The pursuit of happiness

Happiness is not achieved by the conscious pursuit of happiness; it is generally the by-product of other activities.
- Aldous Huxley

Google “IUD Depression”

So Joy told me, and so I did. And damn. Just…DAMN. I screwed up, folks. When da Man told me that the Mirena is low dose ONLY delivered locally, I believed it. I didn’t do my due dilligence. Again…I fucked up.

What?

Oh, right. May 19th — I had a Mirena IUD fitted. I loved the idea of short or no periods — and since the hormones stay “local,” I wasn’t concerned about the side effects that I know MY body gives me from hormonal B/C. Within one week, I started having weird, dark thoughts and anxiety. 11 days after getting the Mirena, I had a full-blown anxiety episode. Yes, what I found were primarily anecdotes, but they sounded exactly like what I was experiencing. I read all weekend, and finally found one document from the Canadian division of Bayer that suggested that Mirena might be a bad idea for people who’ve experienced “psychiatric episodes, especially those of a depressive nature” — to a point where the Mirena may need to be removed.

Well, well, well. Document from Bayer in hand, I went to my 2-week check-up, and requested (okay, insisted) that the thing be removed. My NP had never experienced this side effect before, and was glad I’d brought documentation. She said she’d bring this up at the next staff meeting — so that even if my side effects were rare (I was the first she’d seen), at least they’d know they’re in the universe of possibility.

Within a few days I started to feel better. At about a week, I darned near felt normal again, I thought. At 10 days, I wanted to shoot myself.

I’d been warned. Along with all the anecdotal hoo-hah about Mirena side effects were horror stories of the “Mirena Crash” — this low, low point that could occur 1-1/2 to 2 weeks post removal, in the time between the loss of the synthetic progesterone’s loss and the body’s notice to start producing on its own. Yet, still, I had (have) no idea how long this crash might last. And what if this isn’t a crash, but the hormonal changes started an avalanche of symptoms that now can’t be stopped? What if I spent a year hating mornings and wanting to strange my 3-year-old? Or ready to punch a wall when the baby just. wouldn’t. sleep?

I broached it to Mike. In reality, I wept and sobbed to Mike, making a sad, sad case that “I know I’ll be fine. I know what it is, so I can push through it.” Somehow, hearing that along with the idea that I thought my kids deserved more (and that was the brightest, sunniest of my dark thoughts), didn’t convince him. “Please,” he said. “Please go see the doctor tomorrow. Go before I leave for D.C.”

And I did. And I wonder why I waited so long. You have no idea how bad you feel until you just don’t feel bad anymore. Heck, I might even say, I FEEL GOOD.

Effexor is a real bitch to discontinue. But she’s MY bitch again. And I’m glad. At least this time, when the time comes, I know what to expect: that it will take months of slowly ramping down and a switch to other drugs before Ms. E lets me be.

But you know what? It’s still worth it. Already, I’m more myself. Cliches and all.

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.