Bad Chemistry in Planting Trees

I’m on three medications now. One for anxiety/depression, one for OCD, and one for restless leg syndrome. Those would be prozac/fluoxitine, laMICtal/lamotrigine, and mirapex/pramipexole. The last in the list was an ordeal to get and, frankly, I would rather never use that sleep clinic again, as they act suspiciously like they never wanted to see me either.

The short of it, without the drama, is that I was prescribed pramipexole April 22nd and finally got it called in last week, thanks to a pharmacist getting fed up with the clinic and giving them a call on my behalf. (I had called three times the same day and got rushed off the phone.)

No, no, I said without the drama, sorry.

I’ve been on it almost a week. All I’ve been told about it, to my knowledge, is to take it 30mins to 2 hours before bed. That’s… it. Paranoid, I dug around the net to make sure there wouldn’t be a reaction with my other two medicines (because lamotrigine is a strange beast of a med and far trickier than any I’ve taken before.) Coast looked clear. I mentally filed the pram in the same folder as fluoxitine–as a medicine that probably has a small reaction with alcohol but as long as I’m not an alcoholic, nothing else in my life should interact with it.

WELL, let me TELL you!

Until two days ago, I had gotten a little nauseous every night I had taken the medicine. It was enough to wake me up and acknowledge it, but it didn’t keep me up. I had stolen away the small bathroom trashcan to my side of the bed to cover my ass in case it got worse. Two days ago, someone finally asked where it was, and I explained it, saying I should probably put it back now, as it was seeming to get better. That was right as we were leaving for work, so it got left there. I had this nagging suspicion (here comes the magical thinking) that the night I moved it would be the night I would need it.

Later that night, when we got home from work, we had game night with a friend. I poured a pepsi and put the slightest trace of jager in the cup (freaky, I know.) Anyway, it took a few hours to finish the game and then another hour for me to go to bed. I don’t even remember at which point I took my medicine. All seemed fine.

Until 5.00-6.00. I woke to something worse than nausea. My entire abdominal area was this pit of cold tingling fire. It halfway took my breath away. I stared wide eyed at the wall for a minute, going “jear desus this isn’t going to be fun,” then felt the same raging cold burn higher up, under where the collar bones come together. I shot up and grabbed that trash can. I had the absolute worst vomit session of my life. My whole body was cold as hell and the cramping was unbearable. Usually, I can “throw up responsibly,” keeping my volume noise down. No, that night, it was all gagging, vocal retching, and forcing out deep air bubbles from my gut. My SO had woke and held my hair back but was retching through osmosis. I had eaten cheap chocolate before bed, too, so naturally, every time I thought it was over, the strong smell of sweet chocolate would hit me from the trash can and I’d be at it again.

I finally was able to set it to the side and lay back, panting. My body made it abruptly clear that I was going to have to hit the bathroom, too, and it was almost so urgent and sudden that I considered grabbing the trash can instead.

Actually though, that half of the event wasn’t so bad. There was no cramping, everything passed easily enough. I was a bit nauseous, but I’ve had far worse food poisoning incidents, frankly. I must have had a sensitive nerve or something, or the medicine was collapsing and letting out all of the restless leg syndrome it had been holding back, because my legs were VIOLENTLY shaking–like I was kicking a double bass drum kit to Through the Fire and the Flames.

That’s enough of the TMI.

I was able to lay back down after that, after forcing my miserable ass to brush my teeth. My SO had made me a soda and prepared a cold rag to lay on my forehead/eyes. Did I mention he’s the absolute best? He’s amazing. I managed through the last day of my work week yesterday despite feeling waves of post nausea, and after work, I did more internet digging.

I found this in, like, five seconds flat.

Wow, you don’t fucking say? Thanks for clarifying that. God forbid the doctor or head pharmacist warn me about it.

Ok. I’m a bit pissed. In both of their defenses: the doctor might have given me the general “if you only drink on rare occasions, you should be fine” warning, but it’s been so damn long since the visit that I don’t remember, and the pharmacist may have forgotten when telling me the side effects more specific to the medicine’s effects (we’re not perfect) and I owe that pharmacy for making the call that I couldn’t get through.

Still.

Sobriety, here I come. I only drank during board games, for the most part. I’m getting rid of any alcohol that I can’t pawn off on other family members here (my taste is so far removed from theirs, I could make a whole entry on their reactions to my drinks) and I’m going to get into making mocktails for game night as a comedic nod to my new alcohol allergy.

I’m kind of excited. OCD is about order and control, and there’s nothing I love more than self discipline and a dietary restriction. This one has me excited because, unlike veganism, if I slip up or fail, I’m going to have the ungodly coldest fires from hell in my body as consequence. /cracksknuckles Bring it on. I don’t need alcohol. Fuck your fun juice.

On an entirely separate note… I just got a text saying my psychiatry appointment is at 9.30 tomorrow, and I also have a therapy appointment at 14.00, I think. I have a feeling this is going to ruin my SO’s day off.

/heavysigh

Last updated July 22, 2019