Slaying those Dragons – Part Three

I didn’t stick with counseling too long, I started feeling better and I pulled out, huge mistake!  I did okay for about six months afterward, the depression had settled and life for every practical purpose was good, there were problems but they were manageable.  I stopped doing what I needed to do and the depression started creeping in a little at a time, and before too long, I was in its full throes again.

I started isolating again, was always tired, stopped taking care of myself and my home, and I’m not exaggerating when I say that my home was a disaster area.  It shames me to share this just as much as it shamed me to have to go to counseling again and admit what I thought was my weakness, so I didn’t!  I suffered in silence for a few years, making excuses when my family or friends wanted to come over, and buried myself in my shame and guilt. 

While I was secretly praying to die, that was my answer to attempted suicide, I put on a brave face whenever I had to face the world, and acted as if everything was absolutely perfect in my life.  I could have, and should have won an Oscar for that performance, I was just that good at it, nobody suspected anything and I could return to my messy home without fear of being bothered.  And this was my life for a few years.

Prayers are powerful, it doesn’t matter whether your prayers are good, bad, or indifferent.  When they say, ‘be careful what you pray for’, they seem to know what they are talking about because my prayers to die did not go unheeded.  On November 30^th, 2007, I suffered a sudden cardiac death, and was clinically dead from five to seven minutes. Now, I don’t remember anything about that day, or the week before, or a few weeks after, but the trauma of death still affects me to this day.

They discovered that I had a heart condition which made me prone to arrhythmias, or unusually fast heartbeats, and that I could quickly jump into fibrillation, when the heart just flutters and can’t pump any blood.  I was sent to St. Michael’s Hospital in Toronto where they implanted an ICD (Implantable Cardioverter Defibrillator in my chest, yes, I now come with my own paddles, stand back everyone.

On January 18^th, 2008, my fancy schmancy ICD malfunctioned, giving my heart five shocks I didn't need, and sent my heart into a tailspin.  This trauma would result in a diagnosis of PTSD about a year later.  During the year following the misfire, I spent more time in a hospital bed than I did in my own, not because I needed to be there but because anxiety had set in and I misconstrued every irregular heartbeat, cramp, or pain in my chest (overlooking the fact that I had a cracked sternum), and basically camped out in the Emergency room.

It took the courage of one brave doctor, Dr. Groh, to stand up to me and tell me that there was nothing wrong with my heart but if I kept it up there would be.  She noted her observations and sent them to my family doctor who started the process of assessing my depression and anxiety.  The result was a course of pharmacotherapy which helped me immensely.

Now, I know that some people staunchly oppose pharmacotherapy, advocating instead for more natural treatments, and I will be the first to admit that nutrition and exercise are just as crucial as medication for the treatment of depression, anxiety, and PTSD.  I will not engage in an argument about supplements vs medication because what works for one may not work for another, when it comes to physical health and mental health, I think a balance of both is extremely beneficial.  Pharmacotherapy was a very valuable tool in helping me deal with my condition and I would recommend it despite the naysayers.

When all is said and done, the important thing is to get well, and I think we owe it to ourselves to keep an open mind, and try every solution before we dismiss them as quackery.  Next Sunday, in the final installment, I will discuss my latest bout of depression, and the unconventional but effective tools that I found helpful in dealing with it.

Love you all!

Luc