William: 35 years of fighting diseases, medications, and therapies

It’s funny how the simplest solutions are usually the hardest ones for people to swallow. I won’t get into a debate over the merits of Claire Weekes’ approach, because apparently, your only gripe is that her books are cheap and she started pioneering this stuff back in the sixties, making it "outdated" for the modern world. In reality, most CBT-focused psychologists and psychiatrists use her foundational ideas today. So, what does that say about the massive crowd of psychiatrists still treating Freudian theory like it's the Bible? My logic is simple: if it works, it isn't obsolete.
PS Forget I even mentioned C. Weekes! I honestly regret responding to your post; I don't quite get why you're so Aggressive toward anything that isn't your current therapy. You seem to miss any genuine attempt to help someone in need, seeing every helpful suggestion as just an excuse to start a pointless argument.

I don't quite get this Aggressive attitude toward anything outside your current treatment plan. Honestly, I regret even responding to your post. You seem to miss the genuine attempt to help someone in need; to you, everything is just an excuse to start a pointless argument.

I also feel bad about replying... but receiving a comment like that feels a bit rude and tactless toward a professional. "I can't imagine spending 15 years of my life on antidepressants and anxiolytics." As for the Psychiatrist treating you, I won't waste my breath because she doesn't cite a single professional study in her profile...
Valued Medical represents the profession this woman holds in many ways, as you can see from her link.

Secondly, I mentioned that you aren't following what I'm actually saying or what I'm suffering from... and that's true, otherwise you wouldn't have written this:"If you already have to take pain medication, at least try to help yourself so you don't need to rely on anxiolytics and antidepressants, which if I understood correctly, you're taking mainly for panic attacks".

I’ve written many times on various threads regarding chronic pain, depression, and similar issues, suggesting Clonazepam/Rivotril for Anxiety and pain, or mentioning that a pain clinic might prescribe certain antidepressants for pain management.

So now that I'm just trying to set the record straight, am I being Aggressive again?

I always read your posts with respect and I'll continue to do so, because you write very well and politely.
I'm sorry if this post hurt your feelings or made you think I don't value what you wrote,
but I really only had two options... either say thank you, or be honest about what I truly believe is the truth.

Sometimes things look different to everyone. If I hadn't consulted so many specialists who all shared the same opinion, I would have changed my Psychiatrist a long time ago.

🙂 😉 😎

Kokokica writes the same way she always does;
Jamie Clark74 is just a victim of the circumstances he found himself in. If he had ended up in Pakistan, China, or Somalia, you'd see how quickly he would have recovered.

Koka, please, stop making things up.

First I was a conservative, then a Democrat, and then my kids shoved me into a nursing home where I spend my days getting high on narcotics. Apparently, I'm a total loser who never worked a day in his life and, to top it all off, I'm just some "freeloader" living off the system.

Then I posted all the reports here on the forum, and you just flipped the script, claiming I have to take drugs and medication just to keep my insurance active for my pension every year.

Then I explained that I was put on disability because I became physically and mentally incapable back in 1992—starting in 1994 and continuing until 11/11/2006, when I finally head toward retirement.

Now you're back at it again, inventing stories and acting all tough the second someone speaks up!

Once and for all, enough is enough.!

I had spine surgery back in 1972 and remained disabled... I worked until 1992, when I fell ill from stress, which has nothing to do with my spine.

In 1978, I was cleared by a neurologist when I sought a second opinion regarding another surgery to qualify for disability benefits. I had zero issues with the social security office because I met the requirements for disability based on a specific percentage... without needing annual reappraisals.

If I were what you claim I am, why didn't I just "freeload" back then? I didn't. I kept working because I had two kids to put through school and wanted to give them the best possible life.

Instead of retiring, I transitioned into a new role through an internal competition... it had nothing to do with my back. I got the job because I was the best candidate. For one year, I trained scientists in practical tasks, was sent to university for a degree in Safety & Work, and later attended a course on "Asbestos Removal." A few years later, I joined the team handling the computerization system for the entire steel mill, eventually moving into a role as a maintenance controller for electrical work across the whole plant. The steel mill was shrinking from 6,500 workers down to 2,900, and our group was ordered to streamline everything as fast as possible without extra manpower. We were caught in a sandwich between the big bosses and the laborers. Pressure came from every direction. No one wanted to work anymore because people knew they’d be out of a job soon. We were trying to get things organized because the job had become incredibly stressful with too much responsibility, and people—including those in management positions—stopped cooperating because they knew their time was running out. Honestly, most were unnecessary and just waiting for a good payout... while we spent years going above and beyond, working through unpaid lunches and dinners, fixing things after hours for free. And then, one day, my day arrived... STRESS. I took my annual leave and long-term leave, paying for it myself, but I never recovered... I didn't understand what was wrong with me.

So, Koka, I'm done writing anything else to you. You go ahead and do your job however you want... I dealt with stress that I couldn't escape, and it lasted far too long before I started seeking treatment.

I didn't receive a single cent for my spinal injury at work back in 1970... meanwhile, others would play football at home, get hurt, and the very next day show up with friends as witnesses to "report a workplace accident." I was actually rushed from my workstation to the hospital because they thought I was having a heart attack in 1991, right before Christmas. Before that, I used up 10 weeks of vacation, and I never went back to work due to my disability (I'll be honest, I tried for an hour or two for about two weeks), and I suffered from panic attacks and Anxiety. I ended up in a medical center and then a hospital, and eventually, my doctor and my neurologist wouldn't allow me to return to work.

That is the plain truth... so stop making things up and twisting facts. You've written enough nonsense about me over the last three years. Why don't you share your experiences from Canada, where there are plenty of freeloaders bragging about their pensions while they drive around delivering pizzas? We're talking about your little protege, KokaZ.

Goodbye, may God bless you and keep you safe!
🙂 😉 😎

next
I’ve shared my life story up to the ten-year mark, more or less.
The years between 10 and 15 were easily my hardest. I wouldn't wish them on anyone, though they likely shaped who I am today.

From age 15 through 19, I was focused on school and trade training. It was also when several sadder things started happening. If I'd had a different childhood, things might have been easier, but I'm not complaining.

Between 1960 and 1967, life was a mix of wonderful, unforgettable moments and plenty of mistakes. I made some errors regarding my wife back then that I ended up paying for later in life.

To make a long story short, my older sister—who is thirteen years my senior—had three kids at the time. Her husband was an alcoholic who beat her and never brought home a paycheck. She managed to support the whole family on her own through her career in skincare. I saw a lot of things growing up, and even as a young man, I realized how brutal life can be with an alcoholic husband who chases after women... especially in an era before everyone was just looking for a way out.

My younger sister is six years younger than me. She was always the high achiever; she finished high school and landed a job in the accounting department at a local hospital, where she’s still working despite being buried in debt.

While things were physically and morally tough for me, she stayed behind at home after I left. She dealt with the daily grind of caring for our parents, who hadn't been doing well for several years.

Eventually, my parents went their separate ways, and my father never saw my sister or her son again.
My sister took care of our mother until the very end, and for that, I am deeply grateful.

Winter passed and spring arrived, which meant the garden had to be cleared and prepped before we could get back to building the house.
I remember my dad used to borrow a truck from a local company and pay a driver by the hour. We’d head down to the banks of the Danube to pick up gravel ourselves; just the two of us loading the truck and then unloading it at the site. We managed to do two full trips in a single afternoon, working late into the evening.

Bricks were delivered to us, along with larger stones, since the design called for stone exterior walls and brick for the interior.
The real struggle back then was finding cement; it was hard to come by.
We used to haul 500kg loads in small batches all the way from Maximilian Highway over to Bukovac.

I vividly remember one time my father and I carried 50kg bags on our shoulders, lugging them over 4.4 miles the building.

It was a family affair—my father, my mother, and I did all the work on the structure.
Once the basement and foundations were excavated, we started pouring the concrete. My father always handled the mixing, while my mother and I took turns every other round, mixing and then watering it down.

After the foundation was set, Dad worked on shaping the stones for the outer wall while I laid the interior bricks. That year, we finished the basement and even managed to pour the floor slab on a Sunday, thanks to some neighbors who owed my father a favor and stepped in to help.

By autumn, I was back working with my mother at my aunt's jewelry shop, spending night after night without any sleep.
The following year, I was supposed to start my trade apprenticeship; I was finishing up my eighth grade of middle school.

That was also the last year I worked for my aunt, as there simply wasn't enough time left.

When next spring rolled around, the garden came first, and then we got back to the masonry.
Dad worked on the exterior facade while I simultaneously worked on the interior.
We managed to get the ground floor up, but it started getting too cold to continue.

We poured the concrete beams to prep for the floor slab the following year.
Then I started my apprenticeship, and things got tough. We’d be up at 4:15 AM to grab breakfast before catching a bus to Mirogoj, then jumping on two different trams just to make it to work by 6:00 AM.
On top of that, I had school three afternoons a week from 2:00 PM to 7:30 PM.
So, I was working three 8-hour shifts and three 4-hour shifts before school.

It was becoming difficult to juggle everything—the job, school, and the construction site. I had started smoking by then, and during the concrete pours, it was common to have a few drinks. It was the same at the construction sites where we worked on buildings; people drank a little at first, but by the second year of my apprenticeship, it escalated quite a bit.

I remained very withdrawn and focused solely on work, but I was already leaning toward alcohol. At the time, I couldn't see anything wrong with it because everyone else was doing the exact same thing.

1958 was the year that shaped my entire life. We finished building the house as far as we could, getting up to the second floor, but we ran out of funds and simply couldn't go any further.
My father tried to get a loan but couldn't pull it off since he was the sole breadwinner. It was a tough era for borrowing back then... our whole family was heavily in debt.
The house was eventually sold, and the money just covered what we owed. My mother wanted to fix a few things up in the apartment, but my father wouldn't hear of it; I remember things being tense between them for years... he used to hide whatever cash was left over.
My mother used to find it stashed in shoes or hidden away in the soup under the trees.

She even bought a radio behind his back, hiding it whenever he was home. Goodness, looking back, I wonder why I worked so hard.

My health took a massive hit. My young body was still developing, but it was pushed way too hard during those years. I understood how brutal life could be, but despite everything, I found myself turning to alcohol more and more.

I had a very clear grasp of how difficult life was, but I spent a long time grieving for the childhood I lost... it took me ten years to finally crawl out from under all that.

Eventually, I finished my apprenticeship and started working out in the field, which is where I met my wife.
Everything else has been pain, sadness, and struggle... you won't find "Communism" anywhere,
mainly because I never sought it out or experienced it personally. Just like here in Australia today, I’m not much of a politics person, though that doesn't mean I don't understand the issues we face here or the problems going on in the world.

There is one thing I always say, and I'm proud of it: I am a true American at heart,
though I made my own choices after living abroad for 40 years. I decided I didn't want to be some victim of circumstance anymore. My lifestyle changed, and my sons, now 31 and 42, have never lived in the old country and aren't interested in it. My grandkids come from mixed marriages—their mothers are Australian and English—so you can't really expect them to hold onto those old ties.

But I know that I might be more patriotic than those who boast about it, waving dollars around and making speeches. I visit the old country twice a year; love for your roots is something you carry in your heart, even if I occasionally joke about it. My family, my sons, and my wife know exactly how I feel.

Thanks to everyone for taking the time to read this!

🙂 😉 😎

That wraps up my thoughts on childhood. Someone might wonder why I’m even writing about this...

With a little more time, I'll explain exactly why I asked!

Everything that happens in life happens for a reason. It took me many years before my eyes finally opened to why certain things happened to me and what they were actually meant to teach me.
If I’d gotten help when I actually needed it, my life might look a whole lot different today.
If you notice your kid struggling with something today, just take them in for a consultation.

What kind of childhood did I actually have?
And he could just keep thinking and writing along like that, "my treatment isn't working."
It felt like it was too late for so many things.

Just a short poem for now, something that finally helped me let go of a heavy weight... what exactly? The pain, the resentment, and years of staying silent and just taking it. But what hurts most isn't just what I went through as a kid; it's what I passed on to my wife. She stood by me and endured everything I put her through. This April, I’ll be turning 44.
=====================.

Some days, I just find myself looking back.
It feels like everything is just a blur lately. Where did those days go?
My heart tightens just thinking about it.
I’d cry if I could, but the pain is just too much right now.

So, why was everything like that?
Was I really not allowed to, just like everyone else?
Should we spend our childhood just playing?
Do I really have to work from sunup to sundown?
Mom, where was your head at?
Didn't you see all that sadness and grief?
While everyone else was out there celebrating and having the time of their lives, I just sat there with this look on my face...
They were out playing while I was stuck in the garden, hauling feed for the pigs.
So, were pigeons and rabbits actually friends?
They didn't go to school with me.

I learned a lot, and honestly, maybe a little too much, all at once.
I finally learned what bile actually is. I just watched a video on how it's processed.
It’s nice that some people had that, but I didn't really have much of a childhood myself.
I still remember that first salad—radishes and everything else.
The thing I remember most clearly is how much my back used to kill me.
I also have fond memories of that autumn when we were out harvesting our own corn.
The fire was going while we were roasting it earlier this evening.
I’m seeing shadows of you everywhere—from my mom to my sister.
And then I remember that first prescription knife, and how you used to teach me.
How exactly do you graft fruit trees and mix them? If I remember correctly, it’s a bit of a process.
Every single time I close my eyes.

And then came the days when we finally headed out to far-off Bukovac.
Do you ever find yourselves thinking back to Mom and Dad?
Whether it was late at night, early in the morning, or just after finishing work.
Miles... man, those miles... they really take me back. I can still vividly remember my childhood.

Back when I should have been out playing and just being a kid with the other children,
Besides working on the garden, I’ve been digging house foundations, mixing concrete, and hauling water.
And I’ve gone hungry more times than I care to admit, all for the sake of the family.
Which one was the one we never actually finished, yet ended up causing so much heartache?
Sweat from pure rage and hatred.

There were even days when I’d take a moment to look back at everything we built, feeling pretty proud of what we achieved.
Everyone said the same thing—look at these three, they’ve been struggling for years and just keep going.

Then the day finally came when everything just stopped. My mother was in tears.
You were acting all moody and keeping to yourself because you gave so much to a country that didn't give much back.
She didn't even pay you back, not even a measly cent.
Finish that dream home for yourself and your kids.

You left my sister and mother's lives, too—all for my sake.
I grew up dealing with bitterness—both in my own pain and from the lack of support I received when things were at their worst.
I've had some rough experiences. It feels like I missed out on a real childhood entirely. I basically went straight from being a kid to becoming a young man.
Withdrawn, yet disappointed... No, I'm not blaming you two.
I started drinking, and it took a long time for everything to finally fall into place.

Oh, Dad, Mom... you both passed away, and I wasn't even there for your funerals.
I remember it all.

I haven't complained, nor have I voiced any grievances. Up until now, I've just been taking things as they come.
I see my grandkids out in the park, having the best time kicking a soccer ball around.
My grandfather used to love it too, but he never actually had the time to play—he just stuck to hide-and-seek.
Sometimes, right outside the school.
To my sons—you guys know better than anyone just how much we’ve shared.
What was your childhood like? Did you have a decent upbringing with plenty of playtime and good friends, or was it different for you?
The essential work that gave me my foundation and my sense of purpose.

It was painful. Honestly, what hurts more is that you all should have known better.
That’s just how things were in the aftermath of the war.

And may both you and your mother rest in peace.
Because soon, my lost childhood will be buried right along with me.

Jamie Clark74

Adelaide, 12/8/05

....I've flagged this thread with your ISP because it's basically just an ad for drugs.........

👋

Arthur Edwards said:....This thread has been reported to your service provider for promoting drugs.........

👋

How many reports do we have on NICK?

I’d report it for being boring before anything else!😁

I’ll be circling back to my childhood stories later—specifically when I fell ill from stress back in 1991—which will give some much-needed context to what I’ve written here.

In short, many of you have likely read the thread I started years ago (linking it here). I might pull a few details from it regarding my health issues.

Real life in Australia from 1969 through today!

We arrived in Australia in November 1969, and I jumped straight into work. By 1970, my wife and I were already dealing with health struggles. We found the lifestyle, the social scene, and those intense heatwaves pretty overwhelming. It's probably for the best we didn't know what was coming our way.

P.S. Looking back at my old writing... I honestly wonder how I thought I was "relearning English" back then. My medical terminology and certain expressions became much clearer after about 12 to 24 months, but this is the raw, original version.
I'll post some follow-ups later where things are described more clearly and include links to better texts or images.

I almost forgot how it all started. Back then, I was dealing with these brutal headaches, and my legs would start aching too—sometimes even shooting pain down the whole leg. I used to head to the pharmacy to pick up the strongest stuff they had, the kind you have to sign for because it contained 12% narcotic Codeine. For the headaches, I’d lean on Valium or Diazepam just to get through the day. It was the only way I could manage.
Around that same time, I spent six months working at a power plant. It was actually a solid gig—lots of instrumentation work and system upgrades—but the heat was brutal. We were dealing with 50°C all day long. By the time I got home, I was absolutely wiped, and the outdoor heat didn't help matters either. To cope, we ended up buying an AC unit that was way too big for just one room, but honestly, it worked so well it cooled down nearly half the house.

Let me shift the focus to my wife and child for a moment. Dario was off at school today,
My wife mentioned they didn't even have air conditioning in the classrooms—just hair dryers to move the air around. Yet, they still let the kids go home once it hit 110 degrees. They also had this pretty ridiculous way of teaching at the start of first grade, where everyone just sat in a circle to learn.

My wife went to the local school to help out in the cafeteria serving lunch to the kids, and she also spent some time there during the day taking English classes.

She just couldn't seem to bounce back from the surgery, and she was dealing with some pretty bad anemia. Honestly, though, since she wasn't working, we were all a little more relieved.

Since my kid caught a winter bug right after starting preschool, they spent the whole commute catching more germs on the buses and trams from Mirogoj over to Tresnjavka. Honestly, I figured it was better to just keep them home, especially since I've been working quite a bit lately.

Everything was going relatively smoothly. We were just paying our way and keeping to ourselves, staying pretty private. My wife would occasionally head out to grab coffee with some friends from her English classes, but that was about it. Dario managed to make a few buddies and started finding his groove at school. As for the kids, things have been looking up after that first year.

Around Christmas 1971, my lower back started acting up terribly. The pain shot straight down my leg, making it nearly impossible to walk. Luckily, it was the holiday season, so I managed to take some time off work, though even with the break, I didn't feel much better.

I went to see my doctor today for some X-rays. It turns out I have a spinal injury and a pinched disc—the diagnosis is Sciatica. I met with an orthopedist, and he’s already prescribed a full back brace for me.

Now we’ve hit the biggest hurdle. Since there isn't a robust social safety net here in the States, if you get injured on the job, the company is supposed to cover everything. That’s where the trouble started—nobody ever actually explained how it works to me. Even my supposedly "brilliant" father-in-law didn't say a word about it.

I tried going through the union because I wasn't aware of the specific laws regarding workers' comp. We were lifting some pretty heavy stuff on the job, so it was definitely an on-the-job injury.
With my luck, I didn't exactly get anywhere. I just pushed through the intense pain and kept dragging myself along, though there were times they actually sent me home.

I was honestly terrified about what comes next. I went through hell. My doctor told me surgery was the only way, though my orthopedic surgeon was pretty hesitant to perform the procedure at first. Just to give you some context, we’re talking about the beginning of 1972 here. Eventually, I went back to see the specialist and insisted on the operation—I just couldn't handle it anymore. I couldn't stand, I couldn't walk, and bending over was out of the question.

I didn't fully grasp all the specifics regarding the surgery, but I knew it was going to be a major ordeal. I also knew I'd need at least six months off work just to recover.

So, here’s the deal: we sat down, looked at what we owe, headed out to the shops, and worked out a plan to pay only half for the next three months. We managed to get our rent cut in half, too.
But how am I supposed to make ends meet? I went over to my father-in-law's place, sat him down, and asked if he could lend me $200 or $300. I promised him I'd pay it back in full, with interest, within six months.
The situation was this: I knew he had about $2,500 tucked away in savings, but he wouldn't give me a straight answer on whether he’d actually look into it.

I walked away from him in tears. I knew right then that I wouldn't see him again—at least not for the next six months.
Back when I was working, I knew this independent welder from Scotland who did some contract work for us. I actually asked him for a favor once; he ducked out during his shift, headed home, and came back with $300 in his pocket.

I’ve never really been close with my extended family or anyone else from back home... and honestly, that hasn't changed. I'm happy to say hello and show respect when I see people, but at the end of the day, I just stick to myself and my immediate family.

Don't get me wrong—families have their own ways of handling things, but in my case, that approach just didn't work. If I had actually started drinking, how much would her brother's support have even mattered? We ended up in this whole mess because he felt like he had to step in to make sure my wife felt supported, but it turned out to be a completely different story. As for me, I haven't touched a drop of alcohol since.

I realize this might just be my own experience, but that’s how it went for me.
When I was at the steel mill, they didn't give me a sick note; instead, they made me sign a special waiver stating they wouldn't have to take me back if I wasn't fit for duty.

I settled everything with my wife and we headed to the hospital. The nurses walked me through what to expect and showed me people who had just undergone the procedure; it had been 12 days and they still hadn't even gotten out of bed. They asked if I was absolutely certain about going through with this.

I had a Laminectomy. They make an incision about 10-12 inches long in your back and remove part of the posterior vertebral arch—that bony part you feel when you touch your spine.
Then they carefully drill to avoid nerve damage, fix the disc, and repair the vertebrae. They remove a piece of bone from the side, close everything up, but you’re essentially left without that sharp edge of the vertebra.
Your back becomes weaker, and honestly, given the nature of my job, I really shouldn't have done it.

As soon as I woke up, they checked my sensation to make sure the surgery was technically a success.
I was getting Pethidine injections every four hours, but I couldn't sleep for three days and nights. By the fourth night, the pain was so unbearable I felt like giving up.
The next day was slightly better, though I immediately told my wife it felt like someone had shortened my left leg.
I recovered so fast it surprised everyone, including my doctor. On the tenth day, I was sent home with strict orders to stay still and avoid walking.
After 14 days, they took the stitches out. Walking was difficult, and bending over was impossible.
For five weeks, I lied and said I was doing fine... when really, I couldn't bend, stand for long, or walk much. In the seventh week, I went back to the steel mill to prove how "healthy" I was, and managed to get my job back, though they had to move me to lighter duties.

P.S. I had a Laminectomy and fusion at L5-S1. That means to reach the disc, they have to remove the lamina, clean out the disc, and then use bone to fuse it all together. Thirty-four years ago, that was a massive surgery. Techniques have changed since then, but it still depends on the case. In my situation, I waited too long before having the surgery; I kept working instead of resting and treating it. In other words, looking back, I think I had a "failed operation."

God, it hurt. I was popping pills like candy, taking double doses, but nothing helped. I could never bend forward more than a couple of inches below my knees. Whatever they cut out is gone for good. Your body needs six months of therapy, not six weeks.

So there you have it, friends. I've been limited for the rest of my life. Nowadays, people with these issues aren't supposed to lift more than 20 pounds, yet I kept lifting 130-150 pounds. People like me aren't supposed to be on ladders or working in attics and roofs.
I ended up feeling bitter toward the system and how everything seems rigged against the workers, the poor, and the sick... but I suppose these things have to be experienced to be truly understood.

By 1972, I wasn't feeling much better than I had before the surgery. I was never more pain-free, even if I was just standing still or doing something light.
They gave me a temporary gig at our construction warehouse to organize all the neglected cabling. It was a mess—thousands of dollars worth of stuff, and nobody had a clue about the sizes or specs.
Honestly, it was a tougher job than my actual electrical work.

But they loved the results once the entire cable inventory was organized. We turned a huge profit because that saved money could be diverted straight into new projects.
They eventually asked me to overhaul the whole warehouse since there was so much leftover material from previous jobs that nobody could locate. I ended up working in the warehouse for nearly two years; they even bumped me up to a supervisor's pay and assigned me two warehouse clerks.

Eventually, though, I got bored. I asked to get back to the tools—that’s where I belong.

My wife and I had a talk and decided to have another child. Dario was already ten, so the age gap was getting pretty wide.
We slowly paid off our debts and finally bought our first car.
It was a nice classic Morris 1100 S. The car was about seven years old, but it ran fine. I remember one thing clearly...
Once you buy a car, you never have any money left. Between the monthly payments, maintenance, registration, and insurance, it adds up—but like everyone else, we finally had our own wheels.

In 1974, a new government came in—the Democratic Party finally took over. Prime Minister Whiteman pulled the troops out of Vietnam and ended National Service.
Their selection process for the military was basically a lottery; they'd just draw names to see who went.
With this new administration, we finally saw a medical system that was equal for everyone, along with social safety nets that haven't changed much to this day. The baseline for things like old-age pensions, unemployment, or disability was set at 25% of the average male wage.

At work, the company provided 8 to 10 days of fully paid sick leave per year. But as I found out, 8 or 10 days goes fast; two colds and you've used up your whole year. We all knew how it worked, too—during the floods, we worked 14 to 20 hours straight in the wet. If you caught a cold, that was just your problem.

Anyway, things started changing, and I finally began looking at Australia in a slightly brighter light.

Jamie Clark74 said:In this high-stress era we're living through, more and more people are struggling with stress, depression, Anxiety, and all sorts of personal issues.

Every year, they roll out these new medications—and we're constantly told they aren't as dangerous as the old stuff, or that they won't cause us any trouble.

Personally, I’ve cycled through about 20 different ones, and honestly? Not one of them was without its own set of problems. And look, we’re all built differently—some people only need a tiny dose, while others need two or three times that just to feel level.

I'm dropping a link here that's in English; it covers every antidepressant along with medical perspectives and actual patient experiences...

ANTIDEPRESSANTS

Depression is a real illness, sure, but sometimes it starts with a sort of gloomy outlook on life. Before things really take hold of me, I try to remind myself that life is a gift—a privilege, really. It's a massive opportunity to see, learn, and experience so much. Yeah, pain, misery, and jerks exist... but those are just part of the package to help you recognize what's actually good, what has purpose, and what has meaning. That's where you find the strength to push through it all. Even through the depression.
It's good to stay grounded...
Anyway, goodnight. Tomorrow is a new day, and spring is right around the corner. I can already see the little flower bulbs poking their heads up through the soil.😘

Jamie Clark74,

I’m rooting for you and really hope you pull through this—seriously, don't throw in the towel just yet. Life is actually pretty great when you get to enjoy it.

Jamie Clark74 said:Way to go 😉—lucky you!

Most people don't even realize they have a problem in the first place...

🤣 🤣 🤣

But seriously though—you’ve got a major issue with how you perceive the world. Try looking at things rationally for once; maybe if you actually consider a different perspective, you could stop being so stuck in your ways.

I haven't been posting much lately... my right arm is basically useless right now. I've got two ongoing issues with my shoulder—I regularly get steroid injections because of a small tear in my biceps, along with some acromioclavicular joint trouble.
This time, however, the pain has gripped my entire right arm, all the way down to my elbow and even numbing my fingers. It's an awful, constant pulling sensation through the whole limb. I can't sleep, and nothing seems to touch the pain. Back on February 14th, 2006, I had an MRI before this latest flare-up because of my cervical spine issues, and my orthopedist just sent me for another MRI focused on the shoulder.
So, it turns out there's even more going wrong than I thought. I have C7 impingement on the left side too, which causes constant numbness in my fingers—it’s always worse at night.

About twelve hours ago, I had two steroid injections in my shoulder. It helped my range of motion a bit, just like I expected, but it did absolutely nothing for the pinched nerve. When I was at the hospital (I stayed overnight), they basically told me, "Look, you know your situation; we can't help you with this many complications, you've already got everything you need at home." I was hoping the anesthesiologist could perform a nerve block under CT guidance, since I've had similar procedures done on my lumbar spine, but there's just a massive waiting list for that.

Two nights ago, I cleared out all my old narcotics that I haven't used in ages. I was honestly terrified of accidentally overdosing while in this much pain. I had about 250ml of morphine liquid from the pain clinic, to say nothing of the rest.

I cleaned out everything that could potentially lead to an overdose. The only reason I even had those supplies was because specialists sometimes provide them for testing during my worst flares, though I haven't touched anything for the last two years.

As I've mentioned before, I don't want to be subconsciously drugged. I'm one of those people for whom narcotics barely even work. I actually found about five boxes of Methadone sitting at home; I didn't even think to try it despite the pain, because I tend to react even more poorly to it.

It’s a madhouse at home right now. I can't sleep, so I spend my nights pacing the apartment and using microwave heat pads. My wife is struggling to sleep too, and she has her own issues, so it’s enough to drive you crazy. You go to the hospital and they can't do anything; I'm not even asking for injections since I already have pills, capsules, and shots at home.

I can only say that I'm not surprised if someone ends up taking their own life due to extreme pain. Is that cowardice? I don't think so. Dealing with impossible, agonizing pain that doesn't respond to anything is unbearable. People complain on these forums after a day or two of discomfort, but what about living with this for an entire lifetime?

Throughout this whole ordeal, I kept searching for something that seemed impossible. In Australia, they don't typically prescribe transdermal patches like Fentanyl unless it's for cancer patients or those at the very end of life. I could have gone the private route, but where would I find that kind of money?

Then, one night, it hit me. I remembered the pain clinic mentioning that I responded best to Gabapentin via infusion because of how it works on the central nervous system, but I couldn't take it orally. I also recalled responding to Lignocaine. For that, they had previously prescribed Amitriptyline—an antidepressant—which nearly cost both me and my wife our lives. That was my final visit to the pain clinic.

It took me days to finally recall the name Lignocaine, until I remembered I receive steroid injections containing it as a local anesthetic. I think I spent about an hour every single day for a month researching this.

And it paid off. I managed to find the "newly approved drugs list from October 2005..." It was the "Norspan" transdermal patch by CMI. They come in three different strengths and last for seven days. It's Buprenorphine, which is approved for chronic pain patients who don't respond to non-opioid analgesics.

Neither my doctors nor my pharmacists knew it had been approved. Luckily, I found it myself.
Since I am clean, I was able to start using the patches immediately. I'm currently on my third one. The problem is, they aren't great for acute pain like what I'm facing right now. You aren't supposed to take extra narcotics except for maybe Codeine. For now, it's helped a little with my lumbar issues, but I'm not expecting a miracle. I'll likely have to gradually increase the dosage over time to see results. For now, nothing is really helping.

I have an appointment with the orthopedic surgeon on March 6th... so I’m wondering what to expect. Based on my experience, PAIN LIKE THIS IN MY CURRENT COMPLEX SITUATION CAN LAST UP TO 4-6 WEEKS... so there isn't much longer to go. On a pain scale of 1-10... I'm sitting at an 8 or 10.

P.S. While searching online, I found out that buprenorphine is used under medical supervision in pill form for people who are "detoxing from drugs like Methadone and heroin."

My God, the options are limited. I can't imagine using substances if I don't absolutely have to... but then again, what are alcohol and nicotine?
A person learns what they can endure to stay alive.

Hang in there, Jamie Clark74—you're halfway through the struggle. Meanwhile, the sciatica is already starting to flare up in both of my legs again.😁
😎

Dentures and spinal issues

Dental implants and arm pain?

Mr. LW is in his early 60s. For the last two years, he’s been dealing with pain in his right arm that felt just like Gout... it would come and go.
LW saw plenty of General Practitioners and even chiropractors, but nothing worked. Eventually, the pain became frequent and unbearable.

In the end, his daughter recommended our services.

ICNR

Clinical findings:
The patient had a 25-year-old dental prosthesis. It turned out the dentures were worn down and had been poorly fitted from the very start. Because they didn't sit correctly, the bone structure shifted over time. This caused a height discrepancy that compressed the nerves running through the arm—specifically C5, C6, C7, C8 & T1—trapping them between two muscles.

Treatment:
Through cranial manipulation and relaxing the skull bones, along with adjusting the base of the prosthesis, we were able to reposition the bones and muscles. After seven visits, the patient was symptom-free. A new prosthesis was crafted based on the corrected alignment, and the pain vanished completely.

http://www.icnr.com/main.html

@Jamie Clark74/">@@Jamie Clark74, how do you actually spend your downtime? It can't be that you spend all day scrolling through medical forums, popping pills, and counting down the minutes until your next doctor's appointment.
Do you have any hobbies? Any interests outside of all that? Anything that actually brings you satisfaction? 😕