I’ve been noticing that I have developed a fear of doctors and medical offices when it comes to taking care of my own health.
I guess sitting in an office with the doctor who was giving the results of my husband’s dire diagnosis was not helpful. He was yelling at us that we needed to leave town immediately for Seattle to start treatment because it was that bad!
From there it was all the late night emergencies where I had to drive my husband in the middle of the night to the ER in a strange city and in the middle of Covid. I almost wasn’t allowed to be with him in the ER. Then getting lost in the big city trying to drive back to our apartment alone because my husband had to be admitted. It was stressful.
Then it was waiting on all the results of the bone marrow biopsies- so far 8 or 9. Also waiting for all the blood test results every week to see what all the cells were doing.
It does a number on your head. I’m beginning to fear that my own health may not be good. I have to go in and get checked out but it’s creating quite a bit of anxiety.
I know I need some counseling and I have had plenty before.
Anyway it’s another issue that just complicates everything.
But to agree, C S D needs to be considered as it can eventually turn into something else. After being under persistent stress for 2 years, my father called me in the middle of the night telling me his (dead) father just threw him out of the house and he was crying, "Where am I goin to live?" Then, he didn't answer his phone for the rest of the night. I drove up the next day and he had packed his truck. I relived that so many times and became reactive. It's all connected, but caregivers need to let their doctors know they are caregivers. You'd be surprised at how many times they hear that. And a good doctor will respond. I just wish more caregivers would go to the doctor and inform then of their lifestyle before they get to the point where they can't.
Then the phobia accelerated when my Mom could no longer get into my vehicle and I had to use their car that they still had, which I always hated to drive. It was like steering a large dining room table down the highway. By the time I got to our destination, I was a nervous wreck, fighting back tears.
Eventually I mentioned this to my parents, and they just looked at me like my hair was on fire and said "who is going to drive us?". Mom refused to ride with a stranger so cabs and the senior bus were out.
My parents have passed but, to this day, I still white knuckle it when driving. My driving limit is just a few blocks. So sad, as I had loved to drive :(
i wish those who need healing, to heal. hug!!
It sounds rough.
I go to a therapist when I can.
I got a gym membership to the YMCA and go there when I can.
I try to get together with friends when I can. I find the laughter really helps.
*Even if you were a doctor or in the medical field in your pre-retired life, you are NOT a doctor HERE on the forum (rendering YOU a lay person) and have no right to diagnose people or tell them what they do or do not have. Period.
You need to prioritize your own health and seek help for your husband's care wherever you can. If that means sending him to hospital by ambulance or patient transfer instead of being present yourself, then do it and don't feel guilty.
I wish you well.
So yes, people in war situations have experienced unimaginable horror. PTSD? No kidding. But caregivers are in another kind of trench. It may not be the immediate soul wrenching horror of stuffing your buddies intestines back into his body but it's still a mind numbing continuous day to day erosion of your spirit when you have to deal day after day after day with one small emergency after another after another.
Yes, it's PTSD. Don't kid yourself.
I'm sorry that I upset you. It was not my intention.
In the 50's and 60's after dinner neighbors who live in apartment buildings would often lean on an open window sill to watch a stick ball game in the street or just listen to the sounds of the street, and from each other’s homes.
It wasn’t unusual to walk to school the next day with other kids & poke fun at each other about how we heard one of them hollering bloody murder the night before as their parents were giving them a beating with either a leather slipper or belt. “Franky, boy did you get it last night”. Everyone had a turn. We were all mostly first generation kids of struggling Polish, Italian, & French, survivors of WWII. Some of the parents had numbers tattooed on their arms & almost all were high strung. After a hard day of working in a sweat shop, or as a cab driver, etc. many of the kids were getting beatings as though they were adults. Blind rage was normal. I believe my father who fought & was wounded in Europe and my mother who had alcoholic parents as a child, lost them in her early teens, and then hid during the occupation had PTSD, and both acted out.
This October my husband and I will be married 28 years. I finally found my home in him. He was an admirable, beautiful man with a great heart, a solid guy with the best laugh I’ve ever, use to, hear. Somewhere between 15 - 20 ago my husband started showing signs of Alzheimers Disease. At first and for a long time I was very resentful that once again I was cheated. Early on our AD journey I was so deeply exhausted and burnt out I developed rheumatoid arthritis. I helped care for my in-laws, and I helped spell my sister with my parents before they died too.
I found my tough childhood made me a relentless investigator to find out how to manage my RA perfectly. The violence I sometimes dodged and sometimes received mercilessly toughened me up to deal with the absolute lack of help, the feces, the incessant repetition, and the excruciating boredom, I endure now.
I want to talk too about my dearest friend who died when she was only 49 of Lupus and Scleroderma, (I'd run in the middle of the night to take her to the hospital too) and more importantly about her mother who also has Lupus, one kidney, is 82, has two autistic sons, one in a group home while the 44 year old still lives with her. She is still his caregiver. This woman has every right to be a hot mess, instead she exudes the most sweetest cheerfulness & gratitude that is incomprehensible. Her daughter, my friend, knew she was dying but she too lived everyday with gratitude in her heart.
For decades I had insomnia. Every night in bed I’d think to myself - Omg, I think I’m actually falling asleep this time. This is it. It’s really going to happen. Here I go I’m so relaxed, happily melting away only to hear out of nowhere Julius Fucik’s - Entry of the Gladiators, but more like in the cartoon Madagascar. Sometimes my stomach would be jumping repeatedly. For years I just took it and never said anything but during one check up I mentioned it & I was told, idiot, that’s a panic attack. Long story short, :),I found that I wasn’t hydrating enough. No more jumpy stomach & I fall asleep most times more easily with the help of a white noise machine.
Everyone has valid different levels of sensitivity. I truly get that. And I just looked up the many possible causes of PTSD. It mostly indicates assault, car accidents, prolonged traumatic experience (Nelson Mandela anyone?).
But people, man, oh man, my mind keeps going to soldiers who have seen, & experienced, horrors, my dad actually gathering the intestines of his friend in an effort to put them back into a place that was not an abdomen anymore, and the many mothers whose children became unrecognizable from a shooter.
I don’t know folks, something, but maybe not PTSD.
So no it's not unique to you Lynn. I wish I could give you advice on how to conquer it. Prayer helps me. If you are a believer ask God to shine his loving light upon you. Heck, even if you aren't a believer.
First, he prescribed me a mild, but effective sleeping pill to help my body repair. I was only on it for 3 weeks so as not to build any kind of addiction; just let me body get some much needed sleep. Also, he put me on a serotonin uptake inhibitor. Basically, it helps your body build its own serotonin by blocking the stress hormones.
It was a life saver for me, and my dad's anxiety was so off the charts that I asked his doctor if he could be put on one too. I truly believe my dad lived a longer and more fulfilling life because of it. Whatever the side effects might be (we never suffered any), that outweighed my dad dying of a broken heart and anxiety. I hope this helps. My husband later asked me if I could tell if the SSRI's were working, and said, "I don't know. Do you think they are?". He said, "I like you when you're on medication". LOL So, it obviously helps. And I saw my Dad's anxiety go down too after I got him on them. They are a natural way to help your body adjust to being stressed.
During the time I was taking care of my dad, I was writing a column for the newspaper on being a caregiver. The article(s) that covered this subject were called "Breaking Bad: the caregiver on overload". I'm also turning all of my experience into a book. Being on the flip side of this, I joined this group to help others going through what I did.
I also pooled mine and his money together and hired a retired lady from a local church to come in and give me time away from caregiving. She was $10 an hour and became a part of the family. When my dad got to the point of needing 24/7 care, she moved in and took care of him for free room and board plus $300 a month, and anything else I could bless her with.
allopathic medicine is a HUGE destructive aspect of society and medical errors are the 3rd greatest killer
PTSD is very real in care givers and you definitely need to see your doctor and bring a list of everything causing your anxiety. Your doctor may be able to recommend services for you and your husband to give you respite from some of the driving or caregiving chores. He may be able to give you something to take the edge off your anxiety (mine did and it was a Godsend! I could sleep again.)
Please take care of yourself. Good luck.
However, I had angst the entire trip.
When I got back home, my Mom seemed fine. All the workers in the MC unit said she is fine. No drugs. However, I was not fine.
Overtime, because I see my Mom nearly daily for a short time, my anxiety has lessened. Sheesh...
Psychiatrists are medical doctors (DOs and MDs) who spent years in medical schools, internships, and residencies to be eligible to take medical and board exams to practice. Lots of brain power and resilience are required to become a psychiatrist. It is ok to believe psychiatry is not helpful to you, but trashing the whole profession only shows your lack of understanding of the world around you and reveal your ignorance to the world.
To the original poster: any doctor that yells at you is unprofessional and should be reported. And then find a new one. I have changed my doctors for less egregious behaviors.
Lost my husband, father & cousin (like a brother) all in five years, all from cancer.
I then had to deal with my nasty toxic mother.
I went to therapy, no pills, helped me work through the problem, basically I am ok today, still have some minor issues.
Seek help
I think the important thing is to avoid labels, perhaps. PTSD is something we can recognize in ourselves after trauma. The tendency to be triggered. The label is unimportant.
Caregivers suffer many things, anxiety, worry, hopelessness, guilt, desperation. And there is an after effect to this as well. Arguing words and labels doesn't help....the person is looking for relief, even for understanding and companionship by those who understand what they are experiencing.
Whatever we call it, we who have given care to others understand it exists, acknowledge it, and attempt to do the work to get through it, even to learn from it. Lynn,I sure do wish you good luck. I think you'll be fine. Along with the trauma you have learned a lot. The coin has two sides.
The MC is lovely, but my mother’s negative outlook/depression/confusion/anxiety/bizarre questions/non-acceptance of logical answers, and on and on, feels like getting hit with an emotional 2x4. Every time I visit. It’s so very, very stressful.