About Me: Female, 42, brisbane, Australia, member since Mar 2011
Smart, funny, sometimes silly, playful, always kind, compassionate, caring toward others. A mother, a lover, a bit quirky, bisexual, prone to being a little manic sometimes, though not qualifying as bipolar. I would guess I have borderline personality disorder to some
[More] degree. Generally have been in good health all my life until my son was born a decade ago.Then experienced a number of symptoms which eventually led to a diagnosis of fibromyalgia. Encountered a 'bad doctor' with a hidden agenda, who kept me well prescribed with strong painkillers that came with a particularly nasty side effect: Addiction! As my tolerance grew, so too did my dosages, until eventually risk far outweighed benefit in this doctor's unorthodox treatment protocol. As I said. Doc had agenda. In a nutshell it suited him to have me dependent on him for the meds I not only needed to stay pain-free, but would now become extremely ill without. Hard to get medications, at doses other doctors would be shocked by, and would never consent to authorizing. Rock & hardplace for me. Eventually the doctor realised he was risking his career and could get caught for malpractice. He wrote me a few scripts and then went on an overseas holiday, leaving me to an uncertain demise. A week later I overdosed. Still not sure if I wanted to die, or if it just seemed like a really good idea at the time. I had, by then, graduated to pethidine - a strong hospital-only narcotic. It messed with my head and made me act very strangely, erratic. I was unpredictable at best, downright dangerous at worst, and came close many, many times to death.
Eventually I landed in a heap in the psychiatric department of a public hospital, which felt like a surreal mix of hospital/prison/hell. I was sexually assaulted in the shower by a male patient. I was stripped of all remaining dignity, I was deprived of coffee (a drug!) and sometimes food. But most especially my children. The very reason I had not saught help sooner was that my exhusband would have a strong case if he applied for sole custody of our children. Now he had that. I lost my children. It precipitated a period of what felt very much like madness. Don't know what the definition of a 'nervous breakdown' is, but I know I must've had one.
I told on the doctor, but as he had warned me "don't ever bother going to the police, nobody will believe you. I'm respected in this town. It would be my word against the word of a junkie. "But you WROTE me those scripts!!" "I have no idea what you're talking about, but I did have a prescription pad stolen a while ago.. we don't need to involve the police if you promise not to do it again!. *******.
I chose to tell the police anyway, and under florescent lighting they grilled me. I told ALL. I showed photos that proved something wasn't right. Should a patient be in lingerie at a doctor's house?
Oddly enough nothing happened. Nothing at all. I told them where to find his house key and urged them to hurry before he returned from Italy. Later on I had a chance to sneak a look at my hospital chart, and I saw NO MENTION of any of this. None but for a scribbled notation from a nurse observation "Pt. is delusional, believes Dr. was obsessed with her!!" Gone were the photographic evidence, my anecdotal evidence, in detailed recall of everything I knew to be true. Gone.
When I was released I was put on the methadone programme to help with both the terrible withdrawals, and to control my fibromylgia pain. It's a love hate relationship I have with this medication. The stigma *****. The loss of my spontaneous lifetime *****. As does the not insignificant weight gain. Up 16 kilos from 60 to 76 kilos, hard to take for a vain creature like myself.
Rather not talk about the years without my daughters. Things have improved with the passing of time, but the scars will always be there. The children have suffered terribly, and been horribly marked by this
But the only thing that matters now is the present and the future. The past is gone.
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