i cannot tolerate the taste of coffee.
i keep forgetting to take the rest of my medications.
i drop things. incessantly. it's about to drive moi crazy.
i cannot keep up my end of conversations.
suddenly, two out of three felines are afflicted with the dread klingon dirty butt syndrome (dkdbs).
more cow bell!
oh, didn't i tell youse guys? i love christopher walken.
doesn't ANYONE (beyond her grandparents and uncle) remember caylee marie anthony?
i'm sorry but arpad don't-make-me-say-"corroborate" vass wasn't in the least bit "sympathetic" as a witness!
i lost my sympathy the first time i heard his simpering giggle.
and if they make the jury sniff "dead air"? uh-huh, it's all over. (the jury is gonna resent the heck out of that!)
how is it that i went roughly 7 hours almost withdrawal symptom free, then got hit with the godawful leg seizures in the eighth hour? whywhywhy?
buddy the kitten has been seeking reassurance of our love today --
he has been repeatedly shooed away when we are enjoying The Dobster
and apparently, he is shaken to his kitten core by that.
i am the very definition of "bloated."
that's about all that's fit to note.
oh, and my vision is permanently blurry.
also -- i mopped the entire manor this morning (and you know how big marlinspike hall is!) (i did it during the above-referenced 7 hours.)
and when i say "bloated," i mean BLOATED.
Welcome to Marlinspike Hall, ancestral home of the Haddock Clan, the creation of Belgian cartoonist Hergé. Some Manor-keeping notes: Navigation is on the right, with an explanation of the blog's fictional basis. HINT: Please read the column labelled "ABOUT THIS BLOG." Enjoy the most recent posts or browse posts by posting date in the Archives. Search the blog for scintillating, obscure topics. Enjoy your stay! There are some fuzzy slippers over there somewhere, too.
Showing posts with label methadone taper. Show all posts
Showing posts with label methadone taper. Show all posts
Monday, June 6, 2011
Saturday, June 4, 2011
The Jump Off
Well, this methadone addict "jumped off" last night at precisely 6:30 PM. I'm not at the 24 hour mark yet, 2 more of those hours remain. You wanna hear something crazy? I've now started the "jump off" for Percocet -- retroactive to 5 AM today. I'm about at the 12 hour mark for that bit of lunacy.
The 30 hour mark for methadone is notorious for its difficulty, so tonight at just half past midnight is when the toughest times are anticipated to *begin*. Is that scaring me? Yes. Do I think I will emerge victorious in my battle against the Demon Opiates? Yes, indeed. Else I would not have "jumped off" to begin with. According to the written schedule I drew up over a week ago, I was so scared as to give each new level of methadone dosage FIVE days... Yet I decided last night to give the 10 mg level short shrift and only ONE day of experience.
My hands are twitching so much that I may actually have to run spellcheck.
We won't discuss my legs except to say that were my feet able to stand the feel of shoes, balletic toe shoes (size 15) might just slip right on. My toes seem to fusing...
And my knees are somehow imploding, bending backward.
And, yep, I am testing those knees every time the half-bath -- just 15 feet away -- calls.
And, yep, Fred is up to speed and greatly encouraging. I believe that my earlier read on The Fredster was Demon-Driven. Was I setting him and myself up as the excuse of my failure? I damned well think I was. But no more. Let's just say that I remembered, just in time, that Fred was raised on cowboy movies and cowboy philosophy, and that he cannot be envisioned in anything but a white hat.
Possibly the weirdest symptom of this withdrawal is how COLD I feel.
COLD in terms of temperature, You Numbnuts! I woke covered by heavy blankets, something that I just don't do. Always, I feel HOT, stifled by CRPS and its attendant pains. I even dialed down the temp for the air conditioner, again something that I just don't do.
The worst symptom is exactly the reason for which I began taking methadone to begin with, and that is PAIN. I feel every ache, every lancinating bit of neuropathic sadomasochism. It's the only thing reminding me of the despairing truth -- that I will have to find a new way to control pain if the new ketamine regime fails. The only thing I know for sure is that it will not be what the doctor there wants me on -- Prialt. I cannot see having that stuff injected into my spine, and you betcha, I am scared to death of the side effects.
[Chief among them being an apparent predilection for suicide.]
Anyway... though I've much that wants to be written -- most of it about the French Open, some of it about the recent USAmerican drone strike that killed Ilyas Kashmiri -- my focus right now is laser lit on my various time pieces.
Because this methadone addict "jumped off" last night at precisely 6:30 PM.
The 30 hour mark for methadone is notorious for its difficulty, so tonight at just half past midnight is when the toughest times are anticipated to *begin*. Is that scaring me? Yes. Do I think I will emerge victorious in my battle against the Demon Opiates? Yes, indeed. Else I would not have "jumped off" to begin with. According to the written schedule I drew up over a week ago, I was so scared as to give each new level of methadone dosage FIVE days... Yet I decided last night to give the 10 mg level short shrift and only ONE day of experience.
My hands are twitching so much that I may actually have to run spellcheck.
We won't discuss my legs except to say that were my feet able to stand the feel of shoes, balletic toe shoes (size 15) might just slip right on. My toes seem to fusing...
And my knees are somehow imploding, bending backward.
And, yep, I am testing those knees every time the half-bath -- just 15 feet away -- calls.
And, yep, Fred is up to speed and greatly encouraging. I believe that my earlier read on The Fredster was Demon-Driven. Was I setting him and myself up as the excuse of my failure? I damned well think I was. But no more. Let's just say that I remembered, just in time, that Fred was raised on cowboy movies and cowboy philosophy, and that he cannot be envisioned in anything but a white hat.
Possibly the weirdest symptom of this withdrawal is how COLD I feel.
COLD in terms of temperature, You Numbnuts! I woke covered by heavy blankets, something that I just don't do. Always, I feel HOT, stifled by CRPS and its attendant pains. I even dialed down the temp for the air conditioner, again something that I just don't do.
The worst symptom is exactly the reason for which I began taking methadone to begin with, and that is PAIN. I feel every ache, every lancinating bit of neuropathic sadomasochism. It's the only thing reminding me of the despairing truth -- that I will have to find a new way to control pain if the new ketamine regime fails. The only thing I know for sure is that it will not be what the doctor there wants me on -- Prialt. I cannot see having that stuff injected into my spine, and you betcha, I am scared to death of the side effects.
[Chief among them being an apparent predilection for suicide.]
Anyway... though I've much that wants to be written -- most of it about the French Open, some of it about the recent USAmerican drone strike that killed Ilyas Kashmiri -- my focus right now is laser lit on my various time pieces.
Because this methadone addict "jumped off" last night at precisely 6:30 PM.
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
14 Minutes
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| image courtesy of addiction search |
I'm having great dreams. My last flirtation with sleep had me at the White House in tennis togs, running up and down a lovely, wide, red-carpeted staircase, happy as a clam. The President and First Lady were scheduled to renew their wedding vows, and I was serving, of course, as a bridesmaid (a word and concept that makes me cringe). People were reputed to be lined up outside, dressed to the nines, and upset that the wedding party had spent the afternoon on the courts instead of primping -- we had delayed the festivities when our mixed doubles required a third set. So President Obama made a charming statement, promising that we'd all be downstairs and completely suitable within 14 minutes. He repeats the 14 minute reference several times and it seems to be an inside joke, as the press and all the gathered beautiful people are snickering.
What can I say? It was a dream. 14 minutes. *These* are the dream details, Dear Sigmund, that I'd love to understand!
Clearly, there is nothing profound going on between the ears. My brain is simply a little less inebriated than usual: About ten days ago, I decided to try and be off of methadone and Percocet before the next Ketamine treatments. If we are going to try and approximate the protocol used by Dr. Schwartzman, and if that's part of what he recommends, well, that's that.
From a beginning dosage of 40 mg a day, I am down to 15 mg of methadone. From a usual four pills a day of Percocet, I am down to three.
I may need to pause here for a few more days, though, and I'm thinking it looks "iffy" that I will make the deadline of "no opiates" by June 13. Why? Well, most of all, methadone has a long half life and it surely won't be completely out of my system.
And as for Percocet -- it helps too much for me to imagine not having to take it. Judicious use of Percocet and ibuprofen has saved many a day.
I will do what I can do. Any reduction is good.
In an effort to make it easier, and to control symptoms while attempting this crazy thang, I'm relying more than usual on non-addictive adjunct meds -- amitriptyline, baclofen, Cymbalta. Mostly, though, I am just trying to see the "absolute value" of taking as little narcotics as possible. A clearer head, a happier gut, and maybe, given the infamous rebound potential of these drugs, less of a certain type of pain.
I can report that I'm not having as much of the burning so much a defining element of neuropathic pain -- but that might be due to the higher dose of amitriptyline (I hate amitriptyline and won't maintain this higher dose much longer). The rest of my pain is unchanged and if you forced me to pick a number on the Pain Scale, it would be an eight, which is about as high as I ever will claim.
Let's put it this way: At my current level of pain, it sometimes takes me up to 10 or 15 minutes to just get out of the wheelchair, and I am likely to be crying by the time I am on my feet. This morning I had to go without coffee because my shoulders, arms, and hands couldn't tolerate the weight of water. I'm not suffering any delusions about having a pain free life.
There are whole communities on the internet of people trying to stop taking methadone, and after perusing the goings-on within them, I got really scared. Weeks and months, even, of withdrawal? Going through a literal hell? (Also, shouldn't I be referencing "percs" and "dones" so as to better perfect my Addict Persona?)
Among these conversants, though, there are very few who are taking methadone to treat pain. Most are part of a methadone maintenance therapy that enables them to resist the cravings for other drugs, usually heroin. It really is awful to contemplate -- to be hooked on heroin, then to be put on another drug to which one invariably becomes dependant? I get the argument -- it's cheap, it's controlled, it doesn't require a life of crime or victimhood to sustain... Still. How awful.
The constant theme is withdrawal, and at what point to consider "jumping off" and going cold turkey. It is generally agreed that it's nuts to do it above 30 milligrams. Obviously, the lower the dose at which one jumps off, the better. (And then there is the constant motif of suboxone!) If I had more time, I'd do it all by taper, but I will have to choose a jump-off dose as well, with the expectation of about a week of withdrawal symptoms, probably beginning on the fourth or fifth day.
In other words -- any day now. I have June 1 in mind. It would be lovely to be at a comfortable 10 mg a day in the next week. We'll see. Again, if I cannot do it, I won't see that as a failure, but it will mean going into the upcoming Ketamine treatments under less than ideal circumstances.
For me, this is a fairly straightforward case of diminishing returns. Higher doses of pain medications that are not terribly effective anyway make no sense. Finding the lowest, most effective dose seems logical, and along with that, testing the validity of that dose from time to time (I believe in drug holidays).
My poor brain is trying hard to keep up.
The increased sleep is helping. Who would not enjoy mixed doubles with Michelle and Barack Obama? Finally, too, I get to wear a bridesmaid dress that is not a gauzy, goopy pastel but instead is a copper-colored raw silk with a clean, clean line.
And I'll figure that 14 minutes reference out one day...
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