I requested a new copy of my medical records yesterday. Before I jump to any conclusions, plans, or assumptions I need to verify that the records have indeed been changed. Hopefully, I'll have a new copy this week.
I had a rough night last night. This situation was preying on my mind. I took a pill, and still couldn't sleep. I just feel like they're all out to get me, even though in the rational part of my brain I know that's not true.
How on earth did I find myself in such a freaking mess?
It shouldn't be this hard to give birth. It shouldn't still haunt you two 1/2 years later. I shouldn't be in this place where I am right now.
Showing posts with label rage. Show all posts
Showing posts with label rage. Show all posts
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
What do I do now?
I orginally got a copy of my medical records from my daughter's birth just a few months after she was born. At that time, I read them, discussed them with my family practice doctor, and decided to enter counseling to learn to cope with my experience. I put the records away, and completely forgot about where they were.
Last summer, things were really getting to me again, and since I couldn't remember where my records were in addition to them being somewhat incomplete, I requested a new more complete copy of them. By the time I received them, I was back in counseling, and I'd relaxed enough that I didn't really feel the need to read them.
When I was sick over Thanksgiving, I found the new set of records. I paged through them, re-read the narratives, and threw them out. I noticed that they specifically mentioned me "consenting" to procedures. However, I didn't remember that being in the original set of documents. However, the other day, I noticed the original set of the records was buried at the bottom of a drawer in my daughter's changing table. I made a note of their location in the back of my mind, and went about my business.
Yesterday morning, I woke up a little bit before the alarm went off. As I was laying in bed, it suddenly hit me. They'd changed the original records. It bothered me a bit, but I had work to do, so I put the thought aside.
This morning, I grabbed my original copy of the records, and re-read the notes on my daughter's delivery. In the original narrative, there's no mention of the doctor obtaining consent for the D & C, manual removal of the placenta, or fixing the uterine inversion. However, I'm positive that the current records have been altered to include "consent" issues.
What do I do? I don't know if I should request another copy of the records. I'm not sure if I should file a complaint with the hospital, state medical department, or find an attorney. I had registered a complaint with the state medical department a couple of years ago, and I'm sure my records were altered to avoid punishment at that time.
I don't know. I'm perplexed, frustrated, and angry right now. I feel like I've been re-violated because they're unwilling to face up to their own actions.
Last summer, things were really getting to me again, and since I couldn't remember where my records were in addition to them being somewhat incomplete, I requested a new more complete copy of them. By the time I received them, I was back in counseling, and I'd relaxed enough that I didn't really feel the need to read them.
When I was sick over Thanksgiving, I found the new set of records. I paged through them, re-read the narratives, and threw them out. I noticed that they specifically mentioned me "consenting" to procedures. However, I didn't remember that being in the original set of documents. However, the other day, I noticed the original set of the records was buried at the bottom of a drawer in my daughter's changing table. I made a note of their location in the back of my mind, and went about my business.
Yesterday morning, I woke up a little bit before the alarm went off. As I was laying in bed, it suddenly hit me. They'd changed the original records. It bothered me a bit, but I had work to do, so I put the thought aside.
This morning, I grabbed my original copy of the records, and re-read the notes on my daughter's delivery. In the original narrative, there's no mention of the doctor obtaining consent for the D & C, manual removal of the placenta, or fixing the uterine inversion. However, I'm positive that the current records have been altered to include "consent" issues.
What do I do? I don't know if I should request another copy of the records. I'm not sure if I should file a complaint with the hospital, state medical department, or find an attorney. I had registered a complaint with the state medical department a couple of years ago, and I'm sure my records were altered to avoid punishment at that time.
I don't know. I'm perplexed, frustrated, and angry right now. I feel like I've been re-violated because they're unwilling to face up to their own actions.
Thursday, September 17, 2009
A Trip to the ER
So, last week I ended up in the emergency room of the hospital where Jennavive was born. I've been having problems with dizziness, and I'd seen the doctor the week before. She thought it was just vertigo - be patient, and it should go away on its own. However, I started having a lot of tingling, numbness, nerve pain in my face on my way to counseling Thursday night. I called my husband, asked him to pick up peanut, and went home. When I got home, I looked in the mirror, and my face was completely lopsided. My husband got home 1/2 hour later, and I asked him to take me to urgent care. As we started to head out of town to the clinic urgent care, I changed my mind, and asked him to head to the ER.
We stood behind a couple of other families waiting our turn to get checked in when the triage nurse came out of her room to start prioritizing patients. She spoke to the family in front of us, told them to stay in line, and came back to talk to me. I explained about my face drooping. She grabbed my arm, told my husband to check me in, and dragged me into the emergency room. I sat down on the bed, and she started strapping monitors to my chest, a blood pressure cuff around my arm, and taking a quick history. Two minutes later, the doctor was at my bedside asking questions and listening to my story. He told me that they were going to do an MRI. Another nurse came in, and started setting me up for an IV. (Doesn't anyone ask permission anymore?) I balked. I told her that I'd had a rotten birth experience, and I really didn't want the IV. I got lucky, the lab tech walked into the room to do a blood draw, so she told me that as long as the tech got a sample that they'd skip the IV.
I’ve been having problems since then. I was diagnosed with Bell’s Palsy. It’s not a big deal. It goes away on it’s own over time. It’s not pleasant, but not dangerous either.
But, it’s causing me nightmares, the feeling of being objectified, the feeling of being controlled, the feeling of being dismissed or ignored all coming raging back to me. I’m struggling to cope. My In-Laws have very graciously moved into our home for this week since I’m not allowed to drive. They’re making meals, performing projects around the house, mowing, and cleaning. It’s great that they’re willing to do this. I appreciate all of their efforts, and yet I feel like screaming – “GET OUT, I can do it MYSELF”. Except I cannot do it myself, and I know it. I know it’s the PTSD talking. It’s the dichotomy that I live with. My rational brain knows that everyone is looking out for me, everyone just wants to help me get better, but the irrational side feels like a little kid fighting off a temper tantrum. I want to fling myself on the floor, kick my legs, and scream at the top of my lungs.
Hopefully, acknowledging it will let it fade.
The good news is, I did advocate for myself in the ER after I got over the initial shock. I did get them to explain things to me. I did avoid an unnecessary IV. I did manage to keep myself in the present, and fight off the flashbacks. Even though my blood pressure skyrocketed to my PIH days of pregnancy, I kept my calm. I did ask a ton of questions the next day at the clinic appointment. I can hear my counselor telling me that I did a good job. My husband feels like I did a good job. The rational part of my brain knows that I handled this better than Jennavive's birth. I just wish the fall out was a little bit easier to handle.
We stood behind a couple of other families waiting our turn to get checked in when the triage nurse came out of her room to start prioritizing patients. She spoke to the family in front of us, told them to stay in line, and came back to talk to me. I explained about my face drooping. She grabbed my arm, told my husband to check me in, and dragged me into the emergency room. I sat down on the bed, and she started strapping monitors to my chest, a blood pressure cuff around my arm, and taking a quick history. Two minutes later, the doctor was at my bedside asking questions and listening to my story. He told me that they were going to do an MRI. Another nurse came in, and started setting me up for an IV. (Doesn't anyone ask permission anymore?) I balked. I told her that I'd had a rotten birth experience, and I really didn't want the IV. I got lucky, the lab tech walked into the room to do a blood draw, so she told me that as long as the tech got a sample that they'd skip the IV.
I’ve been having problems since then. I was diagnosed with Bell’s Palsy. It’s not a big deal. It goes away on it’s own over time. It’s not pleasant, but not dangerous either.
But, it’s causing me nightmares, the feeling of being objectified, the feeling of being controlled, the feeling of being dismissed or ignored all coming raging back to me. I’m struggling to cope. My In-Laws have very graciously moved into our home for this week since I’m not allowed to drive. They’re making meals, performing projects around the house, mowing, and cleaning. It’s great that they’re willing to do this. I appreciate all of their efforts, and yet I feel like screaming – “GET OUT, I can do it MYSELF”. Except I cannot do it myself, and I know it. I know it’s the PTSD talking. It’s the dichotomy that I live with. My rational brain knows that everyone is looking out for me, everyone just wants to help me get better, but the irrational side feels like a little kid fighting off a temper tantrum. I want to fling myself on the floor, kick my legs, and scream at the top of my lungs.
Hopefully, acknowledging it will let it fade.
The good news is, I did advocate for myself in the ER after I got over the initial shock. I did get them to explain things to me. I did avoid an unnecessary IV. I did manage to keep myself in the present, and fight off the flashbacks. Even though my blood pressure skyrocketed to my PIH days of pregnancy, I kept my calm. I did ask a ton of questions the next day at the clinic appointment. I can hear my counselor telling me that I did a good job. My husband feels like I did a good job. The rational part of my brain knows that I handled this better than Jennavive's birth. I just wish the fall out was a little bit easier to handle.
Monday, August 31, 2009
Rage - the Drug of Choice for PTSD
Personally, I kind of like the way that righteous, justified anger makes me feel. When I'm angry I feel powerful, not weak. When I'm angry I feel invincible, not helpless. When the anger is justified, those feelings seem even stronger because I'm "standing up for the little guy" or "showing the man".
I allow myself to fully experience it. I relish it. I wallow in it. I'm almost seduced by it. I don't let myself let go of it, because I like the powerful way it makes me feel. Justified, righteous, and powerful - it's like a drug to my brain. It feeds the PTSD. I burn with the emotions.
The problem is, when I'm angry there's no room for happiness. There's no room for remembering or appreciating my daughter's joyful laugh. I lose so much if I let it take over. I don't appreciate a bouquet of fresh flowers, a beautiful garden, or a sunny blue sky. I hate what I lose when it has me by the throat, so I'm trying to teach myself to let it go.
My boss told me once that I needed to forgive the doctor to heal. Sometimes I wonder if he's right. The anger shouldn't be a security blanket that I hold close. I should hold my family close.
I allow myself to fully experience it. I relish it. I wallow in it. I'm almost seduced by it. I don't let myself let go of it, because I like the powerful way it makes me feel. Justified, righteous, and powerful - it's like a drug to my brain. It feeds the PTSD. I burn with the emotions.
The problem is, when I'm angry there's no room for happiness. There's no room for remembering or appreciating my daughter's joyful laugh. I lose so much if I let it take over. I don't appreciate a bouquet of fresh flowers, a beautiful garden, or a sunny blue sky. I hate what I lose when it has me by the throat, so I'm trying to teach myself to let it go.
My boss told me once that I needed to forgive the doctor to heal. Sometimes I wonder if he's right. The anger shouldn't be a security blanket that I hold close. I should hold my family close.
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