From ER to Recovery: The Wake-Up Call I Needed

So, I’ve been in a bit of a “quiet mode” for the past month, recovering from everything that’s happened recently. I decided to take a social media break, and wow, what a game changer! No Facebook scrolling, no seeing food ads tempting me to order everything under the sun—it’s been such a breath of fresh air. It feels so good to just be present, you know? But I’ll admit, I’m kind of out of the loop now. Not that FOMO has ever been my thing, but I did recently passed by a mini concert at a mall nearby… and I had zero clue who was performing. Oops! Looks like I’m officially behind on all things pop culture. I feel so very tita under the rock! LOL.

So, to all my family and friends who have been checking in after my hospital stay, I had every intention of updating you all before I took my break, but life (and my offline adventures) got in the way. Now that I’m back (for a bit), here’s the detailed story of what really happened:

I had a scheduled appointment with my psychiatrist about five months ago and after that session, I had a lot of realizations. For the longest time, I have been judging myself based on my productivity. I beat myself up too much when I don’t get anything done in a day. I feel useless and empty when I see myself not doing anything productive. I don’t know, but it’s something I do maybe as a trauma response. Knowing that I have Bipolar Disorder for almost 5 years, I have always told myself that I should identify as high-functioning no matter what. Being productive, earning from that productivity, and achieving things makes me feel positive about myself. Measurable achievements gives enough boost of my self-worth. But then again, being productive doesn’t always equate to happiness.

THE POSSIBILITY OF HAVING ANOTHER DISORDER

So, on a fine Thursday afternoon, I sat down with my psychiatrist again. This time, I was hoping she could taper down my medications because 200 mg of Seroquel just doesn’t work for my sleep as smoothly as the previous 150 mg she prescribed. The rule of the thumb is… the lower the dosage, the more sedating it becomes. Unfortunately, at 150 mg 3 months ago, I was breaking down. I was unstable, depressed, and easily triggered. “I cannot put you at 150 mg if you will subject yourself to the same stress and triggers as before.” That’s what she said. I went on with how well I was doing and how stable I was for the past three months, except for the fact that I still have trouble sleeping and I spend most of my hours working. Honestly, this was not an issue before. Both she and I agree that I’m a known workaholic, and that I’m obsessed with my business as a business owner, however this time was different. This time, I got scolded that she almost came out of the laptop monitor. I work on weekends. I think about work when I’m doing house chores. I think about work when I’m talking to people. I am ultra fixated about work, that even watching K-Dramas… I still have thoughts of work instead of focusing with what I’m doing. “Did we do an assessment for ADHD before?” She blurted out. I paused. Wait, what? I’m already seesaw-ing with my Bipolar Disorder, let’s not add ADHD to the equation. This sucks.

UNDERSTANDING ADHD

And as we all think that ADHD (Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder) is characterized by being too active, restless, and unable to focus, it also is the other way around. Inability to control oneself and hyper focus are also symptoms of ADHD, and that’s what my psychiatrist have noticed in my patterns. I am unable to control myself when it comes to work. I am unable to stop and rest when I need to. I am highly fixated on the idea of productivity and have become inflexible. When I want something done within the day, I tend to overwork until it’s done. No pauses. No rest. I work until I’m burnout. The next thing I know, I’m too tired to get up and work on the next tasks and end up procrastinating for the next hours. It’s like being a robot with rechargeable batteries. Only, my robot body takes too much time and energy to recharge and refuel. “Maybe I need a vacation?” I asked my psychiatrist. “You need a change in your work-life balance. You need to compromise. Short vacations won’t be the solution. It’s useless if you will go back to the same usual routine after your vacay.” I stared at her. This was the same psychiatrist that treated my anxiety. I trust her. At this point, we stopped at 150 mg of Quetiapine and hoping for the best. They told me to take that assessment when I’m at my best mood, and so… I was never able to take that test because I was not at my best for the past few days.

WHEN AN ER VISIT TURNS INTO A NIGHTMARE

After that session, I continued with the daily stress of life. Moving houses, balancing work in between clients, driving in hours of traffic, bringing my senior dog to the vet every few weeks, everything is chaotic but I carried on. Still doing my best, pushing to the limits. I feel drained… emotionally, physically, mentally, financially, but no. I can’t give up. I have to keep moving forward. I went to the drugstore to buy a stash of meds. Unfortunately, my usual brand was not available. They asked me if I wanted the cheaper option and I agreed because it was the only thing that was available and this has been my third drugstore already for that night. OOOOPPSSS! WRONG MOVE.

Ever since I took that brand, I had trouble sleeping. It was the opposite of everything. Quetiapine was supposed to keep my mood balanced. It was supposed to put me to sleep, keep me calm, and make me able to do my usual tasks each day. But no. It was the total opposite! It kept me awake for 6 straight days without any sleep. I was wide awake without a wink of an eye. I tried my best to put myself to sleep, but no luck. My system is stressed. I could feel it because I was already having mixed episodes. My mood was on the rocks, my depression at its worst. Every little thing was an instant trigger. Sometimes I was elated, feeling like superman. Thinking I could still handle this, despite the ups and downs. It’s all in the mind… or so I thought.

Early Friday morning (November 22), I was doing my usual edits at 4 AM. I was still up until 6 AM, and then I felt it. There was a throbbing pain in my chest, my heart was palpitating non-stop. Palpitations are normal for me, because I have SVT (Supraventricular Tachycardia). My pulse is more than 100 beats per minute at rest. It just comes and goes, especially during an anxiety episode. This is common for me and this has already been diagnosed way back in Australia. But this time, I knew it was not just normal tachycardia. It came with pain.

I was rushed to the ER around 9:00 AM, thinking they’d just tell me I needed rest. Maybe they’d give me some magic pill to finally knock me out and let me sleep. The nurse who took me in could see my body was starting to give up. I told her I hadn’t slept at all in 5 or 6 days—no full 8-hour stretch, just a few hours here and there, and that wasn’t real sleep. My body hadn’t had the chance to truly rest. They quickly moved me to an empty bed, hooked me up to an ECG, and I just lay there, exhausted, but my mind was wide awake. Honestly, I couldn’t even remember what it felt like to yawn anymore. I couldn’t get my body to sleep.

After the ECG, they ran more tests—8 vials of blood, a urinalysis, and a whole bunch of other evaluations. I was just lying there, waiting for the results, hoping they’d give me a sleeping pill and send me home to rest. But then, around 4 in the afternoon, all the tests came back, and a Psychiatry resident came in to evaluate me. I explained my lack of sleep and how amazing it would be if they could just get me some rest—even for just one night.

Next, a Cardiology resident came in to check on my heart, pulse, and everything related to my chest. Then, at 5 PM, came the dreaded news. “Hi, ma’am. We need to admit you as per the Cardiology department. We found life-threatening spikes in your ECG, and they want to make sure you’re stable before we can release you.” Wait, what? No way. I was NOT getting admitted. I had a full month ahead of me—moving houses, scheduled shoots, and just way too much going on. The idea of being admitted felt overwhelming. I didn’t want to be stuck in a hospital room when there were so many things I had to do.

What’s worse, my health card and insurance wouldn’t cover any of it since I came in as a Psych patient. Anything related to the brain doesn’t get covered (Neuro, Psych, and all the expensive shit… Insurance will only cover critical illnesses. The system sucks, right? In my doctors’ eyes, I was already critical!), so this hospital stay was about to be an expensive one. There was no way I could afford it. I told the attending physician all of this, and waited… and waited… for a response.

DAMA (Discharge Against Medical Advice) 

So, at this point, I was ready to go home. I had enough. I didn’t want to stay in the hospital. So, I told the doctors I wanted to be discharged.

They explained that if I insisted on leaving, I’d have to sign a DAMA (Discharge Against Medical Advice) form. Basically, it meant I’d be leaving against their professional recommendation, and I’d be taking full responsibility for it. I was seriously considering it. I mean, it seemed like I was just there for tests, right? I wasn’t feeling that bad anymore… or so I thought. I just need to sleep!

But then, I looked at my mom. She was really worried, and I could see it on her face. It wasn’t just a psychiatric issue anymore—it was my heart. And that made it different. I didn’t want to put her through any more stress, so I decided to stay. It was the right choice, even though I didn’t want to admit it. I knew I had to follow the doctor’s orders this time, even though it felt like a huge blow to my plans (and budget).

HOSPITAL STAYCATION (A LIFE CHANGING EXPERIENCE)

Next thing I knew, I was being moved to a private room. At least I could tell my mom wasn’t as worried anymore—she knew I’d be better taken care of in the hospital than I could manage at home. Since I was a psych patient, it was standard procedure for the hospital to have someone watch over me. I wasn’t in danger of harming myself, so the doctors decided I could stay in a private room instead of being sent to the psych ward. But, of course, someone still had to keep an eye on me 24/7. And that’s when I met Ate Sophie and Ate Chill. They were my watchers for the next five days. They stayed up with me when I was awake, kept track of everything I did, and told me stories about the psych ward. I was actually kind of relieved I wasn’t sent there. Maybe my doctors knew how much work meant to me because they allowed me some time to get things done while I was in the hospital.

The first night was the toughest. At that point, I thought they’d finally give me something to help me sleep. Imagine not sleeping for six days straight? This was the seventh, and I was desperately hoping for some relief. I looked at myself in the mirror, and literally looked like a pale zombie with huge circles under my eyes. But no… the night came and went, and no sleep meds. They just gave me meds to stabilize my heart. The next day, my psychiatrist finally came to see me in person. She explained that they really wanted me to sleep, but they couldn’t sedate me because my heart was too unstable at that point. Sedation could’ve triggered a cardiac arrest, so it was too risky. She wanted to try giving me milder meds like Lamotrigine, ones that wouldn’t affect my heart so much. But, of course, my system didn’t take too kindly to that either—I was allergic! By the second day, I had rashes, so they had to rethink the whole plan for getting me some rest.

THE DOCTOR’S VERDICT

While I was in the hospital, they kept running more tests. It turned out my system had completely stopped producing all the essential hormones I needed to function normally. It was NOT ADHD after all. I wasn’t producing any sleep hormones, or the “happy” hormones, and my thyroid levels were all out of whack—so much so that I was heading toward hypothyroidism. On top of that, I wasn’t producing the female hormones needed for menstruation, and I was already 20 days late. My numbers were all over the place, and my whole system was completely out of balance. The spikes they saw on my ECG were mostly at 152 beats per minute, even while I was at rest. My heart would race uncontrollably, and there was a noticeable gap in the rhythm. Apparently, if it wasn’t addressed properly, it could easily lead to something much worse—potentially even death. I had no idea it had gotten that serious.

Along with Cardiology and Psychiatry, I now had an Endocrinologist and an OB-Gyn closely monitoring me. My psychiatrist was stuck because she couldn’t decide on which medication to prescribe without clearance from all three specialists. She couldn’t give me Lithium because it would lower my thyroid levels even more and mess with my already irregular period. She couldn’t give me Lamotrigine because I was allergic. And she couldn’t give me Quetiapine (my usual) because it would mess with my heart, which was already super unstable. It felt like every day was just one big brainstorming session with no clear answers.

So, I spent my time in the hospital trying to keep my mind busy, coloring in my coloring books and just leaving everything in the hands of God and the doctors. There wasn’t much else I could do.

GOD’S PLAN AND RE-EVALUATING LIFE