During the year I hallucinated I wrote to heath
My asthma was very poorly managed as a child. I had many doctors and many visits to the hospital. I didn’t get ventolin until very late in life and I take a lot of steroids. The pump I was taking during middle school was called Intal which to me felt exactly like a placebo. It did absolutely nothing for me at all and I really couldn’t see the point after a while. If I was angry or fighting with my brother he would make sure to run up the stairs where I couldn’t follow because on the middle landing I would just collapse and lie there blowing and gasping. Mum was always terribly helpful and compassionate by taking my medicine away and then laughing from the upstairs landing. At least I could count on dad to do nothing whatsoever. I’m describing a bad day, they weren’t all like that and Alex and I are very close now. I just remember having these bad dreams and talking in my sleep which are symptoms of sleep apnea. This is something that happens when you are unable to breathe while you sleep.
The school I was in was a trap of types. Where my teachers seemed to come over all surprised that I couldn’t concentrate when I was fighting to breathe most of the time. I didn’t generally get along with anybody and I tended to second guess myself a lot. I felt the high school I went to was a better place simply because it was so far removed from what any of the other kids were doing in the school I came from. Then the main administrator took sides with my mother against me and I was pretty much finished with that. The year after I dropped out of my art program dad actually tried to be a parent for the first time in years. It was pretty sad.
My main concern at the time was that since asthma is one of the most common diseases in people my age, and people my age are very stressed and anxious lately. Depression and anxiety are running rampant in people my age, who mostly have asthma. But when we were young, asthma wasn’t treated the way that it is now, not that anyone is looking for a cure. And I just consider that maybe, just maybe, repeatedly suffocating a child will cause symptoms of depression and anxiety later in life. You know, a tendency to panic and get the jitters? The drugs used to treat asthma are great too. They feel like you’ve taken speed. The steroids are mood enhancers, so if you need to go off them, take it from someone who knows, taper off. If you just stop them one day, you will consider suicide more seriously than you ever have thus far. I know you think you have, that was just a moment of despair between drinks. Going off of cortical steroids will bring you to consider such things as, if you want to use pills, take gravol first so your body doesn’t throw up the drugs involuntarily. You consider how much liquor is in the house that you can chase down after a bottle of pills. After losing that important ritual of snorting those things every day, if a fuse goes out in your house you’ll just sit there in the dark going ah, what the hell. I can’t be bothered.
So taper off the drugs if you happen to need to. My shrink sent me to a respirologist so that I could find a different drug to take that wouldn’t affect my mood so much. The guy gave me something that I swear was even better than the speed I bought at Club Soda from a friend of my ex-boyfriend’s during an electronic\industrial music show. I must say however, that purchase was a little more light hearted. And I would go back to buying drugs in that way if the boyfriend I was with at the time wasn’t one of the reasons I ended up at the shrink’s office. So now that’s out.
When I tried to find a psychiatrist that was a fucking nightmare. You need to have a referral to see one, so if you don’t have a family doctor, like me, it becomes a little difficult. You see I don’t enjoy going to doctors, and I haven’t found a lot of them that I trust, so I tend to stay away. I went to a clinic near where I live. I was told to leave and come back three times at that place because the doctor came in later than expected. Finally I went home and called ahead before I went back to make sure someone was actually there. Normally that sort of thing would bring up a type of warning sign for me, but unfortunately I was hallucinating, so I wasn’t paying very close attention. I get there and I’m trying to keep calm, but not succeeding, and I tell the doctor what my symptoms are. He gives me five names, all of them are within my area of the city. He also prescribes anti-depressants for me to take. He had known me for 10 minutes. He did not know my family history, he did not take any blood tests. He had no idea what effect these drugs would have on me. He just did that because one of my symptoms was trouble sleeping and he thought it would get me off to la la land. I did not fill that prescription, but I did call all of the names on the list. None of them were able to take patients except one, who had a waiting list 3 months long. If I was to actually get discouraged enough at that point to just give in which is I’m sure what the reason is for this situation, but the part of me that actually asked for help is extremely stubborn, so I didn’t down a bunch of pills and whiskey, I instead called the one hospital in the city that is always taking new patients in all areas. I explained the problem to them, I told them I was having trouble getting a referral, so they told me exactly how to get one. Their walk-in clinic has an affiliation with another clinic outside of the hospital and I could get one there. So I did, and ended up finally with my referral. But only after explaining what was going on to yet another stranger.
It was a rough year. Chronologically, my boyfriend left for higher pursuits, (ass kicking to come), worst asthma attack in years which triggered 3 week long panic, hallucinations begin, can’t go back to work, can’t find doctor, more panic, find doctor, new job, hallucinations end, Christmas, iguana dies, get robbed, here I am.
I also wrote to a doctor who had written a book about the nature of bi-polar disorder. He was far more supportive than most of the people I met during this period.
The respirologist in charge of the sleep clinic at the second hospital I went to told me to have a breath test. I did it and it was possibly the most pornographic thing I have ever done. And I’ve done one or two things in my time.
I got to the hospital on the day of the test and I went up to where the lab is where I had to wait. I waited and finally went in when the techs came in and I saw them go in the very same door I went in but no-one called me. It was either that or wait around. I took a test that seemed normal, breathe into this tube so that we can measure your lung capacity yada yada yada, but then I was shown this glass box. And the lab tech said to me, get in the box. And I asked why and he said so that they could measure my breath when they cut of the oxygen. Cut off the oxygen. For someone like me with asthma and a few panic issues, I’m not sure this is the best way to go about treating me. So I look at the guy and he’s totally serious. He asked if I was nervous and I said yes, so he said we could do the test with the door open. So why do I need to be in the box at all if you can do it with the door open? So I get in and the door is open and that doesn’t help at all cause I’m still in this glass box. And I have to blow on this tube and he has me panting and blowing like a porn star. It’s a weird fucking test. I have to really really pant like a dog and then keep doing it when they cut the oxygen off. It was all highly unpleasant and I had the weird feeling that it was all some kind of bizarre joke.
There was really no need for me to do that. I just did what the guy said because it was easier than arguing. He was a lab technician, and he had no way of truly evaluating if this was going to do me any good or not. He was a lab technician. But I went along with it because apparently this test I took would help to truly decide how sick I am and whether or not I would be able to totally recover. I wasn’t even there for my breathing per se. It’s just the fact that my shrink sent me there in order to rule out any physical reasons that may have precipitated the hallucinations. We have a tendency not to question doctors because they have a title, but I see them pretty much like most people. They are people who have an education and they get to make educated guesses based on that education. They’re people with their own opinions and prejudices as anyone and after 10 years in medical school, you easily become a type of mechanic. After that point you totally forget that you’re dealing with a person who has a way of life that is being disrupted by illness that you need to treat. The treatment in and of itself can be intrusive to their way of life, but you don’t know. You’re a car to them. A rattle under the hood. Their trespass is assumption and the almost total shock when something new presents itself for examination and just possibly, to heal.