Aneurism

It has been difficult to post the past week, because Mr. Pill- Popper has been home sick. I believe he went into work a day and a half last week, and then spent the rest here at home.  On the half day, he called me to come get him, and then yelled at me when it took me an hour to get there. I told him I had gotten sick and thrown up, and had to get cleaned up before coming to get him, to which he finally apologized.

He started this new job two weeks ago, and it seems as if he has spent half of it absent. After considering it, he decided nerves were to blame for most of his illness.

Now, granted, he does have a tough job. He spends his day with the most difficult kids in three counties, who have all been sent to his school after getting kicked out of their own. But, he seems to enjoy his work.

He says the kids are a lot like he was when he was there age, and it gives him an advantage for working with them. I think the job helps him keep his head out of his ass, because it gives him someone else to focus on rather than just himself.

With the sickness has been an ongoing headache. While he is a frequent emergency room visitor (he knows most of the nurses in each ER, as well as most of the regular doctors), Mr. Pill-Popper made five trips to area ERs in seven days, with varying success. He at least tries to rotate between ERs, so they don't give him such a hard time.

Some doctors will give him a full workup, while others will just ask him what he usually takes to get him in and out.  Going to all of these different places takes time and money, and he can't always get medicine for the efforts.

Since his headache still hasn't gone away, Mr. Pill Popper first decided he wanted to go to the ER again. After thinking of it again, he decided that he didn't want to put in the time, and instead scrounged together whatever change we had here and used it to buy a pint (?) of vodka. 

Halfway through the pint, he was feeling no pain, and was in pretty good spirits. Ahh, if he could only stick with this half-pint measurement, I wouldn't be so concerned about his drinking. But no, after I mentioned that I thought he was in a good place with the drinking, he decided that I couldn't possibly be right, and proceeded to down the rest of the bottle.

Of course, that made Mr. Pill-Popper into the belligerent drunk rather than the relaxed, obnoxious drunk that is tolerable. He also decided his headache came back, and we needed to go to the ER anyway.

We had a nice case of freezing rain around this time, followed by a good dusting of snow. This made travel precarious, but okay if you weren't in too much of a hurry. Mr. Pill Popper was, of course, in a hurry, and would bark at me to speed up. He also said he should've drove (because, obviously, the accident he had a year ago due to a case of drunk and slippery didn't teach him anything). He fell asleep and was snoring soundly by the time we got there.

I entertained the idea of going home, but my past experience has taught me that he will eventually wake up, and he will make us get out and go again.

The doctor he saw tonight was one of those full workup kind of guys. Obviously, he must've been a new doc. He did the basic neural tests, plus a CT scan. Since Mr. Pill Popper had an aneurism around 8 years ago, he does have an area in his brain where an old aneurism has healed. It's the same site where his migraines continue to be.

While most docs don't ever see anything abnormal on the scan, this one apparently noticed some inflammation at the site of Mr. Pill Popper's old aneurism site. He still pumped him up with meds (this time 3 mg of dilauded instead of two, which sent Mr. Pill Popper into a short "chemical induced coma" , according to the nurses), and sent us home. 

This new information, though, worries me.

Doctor's visits

Last night, we went to the emergency room again for more pills.

ER visits are de regeur for the pill-popping lifestyle, as it is hard to get steady doctors to continue to prescribe the things in the quantities necessary to keep up his habit. Nowadays, he will mostly go on his own, but he will drag my daughter and I along when he can. These visits embarass me, because it makes me feel like I am profiled right along with him as a drug seeker.  He usually wants us to go into the room with him, even if I hate that.

Nowadays, most of the docs who prescribe the pills know him as well, and no longer give him a hard time. In the early days, they were constantly berating him. They would give him the "drugs are bad" spiel and the "you may be addicted" cajoling, to which he would reply with the fact that he used to be on harder drugs, he's had migraines since he was 13, and he can't seem to get any regular doc to listen to him.  Now they just say "i've seen you before" "what do you usually get" and "do you need a script until you see your regular doc?" Apparently, the berating at the beginning is just to weed out drug seekers, and if he gets past that, he must really need them.

I can't say that he doesn't need them. There was a time when he was off meds that he did get migraines periodically. I just know that he uses excessive amounts of the meds, and he uses them when he's not really hurting, but when he thinks he may be hurting at some point in the future.

The overdose from last week did start him thinking about his drug use. He said he's been more conscious of how many he takes. He still blew through his last script in around a week.

While we were in the ER room last night, he wondered out loud if he took too many pills because he thinks he's supposed to have the same sensation as if he's getting a shot of dilaudid or other opiate painkiller, instead of just the pain-free feeling. He suggested discussing that with a regular doctor when he can use his insurance to get an appointment. I told him I thought it would be a good idea.

He also needs to think about giving the meds time to work. Another reason the meds don't work i n the prescribed amount is he's used to biting them, so they'll release into his system sooner. The problem with that is they rush through his system, then leave just as quickly, requiring even more of the meds. He's just so scared of feeling a little pain that these ideas of managing his own pain better don't get past the thought stage. He would rather do what he's doing, even if it's hard on his system, rather than suffer through a bit of pain to find a better balance and a lack of addiction.

He also tends to use less medicine when he's busy. If he has something to keep his mind off the meds, he can go longer without using them. We have things he could do around here, but nothing is enjoyable enough (or economical enough) for him to do regularly as a replacement for the bulk of the meds. I can't think of anything for him to do short of knitting himself a sweater that could be mind-consuming enough for him.

I understand the fear, but I also know he has gotten past it and gone drug-free before, and he can do it again. It just takes some attitude adjustment.

Thankfulness

Even though I have been married to my guy since Halloween, I have avoided getting my last name changed to his. My dad recently joked changing my name will "make it that much more complicated when the divorce comes through."

No, we're not getting a divorce, but I wasn't even that thrilled on getting married. I was pretty happy with the living in sin arrangement, because it meant that I could still leave if my guy failed to kick his addictions. There have been times when he refused to kick any addiction, because he felt like I was trying to make him more like me. Usually, he would say these things when he was already quite drunk, and wouldn't remember it in the morning.

But, after plenty of brow-beating, he talked me into getting a quickie wedding at the courthouse, with my daughter and my parents as witnessess to the event. In the few wedding pictures that exist of that morning, I look pretty damn depressed. Apparently, it was pretty obvious to everyone except my guy, because my parents kept asking me if I was feeling okay. I didn't have a full on crying session until a few days later.

Now, of course, I've gotten used to the idea of being married to this man. I'm pretty much stuck with him. If I didn't feel like he needed me (or someone like me) so much, I probably would have left by now. But, he has kept himself just clean enough for me to stay, thinking that he'll eventually get it all straight.

In any case, I have resisted the whole name change thing, until yesterday. I have gotten a part-time gig through my aunt, who instructed me to get my name changed before going  on the payroll. 

Before going to the local Social Security office to make the change, I stopped at the post office to get our mail from the box there. While we do have a mailbox at our house, I do still have a box at the post office, from when my daughter and I were technically homeless.

In the parking lot at the Social Security office, I made a quick perusal of the mail we had received. I found among the bills a Christmas card. It was addressed to me by my maiden name (with my first name misspelled), and addressed simply with the main road here and town.

I opened it to find two twenty dollar bills and a ten, with the message "Hope that you can Rejoice in the birth of Jesus Christ this Holiday Season." It was signed, "A Friend in Christ! Merry Christmas."

I nearly cried sitting there. Who could have been so generous? I remained teary while waiting to submit my paperwork for the name change, and pondered what I should do with the money. I decided that, since we have all of our basics paid for, and enough food and some gas in our car, I should see if I could get our Internet turned back on. I figured the charge would be more than I had, but I hoped the company would take most of the bill and let us pay the rest on the next bill.

Of course, the two ladies in the receptionist/"customer service"/billing department told me they could've accepted a partial payment before we were shut off, but would need the full $70 to get us turned back on. I nearly left, but decided to check my purse anyway, knowing that I had the $50, plus $10 from a merchandise return and plenty of change.

When I pulled out the wad of money from the card, I was surprised to find a $50 bill hidden under the other money. I literally hopped and let out a short, "woohoo!" when I discovered it. I paid up the Internet bill and left for Wal-mart. I used the rest of the money to give us more in our gas tank and buy enough groceries to get us to my guy's next payday on the 21st.

I still don't know who sent us the money, but I do believe in miracles and in the kindness of others. Thanks,  God.

Disconnection

Our rinky-dink local cable company (which appeared to be one guy running thirty five satellite tuner boxes off of two satellites for everyone connected to watch) turned off its transmissions New Year's Eve.

We were doing okay watching Hulu and (legally, through a service) downloaded movies/programs until our broadband wireless internet provider shut us off for non-payment. So now, we're down to watching the two channels we can get through a small indoor antenna and whatever DVDs we can scrounge up. I have returned to hanging out at my parents' house all day to use their internet for job-hunting/surfing until we can get our internet paid in two weeks. Maybe then we can get a better antenna, too.

Oh, and Mr. Pill popper overdosed himself yesterday. Thankfully, it was a mild overdose, and we didn't have to seek treatment. Apparently, he had forgotten that he had taken a megadose (4-6 pills, depending on the severity of the pain) around 4 a.m. when he decided to take another megadose at 8 a.m. I was just dozing off for a morning nap when he said he didn't feel right.
"You just need some sleep," I told him, knowing he had been up all night watching America's Test Kitchen episodes with me. I had only lasted half the night, and had gotten back up to see my daughter and two of my nephews off to school.

He said that he felt like he was having trouble breathing, and that he had to work to take full breaths. "I think I overdosed myself," he said, and explained what he had done. I asked him if he wanted to go to the emergency room, and he said he didn't.He probably didn't want them to have a record of him taking too many pills, for fear that they won't give him a prescription or a shot the next time he's there.

In my time with him, I have seen him get overdosed at the emergency room three times, and I have seen him give himself too many pills twice. He was still sounding okay, and only seemed slightly groggy with a very minor drunken sound to his voice. I figured it couldn't be too bad if he was still staying conscious, and I dozed off for a while. In the meantime, he stayed awake, eating whatever chocolate/candy/easy-to-prepare food he could, in an effort to offset the concentration of tramadol in his system. By early afternoon, he said he was feeling normal again.

My mom stopped in to give us gas money so he could go to his addiction treatment meeting, but he said he had just started feeling normal again, and decided to (once again) miss it. I think he's decided he's not going at all, and will try to continue being alcohol free on his own. I have a feeling he's afraid they will try making him get off the pills and the booze, and he's not ready for that.

He took another megadose around 6 p.m., but limited himself to 4 pills this time.

Addictions

My new year's resolution was to blog more, so here it goes...

I wanted to make a resolution to blog every day, but most of the things I want to blog about deal with my husband, and it's hard to blog about him when he's looking over my shoulder. It's not that the things I say here would be any different than the things that I say to him. It's just hard to type freely when whatever I post could begin another discussion/fight. But anyway...

My guy is a drug addict. According to his recollection, he has been treated with some type of opiate since developing migraines after a nasty fall when he was 13. He claims to have tried other medications, but none have worked as well as an opiate. 

What complicates matters is that my guy believes he knows what's better for him than any doctor does. He takes more than the recommended dosage, because he insists he has a high tolerance to opiates, and needs more than doctors prescribe.

When we first met in person, around two years ago, he was using oxycontin. He could get it regularly from his doctor back in New Hampshire, but had trouble finding a doctor here who would prescribe it to him. He ended up becoming a regular in the emergency rooms around Chicago in an effort to continue receiving the stuff. When he couldn't get Oxy, he would settle for Vicodin. Not a great trade, but at least vicodin was cheaper. 

The constant cost of paying for doctors' visits and medicine has kept us in the poor house for two years. We can afford things, but we constantly have to borrow money his mom and my parents to make ends meet. This is a constant source of shame for me, as I worked hard to establish my financial independence as a single mother living in the Chicago area. After he arrived, we could no longer afford the Chicago lifestyle, and moved back downstate, to my hometown.

In addition to being hooked on opiates, my guy has also had an addiction to alcohol. As the warnings on the pill labels suggest, pills and booze don't mix. In the early days of our relationship, the combination made for some comically scary hallucinations for him. Once, he attempted to open up the wall in my bedroom, insisting that there were some sort sliding doors there. At another point, I woke to find a trail of shredded cheddar cheese from the refrigerator in the kitchen to the couch, where he had passed out with the package opened at both ends. 

Of the two habits, booze has been much more destructive. We have had many more problems come from his drunkeness than we've had from the pills. Last year, he wrecked our car at the end of a country road. Someone brought him back to our house, so I took the blame for the accident, even if it left him with a concussion. He has never hit me, but he scared me so badly that I left him for a few months. He promised to clean up, so we got back together.

The "cleaned up" only lasted a few months. The last time he had some booze, he attempted to piss on the front door. The time before that, he broke out one of the panes in our front door and pushed me over a chair. 

While both are a strain on our limited finances, the pills are a bigger strain. Most of the time, he goes through the rigmarole of visiting the local emergency rooms, where the nurses know him on a first-name basis. He has found a few doctors sympathetic to his needs and enough doctor rotation that he can usually get what he wants. He has also switched down to tramadol pills, but takes them in enough quantity and at a regular enough rate to still need more than one doctor to fill his needs. When he does go to a doctor, it take another $50 to $100 out of our small budget.

We have had many, many fights over his habits. He agrees that the addictions aren't doing anyone good, and has decided that he would rather have my daughter and me in his life instead of booze.

He has successfully beaten pills or alcohol singly, but has never been able to conquer both.  He has currently been alcohol free for around a week, but still insists he needs the pills for the migraines.

Hopefully, if I can spill my guts to this blog, I can organize my thoughts enough to tell him the right things when talks of addiction come up. Wish me luck.