Living with a Psychiatric Service Dog

I have chronic complex PTSD. I was diagnosed in 2011, out of the blue. I took six months off work, rested, went to therapy, wrote, crafted, and was still staggeringly ill.

I never did go back to work.

I eventually came to get my head more or less wrapped around my diagnosis, but it's really hard: I don't have the typical PTSD triggers, but I certainly have the symptoms - I don't sleep unless sedated, I have an exaggerated startle response, I don't regulate my emotions very well (I can get extremely irritable for no reason, or overreact to simple things, or fall into the Pit of Despair, or be sort of neutral for days on end). I have developed rather noticeable memory and executive function issues: I don't make good decisions, I can't manage the finances and paperwork effectively, and holding focus on any one thing for very long isn't possible anymore, to say nothing of the way I regularly forget what I came into the room for, where I left my glasses, what I need at the grocery store, what we discussed yesterday, or last week, or last month. Yes, everyone is forgetful and distracted sometimes, but I am forgetful and distracted all the time. It's such a dramatic change from the person I used to be that if you knew me before you'd see it plain as day. The thing is, I am not so disabled that I can't pass as a regular, normal, functioning adult ... the troubles are sneaky, low level, and persistent in ways that they aren't in a healthy person.

And this makes me constantly question whether I'm sick or just not trying hard enough.

Surely, if I just put a bit more effort into it, I could concentrate and get the paperwork done.
Surely, if I just tried a little harder, I could keep up with the housework.
Surely, if I just paid a bit more attention, I would remember what people said.
Surely, if I just ate better / exercised more / followed a better routine, I could sleep at night.

Okay, I've given up on the last one. I did try weaning off my night time sedatives, and stayed awake two nights straight and was appallingly out of sorts. The anti nightmare and memory-blocked sleep are critical to my survival, and the meds are essential to my ability to function.

And I know I can't just try harder to make the reactions to some innocuous trigger stop happening: awareness makes a lot of them less powerful, but they are sneaky. I drove home from the doctor's via a different route one day, and was so out of sorts and unsettled the rest of the day ... I finally realized I'd driven past the cancer hospital, site of some seriously unpleasant events. Yeah, I don't take that route anymore. And I know that the mood stabilizer and antidepressant that I take help keep me from the need to self-injure, and put up a safety barrier at the edge of the Cliffs of Insanity so I'm less likely to fall. So yeah, I need those too.

And the meds to buy me a day of concentration (at the price of two days of recovery), and the meds that settle my unsettled nerves.
Plus monthly visits to the psychiatrist and psychologist.

Okay, even I can admit that anyone who needs that much help just to keep going is very sick.

But, it always feels like I'm just not trying hard enough. In reality, that's part of the picture of PTSD - we can't quite accept that what happened to us was a big enough deal to warrant this kind of injury ... we toughed it out, we survived, why shouldn't we just keep going the way we were?

Well. That's the long circular argument that happens in my head all the time, more or less. I know I'm sick, I know I'm disabled ... but I don't feel like I ought to be, because other people have had it worse than me, because what happened to me wasn't all that awful and I must just be a wimp for not being able to suck it up, because surely if I just tried a bit harder I could squeeze more productivity out of my scattered self.

But the truth of the matter is, I need help. I need practical help with managing the household (which I get from my family, bless them), I need lots of time by myself to meander through the kindergarten crafting stations that are my coping strategies. And I need company, at the same time. I need someone to recognize when I'm starting to get frayed around the edges and tell me it's time to go home. I need someone to ground me when my dissociative tendencies kick in. I need someone to tell me it's all okay when I wake screaming from nightmares.

That someone is Ben.

Ben is my service dog. He's five now, and has been working for me for two years. We'll be doing our certification test come the new year.

Ben came to live with us as a pet ... he wasn't meant to be a service dog. But my illness progressed and it became obvious that I was one of the people whose PTSD falls into the "chronic" category. I wasn't going to get better, and I needed to do whatever was necessary to get the most out of the life I've been given, limits and all. I considered acquiring a trained service dog, but I thought that before bringing another dog into the house, we should give Ben the opportunity to volunteer. We started boot camp in December, worked hard on his obedience and public access skills in pet-friendly places for the winter, and by spring, I knew that although I couldn't explain why, having Ben with me made things easier.

And so we began our heavy duty training: we went to West Edmonton Mall on a Saturday. And then I learned more about the standards and training of service dogs, and we worked to the BC public access test standards. And then Alberta got organized and sorted out a certification program, and now we'll be doing that.

And I know that I need Ben. He licks my hands and bunts at my arm if I am out of sorts, demands that I play Toss the Squeaky Monkey or Stuffed Sheep Battles Stuffed Bear at least once every day (which means at least once every day I laugh!), sits on my lap to provide deep pressure therapy (some alchemical magic whereby having a soothing weight on your lap makes your nervous system chill out), sleeps in the small of my back or on my legs and provides convincing proof that I'm awake (or that I'm not - when the Ben in my dreams isn't behaving normally, I often wake myself up, because it's a clue that I'm having a nightmare).

Somehow, having him with me all the time helps me hold my balance better.

Life with a service dog is different. There's a lot more planning and logistics to deal with, particularly if you travel: we are going to Ireland in December and the paperwork for flying with him out of the country is staggering. Hotels sometimes give you grief (we generally book at pet friendly places, or big chains that have 'service dogs are welcome' policies). People ask you for your ID - which our government hasn't even made available for people like me until this past fall (a printed business card with an explanation of psychiatric service dogs usually suffices). Restaurant managers and staff who aren't from around here frequently know the food service rules about 'no pets' but are often unaware of the exceptions for service animals (yet another place those business cards come in handy). People sometimes think you must be training dogs for an organization that places them with disabled people, because you don't look disabled (I have learned to smile and say "he works for me"). Small children shout "PUPPY!" when you walk by (I find this to be a bonus). You overhear conversations about "people with fake service dogs" (I have been known to say, "Some people want to take their dog with them everywhere. I have to take my dog with me everywhere."). You pre-emptively tell the hostess at the restaurant that he's a working dog. You learn to adopt an attitude of "well of course I belong here, he's invisible, we are just doing our thing" ... and have those business cards in easy reach for the inevitable questions about service dogs, and training, and PTSD. You get used to seeing most of the people who walk past you grinning at the cute dog.

You live with nose prints on the inside of the car windows, a dog bed in the passenger seat, paw prints on the console. You live with treats and wet wipes in your purse, business cards in all your pockets, and water bowls in your living room.

You try vest after vest and leash after leash to find the combination of gear that works for you both. You learn to hose off your dog's undercarriage in the shower after every summertime dip in the pond, or a winter run through the slush. You accept that there will be dog hair on everything, even your pillow.

Your family has to get used to the idea that you'll be looked at everywhere you go. It's kind of weird to have a family member who has always seemed to be okay deciding that now they need a dog with them in order to function ... but once they've seen the difference your dog makes, they'll never suggest leaving him at home again.

You have to accept that you are disabled, and that your dog mitigates that disability.
You don't have to explain the mystery of how, just accept that it is.

Ben makes my life better. I can't really tell you how or why, but he does.

Thanks for making us welcome.

Letter to the Minister for Sport and Persons with Disabilities

to The Honourable Carla Qualtrough

RE: Support for Canadians who are ‘almost’ disabled

In February of 2011, I was diagnosed with Delayed Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. At first, I thought that with a few weeks off work and some intensive therapy work I’d be okay … then I thought, well, maybe six months … then maybe a year … and now, five and a half years later, I realize this is not going to go away.

I did apply for CPP Disability but was denied. You see, I tried hard to do what I could – I thought a gradual return would probably work for me. I first tried self-employment (running an online craft supply store), and when that was too much, I obtained my first aid instructor certification and taught classes for a company that was extremely flexible and understanding of my health issues. After a little over a year, though, I realized that I was making too many errors and that the strain was adversely affecting me, so I felt it best to resign. During this time, I applied for CPP but was informed that because I was able to do part time work, I did not qualify for benefits. When I appealed the decision, after winding up the store, downsizing my hobby farm, and resigning from teaching, I was told that because I’ve written a couple of books and have residual income from their publication, and because I’ve stabilized to some extent with medication and treatment, I still don’t qualify.

I’m not quite sure what sort of employment the Powers That Be expect me to take on: even the most flexible and understanding of employers is not going to be happy with an employee who lives with fluctuating levels of fatigue and mental competency. It’s also important to realize that the primary reason I have stabilized is that I’ve resized my life to fit my limitations … yes, I’m no longer suicidal on a regular basis and I am more comfortable overall. This is not evidence that I ought to be working, it’s evidence that accepting my limitations has improved my health.

And now, even if I could convince the appeals board that my psychiatrist and psychologist agree that even part time employment would be unwise, it’s been too long since I worked full time and so I cannot apply for CPP Disability again. Had I crashed hard at the beginning, I’d have qualified … but because I held on as long as I could and did as much as possible to return to the workforce, the delayed recognition that my condition is chronic and more disabling than I had anticipated has disqualified me from obtaining benefits, despite having contributed for over twenty years.

I am fortunate that my husband has a well-paying job and that my family are supportive and take good care of me. It is, however, disconcerting to know that should my husband lose his job (a real possibility, as he’s employed in the oil field), or should I find myself unwelcome in my home (it happened before … the associated mess is how I ended up with PTSD), I’m not well enough to take up the economic slack and there are no safety nets to catch me.

I would ask that the government consider making space for those of us who have tried our best and not overcome our personal obstacles. The five-year window for CPP disability application seems to specifically exclude those who make every effort to remain in the workforce and then either decompensate further with time, or find that even flexible self-employment is too much.

I would also ask that the government consider expanding the criteria for the Disability Tax Credit to open the door for those of us who are ‘on the edge’ of being disabled. People like me are dependent on the good graces of our spouses and families, and that’s a scary place to be. If there were a category for people who “manage most of the activities of daily living in their current environs but require support and oversight”, this would ensure that should circumstances change we are already noted as being vulnerable and would expedite the initiation of additional supports in case of crisis. This would also provide a measure of financial security through the Disability Savings program.

I am very pleased to see the changes that our new Liberal government has brought about, and I hope that in sharing my experience I can help you in the development of the new Canadians with Disabilities Act. Those of us with impairments – both visible and invisible, severe and moderate - look to you for support and protection. Please keep the needs of the “borderline disabled” in mind as you implement change: just because we are more or less coping with things at the moment, just because we look like we are doing okay, just because we have found ourselves in a safe place for the present … none of that means we aren’t vulnerable. And as Canadians, we know that an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure: please put protections in place to catch us before we fall, so that we can continue to contribute as much as we can and not draw on the public resources any more than necessary.

I have included a copy of my book, Just Keep Knitting, which I wrote early on in my journey with PTSD, if you’d like to learn more of my background and how I ended up where I am, or feel free to pass it on to someone who might find it helpful.

Thank you so very much for your time,

Lonna Cunningham B.Sc. B.A.(Hon)

Alberta, Canada

PTSD Support Dog

Ben is really good for me. 

He has come a long way in his training since he came to live with us in January of 2014. He still gets wound up when new people come to the house, but he is starting to believe that I am the boss, not him, and if I say it's okay then it's okay.  He is way more confident and content. 

I've been taking Ben with me on errands to town all this past winter: he has a car seat and a safety harness and has had outings to the pet store and to pick up the kids from school. It's getting warmer, though, so I can't leave him in the car now... But I feel so much better when he is with me.

So... today I decided we would see how he does in public places. 

Legally, he is a support dog, not a service dog (there is a difference, and the regulations are a little outdated, but anyway..). This means that he isn't guaranteed public access, but it's kind of a grey zone and as long as a dog acts like a service dog in public, problems are unlikely. I don't want to push the envelope or be rude or complicate things for others with more serious disabilities, so if challenged, we'd just leave, no problem. 

But.

If Ben can accompany me to more places, I can do more at less of a personal cost. I don't know why, but having him with me helps.

So today we stopped first at the pet store and got a blaze orange vest for Ben. Then we went to West Edmonton Mall... on a Saturday. 

Normally I'd avoid this at all costs, but my new lenses were in and I had to go pick up the Organic Box anyway, so off we went. I figured if Ben had trouble at the mall I could always take him back to the car, which I'd parked in the shade just in case.

We got gear sorted, left the car, and Ben  trotted along beside me, through the mall doors, up the steps, and into LensCrafters. Nobody seemed to think it odd. Ben sat down right at my side as soon as I stopped at the counter, and didn't make a peep. 

While the glasses were being fixed Ben and I walked the mall: up and down escalators (pretty tricky, but he figured it out!), past people eating, by fountains and shops and the ice rink and over the bridge in Phase 3. There were lots of "ahhh! Look at the cute dog!" comments, and a little kid in a stroller saying "PUPPY!!!", but overall everyone seemed to think it was no big deal.

Ben was clearly stressed by the experience but his behaviour was fantastic. Absolutely excellent. He sat beside me on the bench on Bourbon Street (even with all those food smells!), lay nicely at my feet when asked (in the bathroom and at various spots where I sat awhile), stopped and sat in heel position (usually without being asked) whenever I stopped walking.

What a good dog. 

I ordered a patch for his vest, now that I know he can handle public access: it says PTSD Support Dog. 

This summer we are travelling to BC for a family meet up and Benny is coming along. I don't want to just leave him crated while we go do fun things, so I need to work on his training and give him the skills to join us on our adventures... Because sleeping without him is very hard, so he needs to come along, and doing busy things is somehow easier when he is beside me. Usually a trip to WEM on a weekend would do me in, but it took a lot less out of me today. And that's a good thing.

For the record, I would like to see broader and clearer regulations for people with support / service animals: right now, access is legally available for dogs that provide Substantial Services for People with Substantial Needs... but for people like me who do better with a dog but can cope without if necessary, there's no clear guidelines. Ben and I are in a grey zone governed by good will and common sense, which is not too tough in Canada, thankfully. But still. I'd go through testing or get a license if there was a way to do so. 

In the meantime, Ben and I will practice behaving politely in public. Next adventure: a restaurant. :)

Is this real? Am I awake?

Last night I had strange and frightening dreams that were so real... people in the yard... A trio of mountain cats on the deck, my friend and her son here for the night, my own son trapped under falling scrap wood while a big cat stalked him...

Yeah, not realistic in the light of day, but in the terror of the dream it was all so real. 

The worst part was that I dreamed that I woke up... Then more weird things followed. 

This meant that when I finally did wake up, I couldn't be sure that I was really awake. I kept yelling "help!" and my husband tried, but how do you help someone trapped in their own head? 

I made him go check the house, to be sure the electrical fire I had seen wasn't real... Then I had to go check it myself, and wake my son to convince myself he was OK. I insisted on taking one of The Boy's shoes back to my room so that I could see it and convince myself that I'd really truly seen him and he was home safe. Not sure why I was so fixated on the shoe, but it helped. I sat on the bed, breathing hard, holding his shoe, saying "I'm awake.. I'm awake.."

I was acting so strangely that Ben was scared. He did come lie on my chest after some convincing, and calming him seemed to calm me too. Yay for support animals. 

I eventually slept again... More unpleasant dreams but thankfully not the full on trauma nightmares. Oi. 

I'm in the midst of a drug dose change, which might explain the timing... But yeow, I don't want to do that again. 

Being awake but unsure of reality is terrifying. I have so much more empathy for people who suffer breaks from reality.. I knew I wasn't all there, but anchoring myself was extraordinarily difficult. And I had help. 

I'm so tired. 

PTSD is real. 

Meds: relief or functionality, not both

I only feel truly unwound when I have taken enough sedatives that I can hardly walk. 

And even then, the chest pain often breaks through. 

Once, I could get that sensation of sweet relief by taking off my shoes after a day on my feet in heels, or sinking into a warm bath after being out in the cold. 

Now, the drugs have to kick in. 

And then I'm impaired - I shouldn't drive, or make decisions, and often I'm dozy enough that I just kinda... putter. Preferably from a semi prone position. 

It's such sweet relief, though, to feel the tension drain away... Even if the chest pain still sneaks an intermittent grip on my heart up through the haze. 

So sometimes, the impairment is worth it. 

Other times, I need to be an actual adult  and then I just live with the scrunched up feeling and hold on until I can let go. 

At the moment I'm working my way up out of the relief because my cow needs me to come and milk. But once that's done, I can be horizontal again. 

That'll be a good thing.

Today...

... I just can't. 

So I put on my reindeer pyjamas and got back into bed. 

Some days are like that, even in Australia.

Involuntary Silence

Sometimes, I can't talk. 

There are words in my head, but I can't get them out. And there aren't a lot of them in my head, either. 

It's a PTSD thing, apparently. Stress bypasses the language centres of the brain. I'm not being stubborn or wilful, though it looks like that. I just... can't. 

I looked back, and it has happened before at the same time of year. Must be an anniversary reaction of some kind, though I don't know what triggers it. At least with the antidepressants I'm not also listening to the Mean Girls, I'm just... Silent. Wishing I wasn't. Hurting, without knowing why. 

I sedated myself heavily and slept for most of a day and night. And then I could whisper. And slowly, I could talk. Quietly... Then at normal volume. I still don't have a lot of words, but the silence has lifted. 

If you encounter someone who is under a lot of strain and cannot talk, just bring them tea and make sure they are safe and wait patiently for it to pass. The worst episode for me lasted three full days. Sometimes writing or texting simple things is easier than trying to speak. Whispering is easier than talking. Being shouted at or told to stop being dumb makes it worse. 

It's not a common thing, as I understand it, but it certainly isn't unheard of. 

So, to those who have patiently waited out my quiet, asked yes or no questions so I could just nod or shake my head, who refrained from showing their frustration at my inability to speak... Thank you. 

And for those who may run into this in the future ... Now you know a little bit of what it's like inside the quiet. It's uncomfortable, but easier than trying to speak. It'll pass faster if you don't fuss. 

Welcome to the weirdness that is PTSD. 

Apparently it's seasonal

http://blog.applejackcreek.com/2012/12/a-shortage-of-words.html?m=0

Happening again. 

Sick days

When we were small, if we were too sick to go anywhere we often went into Mom and Dad's big bed for the day. There was a little TV on the dresser, although there wasn't a lot on besides Sesame Street (Big Bird! Mister Looper! The Count!) and The Flintstones at lunch time. Still, there was something special about being in a different space - 1970s lilac floral curtains and matching purple Kleenex and all. 

It's the time of year when my symptoms get cranked up to eleven and I wish it were as simple to fix as climbing into the big bed, watching Sesame Street and sleeping till I recover. 

I do cope much, much better these days. We are still tweaking meds, and I'm sure there will be better days... But some days are gonna be long and hard and there's just no way around that. My condition is chronic, and science just hasn't reached the point where we can reset the body and brain after years of strain. 

So I focus on the good things: a neighbour installing fences for me as thanks for letting his cattle move across my land, my Muppet Puppy Ben, the beautiful Christmas tree, my beloved family. I try to accept that I'm doing my best, that rest and self care are necessary requirements of life not luxuries, and celebrate the fact that I'm still here, still happy (I truly am, despite the difficult days), still knitting and spinning and creating and caring. 

But man, do I ever wish the pain would stop. The psychic pain has gone, mostly, but the chest pain and fatigue are frustrating daily occurrences right now. 

Summer will come, and the burden will ease, it always does. 

Maybe I'll spend some time planning the garden and landscaping this afternoon. 

Anyone got suggestions for climbing plants that thrive in zone 3? :)

Weary

Note to self

Note to self: reading an entire book on PTSD is enlightening and fascinating.... 

And bound to crank the symptoms up to eleven. 

Next time just take the heavy sedatives at midnight, not four am.

The book, however, is fantastic. 

https://m.indigo.ca/product/books/trauma-and-recovery-the-aftermath/9780465061716?ikwid=trauma%20and%20recovery&ikwsec=Home

Highly recommended. 

In measured doses. 

Winding down.

I’ve had to make some difficult choices over the last little while.

The truth of the matter is that my health is not improving – I’m stable, now, which is a beautiful thing, don’t get me wrong. I sleep like a normal person, mostly … except that I need to sleep for 10-12 hours out of every 24, so that kind of takes a bite out of the schedule. I can do most of what needs to be done … if I scale down the ‘must do’ jobs. This is why the sheep had to go, keeping up with them and their fencing needs was just too much. Sasha and Miss May are much less work – they stay behind a single strand of electric wire (even when it’s not plugged in … shhh, don’t tell them it’s not on) and need very little from me besides a filled water trough, some alfalfa and some hay in the winter. The chickens are … well, they are just chickens. Chickens are great. There is a gap in their fence so they are ‘free ranging’ again – they seem to put themselves to bed every night, and we’ve not lost any to predators (knock wood) so we’ve been letting them enjoy the grasshoppers.

The household maintenance … well, I’ve never been a spectacular housekeeper but I’ve really dropped that particular ball. I’m working on it, but I’m *always* working on it, and I seem to keep getting behind. We are considering a housekeeper. Mathilda the Braava floor mopper is a big help, and the ride on mower is a big help, and the dishwasher is absolutely essential but … well, there’s still more to be done and only so much energy to go around.

I had to quit my job last month. The company was incredibly understanding of my health issues and willing to be flexible, but even with all those benefits, it still just took too much out of me. Always wondering when the next thing might go wrong and require me to rush into town and deal with it, making sure every class had what they needed, keeping up with the paperwork and the to do lists … it was just more than my poor taxed brain and body could do. They needed more than I could provide, and so I handed off to another employee and that was that. I miss it, but it was absolutely the right choice. The same way I feel about the sheep, really.

I’ve been doing a lot of painting lately – the whole art journaling thing has captured my attention and seems to be very good for me. I take my pictures in to therapy with me, and we talk about what they might be showing … it’s an interesting angle on things, but mostly, it’s just … enjoyable.

Very much an ‘in the moment’ kind of thing. I painted for a few hours today, though everything felt darker than I wanted it to be no matter what I tried, so I washed up and will see how it all looks another day.

After painting today I lay on my bed to read for a bit … and woke up about an hour later. I’ve worked on some paperwork tonight, from the comfort of the comfy chair, and I’m thinking it’s about time to head off to bed. Again.

But that’s okay. This is what my life looks like right now, and the less I struggle against that reality, the more energy I have to enjoy the moments I’m given.

Marijuana Milk

Wow. Yeah, this is definitely an easy way to take your medicine! It turned out to be far more powerful than I expected, so all those warnings you see about taking it easy, starting with a low dose … they aren’t kidding.

Let’s start with the recipe:

Decarboxylate your marijuana: put 2 grams of ground but not powdered marijuana* in an oven safe baking bowl or pot or lasagne pan, cover it if you are trying to keep odours down (though the low-THC strains I am working with do not have much of a smell) and bake for 17 minutes at 250 F. Edit: I've gotten better results from 15 min at 320 F... It needs to be toasty brown.

In the meantime, heat a pot of water on the stove, with a 2 or 4 cup Pyrex measuring cup hooked on the side of the pot with the body of the cup hanging into the water (this makes a double boiler that is super easy to work with).

Pour 1 cup of whole milk (or cream, or evaporated milk) with a tablespoon or so of butter into the Pyrex cup and let it start to warm up. Bring the water to a boil, and stir the milk mixture with a whisk so it doesn’t get a skin on top.

When the decarboxylation is done, remove the marijuana from the oven and put it into the milk mixture. Whisk it in.

Allow the milk mixture to heat in the water bath for about 45 minutes, stirring periodically.

Filter through a coffee filter / fine mesh sieve / tea infuser to remove the majority of the leafy material, refrigerate the milk mixture in a CLEARLY LABELLED JAR THAT THE KIDS WON’T ACCIDENTALLY USE FOR THEIR CEREAL.

Right, so you’ve made your milk. Approximately 8 ounces, or one cup of finished product contains 2 grams of marijuana … so, if you drink it all at once, you will not be a happy camper. Don’t do that. :) Each ounce (2 tablespoons) contains a 25 milligram dose.

Start with one tablespoon – less if you are using really potent ingredients or aren’t used to this yet. Then *wait at least two hours* before you decide you need more. It can take a while to kick in.

It seems to me that a small dose of alcohol dramatically speeds up the onset and intensity: if you are needing a quicker boost, a tiny splash (like a tablespoon) of whiskey or vodka added to the milk dose seems to speed things up, though this may not be an accurate assessment (I’ll need to experiment a little more). Edit : yeah, I think it helps. Doesn't hurt anyway and ever so slightly improves the taste. 

Do not try this for the first time unless you can stay safely at home and do nothing if that’s how it plays out. Dosing edibles is trickier than dosing inhaled marijuana, as the effects are slower to come on and last longer – both definite features when dealing with chronic conditions that require steady levels of medication to keep symptoms at bay, but challenges when it comes to identifying when you’re appropriately medicated and when you’ve gotten more than you bargained for and are now relegated to lying very still and waiting for the world to come clear again.

I’m titrating a new dose of medication, so I track what I’ve been taking and how I feel, and I experiment with higher doses or different extraction methods when I know I can stay safely at home in case I don’t feel so hot. The nice thing about marijuana is that although it is *entirely* possible to get more than you wanted, an overdose is not going to cause your breathing to stop (as might happen if you took too much Ativan, for instance.) Too much marijuana *can* make you feel truly unwell though, and the nasty effects might last for 24 hours, which would be awful. With the cautious approach I’ve been taking towards finding the upper limits of my tolerance, the worst of the “more than I expected” effects has been a bit of dizziness edging towards a queasy sensation, and it stopped as soon as I lay still. I felt worse than that when I started on sertraline.

So, what benefit is there to marijuana for someone with PTSD, like me?

The tension that is so constant in my body that I don’t sense it until it’s removed … that throttles back.

I sleep like a normal person: I get tired, I yawn, I feel like it’s time to close my eyes and I do … and then I go to sleep. This is quite amazing, really.

It’s easier to pace myself. Since my usual trouble is that I push and push and push myself, then crash, then get annoyed at needing a rest … this is a big deal. I’ll sit in the chair and knit for a bit after doing something like hanging laundry or watering the grass. I need to do a little and then rest some, then start again – not go hard and crazy, that pushes up my adrenaline and then the cycle starts. So being more mellow about what gets done is really good for me.

The chest pain doesn’t seem to want to go away, though – it’s not like it was way back at the beginning, when once a day at least the pain was so intense it brought tears to my eyes. It’s a nagging ache, an intermittent annoyance that I would love to see eliminated but which really is no more than a stubborn reminder of my need for self-care. The 9:9 I’m using now for daytime may help a bit more, but I’ve just started experimenting with it at full strength (the chocolates were half and half 9:9 and 4:10, the milk was extracted as one batch of each, so I can test the effects individually).

The marijuana is replacing three other meds for me: Prazosin (which reduces trauma dreams and helps keep the adrenalin down in general); temazepam (milder opiate sedative, used to induce sleep), and Sublinox (non-opiate sedative, works amazingly well but costs just over $2 per pill). I still have both the Temazepam and Sublinox here, for nights when sleep just won’t come, but I’ve only used them a few times since starting the marijuana – and before, I needed one or the other every night to get any sleep at all.

I’m still on sertraline, my Mean Girls need that to keep them quiet and I have no ill effects from it at all. And it’s only about $12 per month.

So that’s the med report for today … I’ll keep the blog updated as I find my comfortable dosage plan.

* The Cannimed product arrives in the perfectly prepped format: it’s ground but not powdered or shredded.

Med update: three weeks in

I’ve been using the medical marijuana for about three weeks now, so I figured it was time for an update.

First and foremost: I sleep like a normal person. I take my nightly dose (a pinch of 1:13 vaped in my second-hand-purchased-via-Kijiji-Arizer-Solo,  plus a few mL of Green Dragon tincture) about an hour before I want to go to sleep, and I … get tired. I start yawning. I go to bed and put my story on, and I know I am asleep in about 30 minutes because I put a timer on my story and I rarely hear it turn off. I can wake up in the night and get a glass of milk or something and go back to bed and go back to sleep. And remember it all in the morning. Very cool.

My daytime energy is improved: I have been using 4:10 in the daytime, vaped once in the morning and once in the afternoon, plus edibles occasionally … still not sure where the edibles fit in the grand scheme of things, but I think they help keep blood levels at an even keel, so I should probably plan to make more. I can do stuff, and take a break, and do a bit more, and take another break … and I don’t feel bad about taking breaks yet I have more get up and go than I did before. This could also be partly attributed to the weather, I always do much better in summer. The big test will be to see how this works in the dark of winter!

I don’t feel impaired at all – no dizziness, wooziness, or weird sensations.

The chest pains are still breaking through: I’ve just ordered some 9:9, I may need the higher THC in the daytime to ease those pains. It’s not too uncomfortable, but it is a signal that I’m not quite at the level of relief I need.

The vaporizer is still taking a bit of getting used to, as I’ve never smoked so I’m not quite as adept as some might be at having irritants in my lungs. I do think I’ve found the settings that work well for me: I heat it to about 4 or 5, then inhale gently, with the corners of my mouth not sealed tight to the tube so that I also get room air. This dilutes the vapour a little bit, and lets me still breathe in slowly and deeply … hold, then exhale. There is a little odour if you are right next to me, but it dissipates as soon as I’m done. It leaves no smell in the house or anything, so it’s not like puffing on a joint and having that stale smoke smell hang around on everything afterwards. When I start to cough, I know I’m done – pull the glass mouthpiece out, dump the browned herb into a container and save it for making Sleepy Dragon tincture. Already vaped material has higher concentrations of CBD remaining, and is worth tincturing … so that’ll be the next adventure. I may try a coconut oil extraction and see how that goes.

I haven’t used Prazosin or Sublinox or Temazepam since starting the marijuana with a couple of exceptions: I used Temazepam one night when I was still awake after a couple of hours, and I used Prazosin when I was away this past weekend because vaping wasn’t convenient. I had forgotten, however, that I’ve been off it for over two weeks – my blood pressure tanked pretty intensely, as apparently I’m not as adapted to it anymore! I’d taken it at night and in the morning my BP was still only 105/74, though I perked up again by afternoon. Mental note: just because you used to be accustomed to something, taking a couple of weeks off can change that!

I’m still taking the Sertraline daily, I have no ill effects from it and keeping the Mean Girls at bay in my head is important. I may try to go off of it if I have another solid winter of feeling well, but getting adapted to it required six weeks of feeling rotten so I don’t want to stop taking it just for the summer and find that come fall I need it again. Better to wait and see how the winter goes, I think.
PTSD is no fun. I still have trouble concentrating and remembering things. I do best with mindless activity like watering the lawn or planting things or moving straw a bit at a time rather than doing paperwork or anything that needs a lot of thought. However, the marijuana is helping to ramp down the constant jitteriness that I live with, and is doing so without any noticeable negative effects. I don’t have a constant case of the munchies – in fact, I still have to pay attention to the time and remember to eat. I can still enjoy a glass of wine – but I don’t need three of them to get to sleep at night. In fact, I don’t need a glass of wine at all, which is a very significant benefit. I sleep what feels like a normal kind of sleep, not the utterly unconscious (though restful) black out of the Sublinox, nor the gradually woozier warm fuzziness of the opiates. I still need 9-11 hours of sleep to feel like I can function well, but that is just my new reality, and I’m mostly okay with that.

I suppose, if you think about the classic stoner hippie image of the laid back, hang ten, take it easy sort of dude and overlay that on the constantly vigilant, over achieving, never resting PTSD sufferer … you end up with something that is much closer to a comfortable happy medium.

I’m grateful, that’s for sure.

I see my psychiatrist tomorrow, should be an interesting conversation.

Sleep meds

One of the very best things about sleep medications:

Knowing with absolute certainty that you will sleep soundly for a minimum of eight hours. 

Knowing that you don't have to spend two or three hours struggling to unwind and relax enough to sleep... You can just dissolve that magic chemical under your tongue, read for a bit, and drift off. Like a normal person. 

It's so good to actually look forward to sleeping... Now that it's not such hard work. 

Exhausted

Woke up today utterly exhausted. 

Dunno why. I did a few things yesterday, but nothing overwhelming. 

This is how it goes. Some days, your body just says "no".

Best to listen. 

It's not because I won't let go...

A friend posted this on my time line today:

Yeah. 

I was so sure that if I just let go of the past I'd get better. 

I let go. It was definitely an improvement. 

But the damage of PTSD is not the same as "unresolved issues". There are neurological changes. Your biochemistry gets reset to a completely unhealthy "normal". For people like me with delayed reactions to long term stress, untangling everything is very complicated. Things can definitely improve... Meds, therapy, support, learning to live inside my boundaries and limits...big helps. 

But I'm not "healed". I'm not "like I was before". I'm not who I wish I could be. 

I'm OK, though, and I'm coping pretty well with this chronic disease. It nearly killed me a year ago, and I came back from that. Yay me. But this is chronic. Not "wait it out, it'll go away.". This is here to stay, though how it is expressed may fluctuate over time. 

My life has limits I never dreamed I would need. It's still a good life. Very good, in fact. 

But letting go of my past didn't magically make all the consequences of that past go away. (this was a huge shock and disappointment to me... I was sure that's what would fix everything)

And it's not because I haven't tried hard enough, haven't done the work. It's just how PTSD - especially the variant I have - works. 

I'm only now starting to understand this.

Call the dogs!

We have always told the kids if anything scares them, like if they run into a cougar / bear / wolf (all common enough here), the very first thing you do is call for the dogs. Same thing if you get hurt and can't make your way back in...especially if it's cold outside. The dogs will lie with you and keep you warm at the very least, and they will likely be able to get someone's attention.

When we had the two big livestock guardian dogs outside, you could be guaranteed they would get between any of us and any predator. It's what they were bred to do. Even Caleb, goofy companion that he is, would bark like mad and probably take on whatever it might be... Though his chances against anything large are nowhere near as good as Bob or Mac's would have been. But he'd try. And he'd raise a ruckus that would bring help. 

I've been having a lot of bad dreams lately. A friend told me that when her son had nightmares, she told him to call the dog in his dream... He had a big, loving protective canine best friend, and this strategy worked. 

I doubted I'd have enough lucidity to manage this... Lucid dreaming is something I've only managed a few times. 

Then the awful nightmare hit last night, and my instinctive reaction to the terror was to call the dogs! I called for Dax, the Akita who loved me through the loss of my daughter and the collapse of my previous life, the dog who would have done anything to protect me. I called, and she came... I called for Ben, too, not wanting to leave him behind and needing his company... And I realized I was dreaming and told Dax to get us out of there and help me wake up. She led off down the hallway, away from the awful things I had seen. 

And I woke up. 

All the way. And Ben was right there to lick my hand and confirm that I'd found reality. 

I went and made hot chocolate. Ben came with me. 

Thanks Ben.

Thanks Dax. 

You guys can bring Bob and Mac and Duggan along any time you feel like we need the whole pack. 

Together we can take on anything. 

I'll call you. 

Hedonism

This is my psychiatrist's prescription. :)

I'm gomna knit!

Boy  do I know how to party eh?

Just sedate me

I don't sleep well. Even with the sedatives. Well, I sleep but I dream and wake weary from all I have seen and done in my sleep. 

I an out of sorts in my waking hours..

 Off kilter, like a squirrel who's had too much caffeine. 

And at the same time, I am tired and just want to lie down. 

I thought this would go away when I made peace with my past. 

Trouble is, my past damaged my brain. Peace helps ease the emotional pain... But the cognitive impairment seems unaffected.  

My counsellor told me that prolonged stress causes the brain hemispheres to stop talking to each other properly. Left brain gets on with life... Right brain encapsulates the trauma and you just keep on keeping on. 

I'm walking the fine line between acceptance and hopelessness.