Oh, the disco days. A variety of follies there.
No. I'll try to clarify.
I had had thyroid surgery locally but didn't get better. Turned out I also had parathyroid tumors. Kept going back to my local doctor and he said I needed a psychiatrist. (all in my head.) Finally, after months of persistance he referred me to Mayo where they found the parathyroid tumors.
I was sober but my mental health was suffereing from the chemical imbalance the tumors were causing. A comedy of errors. Later I found out that the first surgeon had left a note for my local doctor that I should be watched carefully because he suspected parathyroid tumors as well but I guess my local doctor had missed the note. A comedy of errors which could have cost me more than it did.
A good reason to be one's own best medical advocate.
They made a mistake locally on my pre-op and gave me the amount intended for the woman in the next room, a four-hundred-plus woman who was having an intestinal bypass! And it was touch and go for a while when they thought they'd overdoesed me.
That's where my high tolerance came to my rescue. I think that massive amount of mood-altering may have played a part because I'd requested the absoluted minimum of pain management possible.
So all in all it was just a series of errors with all good intentions all the way around. Just shows how things can go awry sometimes and why sticking close to the program and its people is so crucial. Being away from home added to the isolation.
The anaesthetist and one of my local nurses were program people and I had them watching over also. But it just went wrong. . .
After my second surgery at Mayo I had major withdrawal issues, mostly psychological, I think. But being in a children's ward, there was no one to talk to and that exacerbated my problem.
The treatment center was located in another part of the hospital.
I even went and sat with a dying patient in hopes that service would help distract me.
But inside that sense of being uncared for and resentment were roiling. Fear and anger.
When I finally got myself into a psych clinic post op the first night I was sexually assaulted by my roommate! It just was not my year.
Then I hooked up from there with a psychiatrist in the Cities who lost her license shortly after I started seeing her. Everywhere I turned I just couldn't seem to find any reliable help. It was so strange.
The psychiatric hospital's psychiatrist went off the deep end and didn't mail an explanation to my work place so I lost six-hundred dollars in benefits and subsequently ability to pay for my apartment. Later I found out that she'd lost her license as well. Had to get a lawyer just to get a letter for my work place.
I felt like I was carrying a dark cloud with me everywhere I went and it was all around me in others. Maybe it was! (You know - that thing I was saying about "disharmonic convergences" that we seem to be prone to? Attitude.)
And I got lost for quite a long time after that.
It's been ages since I even thought about that litany of woes and it's good to notice that I feel clear of any old baggage from all that. But for a long time I felt that there just wasn't any person or medical program or HP there for me anymore.
A long dark night of the soul, I think they call it. These days I avoid negative thinking like the plague. Which it is!