Let me tell you my story about Tramadol. The supposed non-addictive pain medication. It is used to relieve severe to moderate pain, without the horrible baggage that comes with other narcotic painkillers. I've done plenty of reading and it has numerous sites where people praise it's work, while others...they say it doesn't work for their pain. Everyone is different. All I can say is that it worked for me, after taking it for about a week, but I'm fast-forwarding even now.
Dependency or Addiction. Is there a difference? I'll let you decide.
I'm terribly afraid of my family's history. Many things over. Violence. That cycle. Then there is the part where Chasing the Dragon comes in. My father did it. My brother does it. My mother, who has had three major back surgeries finally got addicted to her Hydrocodone. There is also a physical side to this. It is evil. I try and fight every which way I can against it.
I do not know if being Bi-Polar is genetic, but I wouldn't be surprised. It is also environmental that adds to this. My Dad was tossed into a child's home when he was only a child in the single digits. They did terrible things to him, that I have no doubt had an effect on his outlook, temperament, and how he dealt with things. His biological scumbag "dad" was an alcoholic, wife abuser. He broke my grandmother's jaw when she was 8 months pregnant with my Dad. She escaped under the cover of night.
The cycle continued as my father abused my mother and put me and my younger brother through hell. We eventually escaped, but there is a lot of baggage that goes with that that we all face. I've been diagnosed as Rapid Cycle Bi-Polar. My dad was a drummer, I'm a drummer, my brother is a drummer, and my seven year old daughter is well on her way. You can take all the lessons you want, but being able to just hop being a drum kit and be a natural, HAS to be genetic. So is all the bullshit that goes with it.
I think my fear of becoming my father in so many ways has kept me in check. His violence came to a head when he would run out of his pot. I hate that smell. People say it's not addicting. People are stupid. My brother took my dad's job of chasing the dragon. I believe that our dad's abrupt death over 10 years ago had something to do with his. Constant back pain from being a mechanic for even before I was born led him to seek treatment. Did it work? If the aim was to kill him it did. Acute Oxycodone Intoxication. Took him in his sleep. I was also the last one to see him alive that day. He kept nodding off, even while fixing coffee.
Why do I tell you all this. To establish my relationship and hatred of drugs. Also that I'm half bat-shit crazy at times. Anyone of my friends, that have known me my whole life will tell you I'm happy go lucky. I have an excellent, if odd sense of humor. I also use humor as a coping mechanism. Always have. Two days after my brother, who was strung out on numerous drugs at the time, stabbed me in the right side of the head...temple..with a small hunting knife, I was joking about it. All while enduring nightmares that made me piss myself, take numerous showers because I couldn't get the sticky feeling off, threw my emotions all out of whack, and made me incredibly paranoid.
I took all sorts of stuff to help me get over this hump. Numerous headaches. Tunnel vision. You name it. The knife went in 3/4 of an inch. If it wasn't for the angle of entry, the curvature of the knife, blade thickness....I wouldn't be here. another 1/4 of an inch, and I still wouldn't be here. My brother. The one I protected for his whole life....I didn't want to believe it. I still protect him. I have what I call Hero Syndrome. Not the stupid definition you may read if you look it up where someone wants to put people in jeopardy to try and be a hero. I think all the years of violence with my father, trying to protect my brother and help my mom, I'm hardwired to try and help people. No matter the consequences.
Anyhow, fast forward. I started hearing shit. Voices. Not just any type of voices, family. My father, grandfather, mother, brother, wife, daughter. It got to the point where I didn't trust myself driving because I wanted them to stop. I was becoming increasingly agitated. Angry. The anger had overtaken any semblance of who I once was. I knew when I yelled at my daughter it was time to get help, or take myself out of the equation. It was too much like dad.
I was diagnosed as rapid cycle bi-polar, and the PTSD from the "incident" had done its own twist inside my mind. I was honestly in battle with myself every step of the way. It wild, but not a fun ride Mr. Toad...let me off. After numerous tries with different medicines, one which actually made me retain so much water in a night of sleep I couldn't wear my shoes, which I thought was funny, we finally nailed it down.
Then I went back to my doctor a month or two later. I had been experiencing increasingly worse pain in my upper right leg. It was controlled first with ibuprofen, but when it got to me taking more than 800mg in one dose to try and desperately rid myself of the pain, I knew I had to do something. I also had to move my wallet to the front right pocket because there was a spot that just set the pain off worse than ever if I sat on it. That my friends is called piriformis syndrome I've come to find out. Also known as FAT WALLET SYNDROM. (I wish I had a fat wallet. This thing is just chock full of bullshit, no green!) Anyhow...my doctor diagnosed me with sciatica. Problem was, he thought it was a problem with my lower vertebrae. No insurance sucks. I had to fork out over a grand for an MRI that showed a bit of deterioration but no bulging discs. Here's the trouble. Here is where it ALL starts.
Upon his first diagnosis, he prescribed Ultram, generic form: Tramadol. 2 50mg tablets 4 times a day. At first they did nothing, and I was given something stronger (Hydrocodone) to take out the pain, then tapered it back to Tramadol, which finally started working. He explained that it was non-narcotic. I was happy. I had been on Hydrocodone before after I had 2 right shoulder arthroscopy surgeries, for subluxation. Multidirectional. Fun times.
Once again, let's fast-forward. I had been using Tramadol for everything. I put my online education on hold until I worked this out. I used Tramadol to get through work, but sitting for 8 hours sucks, plus an hour there and an hour back. Shitty at best, positively pain inducing at worse. My wife, daughter and I had to move across the state and in with her parents. My doctor was okay with it, and said he'd just do things like we were, come in every so often, and he'd just fax refills to the local pharmacy. For Tramadol, and my Gabapentin (Neurotin) for my Sciatica, and finally my antipsychotics.
All was fine. I was doing well. I had even started working out with my Wife and her Mother. Until I had trouble getting a refill. His office staff was quite known to play the "we didn't get a request/fax", even though the pharmacy sent them two. I called in a refill 2 days early, like they have told me to, on a Wendsday. I still had plenty of Tramadol left. Even more than you think because I will only take the 2 50mg pills each dose, and sometimes I didn't need it at night, or in the mid day, so I would only end up with three doses.
I ran out early Sunday.
That night was just the beginning. My pain intensified. I was losing my mind. I called Monday as soon as they opened, and they said they'd call me back. They never called back, and I called them later on, and they just told me he said "No more painpills". I was like, "Okay...then is he going to work something else out for me to help control this pain? I've also started having trouble in the bathroom, I'm not sure but I think it's connected." They said "Well if you come in and see him we may be able to work something out." I can't just up and run across state on a whim. I told them this, and It wouldn't be until Thursday. They said they'd put me down. I said okay...well can he do something for me until then? At this point, I'm ashamed to say it makes me feel like an addict. I now know I was going through withdrawal. From a supposed non-narcotic. They said no.
It got so bad with my leg pain that I went to the ER. They took care of me and gave me just enough Hydrocodone to last until Thursday. The treated me like a victim of circumstance and not an addict. At this point I have been on it for well over a year and a half. That's a long time. Of course my body has become dependent on it.
At this point I was surfing aggressively online looking for Tramadol withdrawal as a keyword. Coming across numerous places. The shit I read was so insane, and it fit. Some were like me. Others were taking upside of 20 50mg pills a day. Which made my eyes bug. But it was all the same. This supposed non-narcotic is doing some terrible stuff to people.
I felt betrayed. Myself. My doctor. I trusted my doctor to know what was best for me, but he led me astray and then cut me off. No tapering it down. No nothing. The man that has known me all my life cut me off from this drug that is said to have withdrawal symptoms that can last even longer than normal opiate withdrawal, and even get worse?
I think he left me out to dry for the sake of a $60.00 copay or he could've called me in the tramadol for four days and then I come see him. Which was what I was going for. Because at that point, I was ready to bail off of this Shit-Wagon, and I was going to ask him to taper it down little by little. Trying to avoid these side effects. At the time of the phone call to his staff last, I was having restless legs...bad.
Nothing is worse than trying to sleep, and having the shits. They can be controlled with Immodium. Restless legs? It was worse than the pain at times. Hot baths. Hot showers. My father in law knew my plight because he also suffers from restless legs from the knee down. I'm knee up. I joked that we had a complete set. I gave me some nice arthritic heat cream that saved me from some of it, but not enough.
I found Thomas's Recipe, and it's seeming to help a bit. I said piss on my old doctor because that was really screwed up of him. It was bound to happen, because honestly I needed to find a local doctor. Thankfully, that happened on Wed. Told her my backstory. I was increasingly anxious. A side effect from Tramadol withdrawl. I have trouble with my memory anyway after the incident, and I flubbed how long I had the sciatica by over 6 months. It all runs together. Plus I've been up and down randomly with this Restless Leg shit...
She put in for my doctor's charts, gave me refills on my antipsychotics, Gabapentin, and Prednisone. Gotta love it. I've not seen sweet Prednisone since I had Bells Palsy. Fun times. All the shit in my life happens on my right side. I'm not even kidding.
She also gave me a shot of Toradol (60mg), which is a painkiller/anti-inflammitory. In my "hip". I've been over this well before. They say hip, it may technically be called "hip"....but I know my ass when you stick a needle into the meaty part of it. Ohhhh it burned so good. I also still have a bit of a tender spot. First date Doc and you didn't even buy me dinner.
Anyhow. The next day, I flipped finally and called them asking about something for restless legs. She acknowledged it and called in Requip. Just enough for a week. Enough to get past the bullshit. I am thankful.
That was Thursday. Today is Friday. I started getting the same restless feeling in my arms and couldn't get warm and cold all at the same time. Today the restlessness is out of my legs almost completely. My legs are never truly at rest. I'm a musician remember. I'm always tapping away. Plus I wouldn't be surprised to find out I'm a bit ADHD, but screw that. That's part of me I'd like to keep. I'm impulsive. I like that. No doctor. No medicine. No withdrawal symptoms are ever going to force me to take that out of myself.
The arms are happening just like the legs, it's a bit in my back too, but from the elbow up. My sciatica is now being controlled with Tylenol. I've been doing stretches and walking. I don't feel like it. It's terrible. I wouldn't wish this on my worst enemy. Distraction is what works best. For me...I've been taking long car rides and blasting music and jamming. It's the best thing besides setting my kit up and annoying my in-laws. I call it Music Therapy.
I still get emotional. Anxious. Sleep deprived. I'm not entirely sure, but I hope that the fact that it seems to be moving "UP" is a sign that I'm getting through this.
Finally:
I WILL WIN. I invoked my stubbornness. I may suffer, but I will win and I will never go back to this. Ever.
Dependency or Addiction. Is there a difference? I'll let you decide.
I'm terribly afraid of my family's history. Many things over. Violence. That cycle. Then there is the part where Chasing the Dragon comes in. My father did it. My brother does it. My mother, who has had three major back surgeries finally got addicted to her Hydrocodone. There is also a physical side to this. It is evil. I try and fight every which way I can against it.
I do not know if being Bi-Polar is genetic, but I wouldn't be surprised. It is also environmental that adds to this. My Dad was tossed into a child's home when he was only a child in the single digits. They did terrible things to him, that I have no doubt had an effect on his outlook, temperament, and how he dealt with things. His biological scumbag "dad" was an alcoholic, wife abuser. He broke my grandmother's jaw when she was 8 months pregnant with my Dad. She escaped under the cover of night.
The cycle continued as my father abused my mother and put me and my younger brother through hell. We eventually escaped, but there is a lot of baggage that goes with that that we all face. I've been diagnosed as Rapid Cycle Bi-Polar. My dad was a drummer, I'm a drummer, my brother is a drummer, and my seven year old daughter is well on her way. You can take all the lessons you want, but being able to just hop being a drum kit and be a natural, HAS to be genetic. So is all the bullshit that goes with it.
I think my fear of becoming my father in so many ways has kept me in check. His violence came to a head when he would run out of his pot. I hate that smell. People say it's not addicting. People are stupid. My brother took my dad's job of chasing the dragon. I believe that our dad's abrupt death over 10 years ago had something to do with his. Constant back pain from being a mechanic for even before I was born led him to seek treatment. Did it work? If the aim was to kill him it did. Acute Oxycodone Intoxication. Took him in his sleep. I was also the last one to see him alive that day. He kept nodding off, even while fixing coffee.
Why do I tell you all this. To establish my relationship and hatred of drugs. Also that I'm half bat-shit crazy at times. Anyone of my friends, that have known me my whole life will tell you I'm happy go lucky. I have an excellent, if odd sense of humor. I also use humor as a coping mechanism. Always have. Two days after my brother, who was strung out on numerous drugs at the time, stabbed me in the right side of the head...temple..with a small hunting knife, I was joking about it. All while enduring nightmares that made me piss myself, take numerous showers because I couldn't get the sticky feeling off, threw my emotions all out of whack, and made me incredibly paranoid.
I took all sorts of stuff to help me get over this hump. Numerous headaches. Tunnel vision. You name it. The knife went in 3/4 of an inch. If it wasn't for the angle of entry, the curvature of the knife, blade thickness....I wouldn't be here. another 1/4 of an inch, and I still wouldn't be here. My brother. The one I protected for his whole life....I didn't want to believe it. I still protect him. I have what I call Hero Syndrome. Not the stupid definition you may read if you look it up where someone wants to put people in jeopardy to try and be a hero. I think all the years of violence with my father, trying to protect my brother and help my mom, I'm hardwired to try and help people. No matter the consequences.
Anyhow, fast forward. I started hearing shit. Voices. Not just any type of voices, family. My father, grandfather, mother, brother, wife, daughter. It got to the point where I didn't trust myself driving because I wanted them to stop. I was becoming increasingly agitated. Angry. The anger had overtaken any semblance of who I once was. I knew when I yelled at my daughter it was time to get help, or take myself out of the equation. It was too much like dad.
I was diagnosed as rapid cycle bi-polar, and the PTSD from the "incident" had done its own twist inside my mind. I was honestly in battle with myself every step of the way. It wild, but not a fun ride Mr. Toad...let me off. After numerous tries with different medicines, one which actually made me retain so much water in a night of sleep I couldn't wear my shoes, which I thought was funny, we finally nailed it down.
Then I went back to my doctor a month or two later. I had been experiencing increasingly worse pain in my upper right leg. It was controlled first with ibuprofen, but when it got to me taking more than 800mg in one dose to try and desperately rid myself of the pain, I knew I had to do something. I also had to move my wallet to the front right pocket because there was a spot that just set the pain off worse than ever if I sat on it. That my friends is called piriformis syndrome I've come to find out. Also known as FAT WALLET SYNDROM. (I wish I had a fat wallet. This thing is just chock full of bullshit, no green!) Anyhow...my doctor diagnosed me with sciatica. Problem was, he thought it was a problem with my lower vertebrae. No insurance sucks. I had to fork out over a grand for an MRI that showed a bit of deterioration but no bulging discs. Here's the trouble. Here is where it ALL starts.
Upon his first diagnosis, he prescribed Ultram, generic form: Tramadol. 2 50mg tablets 4 times a day. At first they did nothing, and I was given something stronger (Hydrocodone) to take out the pain, then tapered it back to Tramadol, which finally started working. He explained that it was non-narcotic. I was happy. I had been on Hydrocodone before after I had 2 right shoulder arthroscopy surgeries, for subluxation. Multidirectional. Fun times.
Once again, let's fast-forward. I had been using Tramadol for everything. I put my online education on hold until I worked this out. I used Tramadol to get through work, but sitting for 8 hours sucks, plus an hour there and an hour back. Shitty at best, positively pain inducing at worse. My wife, daughter and I had to move across the state and in with her parents. My doctor was okay with it, and said he'd just do things like we were, come in every so often, and he'd just fax refills to the local pharmacy. For Tramadol, and my Gabapentin (Neurotin) for my Sciatica, and finally my antipsychotics.
All was fine. I was doing well. I had even started working out with my Wife and her Mother. Until I had trouble getting a refill. His office staff was quite known to play the "we didn't get a request/fax", even though the pharmacy sent them two. I called in a refill 2 days early, like they have told me to, on a Wendsday. I still had plenty of Tramadol left. Even more than you think because I will only take the 2 50mg pills each dose, and sometimes I didn't need it at night, or in the mid day, so I would only end up with three doses.
I ran out early Sunday.
That night was just the beginning. My pain intensified. I was losing my mind. I called Monday as soon as they opened, and they said they'd call me back. They never called back, and I called them later on, and they just told me he said "No more painpills". I was like, "Okay...then is he going to work something else out for me to help control this pain? I've also started having trouble in the bathroom, I'm not sure but I think it's connected." They said "Well if you come in and see him we may be able to work something out." I can't just up and run across state on a whim. I told them this, and It wouldn't be until Thursday. They said they'd put me down. I said okay...well can he do something for me until then? At this point, I'm ashamed to say it makes me feel like an addict. I now know I was going through withdrawal. From a supposed non-narcotic. They said no.
It got so bad with my leg pain that I went to the ER. They took care of me and gave me just enough Hydrocodone to last until Thursday. The treated me like a victim of circumstance and not an addict. At this point I have been on it for well over a year and a half. That's a long time. Of course my body has become dependent on it.
At this point I was surfing aggressively online looking for Tramadol withdrawal as a keyword. Coming across numerous places. The shit I read was so insane, and it fit. Some were like me. Others were taking upside of 20 50mg pills a day. Which made my eyes bug. But it was all the same. This supposed non-narcotic is doing some terrible stuff to people.
I felt betrayed. Myself. My doctor. I trusted my doctor to know what was best for me, but he led me astray and then cut me off. No tapering it down. No nothing. The man that has known me all my life cut me off from this drug that is said to have withdrawal symptoms that can last even longer than normal opiate withdrawal, and even get worse?
I think he left me out to dry for the sake of a $60.00 copay or he could've called me in the tramadol for four days and then I come see him. Which was what I was going for. Because at that point, I was ready to bail off of this Shit-Wagon, and I was going to ask him to taper it down little by little. Trying to avoid these side effects. At the time of the phone call to his staff last, I was having restless legs...bad.
Nothing is worse than trying to sleep, and having the shits. They can be controlled with Immodium. Restless legs? It was worse than the pain at times. Hot baths. Hot showers. My father in law knew my plight because he also suffers from restless legs from the knee down. I'm knee up. I joked that we had a complete set. I gave me some nice arthritic heat cream that saved me from some of it, but not enough.
I found Thomas's Recipe, and it's seeming to help a bit. I said piss on my old doctor because that was really screwed up of him. It was bound to happen, because honestly I needed to find a local doctor. Thankfully, that happened on Wed. Told her my backstory. I was increasingly anxious. A side effect from Tramadol withdrawl. I have trouble with my memory anyway after the incident, and I flubbed how long I had the sciatica by over 6 months. It all runs together. Plus I've been up and down randomly with this Restless Leg shit...
She put in for my doctor's charts, gave me refills on my antipsychotics, Gabapentin, and Prednisone. Gotta love it. I've not seen sweet Prednisone since I had Bells Palsy. Fun times. All the shit in my life happens on my right side. I'm not even kidding.
She also gave me a shot of Toradol (60mg), which is a painkiller/anti-inflammitory. In my "hip". I've been over this well before. They say hip, it may technically be called "hip"....but I know my ass when you stick a needle into the meaty part of it. Ohhhh it burned so good. I also still have a bit of a tender spot. First date Doc and you didn't even buy me dinner.
Anyhow. The next day, I flipped finally and called them asking about something for restless legs. She acknowledged it and called in Requip. Just enough for a week. Enough to get past the bullshit. I am thankful.
That was Thursday. Today is Friday. I started getting the same restless feeling in my arms and couldn't get warm and cold all at the same time. Today the restlessness is out of my legs almost completely. My legs are never truly at rest. I'm a musician remember. I'm always tapping away. Plus I wouldn't be surprised to find out I'm a bit ADHD, but screw that. That's part of me I'd like to keep. I'm impulsive. I like that. No doctor. No medicine. No withdrawal symptoms are ever going to force me to take that out of myself.
The arms are happening just like the legs, it's a bit in my back too, but from the elbow up. My sciatica is now being controlled with Tylenol. I've been doing stretches and walking. I don't feel like it. It's terrible. I wouldn't wish this on my worst enemy. Distraction is what works best. For me...I've been taking long car rides and blasting music and jamming. It's the best thing besides setting my kit up and annoying my in-laws. I call it Music Therapy.
I still get emotional. Anxious. Sleep deprived. I'm not entirely sure, but I hope that the fact that it seems to be moving "UP" is a sign that I'm getting through this.
Finally:
I WILL WIN. I invoked my stubbornness. I may suffer, but I will win and I will never go back to this. Ever.
