My Stroke – I Have Had Better Wednesdays – Part 1
No One Expects the Spanish Inquisition, or A Stroke. My stroke. Wednesday 13th June 2018. A perfectly normal day. I was looking after Meg, a golden Labrador for her mum, Di, had gone on holiday with Jane. I had fed Meg, given her a walk, and then taken her to her house for the day. It was 7.45 and I had half an hour before I had to start work. Just time enough to buy food the evening meal. I was going to have Lamb with smoked aubergine and minty broad beans. I was looking forward to making a new recipe. Driving away from Tesco I suddenly had double vision which cleared after 10 minutes. Although I did not know it, my stroke had started. I drove on to work, feeling none the worse for the double vision episode. Was I worried? Not at all, I had experienced double vision before. That I put it down to one of the known side effects of Sertraline, my anti depression medication. I drove into work and parked up and the double vision started again. Again, I waited for a few minutes and when it passed I clocked into work, 8.20 5 minutes late, BUGGER! My Wednesday, it gets worse. Up the stairs and into the office. “Mornings” all round. Victoria looked up and asked me if I was OK. I said something about me having one of my dizzy and double vision episodes and that it would pass, as it had in the past. Then the double vision returned and I knew that I could not stand up without falling over, this was going to be a bad day. Victoria kept looking at me, obviously a bit concerned. By this time I was as well. I held my arms out in front of me, no weakness there, so I knew that it wasn’t a stroke and I said as much, laughing, to Victoria. However, the words did not come out properly. I stopped for a few seconds and said to Victoria, ” Is my speech slurred?” She said yes and I said I think that you had better phone the first aider. Even as I said it I knew that it was a stroke and there was nothing I could do to alter what was about to happen. Everyone Else Looks Worried Geoff, the first aider was with me within a couple of minutes and almost immediately said “call and ambulance”. He knew that it was a stroke and confirmed that when I asked. He stayed with me, asking all the right questions and keeping me calm. Although I already felt calm. There was nothing that I could do. Besides there were enough worried people in the office without me adding to the number. I wanted to stay calm so that I could tell the para medics exactly what I was feling. They needed to have the right information as quickly as possible. It actually did not occur to me that they probably could not understand what I was saying….. One of the many bad things about having a stoke is that your brain works (or you think that it does) but holding a conversation can be impossible. The upshot was that I had a list of symptoms and observations in my head but could not make anyone understand. I also thought that it was all rather unfair. I had stopped smoking (with a couple of slip ups) 10 months previously. Very unfair! At some point I realised that this was going to be a seriously bad Wednesday. For more information about strokes visit http://stroke.org.uk Be sure to check out how to recognise when someone is having a stroke and what tom do here.
Depression – The Tax Man Cometh, But is Not Their Fault
Depression Depression is a debilitating disease. It removes motivation. It produces anxiety attacks that can stop the sufferer from leaving the house. Depression also destroys concentration. It does a lot more like make the sufferer hell to live with. Medication is there to help but, as I have found finding the right medication and the right dose can be trial and error. HMRC and Me What does not help is being into a stressful situation where the anticipation is often worse than the reality. So, when I had a visit from Her Majesty’s Revenue and Customs (HMRC) to talk about my failure to pay the right amount of tax over a number of years you can imagine what sort of state I was in. My medication makes me tired, but the anxiety of the upcoming visit made it hard to sleep. Coupled with my medication producing very vivid dreams the results were not pleasant. It is my own fault that I owe income tax. The story as to why I am in the position of owing income tax is one of my own making. I started selling bits and bobs on eBay and Amazon years ago. As time went on I began buying items at car boot sales, charity shops and re-selling them. Then I bought items to sell off the internet. Along the way I crossed the line between selling my own stuff as a hobby and selling items as a business as defined by HMRC. The outcome is that I have tax liability. All this would be stressful enough without depression raising its ugly and malevolent head. When they arrived the ladies from HMRC were pleasant, friendly and very professional. Being friendly did not stop them from asking hard questions. They were very thorough. Another thing that my depression does is to stop me talking properly. In my head the sentences are ordered and make sense. What comes out of my mouth is stilted, full of pauses, and deep breaths. I hear myself sounding like someone who is not confident, someone who’s grasp on reality is failing. Of course those are both true when I am under the black cloud but it is unnerving none the less. I Hate Depression I know that I have been suffering from depression for years, many years before I acknowledged that I had a problem and went to the doctor. It is my guess is that being so explains why I made bad choices when selling. What I mean is that I did not understand that with selling more I should have thought about consequences, taken advice, kept records, tracked trends. It is right that I should pay the correct amount of tax, there is no disputing that. However, under their probing questioning (there was nothing aggressive about it) I was amazed how many times I said “I do not know”, about things that anyone who is in a good mental state would have been aware of. I hate depression. I hate what it has done for me in the past. Also I hate the fact that I feel obliged to excuse my failings by saying “I have been diagnosed with clinical depression”. What I hate most about depression is that last sentence. If only it was like a broken arm that everyone could see. More than that, one of the worse things about it being invisible is that I did not know I had it, until it was almost impossible for me to function.
Depression – Suicide
Depression – Suicide I have been diagnosed with depression and apparently it is not normal to think about suicide. Who knew? Depression is an odd animal. It creeps up on you. It was not until I ran out of work in tears that I thought that I should get help. The history of my story may be well worth talking about for a while. I had an operation about 4 months ago. Nothing major, but it did involve having my anus explored and bits taken out for tests and bits taken out just to get rid of them. That did not bring on my depression. The not being able to go to the loo for a week did not bring on my depression. Finding out the going to the loo after a week was the single most painful thing in the world did not bring on my depression. It was lurking there already and, looking back I think that it had been there for years. Many years ago I wrote a blog about fishing and suicide. More properly it was a blog about going fly fishing, not catching, and talking about going home to have a couple of glasses of whiskey (Irish, of course) and a bit about suicide. What I never knew was that other people did not think about suicide. I do not mean that I thought about how to do it, how many paracetamols, whisky (suicide by spirits has to be Scotch, Irish is to be revered, or Gin and a razor blade with a warm bath) I just thought, what would the effect be? Would anyone notice? I know that the person who found me would be upset, at least I hope so. But, could I do that to someone? I never got to the bit where the discovery and that trauma was justified. My thoughts of suicide were just pandering to a dark corner of my mind. It was not serious, at least I do not think so. What brought my depression to the fore was the anxiety attacks. After the operation I did not want to go out. I hated having to wear pads, for a certain leakage problem. I hated feeling that I could not talk about how I was feeling, because I did not know. More that anything was the anxiety attacks. Not being able to see friends, hiding from people in the supermarket on case they wanted to talk to me. Not being able to leave the house to go for a drink with friends because I was scared. I went back to work, big mistake. I could not answer the phone. I could not talk to my colleagues. I sat there with a rising fear that my head was about to explode. I wanted to pick up something on my desk and throw it at someone, anyone, anything. I considered punching my PC screen. Then I cracked. It was the best thing that happened to me. I went to the doctor. Not my normal doctor, broke down in tears and he said “do you want a week off work? Take some Beta blockers”. It seemed like a “man up” get on with it response. A week later I went back, saw my own doctor. I went with a list of my symptoms; Irritability, over nothing. being suspicious of people, what they are saying, what they may mean and how they are out to get me, taking about me behind my back. Restlessness, just being agitated all the time. A loss of control, I was not my own master. loss of concentration. I was so worried about this after the operation that I bought a book of Sudoku, just to see if I could concentrate. The inability to read books and understand what was going on, and being unable to remember plots. Being powerless in all sorts of ways. Ignored at work, harassed at home. Not being control of how I felt. Disturbed sleeping. You get the idea. I only got part way through the list (there were many more items on my list) Dr McMeekin stopped me. He said you know that you are depressed don’t you? How long have you felt like this? To that I said I can not remember when I did not feel like this. We talked. I am now on a 6 months course of a drug, Sertraline. He says that it is not addictive and should not have any withdrawal problems when it stops I have been to a holistic practitioner for a tincture of herbs (which no way as near unpleasant that Rona said that it might be). I have started meditating again, but it is a lot harder than I remember, another symptom of depression? I am taking more exercise. I have rejected CBT and talking therapies. I do not believe that they work, but perhaps this blog counts as a talking therapy. Where am I now? My bad days are less bad. My good days are better than they were. The number of reasonable days are increasing. Against that I spend a lot of time thinking about “how do I feel?” I have been open at work, talking about my mental health problems and most have been sympathetic talking about their experiences or those of their family members. Some have, inevitably, been pricks with no understanding. I think that I am progressing, I hope that I am.
Phil’s British Heart Foundation Donation – you know it makes sense
