Another incident to put into the over-decorated or rather seriously over crowded halls of shame in my mind. I just read my last entry here- I don’t even remember writing here after I overdosed. Apparently I told two people (Theresa and Will) I’d overdosed but I just don’t remember speaking to them. Obviously one of them called an ambulance to my house and they were working out how many I’d taken and I’d managed to take 84 propranolol tablets and 6 zopiclone tablets. Propranolol is a beta blocker but a GP prescribed them to me to use as a non-addictive treatment for anxiety and anxiety attacks…I’d told him I was having trouble with buying lorazepam over the internet again so he was trying to help me. But I still would only use them if I really needed them, hence why I have ended up with so many. My local pharmacy keeps giving me two boxes with every monthly prescription I’d get anyway and I don’t really know why the two boxes rather than just the one every month. I still get the two boxes even if I haven’t requested it. I might have to actually say something about this to the GP or just get it taken off my repeat prescription altogether…but I do still struggle with anxiety.
I don’t remember too much about being in the hospital that night, but I woke up attached to a drip and some kind of heart monitoring device that kept my heart activity detectable by the cardiology ward or something. I remember they obviously kept checking my blood pressure, it was something like 80/60 but I’ve had it drop lower than that after taking two zopiclone overdoses very close to one another and they had to give me something to force my blood pressure back up.
Before the ambulance came both Will and Theresa rang my mobile and had conversations with me and Will asked me if I’d received a card in the post…but I didn’t know what he was on about and I was a bit too out of it to ask or understand what he was on about. When I discharged myself from the hospital yesterday (I know. I was physically well enough to leave but I didn’t want to stay to speak to the mental health team so I signed a form to say I was leaving against doctors wishes and left) Will rang me again and asked me about the card again. When I got back home yes it was true I found a hand written thank you card from the lady who received Harry’s kidneys when I agreed to his organs to be donated. The lady said she had been ill most of her life, she feels she’s been given a second chance and now feels fantastic. She also promised to treasure and look after my gift for the rest of her life. I certainly appreciate the card and I am glad that someone’s life has been changed and made a lot better but the feeling is obviously bittersweet. But I think I do feel glad that a part of Harry actually physically lives on, even if it’s in someone else’s body. Tears want to rush to my eyes now.
My stomach is still aching. But that’s what I get for taking around 90 pills. Still, Harry is a hero and one of the people he has saved has written to me. Makes me understand what people mean by I have to carry on living to honour Harry’s memory. I have always said that he saved my life but in the emotional sense rather than the physical sense. It’s still Harry’s gift to me though, and like this lady who received Harry’s kidneys, I have to learn to treasure this kind of gift. It makes sense.