How should we treat suicide attempts?
in Health ·
So, Ms. Efa is a doctor. I’m glad she’s here, mostly because I still haven't quite recovered from your previous display of sheer rudeness and lack of class.
Might as well just call it quits, you old hypochondriac. Honestly, that bus was probably the quickest way for him to get rid of all those ailments.
And by the way, I don't recall ever getting involved with you. If anything, I go out of my way to give you a wide berth because you're about as pleasant as a stomach flu. Between your complicated personality issues and the fact that you seem to be losing your mind, you might want to start taking some Aricept.
Check the link for the full details!
I think we should be careful about jumping to conclusions here. It’s easy to get swept up in the emotion of it all, but let's try to look at the facts objectively. I'm probably overthinking things—I tend to do that—but I still believe there's more to the story than what's being presented right now.
INTRODUCTION
I posted this a few days ago in the health section, but I pulled it down about thirty minutes later. Honestly, it felt a little too personal, and I was worried about what people might say.
It feels a bit too private, and honestly, there are probably a lot of people who need to hear this... because if I were the next one to take my own life, what would everyone think? For me, it’s just about euthanasia. Chronic patients endure such intense physical pain and psychological struggles that someone who hasn't lived through it simply can't understand.
If my Asbestos reaches a point where I can't breathe or move, that’ll be my exit. Honestly, with thoughts like those, what am I even doing "living since 1997"? Still, I’m hoping I just deal with the calcified pleural plaques I have now—the ones that make breathing feel heavy when I push myself. I'm praying the onset of Asbestos stays slow. My specialist told me that even though I was a heavy smoker, since I quit 19 years ago, my tests show I've fully recovered from the smoking side of things. As far as the Asbestos goes, my lung capacity actually looks pretty good compared to others dealing with this.
Just to note, back on Monday, June 16th, I had a cystoscopy. I’ve also had several days where they did an endoscopy and colonoscopy at the same time... all without any injections. During one of those colonoscopies, they actually removed one polyp and took a sample of another. They also performed a digital prostate exam. Honestly, it wasn't nearly as bad as I expected.
While I was waiting my turn, they were busy digging through my medical records. I’m seeing six different specialists at this same hospital, so there's plenty of paperwork to go around. I was sitting right outside the operating room when things got weird. First, an older gentleman my age went in. You could hear him sobbing and wailing from down the hall. Then, this young guy—a total gym rat who wouldn't stop bragging about how much he lifts and how he was already hitting up another clinic earlier that day—walked in. Barely had he stepped through the door before the screaming started. It sounded like he was being butchered. Honestly, it started to get a little unsettling.
I walked in and told the doctor that I’m currently dealing with about 80% sciatica pain and a pinched nerve in my right arm. He took one look at my medical history and joked, "Well, looks like you're next in line." I tried to lighten the mood with a few jokes about my anatomy, but honestly, his nurses have seen it all—they aren't easily rattled. He went in with the flexible scope. It got a little tight for a second as he moved deeper, but we just chatted while he showed me the whole process on the monitor, explaining exactly what he was seeing. At one point, I asked why the older guy had been crying during his exam. They told me he just had some inflammation. Then they pointed to a younger guy and remarked how most young men talk a big game, but when it’s actually time for the procedure, they struggle—they practically had to have three nurses hold him still. It just goes to show how much everyone is different. I think I realized that a long time ago.
If you check the link, you’ll see most of my medical history listed there. So far, nothing has been terminal—it's not like I'm facing a "cancer" death sentence right now. But when I talk to friends about my experience with Asbestos-related mesothelioma, it gives me a very realistic perspective on life. I've seen people pass away who were much younger than I am. During my time in the support group, I heard just about everything. It’s a heavy thing to weigh: is it worse to die quickly, or to deal with a lingering illness where you endure constant pain with no hope of improvement? Sometimes, things just get progressively worse. Most people won't agree with me, but then again, they haven't lived through what I have—nor have many others.
After over 30 years of battling chronic pain—including two decades spent working through the fog of narcotics—I’ve ended up psychologically exhausted and navigating life on disability. I've certainly picked up some experience along the way, having dealt with just about every type of doctor imaginable, from local GPs to various specialists.
I have to say, I’m pretty disappointed with the public healthcare system right now. On the other hand, I can’t really complain about private doctors either. But when you don't have the means for a private hospital, you're stuck navigating the bureaucracy, and the wait times are brutal. I’ve been waiting 18 months just to see an orthopedic specialist for my shoulder—even though I was marked as an urgent case.
I’ve mentioned this plenty of times before, but I’m stuck in a cycle of constant pain that no clinic seems able to manage. Over the last few years, I've had to deal with a heavy rotation of medications just to get by—everything from Methadone and morphine, in both pill and capsule form, to those 250ml oral solutions. It's been quite a lot to carry.
The doctors are handing out CSN tablets and Gabapentin three months' worth at once just for the trial period.
It’s standard procedure for me to have prescriptions for about 120 tablets of Panadeine Forte—that's the 500mg paracetamol and 30mg codeine blend—not to mention my Rivotron/clonazepam.
My doctors know exactly why I skip doses. I don't just take them on a schedule; I only reach for the pills when things get unbearable. Then, a couple of doses later, I stop again because my stomach starts acting up, my head hurts, or I deal with those itchy skin issues—all that stuff I just can't stand. It makes it look like I’m not following my treatment plan. They've already told me that's the reason they won't trust me, and frankly, I can't stand the idea of being dependent on narcotics either.
This was just an introduction to help explain why someone might occasionally be accused of "being on drugs."
Do you have any idea how many times I’ve laid down, gotten back up, paced through the apartment, and stepped outside in the dead of night while everyone else was sleeping? I’ve spent nights banging my head against the wall or hitting my hand with a hammer—just trying to find a different kind of pain to distract me from the agony I couldn't bear anymore.
I can't even count how many times I thought about suicide when I was only 14. God knows, I’ve kept enough "poison lists" featuring 30 to 50 different ways to go that I've lost track.
My computer has been a lifesaver more times than I can count... especially when I'm reading posts from people describing how they...
My knee has been killing me for two days now, and honestly, I’m at my wit's end. I really want to see if that suggestion works for me, because I always look back at these threads a few days later to see how others fared. If I weren't around to read those updates, what would be the point?😂
It sounds silly, I know... but there’s nothing quite like the relief of posting when I'm in the middle of a massive pain flare-up. Sometimes I lose my drafts, or the forum crashes like it did recently... or maybe I just mess up. My thoughts tend to wander whenever the pain gets this bad.
So, am I a coward? I’m just living life one day at a time. As long as I can still get dressed and do my own laundry without help, I haven't lost hope. Even if my mobility isn't what it used to be, I'm still walking.
I can’t imagine my wife navigating life at 68 if she weren't healthy herself. What would she even do without me? Who would be there to look after her, or even just to drive her a little crazy sometimes? I take care of the little things—nothing too physically demanding—but I try to ease those anxieties she has about what might happen to me, just in case her worst fears come true.
Five weeks ago, everything went south. My right arm just gave out on me because my C8 and T1 neck nerves are being compressed. To make matters worse, the pain is escalating, and I’m feeling pretty helpless. Currently, I'm on a Patch/NorSpan 5mg—Buprenorphine—but it tapers off so slowly over seven days, and I am dealing with acute pain right now. This delay is causing more complications. Does anyone have advice on managing ACUTE pain?
I've come close to hitting rock bottom a few times now. One night, I ended up in the ER only to be told everything was fine at home. The problem is, even in a massive hospital like that with 6,000 employees, they don't have a single Neurologist on staff. They won't even administer a spinal injection because only a specialist can order it. To see one, you have to go to a different facility and wait 9 to 12 months. I already have a lumbar follow-up scheduled for this April anyway, so I guess I'll just have to wait.Just got word that my visit is being pushed back to August...
I walked through my front door, looked around, and thought to myself, "This is it." I turned on my computer just to send one last message to my kids, my grandkids, and my wife... I wanted to get it all printed out.
I headed into the living room to clear out all the meds... I was sorting through what I actually needed and flushing everything else down the toilet just to avoid any questions about why I had such a massive stash. While I was getting ready to toss the empty boxes into the bathroom trash—so there wouldn't be any trace left at the house—I stepped back out. My wife walked in right then and asked me, "Were you at the hospital?"
I even taped a note to my bedroom door: "Do not wake me until 4:00 PM—I haven't slept all night!"
You aren't actually taking enough oxycodone or morphine, are you? You know you won't be able to sleep, and you shouldn't take any more right now... forty-four years just flashed before my eyes.
No, Vera, I'm just cleaning out my closet, getting rid of old pills and anything else I don't need anymore...COWARDICE? Fate, the will to live... it feels shameful to write this, but I'm not going to hide.
I always have some Tylenol at home, maybe 800-1,000mg, but I don't consider that a safe bet.
I apologize for writing so long and so extensively... but do you ever wonder how much a person who is "poisoning themselves to commit suicide" is thinking, or what they are going through?
Maybe someone who takes their own life isn't always a COWARD?
I am grateful to my psychiatrist, and especially to my wife for supporting me, because I know there are days when I'm impossible to deal with... and to this FORUM, which feels "real, even if I read all sorts of things"... it has helped me many times during my darkest hours... I'm just writing it down.
ashamed
Jamie Clark74