I get sick, sometimes a lot during a single year. I go to the doctor – eventually. Usually, I’m so sick I can barely stand up but when it comes to a sore throat I waste no time – I call the doctor immediately. Over reactive? Hypochondriac? Sometimes yes, but also chronic tonsillitis sufferer. In fact,doctors have been telling me for years that they were going to take my tonsils out if I got sick one more time that year – I never did, until this June.
When I woke up with the beginnings of a scratchy throat several days before a scheduled trip, I did what I have done for years; I got a flash light and checked out my tonsils. Red? Check. Bumpy? Check. White spots? Not yet. Call the Doctor? Check. This might seem a bit early for the doc, but I wasn’t taking any chances . I know that ignoring a sore throat can bring on some very nasty days of antibiotics and feeling crappy. So, I’ve learned to be proactive in getting treatment before I get too sick.
To the doctor I went. He agreed that something seemed to be brewing and due to my history of tonsillitis he hooked me up with a mild antibiotic. Now I have to mention here that I cannot take pills, I had gastric bypass in 2008 which left me thinner but also suffering from malabsorption. What that means is because my stomach is so small and some of my intestines have been removed most pills have no time to be absorbed into my system; therefore, I have to take liquid meds. Children’s Motrin-here I come. With meds in hand I went about the business of getting a great tan during my two week trip to the beaches of South Carolina, New Jersey, Maryland and Virginia. I took my meds and enjoyed myself though my sore throat never really went away. As the infection seeped deeper into my blood stream I found myself desperate for a daily nap. Thank goodness that naps are a given when spending your day on the beach or at the pool…all that sun and water.
By the time I returned home I was well into the habit of taking naps and sucking down anything that would deal with the throat pain – for at least a little while. I called the doctor again and was put on a new antibiotic, within days I was sicker, now spending entire days curled up in bed, desperate for relief. A new antibiotic was ordered as were blood tests, pain killers and an appointment with an Ear, Nose and Throat Doc just to get a better idea of what was going on.
I met with the ENT and after a thorough exam he proclaimed that it was time for the tonsils to finally go. I wasn’t surprised but I was a bit nervous as I’d heard that a tonsillectomy is especially painful for adults. I did consider the fact that I’d had several major surgeries; gastric bypass, a cervical discectomy (part of my neck was replaced with a cadaver bone and titanium plate) as well as a burst gallbladder; surely I could manage the removal of a couple of little tonsils. Uh huh, well my hopes were in the right place.
The first issue became the date of the surgery; I was going to have to wait almost three weeks before he could take them out. This might not have been such a big problem but the infection had rendered me exhausted. I spent most of my time in bed and when I did venture out of the house I returned diminished and in need of sleep. I began making meals between the hours of 7am and noon just so everyone else would have something to eat for dinner. This plan allowed me to take afternoon naps, wake up in time to eat and go right back to bed.
Initially, the whole sleeping away the day thing felt indulgent and relaxing but eventually it began to take on the characteristics of the sleep of the depressed. I recognized this fact pretty quickly and in the mornings when I felt the best I would try to work out, nothing too heavy but since it’s a fact that working out can stave off depression, that’s what I intended to do. Unfortunately, working out became too much within a couple of days – back to bed I went.
As the pain grew worse, my sleeping became more erratic – another bad sign for the Bipolar Chick. I became irritable as sleep deprivation took over. I started staying in bed just to spare everyone my wildly inappropriate wrath.
The eighteen days until surgery felt like months but the day finally arrived. When I woke up I was groggy and my throat hurt but the meds and anesthesia were still in effect so I was eating popsicles and moving around so that I could go home. I was doing great that first day- an illusion created by the lingering anesthesia. I kept up with my pain medications and for the first time in weeks, I spent the day hanging out with my family in our living room. The doctor had suggested that I might want to spend the first couple of nights sleeping upright, our couch has recliners so there I stayed expecting a deep sleep. It was not to be. I couldn’t get comfortable and the pain was beginning to be very uncomfortable. And then there was the swallowing. I had no idea how often I needed to swallow just to swallow…Oh Good God…this was horrible.
I couldn’t sleep for more than a couple hours at a time and when I woke up my throat would be so dry and painful that most of the time I could simply gurgle out, “ow” while JC poured my pain meds. Even though the meds liquid, taking them felt like swallowing knives. I would let them sort of just slide down my throat hoping to not have to help it get down. It hurt like hell but the meds did kick in pretty quickly allowing me to relax until I fell asleep again. My husband slept in the guest room for over a week, partially because he snores and didn’t want to keep me awake and partially because I wasn’t really sleeping and I didn’t want to keep him awake. It was not fun.
As anyone who has had a tonsillectomy knows this is one of those recoveries that actually feels worse before it gets better. I was not prepared for that. I had done so well the first couple of days despite the sleep issue that when day three arrived and I wanted to jump off a bridge to ease the pain, I was caught a bit off guard. The ENT’s nurse called and spoke with my husband. She told him yes, in fact, the pain would get worse for about a week and then start the upward battle towards feeling better. Had anyone warned me about this? I don’t think so! And thus the depression slowly began to wrap it’s icing fingers around my brain.
I was in constant pain and getting no more than a few hours of sleep at a time – it’s a recipe for disaster. Even worse, I started to forget to take my regular meds – antidepressant and mood stabilizer. My husband didn’t want to wake me to give them to me and I was too out of it to remember. (sigh). I was slipping into the nether world. I still couldn’t speak. I didn’t get out of bed and was always trying to sleep between pain meds. This seemed like the natural course of recovery and it was – but it couldn’t be for me.
I was being worn down as thoughts of suicide began murmuring empty assurances of pain relief. My therapists have told me for years that I am very self-aware so I knew what to do when this started – call my therapist, hell call anyone. Uh oh, I can’t talk!!! Now what? I didn’t have a plan for this, it had never occurred to me that I wouldn’t be able to speak clearly or without pain. I literally suffered in silence…never good.
While the depression clawed in for a long stay, I stopped taking my Bipolar medications. Further down the rabbit hole. I had worked out a plan with my husband to have him help me remember my meds but he felt bad waking me up when I slept so little so he would also forget. Just an aside here; he was trying to work from home while I was recuping and I’m sure work got the best of him on most days. Once we realized I wasn’t taking the meds we got back on track. Of course the depression that had set in refused to go quite so easily because I was still stuck in bed all day and if nothing else, that’s just boring -also never good. By day seven, I asked JC (my husband) to take me to the grocery store. I looked like hell but it was wonderful to get out of the house. We walked around – slowly, picked up easy to swallow, soft foods (yuk) and headed home and back to my bed.
Aside from the lack of sleep issue, eating was miserable. As I mentioned, I had gastric bypass almost a year and a half before the tonsillectomy; I no longer ate ice cream very often and not without some pain. Now all I was able to only eat was soft, cold food…ice cream, popsicles, jello and the like. Yes, there are sugar free versions of all of these items – that was not the problem, the lack of protein was the problem. I was stir crazy for a steak but I could barely chew, so meat was out of the question.
Food issues are one of my triggers where my Bipolar Disorder is concerned so I struggled to make peace with what I could and couldn’t eat but depression snuggled in tightly under the covers with me. As I was able to wait longer periods between pain meds and began sleeping for longer amounts of time the shroud of depression began to lift only to make room for the cabin fever that was taking over.
I needed desperately to get out of bed for more than a few minutes. I wanted to take care of myself, get what I needed when I needed it so that is what I started to do. And as lots of people do, I over exerted myself…but God it felt good. I would go outside to get the mail or take out the trash…mmmmm…sunlight. I started doing laundry again and picking up around the house. On post surgery day eleven, I had my first foray into the outdoors for more than just a few minutes – of course this was to walk around the neighborhood frantically searching for my dog, Sam, who had managed to get out while no one was watching.
I spent about an hour walking the streets, yelling (as best I could) for Sam to come home. It was many tears and several hours before we found him and I was once again beaten into the earth in pain. Off to bed, I went. On day twelve, JC had a friend coming over for football and a cookout. I had no part in the adventure but wanted to help out – hey, I was feeling better. So, help I did. I was excited to know that I could eat real food by this point and took part in some of the snacks. I also enjoyed a glass or two of wine, which promptly went to my head and sent me…where? To bed, again. I did get some sleep and felt better when I woke up – one nice part about malabsorption, alcohol doesn’t stay with you long.
On day thirteen, I awoke with a headache and dizziness…hung over? From two glasses of wine? I guess, maybe. I suffered through the day with a miserable headache and the inability to stand up without wanting to fall over. I felt like crap. As the chills crept in I checked my temperature and found that I was running a fever. My body began to ache all over and sleep was near impossible. Day fourteen proved even worse. The ear pain that the ENT had told me about had set in, the dizziness and headache were unbearable and the body aches continued to get worse. I called the doctor and after a brief conference he determined that I was dehydrated with low electrolytes. A diet of lots of fluids, especially Gator Aid, and bananas was in order. I sucked down as much as I could stand and by the next day I did feel better.
Within a few days I was ready for a trip to the store with my daughter. I jumped into her car and let her drive me to Kohl’s and the grocery store – whooo hooo. The weather was beautiful and I was excited to be out with the windows down and the radio blasting. I bought lots of food that I still wasn’t able to eat but hey, wishful thinking. I even bought a new handbag which just made me happy. The next day was spent recovering from that little outing – but one day at a time. One more day and I found myself home alone for the next four days as both my husband and daughter went out of town. Feeling much better, I hopped in my car and went for a drive…this is when the mania began to rear it’s little over spending head. I got a manicure, had a sudden desire to return to my red hair (so I colored it), then I wanted a hair cut – so I went. I even treated myself to a couple of new books and lunch at my favorite salad place. I stopped at Target and did a little more shopping – cute skirt! On and on it went until I returned home and collapsed amidst my purchases, new nails and hair. Ahhhh…sweet hypomania.
I repeated the overspending adventure the next day with a massage, lunch, a visit to my life coach and take-out for dinner. I could feel the adrenaline rush as the wind whipped through the open car windows while the music pounded. I felt better and I deserved it! The next day I was back in bed, so wiped out that I couldn’t keep my eyes open to watch tv. The headache and body pain returned as if to tell me – not so fast. I have stayed close to home since and take naps when I need them. I recognize the depression and hypomania as being triggered from the chronic pain, sleep deprivation and the sheer excitement of finally getting out of the house. It sucks when this happens but I was not surprised by the mood swings, they would have made sense for anyone without Bipolar Disorder. But I do have Bipolar Disorder which makes me more susceptible to the extreme version of these feelings. Here is where self-awareness and education becomes so important for anyone with mental illness. No matter what the chronic pain is from it has the potential to drop kick you into an episode. Honestly, I hadn’t been as prepared as I’should have been.
What would I have done differently? Talked more with the doctors about the medications, the level of pain involved and I would have helped my ENT, who is not an expert with Bipolar Disorder, understand the unique problems facing someone in my situation. I would have worked out a plan with my husband to make sure I took my regular medications on time. I would have ventured out of bed more often, even just for a few minutes just to ward off some of the cabin fever. Woulda, Coulda, Shoula…Live and Learn.
So take care and stay healthy and make a game plan just in case you find yourself in my shoes.
Recent Comments