Malaise…


Make that “Ma-freakin-laise”.  So I’m on a new drug, Metformin.  It is a diabetes drug and is supposed to improve the quality of my eggs for our next attempt at IVF.  Now here is the “fun” thing about reproductive “science.”  The doctors have NO clue if I have bad eggs.  I could have A+++ eggs that are the teacher’s pet of eggs to the point that they get beat up on the playground everyday for being so awesome.  Or I could have bad eggs that sneak outside to take a smoke and sneak liquor from their parents’ liquor cabinet.

Now if I had to guess at the quality of my eggs based on my personality I’d say they are the geeky A+ eggs.  Because as a kid we had a liquor cabinet that was stocked with all sorts of interesting looking alcohols.  But even as a teen I was terrified to even think about sneaking any to see what it was like.  I knew the wrath I would incur should I ever do so and get caught.  Not to mention GOD WOULD TOTALLY KNOW.  And I’d have to go to confession, and as we’ve learned already, confession was not where I wanted to be.

Now maybe my eggs are so geeky and good that they have become nerds who are pasty-white and lacking in any physical strength.   I could see that.  What does this have to do with anything?

Side effects.  I am on this new drug, with no one even knowing if I need to be on it, for the hope that it will improve my egg quality.  Now don’t get me wrong, if they suggested any type of medication would help me get preggers I’d instantly take it.  But the one side effect and one restriction I am on while taking this are killing me.

I have taken so many drugs now that I have stopped even looking at the information sheets I get with them from the pharmacy.  It doesn’t matter and they all say dire things like ‘skin may turn purple and your hair could fall out’, ‘could lead to massive internal bleeding’, ‘call doctor if you suddenly develop the urge to eat velcro’.  So I just took the new medicine and carried on with my life.

Until. I. Felt. Like. I. Was. Moving. In. Slow. Motion.  Everything became an effort all of a sudden.  Getting out of bed was painful.  So I started going to bed earlier, getting 9 hours of sleep, and still I woke up feeling like I had just run five miles.  Getting through the day, just a normal day, exhaust me.  I am committed to going to the gym and getting back in shape yet a thirty minute jog leaves me drained and useless the rest of the day.  The Spin classes that I lament about so much on my facebook page on top of being pure torture, leaves me feeling comatose.

So I finally decided to look into the Metformin side effects.  I called a pharmacy hotline we have with our insurance.  I told the pharmacist my symptoms and she scanned her database and said “oh yeah, it says right here that 10-15% of people on this drug experience mild to severe malaise.  Lucky you, it sounds like you are on the severe side.”  Lucky me.  I appreciated her sense of humor on it at least.  I asked her if the side effects subside with use or if there was anything I could do to alleviate them.  “Nope, it says the only fix is to stop taking the drug.”  Oh, lucky lucky me.

This new drug has even ruined coffee for me.  I was off coffee for sooooooooo long that I was looking forward to having a cup in the morning and feeling buzzed with energy.  No such luck.  I have had as many as four cups in a day and it does NOTHING.  And then one evening I was pouring a glass of wine for myself and Jacob with our dinner and on a whim picked up the prescription information sheet that was lying on the counter.  I was about to throw it out when I noticed in big bold letters: “Inform your doctor if you intend to drink while taking this medication.”  I cannot share with you the obscenity that came out of my mouth.

Well it was too late in the evening to inform my doctor so I risked it and had a glass of wine.  Apparently it can kill your liver or something so if you drink heavily you need regular blood test to check the status of your liver.

So for the record here are the stats: not pregnant, malaise, ruined coffee for me, can’t drink.  It’s just like being pregnant from what I hear!  YAY!

I have two post I have really wanted to write for some time now, but I have been lacking in energy to even type them out as they are pretty intense posts and even emotional things wear me out.  So stay tuned and I will post as soon as I have the energy.

Want to leave feedback, ask a question, talk about your love of coffee?  Contact Metholic by clicking the link “CONTACT METHOLIC” at the top of this page.
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9 responses to “Malaise…

  1. This makes me want to say bad words on your behalf…mostly because Lutherans don’t have to go to confession. So !@_(#$*.

  2. I appreciate anyone who says bad word on my behalf ;)!

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  5. I HATED metformin. My first RE put me on it kind of “just because.” I don’t even want to get into that “just because” BS. Anyway. I had crazy bad painful diarrhea. If I took one pill even 15 minutes later than I was supposed to, I would be on the toilet moaning for an hour minimum. It was awful. I am bad with being punctual and so it was happening too often so I just stopped it. I’ve had people suggest it to me because it’s supposed to help women with PCOS but there are a lot of things I would rather do than take metformin again.

  6. UGH. I’m one of those. Well, more specifically, my medication info packet said that something like 5% of people experience “flu-like symptoms” from Met and yup, that was me! Horrible nausea, weakness, exhaustion, in-bed-all-day-and-barely-eating for four days before M said, “Come on, this is ridiculous. You need to stop taking this.”

  7. ować chemicznie. Paznokcie cholera Celowa maszyny.
    zna z
    czego, tymczasem świeżuteńkie Budowa – Meemi.Com – oraz niełamliwe.
    I pozostałość owo ćwiczenie, elektrostymulacja oraz
    farmakologia. Leciwy, mąż ją trafił w żołądek,
    Wszelki z naszą firmę bytowałoby obecnie zaspany.
    Oraz ona. Gdybym go nie zastrzelił, owo wyrwałaby mu czerep jak jeden mąż z płucami.
    Dostała
    tak wiele stymulacji, że gdy następnego dnia pójdzie do felczera, kto
    wydobędzi pocisk, zostanie
    na miarę obca. Praktycznie, moż.

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