O ... what now?!

This weekend has been a nightmare.

I received the prescription for my infection(S)  -  'Ciproxin'  - from my surgeon in London. As we live an hour away, it is more useful for us to pick up the prescription from our local pharmacy; so I sent the prescription over, via email to the pharmacy and called them to let them know - that was a laugh: 

Me: Hi there, (my name is.. address.. you get the picture)  I've sent over a prescription from my private consultant, I wondered if you could process it please? 

Pharmacist assistant: we cant process it without the hard copy.

Me: no problem - I'll get that sent over to you - are you still able to process it? 

Pharmacist assistant: yes - but I need the hard copy.

Me: I'll talk to my consultant's assistant to get that sent over - so you are able to process it now or will I have to wait? 

Pharmacist assistant: where is the hard copy? 

Me: well, currently in Harley Street - but they can post it over to you. 

Pharmacist assistant: Hold on please .... 

........

Pharmacist assistant: So where is the hard copy exactly? 

Me: In Harley street - exact location unknown.. on a desk somewhere perhaps? (I don't have psychic abilities.. give me my drugs.. my body is infected!).

Pharmacist assistant: Well we need the hard copy.

Me: I know! you said! I can get it sent over to you - will that suffice? you haven't confirmed! Will I get the prescription or do I need to wait until you have the hard copy? 

Pharmacist assistant: Hold on........

....... (meanwhile I'm tearing my hair out) 

Pharmacist assistant: So do you have the hard copy?

ARE. YOU. JOKING? (Am I being recorded?!) 

Me: No. I don't. It's in Harley street; on a desk, In someone's hand, in a file - I don't know where exactly! but I will get it sent over OR I can email it to the local GP and he can sign it off.

 

Pharmacist assistant (who is close to receiving a strong complaint): yes that would work, then you could also send the hard copy.

Me: GREAT! I'll do that - can I pick them up soon? 

Pharmacist assistant: yes of course - you can pick them up today! 

(as if that was obvious) 

So after all that it was agreed I would collect them from there. 

My husband popped down to our local pharmacy to collect them early yesterday morning and the instructions were to take two straight away - being so exhausted, I just opened the box and took them. Within an hour I felt incredibly unwell; shaky, weak, cold and very nauseous - thinking it was just the side effects of the antibiotic, I went to bed. Suddenly I had to run to the bathroom as I was violently sick from the tablets - I felt so unwell on top of all the pain I was in; my stomach had ballooned due to bloating from the urine infection and I had a circle of pain around my hips from the pain on both sides. 

I then looked at the box of antibiotics and realised they were ' Doxycycline' - I researched if they were the same medication and when I realised they wasn't, I called the pharmacy to explain and ask why I had the wrong antibiotic. It turns out  - when I sent the prescription from my surgeon and the local GP signed it off,  he prescribed the wrong antibiotic. The gentleman at the pharmacy told me to 'stop taking the doxycycline NOW' and that my correctly prescribed Ciproxin would now be ready to collect. 

(Moral of the story; check your drugs before you take them - I'm sure that should be a universal rule, even if you're taking illegal drugs). 

I now have the correct antibiotic, but due to the effects of the doxycycline, I spent the whole of Saturday in bed; feeling weak and exhausted from the vomiting but also cuddling my poor bloated stomach and wincing through the pain of my coccygectomy - I was too scared to take my strong painkiller's after that - I couldn't bear the thought of feeling slightly high and dizzy from the medication. I craved the feeling of being grounded. A total write off for a Saturday that I could have spent with my boys - I was gutted. 

The 21st December marks a year since my second operation - as I have already stated, my recovery was mixed with the country going into lockdown due to the Covid pandemic. Being lucky to have therapy at a time where many people were struggling with their mental health, the vortex and continuous routine of being stuck at home was punctuated with a chance to release and have a moment of my self indulged own time with a professional therapist. 

I've always been a worrier and well known for it - always trying to get one step ahead to avoid any nasty surprises and constantly riddled with anxiety, guilt and over the top empathy for situations I had no control over. 
With the uncontrollable worry I also have an exceptionally good memory and therefore remember every single mistake, error and embarrassing moment I have ever had and those very memories haunt me at the most random of times - mostly when I'm trying to go to sleep - drifting off and suddenly my brain lights up and says ' remember that embarrassing thing you did in 2012?' 

My mum reminds me of when I was 4 or 5 - returning to school after a holiday of some sort and instead of being carefree and looking forward to going back - I was instead desperately worried that my fiends may not like me or be talking to me - for no reason at all. That happened after every holiday. 
I was bullied in secondary school and I think that made my worry and paranoia worse - watered the seed of crippling anxiety that I was born with even - for years after, still punishing myself for being bullied - cringing at things I may have said or did that were uncool enough to be picked up on. Never giving myself a break. 

When the lockdown was initially announced in March, my first thoughts flew to those very situations and circumstances that I have no control over whatsoever; the ones living alone, the ones that may lose their jobs, the ones who may be pushed over the edge to feel suicidal and overwhelmed by such a global crisis and the venerable ones - the ones with violent partners that now had no escape to leave the house and the children living in abusive households who no longer had the escape of going school or missing their only hot meal of the day at school - leaving them hungry. 

Ultimately I felt all of these people needed therapy more than I did and I felt guilty - I still do.

 
As sessions went on through the weeks, my worry leaked through our discussions surrounding my recovery and my therapist picked up on it. Eventually she said to me that she would like me to see a psychiatrist to see if there are any underlying disorders there that may be igniting my worries. At first I was skeptical - I was back at work and still in recovery - I didn't have the time for another appointment, but I went and was met with a series of questions which eventually led to a diagnosis - obsessive compulsive disorder (OCD). 

'Are you actually joking?!' I believe I said - I couldn't believe it at first, after everything else I'd been through  - but in a way was glad that my worrying had a name - it wasn't me going crazy - I was worrying for no reason for a reason. 

OCD has a reputation for being flippantly used if someone is a bit tidy or clean, in the same way that bipolar is used if someone gets angry. Truth is, OCD isn't always just about someone wanting a spotless house, its a disorder that controls repetitive behaviour and in my case that was worrying - if I didn't worry about it and be one step ahead then something bad could happen - when really it's something I cannot control. 
To quote Mind - the mental health charity - OCD is 'not about being tidy, it's about having no control over your negative thoughts. It's about being afraid not doing things a certain way will cause harm.' 

I do believe this got worse when I had my children - I was constantly checking they were still breathing in their cots, that everything was sterilised and that they would come to no harm. I had rules in place for people before they touched my babies and if they smoked then they had to change their clothes before going near them. This has continued with social media;  Neither my husband or I (still to this day) do not allow photos of them on there - I've had people posting photos of my children without asking and I've sternly asked them to remove the photo - even if my children are only in the background. They are our children and I have this fear that we would be jeopardising their privacy by posting anything of them on the internet; they aren't old enough to give us their consent and approval. I worry that by posting anything embarrassing of them that we could affect their chances of jobs in the future - or affect their general reputation with the knowledge that nothing really gets deleted from the internet for good. Their privacy has become such a concern that if we have ever been out with family or friends and someone has taken a photo with the chance of my children being in the background I shout 'please don't post that on Facebook!!!' whilst I'm sure everyone else is care free and rolling their eyes at me. 

I was prescribed with Citalopram, which is quite commonly taken to treat depression, OCD, panic disorder, anxiety disorder and post traumatic stress disorder and I was told it would take six to eight weeks until I felt a difference. Six to eight weeks??! what's the point?!
Luckily I didn't have to wait long to be distracted - a few weeks later I received more bad news regarding my health (yes that's right - I'm referring to 'Surgery 3') and whilst I was caught up in the shock of it all.. oh wait! all of a sudden one day it hit me -  the citalopram must be working as I noticed that I didn't feel the worry and panic that I was used to; there was an element of control that wasn't there before. 

I haven't told many people about my OCD diagnosis - not that it should be a secret. Surely in 2020 we are over the stigma of mental health issues - but I was embarrassed to bring something else to the table as it were - 'like you know that whole tumour on my coccyx thing? well guess what I've got OCD too!' - it was something I had to get used to and get my head around first. I didn't want people watching me and counting how many times I washed my hands or listening out for any tapping patterns I may be performing. 

Its been eight months since my OCD diagnosis and although it has been very much in the background over the last few months, I don't think I would have dealt very well with the news of 'surgery 3' without the medication prescribed to control it. Amongst Covid and not being able to have my husband or family around me in the  hospital -  I think I would have really struggled mentally. 

My life has changed dramatically between the ages of twenty nine and thirty - a major operation will do that to you. I have a strict skin care routine, I eat better, I take lots of vitamins and I'm constantly aware of my health and what my body is telling me. The OCD diagnosis could have been a burden in terms of timing but it was as if the diagnosis was meant to happen when it did - to get me through the following months.

Things really do fall into place when you need them to.