Dealing with Depression and Anxiety
So...this is going to be a dark post. I'm going to lay my experience all out there, no sugar coating.
No one could have prepared me for the depths of darkness and despair developing an abscess and then a fistula threw me into.
This isn't something that any of the doctors or surgeons I'd interacted with even hinted at either. One thing I've learned about our Canadian health care system is that doctors are concerned with the body - what is working, what isn't working and how they can fix that. What is missed is the emotional aspect of living through a debilitating and/or prolonged illness.
One of the contributors to my depression and anxiety was the physical pain. It took doctors 6 weeks to finally figure out I had an abscess in my rectum. In those six weeks I was absolutely immobile with pain. I couldn't work. I couldn't stand or walk for prolonged periods of time. I couldn't sit. All I could do was lay on my left side and, when that side went to sleep because I'd lain on it so long, call my husband into the bedroom to help me turn over. I have never experienced excruciating agony like that in my life and I hope never to again. For reference - I've heard women who have had children compare the pain of a rectal abscess to childbirth. Only, according to them, childbirth was easier because the pain didn't last as long. The pain woke me up out of dead sleeps when my meds wore off. And the only way I could get through the day was to be heavily sedated. To say I thought I was going to die when I was going through this period is not at all an understatement.
Because my abscess tracked upward, it made one of my labia swell up (about three times the size it should've been. It felt like hard rubber - like a basketball). Because of my labia being swollen, doctors thought I had an infected Bartholin gland. Long story short, I had 2 botched surgeries, one surgery that finally drained the abscess and was horrifically painful and took a good 6 weeks to recover from, and three misdiagnoses in all of this.
My first surgeon (a general surgeon, not a CRS) was convinced I had Crohn's disease because of the location of my abscess. Typically, as I understand it, if someone develops a fistula then the standard protocol in Canada is to check for Crohn's anyway, but this particular surgeon was over the top zealous. He'd very rarely seen an abscess or fistula in the location I had one in and from the moment he did an incision and drainage, he went on and on and ON about how sure he was that I had Crohn's. This lead to an ocean of anxiety about whether or not I had this serious incurable disease. Long story short, unfortunately for me (again) it took forever to get the necessary tests that wound up ruling out Crohn's. In total, it took about 5- 6 months from the first time that surgeon scared the crap out of me until I finally had the MRI and CT enterography that ruled out Crohn's. That is a LONG time do deal with the question of whether or not I had an incurable illness and what would that mean for the rest of my life.
As if THAT weren't enough torture, I come from an unloving, abusive, neglectful family. My very worst fear is that I have to rely on someone else. I have a pathological need to be able to take care of myself. During this very dark time, I couldn't. I had to rely on my husband. I couldn't even feed myself during the six weeks I was bed ridden.
Because it took doctors so long to diagnose me, by the time they found out what was wrong with me and drained the abscess (I had to have mine drained twice because the surgeon didn't drain it properly the first time), at the tail end of all this I'd run out of all of my sick time at work and my husband, who is a contract worker, had been out of work for a year and a half. I was terrified we'd lose our home...all that good stuff.
And on top of all THAT, this whirlwind of pain and suffering took place during the winter months, and since I suffer from Seasonal Affective Disorder, I tend to be depressed during this time of year anyway.
Yeah. I was dealing with a lot.
So, the depression aspect - since that's the theme of this post.
What gets missed in the clinical definition of what a fistula and abscess are is the human side of the story. What the experience feels like and the domino effect experiencing these terrible illnesses causes in one's life.
For me, the sheer weight of the depression and anxiety were absolutely all encompassing and crippling. I hated my life, I hated myself, I was angry and bitter at everyone around me feeling like everyone had a far easier time of life than I did. I didn't understand why life was punishing me and I felt like I was a dead corpse that life just kept kicking and kicking.
Every day for a good 6 months I'd wake up and wish I hadn't. I absolutely hated myself. I couldn't stand the sight of myself in the mirror and, when I had my abscess drained the second time (the doctor burned a hole into my body as wide as his finger and so deep I could see straight into my rectum), I was absolutely disgusted by the sight of my fistula.
Long story short? I wanted to die. No exaggeration. Not being dramatic. The weight of everything was far too much and I really wanted to die. How bad? Enough to write a suicide note. Enough to research suicide and learn that pills alone have a very low success rate. Enough to realize I couldn't, in good conscience, do this without getting my will in order to make things easier on my husband. Enough to plan out where I was going to kill myself - couldn't do it at home because I didn't want my husband to find the body. Couldn't do it at work because finding my body might traumatize my co-workers. In the end, the only thing that kept me from killing myself was the thought of how that would affect my husband. If it weren't for him, I wouldn't be here today sharing my story with you.
When I was finally able to go to work, I'd drag myself in each day and struggle to get from second to second. Often I'd put my head down on my desk or go to the washroom and just sob and sob.
Finally, in desperation for sleep (because I was waking up every hour to every other hour for months), I went to my family doctor hoping for a recommendation for legal marijuana because I knew it would put me to sleep. Instead, I got a lecture on how evil weed was and a prescription for sleeping pills and anti depressants (umm...those can be addictive too so I have no idea what he was lecturing about).
Long story short, I went to a different doctor and was able to get legal marijuana. Now, it's not for everyone, but for me it worked. I have since learned that it is good for depression, anxiety, pain and insomnia - all things I desperately needed help with.
So aside from vaping weed, what did I do to get through this period of time?
I relied heavily on my mother, my aunt, my coworkers, husband and my best friend. There were many TMI share fests and shoulders that were soaked wet with my tears.
I opened up about what I was going through and found that people opened up about their struggles in return. I learned that I wasn't alone. A lot of people either are or have struggled with their health.
I also took as much control of the situation as I could - I learned about inflammatory bowel disease, I learned about surgical options, I made changes to improve my overall health - I gave up a lot of sugar and processed foods. I made sure to sleep at least 8 hours a day.
I took steps to de-stress my life as much as I could. I meditated, went for walks when I could, read books, stroked my cat, whatever I could do to try to regain my mental equilibrium.
I went to a therapist regularly to discuss dealing with anxiety and the grieving process that happens when someone struggles with prolonged illness.
I can't say one thing worked best but the combination of all of those things helped me pull out of my spiral. If you're suffering right now, maybe some of those things can help you as well.
I won't lie, I feel pretty vulnerable putting this all out there, but what I want anyone who is suffering from fistula or abscess to know is that you're not alone. Not at all. If you're feeling depressed or anxious, if you are having problems sleeping or eating or even thinking, that's normal. Try to be kind to yourself and don't be afraid to reach out to your loved ones and lean on them - when you're down and out, it's your loved ones that will help hold you up. I was so worried that I'd burden my loved ones by leaning on them but not a single person told me I was irritating them or made me feel anything other than heard and supported. If you're able to find others who have gone through this or forums for fistulas and abscesses, I'd recommend you do so with a warning about forums - they are filled with very sad stories (says the woman who just shared her own sob story). If you are very sensitive like me (I can't even watch the news, too depressing), then forums may not be for you. A suggestion is to find a few people from those forums that you can message directly - you could still benefit from the support without feeling overwhelmed by the sad stories of others.
I don't think enough emphasis is put on how serious and mentally/physically debilitating this illness can be. Just know that you're not alone.
So...this is going to be a dark post. I'm going to lay my experience all out there, no sugar coating.
No one could have prepared me for the depths of darkness and despair developing an abscess and then a fistula threw me into.
This isn't something that any of the doctors or surgeons I'd interacted with even hinted at either. One thing I've learned about our Canadian health care system is that doctors are concerned with the body - what is working, what isn't working and how they can fix that. What is missed is the emotional aspect of living through a debilitating and/or prolonged illness.
One of the contributors to my depression and anxiety was the physical pain. It took doctors 6 weeks to finally figure out I had an abscess in my rectum. In those six weeks I was absolutely immobile with pain. I couldn't work. I couldn't stand or walk for prolonged periods of time. I couldn't sit. All I could do was lay on my left side and, when that side went to sleep because I'd lain on it so long, call my husband into the bedroom to help me turn over. I have never experienced excruciating agony like that in my life and I hope never to again. For reference - I've heard women who have had children compare the pain of a rectal abscess to childbirth. Only, according to them, childbirth was easier because the pain didn't last as long. The pain woke me up out of dead sleeps when my meds wore off. And the only way I could get through the day was to be heavily sedated. To say I thought I was going to die when I was going through this period is not at all an understatement.
Because my abscess tracked upward, it made one of my labia swell up (about three times the size it should've been. It felt like hard rubber - like a basketball). Because of my labia being swollen, doctors thought I had an infected Bartholin gland. Long story short, I had 2 botched surgeries, one surgery that finally drained the abscess and was horrifically painful and took a good 6 weeks to recover from, and three misdiagnoses in all of this.
My first surgeon (a general surgeon, not a CRS) was convinced I had Crohn's disease because of the location of my abscess. Typically, as I understand it, if someone develops a fistula then the standard protocol in Canada is to check for Crohn's anyway, but this particular surgeon was over the top zealous. He'd very rarely seen an abscess or fistula in the location I had one in and from the moment he did an incision and drainage, he went on and on and ON about how sure he was that I had Crohn's. This lead to an ocean of anxiety about whether or not I had this serious incurable disease. Long story short, unfortunately for me (again) it took forever to get the necessary tests that wound up ruling out Crohn's. In total, it took about 5- 6 months from the first time that surgeon scared the crap out of me until I finally had the MRI and CT enterography that ruled out Crohn's. That is a LONG time do deal with the question of whether or not I had an incurable illness and what would that mean for the rest of my life.
As if THAT weren't enough torture, I come from an unloving, abusive, neglectful family. My very worst fear is that I have to rely on someone else. I have a pathological need to be able to take care of myself. During this very dark time, I couldn't. I had to rely on my husband. I couldn't even feed myself during the six weeks I was bed ridden.
Because it took doctors so long to diagnose me, by the time they found out what was wrong with me and drained the abscess (I had to have mine drained twice because the surgeon didn't drain it properly the first time), at the tail end of all this I'd run out of all of my sick time at work and my husband, who is a contract worker, had been out of work for a year and a half. I was terrified we'd lose our home...all that good stuff.
And on top of all THAT, this whirlwind of pain and suffering took place during the winter months, and since I suffer from Seasonal Affective Disorder, I tend to be depressed during this time of year anyway.
Yeah. I was dealing with a lot.
So, the depression aspect - since that's the theme of this post.
What gets missed in the clinical definition of what a fistula and abscess are is the human side of the story. What the experience feels like and the domino effect experiencing these terrible illnesses causes in one's life.
For me, the sheer weight of the depression and anxiety were absolutely all encompassing and crippling. I hated my life, I hated myself, I was angry and bitter at everyone around me feeling like everyone had a far easier time of life than I did. I didn't understand why life was punishing me and I felt like I was a dead corpse that life just kept kicking and kicking.
Every day for a good 6 months I'd wake up and wish I hadn't. I absolutely hated myself. I couldn't stand the sight of myself in the mirror and, when I had my abscess drained the second time (the doctor burned a hole into my body as wide as his finger and so deep I could see straight into my rectum), I was absolutely disgusted by the sight of my fistula.
Long story short? I wanted to die. No exaggeration. Not being dramatic. The weight of everything was far too much and I really wanted to die. How bad? Enough to write a suicide note. Enough to research suicide and learn that pills alone have a very low success rate. Enough to realize I couldn't, in good conscience, do this without getting my will in order to make things easier on my husband. Enough to plan out where I was going to kill myself - couldn't do it at home because I didn't want my husband to find the body. Couldn't do it at work because finding my body might traumatize my co-workers. In the end, the only thing that kept me from killing myself was the thought of how that would affect my husband. If it weren't for him, I wouldn't be here today sharing my story with you.
When I was finally able to go to work, I'd drag myself in each day and struggle to get from second to second. Often I'd put my head down on my desk or go to the washroom and just sob and sob.
Finally, in desperation for sleep (because I was waking up every hour to every other hour for months), I went to my family doctor hoping for a recommendation for legal marijuana because I knew it would put me to sleep. Instead, I got a lecture on how evil weed was and a prescription for sleeping pills and anti depressants (umm...those can be addictive too so I have no idea what he was lecturing about).
Long story short, I went to a different doctor and was able to get legal marijuana. Now, it's not for everyone, but for me it worked. I have since learned that it is good for depression, anxiety, pain and insomnia - all things I desperately needed help with.
So aside from vaping weed, what did I do to get through this period of time?
I relied heavily on my mother, my aunt, my coworkers, husband and my best friend. There were many TMI share fests and shoulders that were soaked wet with my tears.
I opened up about what I was going through and found that people opened up about their struggles in return. I learned that I wasn't alone. A lot of people either are or have struggled with their health.
I also took as much control of the situation as I could - I learned about inflammatory bowel disease, I learned about surgical options, I made changes to improve my overall health - I gave up a lot of sugar and processed foods. I made sure to sleep at least 8 hours a day.
I took steps to de-stress my life as much as I could. I meditated, went for walks when I could, read books, stroked my cat, whatever I could do to try to regain my mental equilibrium.
I went to a therapist regularly to discuss dealing with anxiety and the grieving process that happens when someone struggles with prolonged illness.
I can't say one thing worked best but the combination of all of those things helped me pull out of my spiral. If you're suffering right now, maybe some of those things can help you as well.
I won't lie, I feel pretty vulnerable putting this all out there, but what I want anyone who is suffering from fistula or abscess to know is that you're not alone. Not at all. If you're feeling depressed or anxious, if you are having problems sleeping or eating or even thinking, that's normal. Try to be kind to yourself and don't be afraid to reach out to your loved ones and lean on them - when you're down and out, it's your loved ones that will help hold you up. I was so worried that I'd burden my loved ones by leaning on them but not a single person told me I was irritating them or made me feel anything other than heard and supported. If you're able to find others who have gone through this or forums for fistulas and abscesses, I'd recommend you do so with a warning about forums - they are filled with very sad stories (says the woman who just shared her own sob story). If you are very sensitive like me (I can't even watch the news, too depressing), then forums may not be for you. A suggestion is to find a few people from those forums that you can message directly - you could still benefit from the support without feeling overwhelmed by the sad stories of others.
I don't think enough emphasis is put on how serious and mentally/physically debilitating this illness can be. Just know that you're not alone.
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