Three feet from the bureau
In October of 2012, I was caught in another flare up. It was night time, well past business hours of doctors and therapists. Normally I am good at reaching out. I text my therapist. I write in my journal or blog to get through the episode. But this night was different. I snapped. I couldn’t bear any weight on my foot that night and it really made me feel like I couldn’t go on. I was so tired of feeling like an invalid. I wanted to die in an awful way. Problem was that I couldn’t get to my bureau three feet away to get the meds I needed to do me in. Any time I tried to move, I was in agony with horrible foot pain. I could barely move my foot out of the covers of my bed let alone stand long enough to shuffle to the bureau. I cried as there was nothing I could do but take what I had at my bedside. It wasn’t much but it was enough to make me unconscious and away to dreamland I went.
When I awoke the next morning, I was in a dreadful mood. I wondered if I had really done what I thought I did. I checked my pill box and it was empty. I checked the contents of my pain meds and it was close to empty. I couldn’t believe what I had done. But I survived it and am living to tell about it. How I woke up I don’t know. I felt ashamed of myself, not in surviving but of making an attempt and not seeking help. I had promised my doctors that if I felt like I did that night, I would call them. But no phone calls were made. I had a confidential suicide hotline to call but I didn’t. I had made suicide prevention part of my treatment plan but yet the crisis response plan went out the window that night. I didn’t implement any of it. I just took pill after pill until I passed out.
This scared me. I was no longer in pain yet who is to say that if this happened again I wouldn’t try to end my life again? Dealing with chronic pain is a beast. And so many times it doesn’t get a flag for suicide risk assessment. My better judgment wasn’t in gear that night. I not only wanted to end the pain, I wanted to end everything. I spend the next few days in a haze, and not from medication. I was scared to let my practitioners know what I had done. I finally broke down and told my therapist. It was very difficult admitting my attempt. I then told my psychiatrist and she shocked me by saying that if I wasn’t in pain, I wouldn’t have done what I did. And it’s true. Chronic pain changes you, not only physically but mentally as well. It took me a while to write about what I had done on my blog. After all three feet was the only thing stopping me from ending my life or attempting to. I’m still fearful about making another attempt while in the throws of another flare up. I keep a small portion of my meds by my bedside so they are not lethal. I was lucky I didn’t need medical intervention the next day. I still am not quite sure how many pills I took that night. And that also scares me because who is to say that the next time I won’t count them out.
Chronic pain is not something to underestimate. Hundreds try to end their life year after year because of physical pain. Most people see their doctors before an attempt is made. The question remains whether an assessment is made for either depression or suicidal thinking. My primary tries to assess my mental health but mostly just asks when my next appointment with my psychiatrist will be. It might be followed up by will I call him if I feel like taking an overdose of my pain medication. Yet he knows he is not the first person I will call. In my order of people to call: my psychiatrist, therapist, primary, then ER if I can’t get a hold of one of them.
That night, I didn’t call anyone. All of my safety plans went out of the window. All because I was overwhelmed by excruciating physical pain. I think if I could go back in time, I would have taken the time to breathe. And think more of self-preservation rather than self-destruction. I am more aware now of what to do but it’s not that easy when you are in the heat of the moment. A month ago I was again in excruciating pain for three days yet suicide was the furthest thing from my mind. I knew what to do to cope with the physical pain. And luckily that didn’t involve a bottle of pills. I felt the attack come on so treated my pain much earlier than I did in October. This helped to keep the suicide demons at bay. I texted my therapist, I emailed my primary that I was in excruciating pain. I also got in touch with my psychiatrist who help me to see there was a tomorrow. Doing these things didn’t make my physical pain hurt less but made my psychological pain bearable. It helped me to cope through this rough patch.
Being mindful about pain is how I get through bad flare ups. I have no control over these pain attacks. But I do have control over what I do with it. I learned my lesson from that October night.
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