I now have a pacemaker.

Miscellaneous and Personal Stuff I Must Share
1

Where to begin…?

I’m 45 years old. For many years, I felt my heart skip beats, speed up for no reason, slow down when I walked fast or was carrying something or was walking uphill or the weather was hot. I knew something was wrong.

And I didn’t care. I didn’t want to go to the doctor. Why?

Because I was hoping that my heart would fail, that I’d drop dead on the sidewalk, and people would think I’d died of natural causes and had not committed suicide.

You see, I also suffer from chronic depression, severe enough to the point that I often thought of suicide (and tried to commit it more than once) and was taking imiprimine for it. At last, I thought, a way of committing suicide without it LOOKING like suicide! I’d finally be free of my miserable existence and I avoided the stigma of suicide.

But it was taking longer to die than I thought it would. (I first felt my heart act up about ten years ago.) My chest often hurt. I was getting frightened every time my heart misbehaved and also more than a little impatient. “If my heart’s gonna kill me, I wish it would hurry up and do so,” I often thought.

Last month, I went to Las Vegas and gambled away nearly all my money. (I was actually in Vegas the same time as the big Dopefest, but I was so embarrassed and ashamed of myself, I couldn’t bring myself to attend.) Broke, frightened and depressed, I rode Greyhound back to Southern California. I stayed in a Salvation Army shelter in Santa Ana for three days. Then I caught a bus to Long Beach, intending to stay in a shelter there.

It was warm. I was carrying about 25 pounds of clothing and other articles in a duffle bag over my shoulder. I had managed to save enough money to do my laundry, so I spent that morning washing my clothes at a laundromat. I then hoisted my duffle bag onto my shoulder again, and started walking to the Long Beach Library near City Hall to kill time until it was time to get a bed at the shelter. I was hungry and I had less than five dollars.

My heart pounded as I walked. THUMP-DE-DUMP… THUMP… THUD-DUMP… THU-THU-DUMP… It was beating V-E-R-Y S-L-O-W-L-Y (my pulse was about 35) and in no rhythm whatsoever. I thought I was going to die.

I am a creature of impulse. My suicide attempts have all been impulsive acts. My decision to live was just as impulsive. (Maybe it was my natural instinct to survive, the instinct that we animals all have.) Whatever the reason, I wanted to live, so I carried my bag to St. Mary’s Hospital in Long Beach and went into the E.R. and told the receptionist what was going on. (I thought I had angina and would need a bypass.)

To make a long story short, an EKG told the cardiologist that I needed a pacemaker. If not, my heart would eventually fail and it could fail that night.

I told them to put it in.

My pacemaker was installed the next morning, October 16.

They wanted to discharge me the next day.

TO BE CONTINUED…

2

Pacemaker installation has just about become routine. The little gadgets are now so sophisticated and the operation so relatively simple, that a recipient is often discharged within 24 to 30 hours of the operation.

But I had nowhere to go.

I told every doctor, every nurse, everyone but the custodians that I was homeless, that I had nowhere to go and I needed their help. I was assured that they would do all that they could.

And then the social worker came. And she said the best they could do was discharge me early enough so that I could get a bed at the local shelter before they closed the doors for the night.

I knew that there was an excellent chance that I would not get into the shelter at all, that I just might have to sleep on the street somewhere with a fresh incision on my upper left chest protected only by steri-strips and the lunch that I had just eaten was possibly my last meal of the day and that I would get no breakfast the next morning.

I panicked. It was as if something or someone else had control of my body and I was just watching what it was doing, but from the inside. I screamed “NO!!!” several times and waved my arms around and looked around frantically. An orderly came in and I pushed my small table to keep him away from me. I turned around and grabbed the nearest thing, the IV pole, and whacked myself in the forehead at least three times, maybe more (I have three distinct wounds in my forehead now, but I may have hit myself in the same place more than once, I’m not sure).

(It’s not the first time that I did something like that in a moment of extreme frustration and despair. And I don’t know why I’ve done it. Why do I (and others) want to whack ourselves in the head when we’re extremely frustrated?)

There was blood POURING from the lacerations. I was bawling like a hungry six-month-old and I sat on my bed and hung my head and watched the blood fall to the floor.

People came in to see what had happened and went right to work cleaning up the room and me and changed my gown. A woman orderly was assigned to watch after me; they were not going to leave me alone now.

Hours passed like molasses in January. Eventually, someone came in and told me that, if I wanted, they would send me to a psychiatric hospital. I agreed and that very night, I was sent to Del Amo in Torrance.

I spent three weeks there. I was prescribed a new anti-depressant (Celexa) and a sleeping pill (Restaril) to battle my chronic insomnia. I was in therapy two or three times a day, seven days a week. I made friends and pissed off a few people and got pissed off more than once, especially the first week (I don’t like having room-mates). I ate food that was nearly always served at room temperature.

I got better, but I still need a lot of help. I’m currently staying in a home in Gardena with seven other people who have similar problems. Several of us go back to Del Amo at least three days a week (I go five days a week) for more therapy and advice and follow-up care. The room costs me $600 a month, which includes all utilities and one hot meal a day. Medicare and Medi-Cal pay all my medical bills and I get SSI and Social Security. If anyone has any questions, I’ll be glad to answer. I’ll try to be here every day at this time (my internet access is now limited to three hours or less a day) and all day every Saturday.

Oh, and one more thing: My cardiologist said there was a chance the imiprimine I took from 1989 to 1997 for my depression was responsible for my heart’s erratic behavior.

Is there someone I could successfully sue?

3

Well, you’re still a Grade A Californian, depressed or not. The first thing that comes to mind, is apparently whom you could possibly sue. :smiley:

All kidding aside, that’s a heartbreaking story, if you’ll forgive me the pun. As someone with a slight heartbeat irregularity (but under control and periodically checked), I sort of know what it feels like when your heart first skips a beat, and you think “Fuck. Why did it do that??”. You get used to it to a degree, but it’s still weird. I’ve found that a few factors can mess up my heartbeat: lack of sleep, surplus of nicotine, and surplus of alcohol.

I’d like to say that I succeed at keeping those three factors at bay, but often I don’t. Anyways, the doc says my ticker is essentially fine, and there’s no reason for me to worry [sup][sub]if you could just lose 10 kilos, sleep more, and don’t smoke, not even on weekends, please, mr Coldfire?[/sub][/sup]

Glad to hear your heartbeat’s under control now, and I wish you lots of strength on your way out of the rut you’re in now.

4

Dang, I thought I was dealing with a lot of crap in my life, but suddenly, I feel fortunate.

It sounds as if you’re doing the right thing for you. I’m glad you’ve found help and have gotten your meds straightened out. I wish you the best of everything in the coming days and months. Thanks for sharing your story.

5

Thanks, guys. I wish I could have responded sooner.

6

jab1, minus the pacemaker part, your story is heartbreakingly similar to one I lived through with someone I loved.

Depression is such a horrible monster… keep doing your best to slay it.

7

Jab

What do you need, my friend?

8

What Rasa said.

Also, depression is not really you. It just takes over you and makes you feel and do things that you really wouldn’t do otherwise. You obviously have a lot to offer and have a lot of brains. A lot of life yet to live. I hope the care you are currently getting will help you in many ways. My good thoughts are with you.

And I’m glad you decided to get the pacemaker put in.

9

Lib, thanks for the kind offer, but at the moment, my needs are met.

I’ll let everyone know how I’m doing. For the foreseeable future, I’ll only be able to be here on Saturdays, but that’s how it has to be.

BTW: I’ve actually found out why I sometimes whack myself in the head: It feels so good when I quit.

I’m not kidding. That’s the official explanation. When certain people are under severe emotional stress, we cut ourselves, or hit ourselves in the head or harm ourselves in some other fashion not as a suicide attempt, but to cause the body to release endorphins and thus feel better:

From here: http://www.palace.net/~llama/psych/injury.html (Click on “Why” in the menu on the left.) I’ve only skimmed that site. When I have a chance, I’ll read more of it. But my day on the web is done now.

See you guys next week.

10

Make sure to keep in touch, jab, and let us know how you are doing. Our good thoughts are with you.

Your link reminded me of something I had to learn at my job. (I work with the developmentally disabled.) I was trained in some theraputic techniques that would (hopefully) be relaxing to people who were under distress. This technique (and anyone can do it) involves making gentle compression on the joints in a rythmic way. Like, ten compressions of the arms at the elbows, ten compressions of the finger joints, one-by-one…all the way down the body. It really works. I have done this technique on some very agitated people, and they almost start to fall asleep afterwards. (And of course there is more to the technique than what I have attempted to describe here.)

Supposedly the reasoning behind this technique is that the compressions release something (not unlike what you are discussing, jab) and it helps calm us down. That’s why some of us, when we are upset or stressed out, hit or bang our fists—we are compressing those joints and that helps us calm down.

I have even tried this technique on myself (on my finger joints) and it really does work.

I dunno, this just came to me, and I thought I’d mention it. Pretty interesting tidbit of info, and useful to just about anyone.

11

Dear Jab1, hey, remember me? I’m the guy who believes in magic… I told you I was coming out to So. Calif for graduate school. Well, I’m here. I’m living in Van Nuys, now. If you need anything call me. I’m emailing you my phone number.

12

BTW: With my pacemaker, I am now 1% Borg.

Resistance is futile…

13

Good to see you back, jab, and I’m glad things seem to be a little better now.

14

Here’s a true story, jab 1, to encourage you: Broadway director George Abbott had a pacemaker installed when he was 94 years old. The doctor laughingly told him, “Come back in about ten years and we’ll give you a new one!”

Ten years later, 104-year-old Abbott did indeed come in for a checkup. [P.S. He lived to be 108.]

15

God honey, I wish you’d been able to talk yourself into going to the Vegas Dopefest. Dopers are accepting people, and their love and support seems to come without strings or judgments.

That said, I’m so happy you’re finally getting the care you (and your heart!) needs. Depression is a serious monster to battle and you’ve been incredibly brave and tough to go it alone all this time. I suspect that having heart problems made it all the tougher–not just emotionally but physically, also. Hang in there and know we’re rooting for you and thinking about you.

16

Hey jab!

Just want to chime in and add my support. I’m glad to read that your needs are being met right now. Keep coming here for help, hope and (cyber-)hugs.

((jab))

17

Hey, Jab1!

If need be, call collect. Also, the 165 bus stops right by my apt. The 234 stops only a few blocks away. Drop by if need be. I don’t have a working vehicle right now, or I’d come and get you.

18

Jab, I’m very glad you finally are begining to move in the right direction. I’m sorry it took such a deep plunge to get you turned around, but the important part is that you did turn around.

I’ve been there wtith depression and self-wounding. I know some small part of what you’ve experienced, and I am deeply impressed by your will to live.

Be well, and Be Happy.

19

jab1 - next time you’re in my neighbourhood and needing some help, try to e-mail me. I’m sorry to hear about your recent troubles, and I hope that your health improves soon.

20

Thanks for everything, guys…sniff

I knew I could count on y’all.

(goes away sobbing like a nine-year-old…)

We need a crying “smilie”.