Misinterpretations and assumptions

Okay, I have had a very, very bad headache nonstop since 4am.  And yes, I did check my blood pressure.  I do this now and then out of curiosity.  People who are skinny and don’t eat much run the risk of low blood pressure and pulse, and I have experienced both of these things. This is the reason I got the BP/P monitor in the first place, last summer.

History: I take, or, rather, took, an antidepressant that shot both my blood pressure up slightly and my pulse to the roof, or at least by comparison to where it was before.  This was a side effect of the medication.  I was not too pleased about this side effect, and it was one of the reasons I tapered off the medication.  I am waiting for this side effect to go away.

This antidepressant is called Imipramine.  It is actually the first antidepressant ever invented.  It is no longer popular.  Once Prozac and the other Prozac-like drugs came on the market, Imipramine and the other “tricyclics” got ignored.  It so happens that most doctors and nurses don’t even know what Imipramine is, or what the side effects are.  They don’t know how to prescribe them, either.

When I was at Walden, none of the staff were aware that Imipramine raises blood pressure and pulse.  They saw that my blood pressure was typically 130 over 85, shrugged, attributed it to my age, and forgot about it.  They assumed my pulse, usually 94, was due to anxiety.  They did not go back and look at my previous records at the very same hospital, and see that my pulse was almost always under 60.

Everywhere I have gone, I have had to point out to yes, medical professionals, what Imipramine is, how to spell it, the fact that it is an antidepressant, and what the very, very common side effects are and yes I have read the drug insert and yes these are verified by the drug company.

“This couldn’t possibly be a medication side effect.  Ninety is a perfectly safe pulse.  Nothing is wrong with your blood pressure.”

The nurse practitioner on my case didn’t read my chart unless I asked her to, and even when I did ask, she usually didn’t bother to do so for a few days, making excuses that she hadn’t had time.  It was blatantly obvious.  It was especially amusing when I put in a loud complaint about this, in writing, in my chart.  When she came to see me, it was clear that she had not read my complaint.  Ha ha.  When I asked her about “maximum doses” of medications and stuff, she had to check with her supervisor on how to reduce or raise them.  Huh?  This person prescribes?  She never looked at my vital signs or results of blood tests that I know of.

But oh yes, she looked at what I weighed each morning.  That was all that mattered.

And I am hysterical mental patient?  I am the one considered incompetent?  My T considered me so, so incompetent that she took the hospital’s word over mine.

She and my primary care doctor wanted to send me to the state hospital because they felt I was mentally incompetent.

Who, really, is incompetent?


I think I have made it perfectly clear that I am not incompetent.  Yet the reality exists that I have been alone and a little concerned and extremely inconvenienced since 4am with an excruciating headache.  It is debilitating and I could barely dress myself.

No, this does not mean “poor self-care,” and if I didn’t have this mental patient label no one would make this assumption.

Yes, I have a history of chronic dehydration due to my eating disorder.  I have learned that I have a weird feeling in my body when I am severely dehydrated.  Headache is part of this feeling, at least for me.  I woke up feeling that way yesterday morning.  I don’t take this lightly.  I hydrate.  I do not overhydrate.  I care for myself.

So that could be part of what’s happening.  Or this could be Imipramine withdrawal.  Yes, I tapered appropriately, exactly the same way they tapered me while I was in the hospital.

It could be one of those freak things.

I am not hysterical mental patient.  I don’t need group therapy for this, thank you.  Nor do I need to make a long, long list of emergency coping skills, and on the bottom is, “Call my therapist or the Crisis Team” with their numbers written in just in case I am too emotionally unstable to remember them.

All the above are why I divorced the mental health system.

All of the above are why I am sitting here writing this right now.

All of the above are why I am dealing with this pretty much all by myself, which is a mixed bag, sadly.

I think I will try to get some sleep.  I’m going to try to get to a class at church tonight.

Now that I have divorced mental health, at least I won’t get “Section Twelved” and carted off by police to the hospital against my will for having a headache.

Feedback and comments welcome!