there are 44 people in the class, the reality that a certain percentage of us either have ourselves or have experienced in our family a great many of the diseases and disorders we discuss, I am surprised that there isn't more opportunity to talk about how this affects us personally and professionally. There has been little to no discussion about how to cope with your own issues that may come up in the course of treating a patient. I would think that this would be an incredibly important topic, specifically in the field of Psych nursing. I guess that's why I have a blog. :) Thanks for reading.
Peace and compassion...
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Better living through pharmacueticals
Although Detroit has been nothing but gray and rainy today, I am reminded of the old Johnny Nash lyrics:
I can see clearly now, the rain is gone,
I can see all obstacles in my way
Gone are the dark clouds that had me blind
It's gonna be a bright (bright), bright (bright)
Sun-Shiny day.
I realized over Spring Break that I was feeling a sense of happiness that I hadn't felt in months (and not just because I was back in my beloved Colorado!). Over the years I've gotten pretty adept at recognizing when clinical depression was creeping back into my life and could take steps (seeing my doctor or therapist, going back on meds, etc.) to mitigate it, but somehow it just crept up on me this time and laid me out in ways that hadn't happened in years.
Thankfully, I did finally realize there was a problem, reached out for help and got it. While my life is still very stressful and full of anxiety and chronic pain, the oppressiveness of my depression has lifted making life and school feel more manageable again. In the 3 weeks since I began taking Cymbalta, my depression has almost completely dissipated. This week I have also felt a decrease in my daily anxiety levels, which is hugely helpful. I'm still not noticing much, if any affect on my pain levels, but I know it could take 6 to 8 weeks to achieve full affect. As the song lyrics indicate, I am seeing much more clearly now and it is easier to tackle the challenges that still lie ahead.
It really is true what they say...you need to take care of yourself before you can take care of others. Or perhaps it is more true to say it is way easier to take care of others if you take care of your self first. The patients I see every week on the Med/Surg floor, in the Psych unit, and now in Rehab remind me that I want to lead a full, healthy, and sane life, while also helping others and being the best nurse I can. My current life lesson seems to be about retaining balance. I think its gonna be a bright, bright, bright, sunshiny day.
Thank you to all my cheerleaders and supporters, both near and far who helped me get through these very challenging few months. All of your comments on Facebook, here on the blog, via email and snail mail make me feel very loved and grateful. Love and gratitude.
Peace and compassion...
I can see clearly now, the rain is gone,
I can see all obstacles in my way
Gone are the dark clouds that had me blind
It's gonna be a bright (bright), bright (bright)
Sun-Shiny day.
I realized over Spring Break that I was feeling a sense of happiness that I hadn't felt in months (and not just because I was back in my beloved Colorado!). Over the years I've gotten pretty adept at recognizing when clinical depression was creeping back into my life and could take steps (seeing my doctor or therapist, going back on meds, etc.) to mitigate it, but somehow it just crept up on me this time and laid me out in ways that hadn't happened in years.
Thankfully, I did finally realize there was a problem, reached out for help and got it. While my life is still very stressful and full of anxiety and chronic pain, the oppressiveness of my depression has lifted making life and school feel more manageable again. In the 3 weeks since I began taking Cymbalta, my depression has almost completely dissipated. This week I have also felt a decrease in my daily anxiety levels, which is hugely helpful. I'm still not noticing much, if any affect on my pain levels, but I know it could take 6 to 8 weeks to achieve full affect. As the song lyrics indicate, I am seeing much more clearly now and it is easier to tackle the challenges that still lie ahead.
It really is true what they say...you need to take care of yourself before you can take care of others. Or perhaps it is more true to say it is way easier to take care of others if you take care of your self first. The patients I see every week on the Med/Surg floor, in the Psych unit, and now in Rehab remind me that I want to lead a full, healthy, and sane life, while also helping others and being the best nurse I can. My current life lesson seems to be about retaining balance. I think its gonna be a bright, bright, bright, sunshiny day.
Thank you to all my cheerleaders and supporters, both near and far who helped me get through these very challenging few months. All of your comments on Facebook, here on the blog, via email and snail mail make me feel very loved and grateful. Love and gratitude.
Peace and compassion...
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Mental Health
Mental health...seems like it should be such an easy thing, especially if you are intelligent, have access to good resources, and are not completely isolated. I find that even at age 40, after countless years of therapy, psych classes, support groups, reading, meditating, you name it, I still have fear and shame around my struggles. I somehow feel, admitting that I have some mental health "issues" makes me somehow weak or less capable. Intellectually I know this is not true, it’s just the feelings I fight within myself.
So in my continuing quest to live an open and honest life I thought it might be good to do some more in depth writing on the topic that I started in my last post. In some recent moments of clarity, I have come to accept that I struggle with depression. Not a huge revelation to those who know me well I am sure. However, I think the shift I have come to accept recently is that it is a part of my chemical makeup and I need to find a way to be ok with that. I have always looked at my depression as situational, even if all evidence indicated otherwise. I would cycle on and off antidepressants because I did not want to be on them unless I was absolutely miserable. In a recent conversation with my therapist, she suggested that I may need to just accept that I need to be on a med consistently and perhaps up the dose as seasonal or situational events require. It some ways it feels like a betrayal of my body. Why can't it just work "right," without chemical intervention? Then I look at the patients I am working with, both on the psych unit and on the med-surg unit and realize, they likely have the same thoughts on occasion and comparatively, I am in pretty good shape. So yes, my name is Nick and I suffer from depression.
The other mental health issue I struggle with is anxiety. As I briefly mentioned in my last post, I was gay-bashed and sexually assaulted in April of 2007. The anniversary of that incident is fast approaching and I think because I am so far away from the people who lived through that incident with me and because I am under an incredible amount of stress with my school program and what not, my PTSD anxiety is rearing its ugly head. Its not an easy thing to admit, but when I passed out during clinical last week it was due in large part to a full-blown panic attack. Part of my attack involved me being choked from behind. I have never done well with thoughts or experiences that make me feel as my airway is being cut off. That anxiety has multiplied at least tenfold since the assault.
Last week's clinical experience for me was to observe a surgery in an OR suite. I was scheduled to watch a knee arthroscopy and ligament repair. After much in and out, following the RN who was prepping the suite, it was time for the procedure to begin. I took up my spot, out of the way to observe. I was in scrubs, a cap and a mask. I found the procedure interesting, but quickly realized that I was having difficulty breathing with the mask on. I did my best for about 30 minutes to move around, adjust the mask, and distract myself from the ever-growing anxiety. Finally, as waves of nausea began to wash over me I walked to the other side of the suite and tried to ask some questions of the OR nurse. Ultimately I realized I had to get to a rest room. As I left the OR suite and headed to the rest room, I felt myself get slightly dizzy, but kept walking ahead. I only made it one doorway down before I passed out cold. I don't even recall going down and when I came to, I thought I was just leaning against a shelving unit. It took me a full minute to realize I was lying full out on the floor.
It also took me a little bit to realize that I had been experiencing a full-blown anxiety attack. As soon as I came to, it was all I could do to stop myself from tearing the mask off my face. A nurse saw me go down and got another nurse to get me a wheelchair. I felt embarrassed and ashamed. On the one hand, I didn't want them to think I couldn't handle watching some surgery, but on the other hand I also didn't want to admit I was having an anxiety attack. They made me go to the Emergency Department and I did have the courage to tell the doctor that I was having an anxiety attack. That was anxiety inducing in and of itself. After my assault, I went to an Emergency Department and felt like I wasn't treated as well as I could have been. My transgender status makes many people uncomfortable. To be recovering from a major anxiety attack and then to have to tell medical personnel that I am not familiar with that not only am I a nursing student having a panic attack, but that I am also transgender, not a fun experience.
The upside to all of this is that it made me reach out. It made me realize that I still have residual affects of PTSD. It made me decide to go back on medication. I hope that it is also the turning point of what has been several very dark weeks. I am working to accept that I may never be "cured" from my depression or my anxiety, but I can continue to manage it in healthy ways that allow me to live a full and vibrant life. In addition, perhaps if I share my experiences it will help reduce the internalized stigma I feel.
Peace and compassion...
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