It’s been one of those weeks. I’ve been around — working, slogging through emails — but not really blogging. Is because I’ve been busy? Out of words? Out of energy? No interest? Another side effect of abruptly stopping Zoloft? Who knows. In any case, I do still love to blog, and I love my blog, so here I am.
* * *
I discovered something interesting — and perhaps relevant for post-op gastric bypass patients — last Friday night: if 45mg of slow-release iron hurts your stomach pouch to the point of noticeable discomfort for ten to fifteen minutes after taking it, imagine what 325mg of regular-release iron will do. Can’t imagine? Here’s what it felt like for me: a pain on the level of ulcer perforation. I was lying in bed sobbing for a good half an hour, and it wasn’t until I agreed to have my mom take me to the ER and had gotten up to use the bathroom that I realized I might have taken an iron pill (extras from my mom – I cut them into sixths so as not to take too much; and when I do take 1/6th of one, I always drink some milk or eat a bit of yogurt or pudding first!) instead of a pain pill for my back. I knew I had twelve iron pills, and lo and behold, when I counted them (I carelessly had them stored with some other medication in a small Ziploc bag), there were only eleven. That explained why I thought my stomach was simultaneously twisting into knots and exploding into itty bitty pieces, and yet my back and shoulders still hurt like a motherfucker. Serves me right for throwing two different types but similarly-sized and colored pills together in a (sealed, stored in our bathroom, but still…DUMB) bag.
* * *
I wound up not being able to avoid a weekend ER visit, but at least it wasn’t for me: my mom and brothers were stuck at our house for the weekend due to the snow and ice storm, and on Sunday afternoon I noticed blood droplets in the kitchen, living room, and hallway. I thought one of the cats or Leah had injured themselves and was about to start rounding up animals to do paw checks when I saw bigger splotches of blood in Ryan’s room, right next to the bottom bunk, and I knew: somehow my mom had injured her foot. Again. While sleeping, she managed to catch the underside of one of her toes on a sharp piece of the bottom bunk’s metal framework (a spring had popped off, but we hadn’t removed the metal piece because we were hoping to find the spring in order to put it back on; the metal piece is normally tucked under the mattress but had somehow shifted up), and cut it pretty deeply – we’re talking halfway through. Because of her diabetic neuropathy she didn’t feel a thing; it wasn’t until I saw the blood and we checked her feet that she even knew of the injury. So off to the ER we went for a thorough examination, cleaning, and loads of antibiotics. Since everyone and their mother (me included!) seems to hit up the ER after a snowstorm, we brought along tablets (for my Mom to watch funny Russian drivers videos on YouTube) and nail polish (for me) to amuse ourselves during the 2-hour wait in the waiting room.
* * *
I’m now on Week 3 of No More Zoloft. Week 1 was all physical symptoms of abrupt cold-turkeying: nausea, some vomiting, headaches, severe dizziness/lightheadedness. Week 2 was much more emotional: I cried at a cheesy injury lawyer commercial, an episode of Call the Midwife (but in all fairness, in this episode a daughter and her estranged father re-united while he was on his deathbed; and he died mere moments after she gave birth to her first child — his grandson), in Target’s office supplies section, Sia’s Elastic Heart, Dan insisting on refilling my Zoloft prescription “just in case”, Dan’s random acts of kindness, etc. I should have come with a warning sign: FEELS EVERYWHERE. WEAR SPLASH GEAR.
Week 3, on the other hand, is absolutely-fucking-awesome, because while there is still some residual These-Are-Real-Feels-So-That’s-Why-My-Eyes-Are-Leaking, I have suddenly rediscovered my sex drive. And orgasms. OH. MY. GOD, the orgasms. I’ll spare you the details, but let’s just say that lots of orgasms and multiple orgasms and a sudden need to get as many orgasms as possible has suddenly become My Thing. Dan is more than happy to come along for the ride. Come. Ride. Ha – see what I did there?
* * *
And because this kind of shit never ends, there’s some family stuff going on. Not on my side, for once, but it involves Dan, so of course it involves me. Just send good vibes our way — and especially to Dan — okay? This is a very emotionally and mentally trying time.
We’ve got some catching up to do was published on Jenn.nu.
Thank you for subscribing to Jenn.nu's RSS feed! ♥ Jenn | Find me on Facebook, Flickr, Google+, Instagram, Pinterest, Twitter, and YouTube. My product review blog can be found at In Jenn's Bag!
