Friday, December 16, 2005
I hate Paxil. Paxil sucks. I want GlaxoSmithKline to burn in hell. And don't get me started about insurace and the American healthcare system.
I have been a poor blogger as of late because of a few issues--first of all, today was the first day since then that I did not have to work and I was not required to be somewhere or perform a specific task that required at least 4 hours of my day... I think the word that best describes my most recent state of mind is "harried". The boy is wetting the bed, the girl is tossing attitude and wearing inappropriate clothing, and the random job hours have me running around in circles. Oh, and Rusty lost his job. So "broke" doesn't even PARTLY describe it. The job is still best described as "not bad". I am lucky in that it is probably the first place I've ever worked where I can honestly say I don't dislike any of my co-workers. The people are great. Not like best-friends-forever kind of great, but there are no "Oh GREAT, I'm stuck working with So-And-So today" moments. My manager is sane, friendly, dependable and very good at her job. The other assistant managers are all people I can respect and talk to on a personal and professional level. It's actually nice. However, I have to admit that folding sweaters for 6 or 7 hours a day makes me go all Oatmeal-Brained. And I could probably deal with that reasonably well, but in addition to folding sweaters, I have to be helpful to customers. I suppose sometimes it's easier than others, but I just have to admit it's just not in me to be all smiley and desperate to make total strangers happy--I mean, I am already pressured to service my own family members every minute of the day. Sunup to sundown, my schedule is packed with all the things I am required or expected to do for my family. Don't get me wrong--I love those people. The Boy, The Girl, The Man--I love them. I don't know how to explain, though, why I am so easily irritated by the responsibilities that go hand in hand with being a mother and wife (maybe not legally, but in every other way). I guess I'm not nearly as mature as people think. But there are days when I just want to throw my phone out the car window because why in hell is it so freaking difficult for me to get even just one fifteen minute car ride home from work in silence? Could I just have some time where nobody is waiting for me somewhere, where I don't have to keep glancing at the clock to make sure I'm not about to let someone down, where I can do whatever I want without feeling pressured or guilty that I'm inconveniencing someone else?
I have to stop this line of thinking now, because I realize that I'm not mentally stable enough to rely on my ability to analyze my own thoughts and feelings. I'm withdrawing from Paxil again. Not that I want to be, but here I am.
I should have been mentioning the details along the way for the lawsuit I could file, but I guess I was naive enough to think it wouldn't happen this way. Let me give the Cliff Notes version: lost job in June. Lost insurance on the same day, no time to get loose ends tied up. Had to cancel all upcoming doctor's appointments. Eventually resorted to buying Paxil online (I guess technically, illegally--thanks to all of corporate America for turning me into a criminal junkie), naively believing it would only be a month or two before I had a job with insurance again, or at least a job with enough money to finance my Habit. When money was getting too tight to keep up my Net Fix, I looked into GSK's assistance program. I downloaded the forms, and took them, as is required, to the doctor to have a "professional advocate" complete the paperwork. I was told that I had to bring my tax return, and the nurse would complete it all for me. I returned 2 days later with the tax papers. One week later, she had not contacted me. By now I'm thoroughly engulfed in my Fantastic Retail job, so between bringing kids to/from school and working, I am not near a working phone during their open hours for several days at a time. I begin calling after hours and leaving messages, which go unanswered. It is a month before I reach her in person. She assures me that yes, I have qualified for their Patient Assistance program. They don't have samples, though, she tells me (right, what doctor doesn't have a closet full of samples??), but they have vouchers for a month's script of Paxil CR. Oh, wait, the current script I have is for regular Paxil. But it's late afternoon (on a Friday, no less), and there are no doctors there to write a script for Paxil CR. "Ask the Pharmacist to just give you enough of your Paxil to get you through the weekend, and I'll have the doctor phone in your script on Monday morning." It takes me a few days before I get to the pharmacy, but I get there to pick it up. The clerk tells me they can't take the voucher. Seems they never got any new script called in, and they'd filled the original Paxil script. Hey, it's only $96 for 30 days. More frantic phone calls ensue with no response. I am sustained by another illegally obtained stash of about a half dozen pills from a friend. At the first opportunity to get to the doctor's office in person during open hours, I show up, kids in tow, wanting to know what the FUCK is going on. Oh, they inform me: they can't just write me a script, because I haven't been seen since MAY. So just make a new appointment with the doctor, and then they'll get your script, no problem. Is January 8th OK?
Fuck NO it's not OK. I am OUT OF MY MEDICATION. I AM ABOUT TO BEGIN WITHDRAWING FROM THE DRUG YOU GAVE ME BECAUSE YOU WON'T HELP ME. Are you aware of the serious side effects of stopping Paxil abruptly? "Well, you can go to your family doctor for a script until you can get in here." I don't have a family doctor, you freaking moron, I have no insurance. And if I could afford to pay a doctor, then I could afford to just buy the damned Paxil.
I spent a couple more days trying desperately to find a doctor in town who would take 35 seconds out of his busy day to write a few words on a piece of paper so that I don't lose the ability to hold think for more than a second or two. There are none. I'm still not sure why Planned Parenthood can give me birth control pills but can't write a script for an antidepressant that I'm already on and will suffer dire consequences if I quit. But heavens no, they can't do THAT. I call the psych's office One More Time. Could I maybe get an emergency appointment, or talk to a doctor over the phone? No, but we can get you in on January 13th. "Well, I'll be through the worst of the withdrawal by then." "Ohhhhh [tone changes noticeably to one of disdain] you have a substance abuse problem? We can get you in with an abuse counselor sometime next week."
Can I really live in a world so absofuckinglutely fucked up?
So the withdrawal has begun. And if I survive it, I will never, ever, ever, ever, EVER take another antidepressant again.
I have been a poor blogger as of late because of a few issues--first of all, today was the first day since then that I did not have to work and I was not required to be somewhere or perform a specific task that required at least 4 hours of my day... I think the word that best describes my most recent state of mind is "harried". The boy is wetting the bed, the girl is tossing attitude and wearing inappropriate clothing, and the random job hours have me running around in circles. Oh, and Rusty lost his job. So "broke" doesn't even PARTLY describe it. The job is still best described as "not bad". I am lucky in that it is probably the first place I've ever worked where I can honestly say I don't dislike any of my co-workers. The people are great. Not like best-friends-forever kind of great, but there are no "Oh GREAT, I'm stuck working with So-And-So today" moments. My manager is sane, friendly, dependable and very good at her job. The other assistant managers are all people I can respect and talk to on a personal and professional level. It's actually nice. However, I have to admit that folding sweaters for 6 or 7 hours a day makes me go all Oatmeal-Brained. And I could probably deal with that reasonably well, but in addition to folding sweaters, I have to be helpful to customers. I suppose sometimes it's easier than others, but I just have to admit it's just not in me to be all smiley and desperate to make total strangers happy--I mean, I am already pressured to service my own family members every minute of the day. Sunup to sundown, my schedule is packed with all the things I am required or expected to do for my family. Don't get me wrong--I love those people. The Boy, The Girl, The Man--I love them. I don't know how to explain, though, why I am so easily irritated by the responsibilities that go hand in hand with being a mother and wife (maybe not legally, but in every other way). I guess I'm not nearly as mature as people think. But there are days when I just want to throw my phone out the car window because why in hell is it so freaking difficult for me to get even just one fifteen minute car ride home from work in silence? Could I just have some time where nobody is waiting for me somewhere, where I don't have to keep glancing at the clock to make sure I'm not about to let someone down, where I can do whatever I want without feeling pressured or guilty that I'm inconveniencing someone else?
I have to stop this line of thinking now, because I realize that I'm not mentally stable enough to rely on my ability to analyze my own thoughts and feelings. I'm withdrawing from Paxil again. Not that I want to be, but here I am.
I should have been mentioning the details along the way for the lawsuit I could file, but I guess I was naive enough to think it wouldn't happen this way. Let me give the Cliff Notes version: lost job in June. Lost insurance on the same day, no time to get loose ends tied up. Had to cancel all upcoming doctor's appointments. Eventually resorted to buying Paxil online (I guess technically, illegally--thanks to all of corporate America for turning me into a criminal junkie), naively believing it would only be a month or two before I had a job with insurance again, or at least a job with enough money to finance my Habit. When money was getting too tight to keep up my Net Fix, I looked into GSK's assistance program. I downloaded the forms, and took them, as is required, to the doctor to have a "professional advocate" complete the paperwork. I was told that I had to bring my tax return, and the nurse would complete it all for me. I returned 2 days later with the tax papers. One week later, she had not contacted me. By now I'm thoroughly engulfed in my Fantastic Retail job, so between bringing kids to/from school and working, I am not near a working phone during their open hours for several days at a time. I begin calling after hours and leaving messages, which go unanswered. It is a month before I reach her in person. She assures me that yes, I have qualified for their Patient Assistance program. They don't have samples, though, she tells me (right, what doctor doesn't have a closet full of samples??), but they have vouchers for a month's script of Paxil CR. Oh, wait, the current script I have is for regular Paxil. But it's late afternoon (on a Friday, no less), and there are no doctors there to write a script for Paxil CR. "Ask the Pharmacist to just give you enough of your Paxil to get you through the weekend, and I'll have the doctor phone in your script on Monday morning." It takes me a few days before I get to the pharmacy, but I get there to pick it up. The clerk tells me they can't take the voucher. Seems they never got any new script called in, and they'd filled the original Paxil script. Hey, it's only $96 for 30 days. More frantic phone calls ensue with no response. I am sustained by another illegally obtained stash of about a half dozen pills from a friend. At the first opportunity to get to the doctor's office in person during open hours, I show up, kids in tow, wanting to know what the FUCK is going on. Oh, they inform me: they can't just write me a script, because I haven't been seen since MAY. So just make a new appointment with the doctor, and then they'll get your script, no problem. Is January 8th OK?
Fuck NO it's not OK. I am OUT OF MY MEDICATION. I AM ABOUT TO BEGIN WITHDRAWING FROM THE DRUG YOU GAVE ME BECAUSE YOU WON'T HELP ME. Are you aware of the serious side effects of stopping Paxil abruptly? "Well, you can go to your family doctor for a script until you can get in here." I don't have a family doctor, you freaking moron, I have no insurance. And if I could afford to pay a doctor, then I could afford to just buy the damned Paxil.
I spent a couple more days trying desperately to find a doctor in town who would take 35 seconds out of his busy day to write a few words on a piece of paper so that I don't lose the ability to hold think for more than a second or two. There are none. I'm still not sure why Planned Parenthood can give me birth control pills but can't write a script for an antidepressant that I'm already on and will suffer dire consequences if I quit. But heavens no, they can't do THAT. I call the psych's office One More Time. Could I maybe get an emergency appointment, or talk to a doctor over the phone? No, but we can get you in on January 13th. "Well, I'll be through the worst of the withdrawal by then." "Ohhhhh [tone changes noticeably to one of disdain] you have a substance abuse problem? We can get you in with an abuse counselor sometime next week."
Can I really live in a world so absofuckinglutely fucked up?
So the withdrawal has begun. And if I survive it, I will never, ever, ever, ever, EVER take another antidepressant again.
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