Steroid Psychosis Is, Like, A Thing That Happens

Hiya, folks. I'm feeling the awkward, because I haven't blogged in such an incredibly long time. However, I'm feeling a little more myself lately, and I have something important I want to share with you.

Any of you gorgeous people ever heard of something called steroid psychosis? Just in case you haven't, and you get the occasional shot in the hiney when you're sick or have an allergic reaction, I want you to be aware of it.

My last post, for those of you smart enough not to read that depressing mess, was spent whining incessantly about my evil allergic reaction to poison ivy. Well, when I couldn't get in to see my family doctor, I went to a trusted walk-in clinic. I ended up going there twice, four days apart, and receiving two different steroid shots, as well as an oral prescription of prednisone.

When my allergic reaction continued, I was referred to a dermatologist. At that appointment I was informed that I wasn't given enough steroids to begin with, which is why my allergic reaction to the poison ivy came back with a vengeance. There I was given two HUGE shots of steroids, and told the dose would taper off over two weeks, and should definitely take care of my poison ivy rash. And it did just that.

I was super thankful that my rash started to fade, but something else remained. During the month that I was suffering that itchy rash, and receiving all those steroids, I'd become increasingly depressed, anxious, paranoid, and obsessive compulsive. Anything that happened outside of the ordinary was too much for me, and I decided that living was too difficult. I had no suicidal ideation, but I just didn't have the will to live. I cried all the time, and I just wasn't ME anymore. I feared that I'd never feel "normal" again, and was incredibly hopeless.

Well, through a lot of prayer, the support of family and friends, and a visit to my family doctor, I'm slowly getting back to me. My doctor listened patiently to my long story about the poison ivy, and how I'd become overly emotional, paranoid, panic ridden and more obsessive compulsive than I'd ever been in my entire life. She lovingly told me that I sounded like a bipolar patient, but that it was all because of the steroids. She said I was in hyper-drive, and, even though the steroids had been out of my system for weeks, I could continue to feel that way. She prescribed me some medication I was/am very wary of, but I trust her, and I seem to be getting better.

I'm not completely back to normal, but I'm getting there, and I've done some research I'd like to share. There's a lot of information out there on the interwebs, and some of it not so dependable, but this site was very enlightening for me. I believe this information to be reasonable, and helpful. Even a visit to my doctor didn't give me a name to what I was experiencing, and I think that it helps to label it.

What I've learned is that the corticosteroids I'd been paying to have pumped into me in order to suppress my immune system and decrease my allergic reaction, were also increasing the dopamine levels in my brain, which lead to mood swings, depression, increased ocd, paranoia and a panic attack that landed me in the ER thoroughly convinced I was having a heart attack. O.o I also learned that increased dopamine levels reduce the level of serotonin in your brain, which totally increases depression.

So please be careful when being prescribed any medication. Make sure to pay close attention to how you're reacting, both physically and mentally. Tell your significant other/family/friends what side effects to look for when you start taking anything. Corticosteroids can be a good thing, and I know a couple people with lupus that need them to get by day to day, but I will forever be afraid of them now.

Yeah, I had a lot of steroids pumped into me over a short period of time, but trusted medical professionals were the ones doing it, fully aware of how much I'd already had. No, I've never had such a reaction to one shot in the hiney. But I can tell you that I've had plenty of steroid shots in my life, and no one ever took the time to tell me what it could possibly do to me. Even if the chances are slim, I want to know what to watch out for, and I want you to as well. I certainly never want any of my loved ones to be in that 3% of the many steroid psychosis sufferers that commit suicide.

Unless my immune system is completely compromised, and I pray it never will be, I'll just take my chances with whatever crud or allergic reaction I'm dealing with. Nothing I've ever needed a steroid shot for even remotely compares to the trauma I, my wonderful husband, family and friends have been dealing with since April.

Project Update!

A friend of mine is doing a safari theme in her grandson's room, and wanted me to come up with a waterdoodle for him. I was thrilled to find that the little man has taken a recent liking to Maurice Sendak's work, so I got to come up with a Wild Things inspired camera safari illustration. Squee!

I'm still in shock that I'm working on art full time. Maybe someday I'll find a stopping point on my to do list, so I can clean out my studio. It needs a major overhaul. One thing at a time...

Scottish Manliness

I love this song soooooo much.

 

Travis

What is it about Scottish men that gets to me?! It's not just the accent, is it? It can't be. It helps, but I like them before they even talk. Am I alone here?

Sean Connery

Ewan McGregor

Gerard Butler

All three of these men have made me a little swooney, at one point or another. 

I even met three people from Scotland on a business trip once, and I fell in love with them, too. Danny, Gary and Jacqui.

Jacqui was a cute little freckly blond with a scratchy sort of voice. She was a mother of three, and missing her teenage boys something fierce. Basically, she was the sweetest thing ever, and adorable to boot.

Danny was tall and hilarious, and every one called him Donny. It did sort of sound like Donny when he said it, but I was pretty sure I'd heard Gary call him Daniel. When we ended up in an elevator together, I asked him to clarify. He cracked up, told me it was sort of an inside joke at that point and asked me politely not to tell. Donny it was.

Then there was Gary. Dude was all kinds of attractive and masculine, and he smelled sort of like eucalyptus. What? I wasn't sniffing him. He just sat near me, and I had to breathe. Perfectly innocent. Well, he made the mistake of saying my name. More than once. Like a lot. With that accent. I seriously fought the urge to follow him around like a lost puppy for the remainder of the training. Anyhow, he explained to me all about heather, how it's not a weed, and that Scottish grooms wear it on their lapels to represent love and commitment. Sigh. Luckily, he was old enough to be my father and never once acknowledged the fact that I was a complete mess around him. So polite. It also helped that my adorable husband was waiting for me in the lobby everyday, so his Scottish manliness didn't have a lasting effect.

Sounds like I'm a horrible woman, but I'm not. He was Scottish, therefor I couldn't help it. I just don't know why I couldn't. Any theories?

What Did You Do?

Let's talk briefly about how wonderful my husband person is, shall we? Oh, lets do. Have you met him? Maybe you've read about him here? If you haven't, you should. His name is Todd, but I like to call him Mr. T. I also enjoy singing excerpts from Sweeney Todd: Demon Barber of Fleet Street at him. He does not love it. The thought of peoply meat pies tends to gross him out...for some reason.

Anyhow, this afternoon I was sitting on my favorite floor pillow, checking Ze Book O' Face, enjoying the nothingness and just generally being a mess, when I hear someone pull up in our drive. Wondering who it could be, and how horrendous I actually look, I hopped up to find that a FedEx dude is carrying two boxes onto my porch. I bolt for Mr. T. He's dressed already, as usual.
Mr. T looks a little concerned about our mysterious parcels (Have I mentioned how much I hate the word "package"? Hate it.), but runs to the door to meet Mr. FedEx. As soon as they're signed for, and the door is shut, I plopped my butt down in the floor next to them. Mr. T looked concerned.

After very little prodding, he informs me that he got me a MacBook Pro and a printer for Valentine's Day!!!I think that deserves a few more exclamation marks, don't you? !!! I was in slight shock, and just kept saying, "What did you do?" He said he figured I needed it for work trips and my etsy shop. I totally needed a printer, and who would say no to a MacBook of their own?!

In conclusion, I hate to be mushy and annoying, but sometimes it's just too difficult not to tell the world about the sweetness that is my husband man. He's wonderful *most* of the time, whether he's spending money on me or not, but this was all kinds of spontaneous. He is *never* spontaneous. Ever. So...this is a big deal. I think he's good at it! ^_^

Loathed Expectations

Would you believe I've never made a New Year's resolution? Ever?

I've had goals before, but none of this proclaiming them on New Year's Eve type stuff. It's just not my style. I'm not really sure why, exactly.

Oh, wait. Sure I do. I loathe expectations.

That's right. LOATHE. So much more effective than just disliking, don't you think? I believe that comes from an unwillingness to live with disappointment. And by that, I mean disappointing others. Can't. Handle. It.

It's really awful, too. I really can't stand to know someone is disappointed in me, so I never want to agree to do something for someone, because then I know they're going to expect it. What if I fail?!

This is usually art related, so I take the "what if my arms fall off, like that lady in that story that slept all funky, smooshing her fingers all night, and the lack of blood made them turn black and fall off?!" route. It's not good.

Well, maybe I embellished a little bit, but you get the gist of what goes through my head. Some unforeseen event will stop me from fulfilling my end of the bargain, and disappointment will inevitably be my fate.

And it gets worse! On top of all that mental instability are the tiny people pleaser and the tiny rebel that live inside of me. The tiny people pleaser yearns to keep everyone placated by shouting, "Sure!" to absolutely everything, while the disgruntled rebel refuses to be bridled by expectations and sounds a little something like this: "You want me to do what? Ohhhh, okaaaaay! Hang on just a sec while I go do THE EXACT OPPOSITE!" It's really worse than not good.

Now that you're all quite certain that I'm battling with schizophrenia, I would like to announce that the husband person and I have decided to make New Year's Resolutions this year! O.0

I've been blabbing all about this children's book I want to write & illustrate, right? Well, 2010 is as good a year as any, wouldn't you say? I would. So, that's my New Year's resolution. It's something I've wanted to do since I was a little girl, and I'm going to do it. I want to help shape kid's imaginations, make them feel important/ like they belong, and this is how I'm going to do it.

Todd, whom I now enjoy referring to as Mr. T, would simply like to beat me arm wrestling (he's really never beat me), and lift the Christmas tree with one hand (read: without collapsing with a hernia). He actually said he wants to get in shape, and be healthier, but I like the funny version better. Don't you? I'm so mean.

So...what are your pesky resolutions?