Zyprexa Story Time
Tonight, I have to power through Zyprexa 10 mg instead of Ativan 0.5 mg because the bottle looked similar in the dark. The one time, failed in the ER with severe neuroleptic symptoms that were so severe I don’t remember any of it or coming home, medication is swirling in me.
I feel the need to rip out IV’s not there and scream about how I said this would happen. I can’t really tolerate Compazine so this is hell I control here for peace alone.
I woke the next day of my last ER hellscape like it was a dream. A horrific, life changing dream. Imagine working up the nerve for an immediate therapy session for you and then throwing your spouse on with that one and another one to ensure all aspects of support are covered just to GO to the ER like her PCP said.
I just took the med that failed my last ER trip where I would have only been able to get a CT of the head. I don’t remember the scan and I’m claustrophobic as heck.
Tonight I took that med and the Ativan 0.5 mg my kind attending at Union Hospital prescribed for me and send a script for. She did it with the instructions never to touch the Zyprexa again. Doing so was my error, but here I am.
I decided to focus the side effects of Zyprexa with 50 mg Diphenhydramine and Ativan and push through the spasms and EPS since my airways are find and the chest spasms are more lateral than midline.
I organized my meds and documentation critical to me into the beautiful secretary my grandmother sat at. She would be proud. My organizational skills supersede most people I know.
When my daughter is anxious, she loses execution function so I’m organizing ways she and my support system (if we find one) can better assist me when my breathing changes from pain. As a nurse who was so organized in her med systems that other nurses eventually had to train with her, I’m good here.
God prepared me for this role as organized, sick person; person who can no longer type well on her phone and her manic typos take forever
When I’m anxious,” I need a job to do. Yesterday I was panicking and my daughter came up to me and held my face in her hands.
She said, “Mom. Mom, I have a job for you to do.”
I said “I can’t.”
“Mom, close your eyes. This job needs you to find the charger to my phone. In the drawer in the living room, where is that charger?”
“It’s in the green elongated Tupperware container I made because I loved that Home Edit show, but Joanna Gaines is better.” (I got them both at Target so my brain went to my happy place ♥️😆)
“Thanks!”
I snapped out almost immediately.
My daughter is amazing. My BP before was 233/166 at times that day so she saved her mom’s life. I’ll never disbelieve that. She probably has many times. She is my manic peace.
In her storm, I try to blaze through my meltdown and pivot to mom role. The mom mask is one that rarely slips off so I can assist her. I am sometimes the hole in the side of her Titanic. (Stupid Jack could have fit on the door, Rose!)
Thanks for reading this and sharing my story and maybe my GFM.
***If you know a specialist in diagnostic medicine send this to them. We need assistance***
I am experiencing compartment syndrome. I need assistance now!
Queen Buttercup Speaks 