Can you say Law Suit?

Yep.  I'm suing.  I'm looking for the most aggressive, take no prisoner bad-ass attorney I can find.  It's futile to look for an attorney to sue the U of M, as it is a company town.

"The System"

I will be picking up this blog once again, telling my entire story at a later time.  First, I'd like to talk about last weekend, August 26, 2011.
I suffer from insomnia.  I also have PTSD.  I grew up in a violent, frightening atmosphere.   The trauma I have lived through would bring the Chief of Psychiatry to his knees.Yet, I survived.  I was helped along the road to recovery by my loving family, wonderful friends, a beautiful horse, and an amazing dog.  Along the path to recovery I have also encountered "The System"....to be more specific, the mental health care system in the state of Michigan.  I fell apart in my mid-30s's and was introduced to this system, at the University of Michigan Hospital...the infamous 9-C (Psych Unit).  I found caring nurses and staff members on 9-C, to whom I will be forever grateful.  I also became acquainted with Psychiatry's dark side...the Psychiatrists themselves.  I was medicated, chided and ridiculed by these men.  After several weeks, I was told I had two choices:  The State Hospital at Northville, or the Menninger Clinic in Topeka, Kansas.  I chose the clinic.  It was the best decision I ever made.  The clinics excellent staff, nurses, techs, doctors, occupational therapists, activities therapists, and my therapist made life seem worth living.  I was one of the most fortunate patients in the Trauma Unit, as my therapist was Dr. Glen O. Gabbard, one of the most famous psycho-therapists in the world.  We met twice a week for one hour over a period of six months one year, and six months in the following year.  I was given tools by the staff in the Trauma unit, and by Dr. Gabbard himself, to begin rebuilding my life.

It was not easy.  It was, in fact, the biggest challenge in my life.  I was hospitalized many times at the U of M's 9-C and other facilities in the county. I attempted suicide many times.  Slowly, I learned. I found out-patient Psychiatry and therapy to be of little value to me.  Outpatient psychiatrists prescribed drug after drug.  I felt numb and detached every day.  Years later, I managed to wean myself from these psychiatrists and their medications.  It was difficult, but I completely understood the risks. I knew I had to stand on my own two feet and recover.  At times it was a hellish nightmare, but I did not give up.

I was a life-long equestrian.  Seven years ago, I met the right horse.  While I was searching for a lively Thoroughbred, I happened across a lovely little mare..a registered American Paint.  I saw in her kind eyes a chance for redemption.  She was only four years old at the time, and quite a handful...an ex-race-horse on the Paint Circuit, her destiny was to spend the rest of her life as a brood mare.  I trailered her to a Dressage barn, where we stayed for a year.  Sunny taught me patience, and the beauty of a soft hand, and an easy touch.  We showed in Dressage for a while, but after a lifetime of show barns, I wanted to simplify our relationship. We went to other barns, but I soon tired of being involved in the barn owner's agenda, outrageous boarding fees, drama, and incompetent care.  Now we have finally found our "forever" home at a small barn in Dexter, Michigan.  At this barn, the owners were extremely knowledgeable, kind, and helpful.  True horse people.  They adopted Sunny and I, in a sense.  It felt, and still feels like family.

Now.  Back to the "System".  I had been seeing the same Psychiatrist for a number of years.  He was kindly, however, he was elderly and forgetful.  The "System" makes it very hard to find a Psychiatrist...particularly one who takes Medicare.  I was still fighting the physical effects of constant anxiety, and was given medication after medication.  None of it really worked.  I only felt peace at the barn, with my beloved mare.  

The last time I saw this Psychiatrist, I was given Ambien for sleep, Valium for Anxiety, and Imipramine as an anti-depressant.  I was most certainly less anxious, and I could finally sleep.  I would sleep so deeply, I often went sleep-walking, with no memory of it the next day.  Last Friday, according to witnesses, I was found down by Mill Creek by Sheriff's and firefighters.  The trek to this creek was one that I walked daily with my dog.  Apparently, I was barefoot and un-responsive.  I was transported by ambulance to the U of M Psych ER.  When I finally came to, I was dazed and quite confused.  Nothing looked familiar.  I was asked if I knew where I was.  I did not. (However, it should be noted that the Psych ER had been recently re-modeled, and resembled nothing I had ever seen before).  I was asked to name the President, the month, and other questions.  I answered correctly to all of these questions.  Hour upon hour I waited.  My husband was not allowed to come back and see me.  Eventually, I was told I was being "petitioned".  I repeatedly asked to view this "petition for commitment".   I was denied.  Much later, I was informed that the U of M had no beds available.  In fact, I was told there were no beds available anywhere in the county.  I was given medication, and I finally slept.  At some point, in the very early morning hours I was loaded on to another ambulance for transfer to to a facility on Gratiot, in Detroit, right in the center of the well-known "war zone".  The building was crumbling in decay.  During the admission process, after being asked many questions, I was strip-searched. I was led to a room and given a gown in which to sleep.  The mattress was thin, bumpy, and made of vinyl.  I could feel every coil in my back.  The next day, I found myself on a unit with approximately 18 men.  I was the only female.  (Some of the trauma in my background involved a gang-rape).  I was terrified.  Eventually, I met my Psychiatrist.  He showed me my petition.  It was vague and incomplete.  It had been signed by a U of M nurse.  My doctor was outraged.  He noted that I had been on Ambien (a sleeping medication) for over a year.  He told me this drug is well-known to cause sleep-walking, in which an individual would be capable of doing complicated things, while in a dream state.  He also noted that when Valium was added to the mix, the risk of this behavior intensified.  He stated out loud, with my husband present, that this was negligence.  Pure and simple negligence. I was not suicidal, and had been quite stable and happy for at least 5 years.  He also noted that I was given the same combination of medications at the U of M Psych. ER.  He simplified my meds to the safest and most basic regime.  He felt that I should NEVER have been petitioned.  Unfortunately, I had to wait in this unit to make sure the new medications did not cause me problems.  

This unit made the "One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest" set seem mild.  I was not allowed to stay in my room.  I was forced to remain in the "day room" with all of the other patients, with a TV set constantly blaring, the occasional fist fight, and loud arguments were terrifying.  I witnessed a nurse being punched in the face by a patient, and watched him slam another worker with a jug of water.  The man was tackled and dragged to the "Quiet Room."  There was only one activity daily.  One involved crayons and glitter.  The other involved readin out loud the symptoms of depression.

I was released just this Tuesday. I felt humiliated, exhausted, and quite shaky.

Yes, Ann Arbor, this is your local University of Michigan Department of Psychiatry.  This is how they "heal". 

My Life

My first day of school at Catholic Kindergarten.  I was a timid little girl, and yet entering school was not difficult for me.  I loved it.  At first.  It was taught by a team of nuns.  I watched in fascination as mothers dragged their children...sometimes kicking and screaming and/or sobbing...puzzling to me.  The nuns, matter-of-factly put all of the screamers and criers in the back row of the room.  They were tended to by one especially compassionate nun.  There were 55 students in the rather large room.   I bit my nails and listened, as the "lead" nun recited the long list of rules and behavioral expectations.  As I looked around, I noticed my surroundings...particularly the large raised stage in the back of the room, complete with heavy brown velvet curtains.  Every inch of wall space was covered with pictures of Jesus and other religious displays.  There were also the entire alphabet, complete with Phonics signs.  I already knew how to read.  I had taught myself the previous year.  This was going to be exciting.

*Please note that the upcoming posts on this blog will contain certain disturbing verbal images.  This is where it starts getting graphic*

My Life

I remember the summer of my 4th year as one of the happiest summers of my life.  My mother would drive us out to the club every day.  While I was taking my swim lesson with Chuck, my mother would watch my older brother in the junior pool, and play with my one year old sister in the wading pool.  By August I had learned a decent freestyle, and was working on my breast-stroke and butterfly.  Chuck had singled me out, and taken me under his wing.  We would eat lunch at the club, and stop by the library on the way home.  I spent long afternoons reading under the big maple tree in our backyard. Paradise.

My Life

It was a very hot, humid day in Indiana, as I walked in to the pool area in my little red swim suit.  My father had a firm grip on my hand.  The pool was huge, and I sensed a difference in my father's touch.  As we approached the lesson area, his grip became hard.  He then picked me up and hurled me into the deep water. "Time to learn how to swim, Julie!"  Luckily, the chief instructor/head lifeguard/head swim team coach grabbed me before I sank.  Words ensued between between my father and my savior (whom I would eventually call Chuck.) My father stalked off, and I took my first swim lesson.  I learned to float on my front and back within 30 minutes.  Chuck hugged me and told me that I learned very quickly for a four-year-old.  My swim career had begun.

My Life

The cold water enveloped me like a cloud as I drifted downward.  I don't remember feeling fear.  I looked up and saw the bright light of the Miami sun.  Then I saw a long arm reaching down to me..and felt a sharp tug under my arm.  This memory is as clear to me today, as if it had happened yesterday.  I did not cry.  I was four years old.  The arm belonged to my father.  This was the first and last time my father was my hero.

This is my story: from the Beginning

I have been planning on documenting my life and experiences in book form for a number of years.  In the upcoming days and weeks, I will post portions...sort of an outline of my yet to be published autobiography.  I was going to wait until my mother dies before putting anything out there about my story, but I feel I can no longer do that.  There are already too many people suffering out there who could possibly benefit from knowing that they are not alone.

Birth of a Democracy

What an amazing sight to see on the news today....the joyous faces of the Egyptian people celebrating the success of their peaceful revolution to reclaim their government.  This was a rare sight to see....History in the making on Live TV.  I hope the Egyptian people can come together and build a Democracy that represents all Egyptians.  Thrilling sight!

On Turning Sixty

I turned 60 yesterday...a more sobering birthday than most.  We sort of celebrated as I continue to struggle with Klonopin.  Tapered down to 1 mg.  As of next Monday, I will be down to nothing.  Nada.  No more Klonopin.  Will I sleep?  This is horrible.  This is horrible.  This is horrible.

A Love Letter to My Daughter

In a little more than a month, my beloved, oldest daughter, now 35, will give birth to a son.  This will be her first child, and my first grandchild.  She is blessed with good health, and the support of the love of her life...her husband.
  Both Shauna an Ian are about to begin an amazing journey...nothing will ever be the same.  I know, that I, as a young mother, pregnant with Shauna, I often felt over-whelmed by the upcoming responsibilities and challenges this new life would mean to me.  As I slowly gathered all the material things this new baby would require, I was giddy with excitement and fear.  Would the baby be healthy?  Would I be a good mother?  What if...My questions were endless.  I spent a lot of time annoying my Obstetrician with questions, both legitimate and ridiculous.
  I now spend a lot of time speaking with my daughter on the telephone, listening to her talk about her pregnancy, her fears, and her excitement.   I marvel at her maturity and wisdom.  Her grace under pressure during these uncertain times is truly amazing.  We discuss organic baby mattresses, breast-feeding, and education, diapers, and temper tantrums.  Although we live miles apart (Shauna and Ian live in Virginia, and I live in Michigan), I feel closer to my beautiful daughter than ever before.  We are about to share a common bond....motherhood. Soon she and Ian will experience the happiest moment of their lives.  Shauna faces this challenge with an uncommon dignity and intelligence.  Ian stands by her side, soothing her through her fears, attending birthing classes, and preparing himself for the days ahead.  We have discussed the joys and the sorrows, the challenges, the successes and failures that will arise as they raise their child.  I advise, as best I can, but sometimes, there are no words I can say to her to prepare her for what is to come.
  Shauna, while very different than me, and with many interests that do not always intersect with my own, has always been, in a way...my soul-mate.  I understand her quirky little ways, as she has put up with my own strange ways over the years.  We are both creative people with a love of music, dance, animals, and art.  We share the same wicked strain of humor...We share anxieties.  Whatever I expected of Shauna, as she was growing up, she has always exceeded.  An over-achiever, she is her own worst critic.  I get that.
  These are exciting times for Shauna, as a first-time mother, and for me as a first-time Nanna.   No.  Nothing will ever be the same.  But I am not worried.  The future is always uncertain, but I am confident, Shauna will be ready.  There are no words I can use to describe just how proud/happy I am of her and her achievements.  When I tell Shauna that I love her, I am sure she does not fully understand the depth of those words.  Toward the end of March, when she holds her newborn son in her arms, she will understand what those words truly mean.
  Over the years, we have had our share of successes and difficulties, happiness and regrets.  Was I a good mother?  I was never quite sure of that until now.          


 

Withdrawal from Klonopin, Day 9

I had REAL difficulty sleeping last night.   Sometimes Klonopin withdrawal can cause respiratory symptoms.  That is what's bothering me now.  We were hit with a big snowstorm last night, so...the gym is closed.  They're still digging out at the barn...not a lot of ways to distract myself.  I did go outside to play with Bree, my Malamute, and took some really nice photos of her.  I attempted to post them here, but I can't seem to find them....Don't know what's up with that.  Sometimes I think about people with chronic illnesses.   People who live with daily pain...and I feel like such a wimp.  Eventually, my body will eliminate this drug after the taper.  Those with MS, Fibromyalgia, Cancer....Their pain never goes away.  I have to remember that when all of this is really getting me down.  It has been said that true strength is in the mind.  I believe that.

Withdrawal from Klonopin, Day 8

Slept okay last night...better than I thought I would, because I remembered Klonopin has a long half-life.  It can take up to 35 hours to get out of your system.  One mg. down.  Three to go.  WTF!  Why does it have to be this PAINFUL!  Thought I'd post an old Youngloods song/circa 1969 that has always given me great comfort.

Youngbloods - Darkness, darkness

Klonopin

Just found this news alert on Klonopin

News: FDA Adds Suicide Warning to Epilepsy Drugs

... of an FDA advisory panel, stops short of slapping the strongest "black box" warning on this class of drugs, which includes widely used medications such as clonazepam (Klonopin ...

News & Articles (Drugs.com)

st found this short news alert on Klonopin:

Withdrawal from Klonopin, Day 7

The swimming I did yesterday made me tired enough to get almost 3 hours sleep last night.  Believe it or not, that is an improvement.  Bree and I spent several hours at the retirement home making others happy.  It truly lifts my spirits, when a frail, elderly gentleman asleep in his bed, jumps up when he heard Bree walk in, and called her up to sit on his bed. (He's a brave man.  Bree is a big Malamute at almost 97 pounds.  She licked his face, and he laughed in joy.   My problems disappeared.  The residents at this home love our visits, and are so appreciative and sweet.  Bree never fails to elicit a smile from everyone there, including docs and staff.  We were both exhausted when we returned home.  That is a good thing.  Tonight, I go down one more milligram in my Klonopin dosage.  This worries me.  I'm trying hard not to concentrate on my inability to sleep, by blogging, and reading.  I expect tomorrow will be somewhat of a challenge.  Unfortunately, it is down to 10 degrees tonight, and unless it gets up to at least 18, I can't ride.  As we are expecting two feet of snow tomorrow night and Wednesday, I think it is imperative for me to get out of the house...so if not the barn...the pool at the gym.  There is something about swimming...counting laps...working hard, that is almost meditative in nature.  I feel a lightness of being, and I swim hard and fast. (I swam competitively throughout my life, and was on the Varsity swim team at Indiana University/Bloomington)  I also coached swimming for more than 28 years, so it is an activity that comes as naturally to me as walking.  There is comfort in the silence and the coolness of the water...the familiar smells.  I generally have almost the whole pool to myself.  Anyway, that is my strategy for tomorrow.  If I become snowed in on Wednesday, my plan is a romp in the snow with Bree, and starting a new book:  The Tao of Equus.  In many ways, I feel responsible for allowing myself to be placed on this horrible drug.  I should have researched it first.  Now I know just how much you can trust a Psychiatrist to look out for your best interests.  However, I am DETERMINED to not allow this thing to bring me down.  I am stronger than that.  I guess sometimes it comes down to :Patient, Heal Thyself.

Withdrawal from Klonopin, Day 6

I spent an extremely uncomfortable night attempting to sleep through the nause and the pain caused by the withdrawal of this toxic masterpiece called Klonopin.  It is even painful when my own hair brushes up against my face.  I have terrible tinnitus...and a shocking sensation in my head.  When I finally decided to start my day I decided to become more active in hurrying this process along.  So.  After breakfast I backed my truck out of the garage and headed for the gym.  I swam a metric mile nonstop, and swam another half mile doing intervals and windsprints.  Exhausted, I soaked in the hot tub, and spent an hour in the steam room. I'm hoping my own personal plan of getting this crap out of my body is successful.  It has to be.  I cannot live like this.  Next week...assuming the temp is at least 18, I plan to ride my horse...personal mental therapy.  Tomorrow, though, my Malamute, Bree and I are making our weekly visit to a nursing home.  (We are a registered Therapy team.)  Sometimes making others smile makes my own personal problems seem just a little bit better.  Here's hoping I'll have a better night tonight.

Anxiety and Klonopin

After I broke my neck and suffered a severe concussion in a fall in January, 2010 I have never been the same.  Perhaps this scary brush with death or paralysis has made me anxious...about everything.  Anxiety disorders are not to be taken lightly.  My body tingles everywhere, I have bouts of irritability.  Sometimes, I am CERTAIN I am dying. I tried self-treatment.  I avoid Psychiatry like it was the plague (Actually, it IS a plague).  Desperate, one day, I made an appointment with a shrink I used to see.  My anxiety was taking over my life.  That was about 4 months ago.  He put me on 4 mg. of Klonopin twice a day.  Yep.  That's 4 mg. total.  I tried it and it worked.  I was SO relieved and happy.  Maybe there WAS something to this Psych med approach after all.  However, two weeks ago, my symptoms returned.  After considerable personal research I discovered that 4 mg. of Klonopin is a huge dose.  I also read that after a period of time, your body starts to tolerate the drug, and your symptoms return.  In doing all of this reading, I found that Klonopin (a benzodiazapene), is one of the most addictive drugs on the planet...more so than alcohol or heroin.  I read story after story of frightening stories of patients who had to detox from this drug.  The detox can take months to years!  The symptoms of Klonopin withdrawal occur no matter how slowly you taper the drug.  I called a Neurologist I know for advice.  She gave me a taper schedule.  I am on day 3 of this very gradual taper, and I feel like shit.  I'm doing my best to combat these symptoms.  I take Yoga, I exercise or swim at least every other day...and when I say swim, I mean at least a metric mile workout.  It is harder than anything I have ever had to do.  I have been visiting and riding my horse despite the cold...I've tried self-distraction, aromatherapy...but what it really comes down to is this:  I am alone in this fight.  I am alone and suffering.  I WILL tough it out.  Posting daily on this blog might help.  Who knows?

Psychiatry as Pseudoscience

I've talked about this before, ad nauseum.  I know. I KNOW.  Removed myself from Psychiatry years ago.  Basically, shrinks are just drug dealers who deal legally.  They use "medications" they do not understand, based on info provided by Big Pharma.  The new generation of neuroleptics are dangerous drugs...think tardive dyskinesia. obesity, diabetes, metabolic syndrome, DEATH, and just plain ineffectiveness.  If someone is "different" is that a pathology?  These days EVERYONE is bi-polar or Borderline.  If you feel sad, you get a happy pill...an SSRI, when NO one knows the long-term effects of this medication.  People are locked up against their will for the slimmest of reasons.  ECT, which causes brain damage is used routinely, especially with the elderly.  If you feel you need therapy...or just to talk to someone, that is not a bad idea, IF you can find someone competent.  My horse and dog are my therapists.

Thoughts of the day

Received a comment on this blog.  THANK YOU for the kind words.  Can't seem to get out to the barn this week...(serious cold weather the main factor.)  I've been thinking a lot about the anger in this country...actually thought about it long before the tragic shootings in Arizona.  I understand people's insecurities and fears with regard to the economy, joblessness, foreclosures, etc.  I just don't get why Americans feel we must attack one another, when this actually worsens our problems....which brings me to the idea of gun control.  Who should be allowed to own weapons.  On what criteria do we base this decision.  The "mentally ill" should not be allowed to acquire weapons?  Who would that be?...the anxious...the depressed...bipolar, borderline...those who have been treated for mental illness for any reason?...We come perilously close to treading on the 2nd amendment rights of millions of citizens.  Having said that...we do need to ban assault weapons of any kind.  I'm not a gun fanatic.  I never have, and never will own a gun....don't like hunters, either....but then.  That's just me.