I'm at my next appointment with Bob. It's just a quick appointment today. He let's me know that I have been accepted into the Evening Treatment Program. They just have one condition, that I stop drinking alcohol one month before I start the program and no drinking during the program. I tell him that is no problem. I actually hate drinking when I am depressed. He asks me how the Zoloft is going, I tell him it is fine. He lets me know that there is about a two to three month wait to get into the program. They will call me in a couple of weeks, before my start date, to let me know when I will start. He lets me know that there is a support group every Friday that I can attend while I am waiting to get in. It's completely voluntarily. I tell him it is something I will definitely take advantage of. I leave his office smiling, I am excited that I got accepted. I am nervous as hell but ready to deal with my demons and move forward.
It's Friday and I am getting ready to go to the support group. I am feeling extremely nervous. Am I really going to sit in a room full of strangers, talking about our problems? I get in my car and head to the hospital. I park my car far away in a neighbourhood so I can get free parking. I am walking toward the hospital and every foot I get closer the more my heart beats. My heart is pounding, I am freaking out. How many people are going to be in this support group? Am I going to be the one with the most issues? Am I the most fucked up? Should I even do this? I get to the hospital early, it's still a half an hour till support group starts. I keep walking by the Psychiatric Clinic doors like a creepy stalker. I tell myself I can just run away, I don't have to do this. The support group is voluntary I am not even required to go to this. But then I think to myself if I can't even go to the support group, what makes me think I can go to group therapy five days a week, every evening.
I finally walk through the doors. I always worry that someone I know will see me walk into the Psychiatry Clinic. The stigma around mental health is just as bad as the stigma around HIV. Mental Health = crazy. HIV = dirty. There is quite a few people in the waiting room. Is everyone waiting, here for the support group? I guess not all, some are probably here for just regular appointments. All of a sudden two therapists show up and say, everyone here for support group follow us. A whole whack of us follow them to a room setup for the support group. I take a seat and wait for everyone else to get seated. I am nervous, there are a lot of people here. At least with a lot of people here, I can probably get away with not talking. One of the therapists passes around a sign in sheet, and goes over the rules of support group. A woman all of a sudden starts crying and talks about why she is there. (To respect privacy I won't mention details about people), she talks about how she was diagnosed with an illness recently. She is worried about how it will affect her life and what people will think about her. She was diagnosed with MS. A few people speak up and offer her words of encouragement. Some people share stories about how they relate. I am trying to work the courage to speak up. I can relate, I have HIV. I want to help her, I don't even think about how sharing will help me, the thought doesn't even cross my mind. I feel so bad for her and want her to feel better. But at the same time, am I really going to tell a room full of people that I have HIV? A disease that has such a huge stigma around it. I finally speak up and tell her I can relate. In March of 2010 I was diagnosed with HIV, it was a few months before I told my closest friends. She asks me how they took it. I tell her they took it really well, they felt really sad for me. They were also angry that I waited to tell them, that I held it in for those few months. They don't treat my any differently. They still treat me as the same friend I was and continue to be. One of the therapists asks me if I would like to hear feedback from the group. I say yes I guess. I think to myself, I thought I was just relating, not really trying to share. A few people talk about how brave I was to share with the group, how it took a lot of courage. A few relate with illness they have. I sit there, relieved that everyone was so supportive, I guess I shouldn't be surprised, it is called support group.
Even though I am relieved, my face is burning with embarrassment, I feel embarrassed that I shared that with complete strangers. Support group ends, we all leave the room, we quietly and awkwardly (awkward for me at least) walk down the hallways and out of the Psychiatry Clinic. We all go our separate ways. I let out a huge sigh of relief and feel proud of myself. Now to try and keep that courage and show up to next weeks support group.
Sunday, December 30, 2012
Saturday, December 29, 2012
I'm a Whiny Baby
I am sick, I have a horrible chest cold. I woke up Christmas day feeling very sick. I am such a baby when I get sick, I truly feel like I am going to die when I am sick haha. My back is so sore from coughing so much. I truly buy into the stereotype that men are big babies when they get sick. I am a shining example of that. I am super congested and my nose hurts from blowing it so much, woe is me. These are the times I wish I had a boyfriend, to take care of me, baby me while I am sick.
Thursday, December 20, 2012
Did I do it to myself?
I came across the quote "It's no fun to have HIV even though it's viewed as a chronic, controllable disease. It means being wedded to the health system." A man by the name of Phil Berger is credited as saying this.
I thought about this quote and how it applies to me. There have been many times I have felt guilty about contracting HIV, especially when I was first diagnosed. I've spent a lot of my life putting myself down. There has been many times when I take my medication that I think to myself, I am a burden on the health care system. Where I live, my medication is paid for by the government. Every cent. I know I am very fortunate that my medication is paid for, but sometimes it makes me feel guilty.
I have lost count how many times a friend, family member or doctor has said to me at least it's not a death sentence. I know when someone says this to me, they say it as a sign of support. But at the same time I feel like they are downplaying my illness. This says more about me and my insecurities and issues with the disease. To me it's a big deal. I have this disease that is trying to kill me. It's roaming around in my bodily fluids, attacking my body trying to destroy my immune system. I take these medications every day and everyday I have diarrhea. When I first started taking HIV medications, the first week was hell. I was extremely nauseated and vomitting. It was horrible. It was like the worst flu I have ever had.
A question needs to be answered. Did I do it to myself? Is it my fault I got HIV? Some people would say that's an easy question to answer. They would simply say yes. Yes it's your fault you got HIV. You knew that having unprotected sex could lead to you having HIV. You are the one who let the guy insert his penis in you without a condom. Do I deny that? No I don't. I did know that having unprotected sex could lead to contracting HIV. I did let the guy insert his penis in me without a condom. I didn't ask him what his status was. Other questions need to be asked. Why would I have unprotected sex, knowing I could contract HIV? Shouldn't it be human nature to protect oneself? If so, why would I risk getting HIV?
I didn't have any self worth. If I had no self worth why would I care about getting HIV? I didn't care about myself, didn't love myself. I have battled major depression throughout most of my life. As every year passed, each bout of depression got worse. As the darkness inside me grew, the more destructive things I did to try and forget about those feelings. I would eat a lot of fast food to try and make the bad feelings go away. I would eat McDonalds, KFC, Taco Bell; as long as it was greasy I would eat it. The cravings I would get for fast food while I was depressed were intense. I felt like an addict. I would take that first bite of food and instantly I would feel better. The salt, grease and sugar would give me a temporary high. A high that didn't last very long. I would go home and go to bed feeling disgusting. These feelings would follow me to the next day. I needed to get rid of these feelings so I would go and have sex.
When I first started being promiscuous in high school, I would mainly just have oral sex. Once in awhile I would have anal sex. If I did have anal sex it was always with a condom. As the years went on, once in awhile I would have sex without a condom, but I would tell the guy he couldn't ejaculate inside me. Then that didn't give me the high I need to mask my feelings, so I started letting the guys ejaculate inside me. Sometimes I would freak out that I might get HIV, but normally I wouldn't. I didn't give a fuck, I didn't like myself, a lot of times I hated myself. This was my punishment. I never thought to myself, I hope I get HIV, or I am going to have unprotected sex to get HIV. But deep down I thought to myself, if I do happen to get it, I would deserve it.
After awhile the high was weakening, so I was having sex with more and more guys, more often. I would meet guys from websites online and I would go to the bathhouse. I would try and have sex with as many guys as possible. I needed to keep the high going. When I was feeling disgusted with myself for having unprotected sex, I would go and eat fast food. When I would feel disgusted with myself for eating so much, I would go and have sex. It was a vicious cycle I was caught in, I couldn't get out. I couldn't tell anyone, because I was too embarrassed, too ashamed. HIV has a stigma attached to it, so do mental health issues. I didn't feel like I could tell anyone, I would be judged, I would be hated. No one would understand. So I kept it all in. Because I kept it all in I kept acting out in destructive ways.
Why didn't I have any self worth. For me to answer that question I need to look back at my childhood. Just a few months ago I wouldn't have been able to answer this question. After spending four months in an intensive group therapy program I can answer it. My parents fought, they fought a lot. I remember when I was seven, I was in my room sleeping. I woke up to my mom and dad yelling at each other. I could hear my dad threatening to kill himself. I heard my mom yell to my sister to hide the knives. Then I heard my mom yell, call the police. My sister did call the police, apparently the SWAT team showed up. I was upstairs all alone, frightened not understanding what was going on. I have another memory from when I was seven. It was summer time and the neighbourhood kids and I were having a water fight. One of the neighbours, a grown man joined in and was shooting us with a water gun from his back door. He kept running inside and closing the door so we couldn't get him wet. Well being seven I thought I was all smart, and decided to engage the lock on his door when he wasn't looking so when he closed the door behind him so we wouldn't get water in his house, he would be locked out so we could get him wet. I didn't think about how he would get back inside - I was seven. Well he tried to go back inside and the door was locked. He lost it. He came out of the back yard, started yelling and yelled who the fuck locked my door? The kids pointed at me. He came at me, grabbed me and started walking towards the managers place of the townhouse complex we lived in. I was scared and I was screaming and crying. I kept asking him to let me go, he was holding me so tight it hurt to breathe. He told me to shut the fuck up and slapped me across my face and side of the head. I told him if he put me down and let me walk I would stop crying. He put me down and I made a break for it. I didn't get very far, he grabbed me and hit me again. My friends ran to my house and got my dad. My dad came flying around the corner. My dad told me to go home. Surprisingly my dad somehow kept his temper in check and didn't kill him. My dad called the police and I had to tell them what happened. It turned out the guy was drunk. After that it was never spoken of. My mom and dad never asked me if I was okay, it just was never spoken of. My mom and dad split up when I was eight. My sister rebelled my getting into crime. My brother dealt with it by getting involved in sports. I was the forgotten one. My mom worked all the time, because she was depressed. She would go to work at five in the morning and not get home till eight or nine at night. I basically raised myself. It was very lonely. I never had anyone to talk to, I never had anyone teach me how to deal with my feelings properly. I was bullied a lot in school. The boys would take my clothes and put them in the shower so I would have to walk around in my gym clothes all day. The one time I tried to tell my mom what was happening the response I got was "other kids have it worse. It can't be that bad." So I held my feelings in, no one cared. My teachers knew this was happening, they didn't do anything. No one cared, why should I? When I was twelve I was raped in a public washroom by an older man. I kept that in, again why would I tell anyone? No one would probably believe me. There are many other traumatic events that have happened but the point is, my childhood had a huge impact on who I am today. So when someone says how could you be so stupid for contacting HIV, you should know better? My response is going to be "no I shouldn't have known better. How could I have known better. No one taught me any different. No one was there for me. Going through the group therapy program and looking back at my childhood I am not shocked that I contracted HIV. I am shocked I didn't contact any other diseases, I am shocked I didn't develop a drinking problem or a drug problem to cope.
My point is contracting HIV is not a black and white issue. There are a lot of grey areas. A lot of it comes down to circumstance and mental health. There will never be an easy answer, but if we never talk about it honestly and openly then we will never find an answer. This has been extremely difficult for me to write. Even though my blog is anonymous, I still find it embarrassing to admit some of these things. At the same time, it has been therapeutic and if it can just help a few people by sharing these intimate details then that makes me happy. It's funny, I didn't originally plan for this post to be so long and so detailed. I originally just meant to write about what the quote meant to me and how I feel like a burden on the healthcare system. It's interesting how a simple quote was able to bring up so much for me. Thanks for listening.
I thought about this quote and how it applies to me. There have been many times I have felt guilty about contracting HIV, especially when I was first diagnosed. I've spent a lot of my life putting myself down. There has been many times when I take my medication that I think to myself, I am a burden on the health care system. Where I live, my medication is paid for by the government. Every cent. I know I am very fortunate that my medication is paid for, but sometimes it makes me feel guilty.
I have lost count how many times a friend, family member or doctor has said to me at least it's not a death sentence. I know when someone says this to me, they say it as a sign of support. But at the same time I feel like they are downplaying my illness. This says more about me and my insecurities and issues with the disease. To me it's a big deal. I have this disease that is trying to kill me. It's roaming around in my bodily fluids, attacking my body trying to destroy my immune system. I take these medications every day and everyday I have diarrhea. When I first started taking HIV medications, the first week was hell. I was extremely nauseated and vomitting. It was horrible. It was like the worst flu I have ever had.
A question needs to be answered. Did I do it to myself? Is it my fault I got HIV? Some people would say that's an easy question to answer. They would simply say yes. Yes it's your fault you got HIV. You knew that having unprotected sex could lead to you having HIV. You are the one who let the guy insert his penis in you without a condom. Do I deny that? No I don't. I did know that having unprotected sex could lead to contracting HIV. I did let the guy insert his penis in me without a condom. I didn't ask him what his status was. Other questions need to be asked. Why would I have unprotected sex, knowing I could contract HIV? Shouldn't it be human nature to protect oneself? If so, why would I risk getting HIV?
I didn't have any self worth. If I had no self worth why would I care about getting HIV? I didn't care about myself, didn't love myself. I have battled major depression throughout most of my life. As every year passed, each bout of depression got worse. As the darkness inside me grew, the more destructive things I did to try and forget about those feelings. I would eat a lot of fast food to try and make the bad feelings go away. I would eat McDonalds, KFC, Taco Bell; as long as it was greasy I would eat it. The cravings I would get for fast food while I was depressed were intense. I felt like an addict. I would take that first bite of food and instantly I would feel better. The salt, grease and sugar would give me a temporary high. A high that didn't last very long. I would go home and go to bed feeling disgusting. These feelings would follow me to the next day. I needed to get rid of these feelings so I would go and have sex.
When I first started being promiscuous in high school, I would mainly just have oral sex. Once in awhile I would have anal sex. If I did have anal sex it was always with a condom. As the years went on, once in awhile I would have sex without a condom, but I would tell the guy he couldn't ejaculate inside me. Then that didn't give me the high I need to mask my feelings, so I started letting the guys ejaculate inside me. Sometimes I would freak out that I might get HIV, but normally I wouldn't. I didn't give a fuck, I didn't like myself, a lot of times I hated myself. This was my punishment. I never thought to myself, I hope I get HIV, or I am going to have unprotected sex to get HIV. But deep down I thought to myself, if I do happen to get it, I would deserve it.
After awhile the high was weakening, so I was having sex with more and more guys, more often. I would meet guys from websites online and I would go to the bathhouse. I would try and have sex with as many guys as possible. I needed to keep the high going. When I was feeling disgusted with myself for having unprotected sex, I would go and eat fast food. When I would feel disgusted with myself for eating so much, I would go and have sex. It was a vicious cycle I was caught in, I couldn't get out. I couldn't tell anyone, because I was too embarrassed, too ashamed. HIV has a stigma attached to it, so do mental health issues. I didn't feel like I could tell anyone, I would be judged, I would be hated. No one would understand. So I kept it all in. Because I kept it all in I kept acting out in destructive ways.
Why didn't I have any self worth. For me to answer that question I need to look back at my childhood. Just a few months ago I wouldn't have been able to answer this question. After spending four months in an intensive group therapy program I can answer it. My parents fought, they fought a lot. I remember when I was seven, I was in my room sleeping. I woke up to my mom and dad yelling at each other. I could hear my dad threatening to kill himself. I heard my mom yell to my sister to hide the knives. Then I heard my mom yell, call the police. My sister did call the police, apparently the SWAT team showed up. I was upstairs all alone, frightened not understanding what was going on. I have another memory from when I was seven. It was summer time and the neighbourhood kids and I were having a water fight. One of the neighbours, a grown man joined in and was shooting us with a water gun from his back door. He kept running inside and closing the door so we couldn't get him wet. Well being seven I thought I was all smart, and decided to engage the lock on his door when he wasn't looking so when he closed the door behind him so we wouldn't get water in his house, he would be locked out so we could get him wet. I didn't think about how he would get back inside - I was seven. Well he tried to go back inside and the door was locked. He lost it. He came out of the back yard, started yelling and yelled who the fuck locked my door? The kids pointed at me. He came at me, grabbed me and started walking towards the managers place of the townhouse complex we lived in. I was scared and I was screaming and crying. I kept asking him to let me go, he was holding me so tight it hurt to breathe. He told me to shut the fuck up and slapped me across my face and side of the head. I told him if he put me down and let me walk I would stop crying. He put me down and I made a break for it. I didn't get very far, he grabbed me and hit me again. My friends ran to my house and got my dad. My dad came flying around the corner. My dad told me to go home. Surprisingly my dad somehow kept his temper in check and didn't kill him. My dad called the police and I had to tell them what happened. It turned out the guy was drunk. After that it was never spoken of. My mom and dad never asked me if I was okay, it just was never spoken of. My mom and dad split up when I was eight. My sister rebelled my getting into crime. My brother dealt with it by getting involved in sports. I was the forgotten one. My mom worked all the time, because she was depressed. She would go to work at five in the morning and not get home till eight or nine at night. I basically raised myself. It was very lonely. I never had anyone to talk to, I never had anyone teach me how to deal with my feelings properly. I was bullied a lot in school. The boys would take my clothes and put them in the shower so I would have to walk around in my gym clothes all day. The one time I tried to tell my mom what was happening the response I got was "other kids have it worse. It can't be that bad." So I held my feelings in, no one cared. My teachers knew this was happening, they didn't do anything. No one cared, why should I? When I was twelve I was raped in a public washroom by an older man. I kept that in, again why would I tell anyone? No one would probably believe me. There are many other traumatic events that have happened but the point is, my childhood had a huge impact on who I am today. So when someone says how could you be so stupid for contacting HIV, you should know better? My response is going to be "no I shouldn't have known better. How could I have known better. No one taught me any different. No one was there for me. Going through the group therapy program and looking back at my childhood I am not shocked that I contracted HIV. I am shocked I didn't contact any other diseases, I am shocked I didn't develop a drinking problem or a drug problem to cope.
My point is contracting HIV is not a black and white issue. There are a lot of grey areas. A lot of it comes down to circumstance and mental health. There will never be an easy answer, but if we never talk about it honestly and openly then we will never find an answer. This has been extremely difficult for me to write. Even though my blog is anonymous, I still find it embarrassing to admit some of these things. At the same time, it has been therapeutic and if it can just help a few people by sharing these intimate details then that makes me happy. It's funny, I didn't originally plan for this post to be so long and so detailed. I originally just meant to write about what the quote meant to me and how I feel like a burden on the healthcare system. It's interesting how a simple quote was able to bring up so much for me. Thanks for listening.
Tuesday, December 18, 2012
Group Therapy Post # 5
It's February 21st. I have my follow up appointment with Bob, the therapist at the Psychiatry clinic. I am sitting in the waiting room, waiting of course. I hate sitting in the waiting room, so awkward. I like to look at everyone in the waiting room and think about why they are here. I like to assume they are worse off than me, it temporarily makes me feel better, temporally numbs the pain. TEMPORARILY. Bob appears from around the corner, calls my name and says "come with me."
I stand up from the uncomfortable chair and follow him to his office. I take a seat and he closes the door. He asks me how I am doing. I respond with "meh, still feeling crappy. He says to me unfortunately that is to be expected, it can take some time for the increase in Zoloft to take effect. He asks me if I am having any side effects from the Zoloft. I tell him, this will sound weird but my brain feels fuzzy and tingly. It's like I can feel the changes taking effect in my brain. He says hmmm I've never heard that before, if it's causing you any issues we can change your medication. I say no, no issues, just feels weird.
He then asks me what my childhood was like. I tell him, my mom and dad fought a lot. He asks me to tell him a time I remember them fighting. I tell him when I was 7, I was in my room trying to sleep and my mom and dad were fighting. I could hear my dad threatening to kill himself and my mom yelling to my sister to hide the knives. Eventually the SWAT team showed up, after my sister called the cops. Rod looks shocked and says that must have been scary. I respond with yeah I guess, shit happens, you deal with it. He asks me what I want to work on in therapy. I stare at him with a deer in the headlights look. After an awkward silence, I say I just want to be happy. I want to stop feeling depressed and hopeless. I want stop doing destructive things. He asks me what destructive things I do. I say um, well for one spending money I don't have. I let him know that I ruined my credit. I tell him I racked up my credit cards and student line of credit. He asks me how that happened. I tell him when I got laid off from work, I was really depressed and unhappy with life. I found a new job right away, hated it and quit after a month. I used my severance pay to support myself when I wasn't working, and also used it to buy myself a computer and take a trip to California. By the time I found a job I was behind on my credit cards and was unable to get caught up. I tried to make payment arrangements but the companies wouldn't help me. Eventually I met with a bankruptcy trustee and she told me I couldn't afford to file for bankruptcy, that my only option was to hope they don't take me to court and garnish my wages. He says wow that must have been a difficult time, I say it was.
He asks me what else I do that is destructive. I know what I want to tell him, but I am embarrased to talk about it. I know I need to be honest to get the best help possible. I sit there silent, trying to talk, Rod sits there patiently, waiting for me. I finally say, well, I do tend to, um turn to sex when I am depressed or stressed out. He says in a calm and professional manner "you tend to be promiscuous?" That's how he phrased it last time we met. I don't know why I am so embarrassed to talk about it this time. Probably because he will want to go more in detail. I respond yes. I say that's what led to me getting HIV. He asks me "have your ever had a long term committed relationship?" I respond with no, I have never had a romantic relationship. He looks at me, he is trying to keep his face looking neutral but I see the sadness in his eyes for me and says "would you ever want one?" I respond with yes, I do, but I'm scared, I'm broken. I feel sad after I say that, I hold back my tears.
Our time is up and he sets up another appointment for next week. I walk out of the room, down the hallway and out the doors of the Psychiatry department. I take a deep breath and head to my car in the parkade. I open my car door, I sit down, put my hands on the steering wheel and stare out the window. I think to myself, Jesus I'm fucked up. I go home and go to sleep.
I stand up from the uncomfortable chair and follow him to his office. I take a seat and he closes the door. He asks me how I am doing. I respond with "meh, still feeling crappy. He says to me unfortunately that is to be expected, it can take some time for the increase in Zoloft to take effect. He asks me if I am having any side effects from the Zoloft. I tell him, this will sound weird but my brain feels fuzzy and tingly. It's like I can feel the changes taking effect in my brain. He says hmmm I've never heard that before, if it's causing you any issues we can change your medication. I say no, no issues, just feels weird.
He then asks me what my childhood was like. I tell him, my mom and dad fought a lot. He asks me to tell him a time I remember them fighting. I tell him when I was 7, I was in my room trying to sleep and my mom and dad were fighting. I could hear my dad threatening to kill himself and my mom yelling to my sister to hide the knives. Eventually the SWAT team showed up, after my sister called the cops. Rod looks shocked and says that must have been scary. I respond with yeah I guess, shit happens, you deal with it. He asks me what I want to work on in therapy. I stare at him with a deer in the headlights look. After an awkward silence, I say I just want to be happy. I want to stop feeling depressed and hopeless. I want stop doing destructive things. He asks me what destructive things I do. I say um, well for one spending money I don't have. I let him know that I ruined my credit. I tell him I racked up my credit cards and student line of credit. He asks me how that happened. I tell him when I got laid off from work, I was really depressed and unhappy with life. I found a new job right away, hated it and quit after a month. I used my severance pay to support myself when I wasn't working, and also used it to buy myself a computer and take a trip to California. By the time I found a job I was behind on my credit cards and was unable to get caught up. I tried to make payment arrangements but the companies wouldn't help me. Eventually I met with a bankruptcy trustee and she told me I couldn't afford to file for bankruptcy, that my only option was to hope they don't take me to court and garnish my wages. He says wow that must have been a difficult time, I say it was.
He asks me what else I do that is destructive. I know what I want to tell him, but I am embarrased to talk about it. I know I need to be honest to get the best help possible. I sit there silent, trying to talk, Rod sits there patiently, waiting for me. I finally say, well, I do tend to, um turn to sex when I am depressed or stressed out. He says in a calm and professional manner "you tend to be promiscuous?" That's how he phrased it last time we met. I don't know why I am so embarrassed to talk about it this time. Probably because he will want to go more in detail. I respond yes. I say that's what led to me getting HIV. He asks me "have your ever had a long term committed relationship?" I respond with no, I have never had a romantic relationship. He looks at me, he is trying to keep his face looking neutral but I see the sadness in his eyes for me and says "would you ever want one?" I respond with yes, I do, but I'm scared, I'm broken. I feel sad after I say that, I hold back my tears.
Our time is up and he sets up another appointment for next week. I walk out of the room, down the hallway and out the doors of the Psychiatry department. I take a deep breath and head to my car in the parkade. I open my car door, I sit down, put my hands on the steering wheel and stare out the window. I think to myself, Jesus I'm fucked up. I go home and go to sleep.
Saturday, December 15, 2012
I Have HIV
I have HIV
I feel alone sad and hopeless
I have HIV
I need somebody to stand by me
I have HIV
I deserve to be happy
I want to smile
I have HIV
Please be there for me
I have HIV
I'm strong I'm brave I'm bold
I have friends and family
I have HIV
I am loved and love myself
I am happy I am healthy I am strong
I have HIV; HIV doesn't have me
Friday, December 14, 2012
I was diagnosed with.....
Asthma. This past Tuesday I had my doctor's appointment. He referred me to the Lung Clinic to have a Pulmonary Lung Functioning test. Surprisingly I got a call the very next day from the Lung Clinic, they were able to get me in for six p.m. I arrived for 6 pm and was taken to a glass chamber. It was very creepy. The technician went over the equipment and the tests we would be doing. I had to do several different types of breathing tests. After the breathing tests, I felt dizzy and very tired. I went home and slept.
The next morning I received a call from the doctor at the Lung Clinic. He started off by saying "I don't normally call, but I was just reviewing your tests results before sending them to your family doctor and your tests results are extremely concerning. Your lung function is very poor, you have very severe Asthma. I want you to see your family doctor today, to get on a puffer. I will also call your doctor to make sure you get in today." I was surprised, and thanked him for calling me so promptly. I called my doctor's office when they opened. I said "hey it's Jared calling." She replied with "hey I was just about to call you." They got me in that day, they scheduled me for 5:15 pm, fifteen minutes after they close.
I arrived at my doctor's office, the ladies working the front were super friendly and welcoming as always. I was taken too a room and my doctor showed up a few minutes later. He started off by saying "good thing we kept doing all those tests." I said "yes it is, it makes sense why I was so tired all the time." He gave me a prescription for two inhalers and I went to the Medicine Shoppe next door. Before I went to the Pharmacy I asked him could the Asthma because the weird numbness in my face and the weakness in my left arm and leg. He gave me a weird look and said "who knows, we will have to wait and see." I am assuming that is a probably not.
I love my pharmacist, he is amazing. He knows my name, remembers a lot about me. He asked me how my Vitamin D was doing, I told him after a year it is finally up to normal. He asked me why I was all of a sudden being prescribed inhalers. I told him about the fatigue and shortness of breath that I have been having since September. I told him about the breathing test and that it came back I have severe Asthma. He got the inhalers and showed me how to use them. He said you see the directions on them, I said yes, he said your not going to follow what the doctor told you. The doctor told you to take one to two puffs twice daily. I want you to take two puffs, four times daily for two weeks and then the one to two puffs twice daily. That way we can get the Asthma under control. He then wanted to update my file, to make sure everything was up to date and accurate. He printed off all the test results I've had done since August and went through them. He noticed my magnesium as on the lower side of normal, so he recommend I take a magnesium supplement. He's a great pharmacist.
I started taking the inhaler last night. I really hope it helps with the fatigue. I want my life back, I want to be able to hang out with my friends on a regular basis. I want to be able to work full time.
The next morning I received a call from the doctor at the Lung Clinic. He started off by saying "I don't normally call, but I was just reviewing your tests results before sending them to your family doctor and your tests results are extremely concerning. Your lung function is very poor, you have very severe Asthma. I want you to see your family doctor today, to get on a puffer. I will also call your doctor to make sure you get in today." I was surprised, and thanked him for calling me so promptly. I called my doctor's office when they opened. I said "hey it's Jared calling." She replied with "hey I was just about to call you." They got me in that day, they scheduled me for 5:15 pm, fifteen minutes after they close.
I arrived at my doctor's office, the ladies working the front were super friendly and welcoming as always. I was taken too a room and my doctor showed up a few minutes later. He started off by saying "good thing we kept doing all those tests." I said "yes it is, it makes sense why I was so tired all the time." He gave me a prescription for two inhalers and I went to the Medicine Shoppe next door. Before I went to the Pharmacy I asked him could the Asthma because the weird numbness in my face and the weakness in my left arm and leg. He gave me a weird look and said "who knows, we will have to wait and see." I am assuming that is a probably not.
I love my pharmacist, he is amazing. He knows my name, remembers a lot about me. He asked me how my Vitamin D was doing, I told him after a year it is finally up to normal. He asked me why I was all of a sudden being prescribed inhalers. I told him about the fatigue and shortness of breath that I have been having since September. I told him about the breathing test and that it came back I have severe Asthma. He got the inhalers and showed me how to use them. He said you see the directions on them, I said yes, he said your not going to follow what the doctor told you. The doctor told you to take one to two puffs twice daily. I want you to take two puffs, four times daily for two weeks and then the one to two puffs twice daily. That way we can get the Asthma under control. He then wanted to update my file, to make sure everything was up to date and accurate. He printed off all the test results I've had done since August and went through them. He noticed my magnesium as on the lower side of normal, so he recommend I take a magnesium supplement. He's a great pharmacist.
I started taking the inhaler last night. I really hope it helps with the fatigue. I want my life back, I want to be able to hang out with my friends on a regular basis. I want to be able to work full time.
Tuesday, December 11, 2012
Group Therapy Post # 4
I'm at my Family Doctor's office for a follow up appointment. Sitting here staring at the ugly pink walls, waiting for my name to be called. It's been a crazy couple of days. Going on Short Term Disability, going for an assessment at the Psychiatry clinic. How did my life get here? Is my life ever going to be a happy one? I'm so tired of feeling like this, sometimes I wish I wouldn't wake up.
Jared! I jump up startled, I was so deep in thought, my name being called startled me. I follow the nurse into the room and she tells me to have a seat, she closes the door behind me. I wait, and wait and wait, and wait some more. He's really going to keep me waiting this long? I am having mental health issues, you don't want to piss off the crazy person. I laugh to myself, this is how I normally deal with things, make a joke, make light of it. My doctor finally walks in, he asks me how I'm doing. Really, how am I doing? My hair is a mess, I haven't shaved, I'm doing wonderful! I respond, still feeling depressed. He asks me how my appointment at the Psychiatry clinic went. I tell him that they told me I have major depression and that they have a program called Evening Treatment Program, it's a group therapy program. He says that sounds good and that should help me. He lets me know my insurance company sent more forms over to be filled out. Of course they did. We go through the forms together and he has his staff fax them over. I say to him, oh I forgot to tell you, they increased my dosage of Zoloft from 50 mg to 100 mg, hopefully that will help me feel better in the meantime. He responds, I hope it does. I go home and sleep for several hours.
Jared! I jump up startled, I was so deep in thought, my name being called startled me. I follow the nurse into the room and she tells me to have a seat, she closes the door behind me. I wait, and wait and wait, and wait some more. He's really going to keep me waiting this long? I am having mental health issues, you don't want to piss off the crazy person. I laugh to myself, this is how I normally deal with things, make a joke, make light of it. My doctor finally walks in, he asks me how I'm doing. Really, how am I doing? My hair is a mess, I haven't shaved, I'm doing wonderful! I respond, still feeling depressed. He asks me how my appointment at the Psychiatry clinic went. I tell him that they told me I have major depression and that they have a program called Evening Treatment Program, it's a group therapy program. He says that sounds good and that should help me. He lets me know my insurance company sent more forms over to be filled out. Of course they did. We go through the forms together and he has his staff fax them over. I say to him, oh I forgot to tell you, they increased my dosage of Zoloft from 50 mg to 100 mg, hopefully that will help me feel better in the meantime. He responds, I hope it does. I go home and sleep for several hours.
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