Donate Life

I had no idea until just right this minute that this week is DonateLife Week. It started last Sunday 24 February and goes through to Sunday 3 March so I'm getting in late with this post but organ donation is an issue that is better discussed late rather than never.

Organ donation is something that my family has talked about openly for as long as I can remember. I have memories of going through my mum's purse as a child and noticing that it had on her driver's license that she was an organ donor. Mum explained to me what it meant: That if she was to die in a car accident (or any other way) any organs that were still viable could be given to a person who needed them.

I don't recall ever feeling weird about it because I know, and have always known, that the wish of every member of my immediate family is to be an organ donor should they die.

What I do feel strange about is that everyone else doesn't necessarily feel the same. As an organ or tissue donor, one person could transform the lives of more than 10 people. If I was to die tomorrow it would be my honour to help someone else in need of a new heart, say. Or maybe my liver could help someone? I haven't had a drink in five years, this baby is fully restored and in great working order, or so say the doctors.

Now I know this is no laughing matter and I guess there are people out there with different beliefs to me and my family. The important thing though is to have that conversation with your people and find out what their wishes are in regards to organ donation.

If you want to register your wish to be an organ or tissue donor go to this link right here.

Make it official!


V.

Stilnox: My experience

That horrid sleep drug Stilnox is back in the media again after it came to light that the Australian men's Olympic swim team had used it to get high before competing in London last year.

What the f-word (as Noo would say)?

Stilnox is a horrible drug. I've had a fair bit of experience with hypnotic prescription medications such as the benzodiazpines Zanax, tempazepam, Valium and I even once took half a Rohypnol, but never did I feel more out of control as I did when I was on Stilnox.

Stilnox has been linked to up to 91 deaths in Australia
"including 31 poisonings and two falls from great heights involving abrupt or bizarre behaviour".

Don't get me wrong, it felt good at the time, but the next day I felt like shit. I couldn't move my limbs because they felt so heavy. So much so that I had to call in sick for work. I had only the vaguest recollection of the night before and when I checked the Stilnox box I discovered I'd taken four tablets, instead of one. That was the scary bit.

I was staying at my boyfriend's place at the time. I was supposed to just take one tablet and go to sleep but it must have felt really good and I swallowed another. I remember feeling like I was on a floating bed on the sea. I felt chilled out and relaxed and euphoric, kind of like being on ecstasy but without the speedy edge. I must have taken the other two not long after and floated around until I passed out. I was just lucky I was in a safe place.

I actually didn't take the drug to get high. I was prescribed it by my regular GP as a sleep aid for my first flight to London. In the week leading up to my departure I was anxious as hell. I was about to relocate to the other side of the world and I was leaving Australia for the first time in my adult life.

In 2003 when I had been prescribed Stilnox I'd never heard of it. I had a routine appointment with my doctor to get all my check ups done, like a pap smear and breast check, before heading off to the UK. I asked my doctor for some help to sleep on my 24 hour flight across the world. My doctor told me Stilnox was considered the better drug over tempazepam because it wasn't as addictive.

I'm pretty sure that advice has changed over the last decade as more research comes to light suggesting that Stilnox is not a safe drug. In this article from the Sydney Morning Herald the misunderstanding that Stilnox is the safer than benzos is discussed further.

When the time finally came for me to leave my family and friends and head overseas I had my trusty little pack of goodies in my bag for the flight: lip balm, moisturiser, magazines, and Stilnox. In the airport I was desperate not to cry. I was doing possibly the most scariest thing I'd ever done and my anxiety was through the roof.

As soon as I was seated on the aircraft and the seatbelt sign was turned off I proceeded to make my way through several Jack Daniels and dry. The aircraft was half empty which was a blessing as I was seated in economy. I had three seats to myself and I remember stretching my legs out across them, bourbon in hand, while watching the movies after having popped a Stilnox and waited for sleep to take over. I just wanted to close my eyes and wake up at Heathrow.

Just as was my previous experience I didn't fall asleep. I was careful on that first leg as I knew I had to disembark in Singapore and then reboard for the final stretch to London so I only took one pill. I drank a shitload though. Free booze, what can I say?

Back on board and I was determined to sleep the remaining 12 or however many hours it was until we arrived in London. Still alone in my aisle I continued to drink and pop pills. I vaguely remember sloshing bourbon all over myself and asking the crew for cloths to wipe myself down. I must have been a right sight.

Next thing I knew I was asking for yet another bourbon and dry when I was curtly told by the cabin crew that we were shortly to arrive at LHR and would I please take my seat for landing. But we were just in Singapore! We'd only just left, hadn't we? How could we possibly be flying through British airspace already?

Confused and bewildered I sat down. Looking out the window it was clear that it was in fact morning and I had arrived in the country that was to be my home for the next two years. Scary.


I have never taken Stilnox on a flight since or in any other situation and I never will again.


Now, back to those silly swimmers, what were they thinking? All those taxpayers dollars to send those kids over to London to compete for Olympic Gold and they spend their "bonding" time wasted on Stilnox and Red Bull. Not good, fellas. Not good.


Have you ever tried that evil drug? What was your experience? What do you think about our Aussie swim team living it large on prescription meds and energy drinks?


Hope you're all having a great weekend.

V.

What about the high life?

Have you ever taken a close look at my blog's banner?

The subtitle to babblingbandit.me is "From the high life to parenthood via rock bottom".

I've written a lot about that filthy place called Rock Bottom and a lot about parenting but next to nil about the High Life.

Despite where it got me (ie on the slow train to Rock Bottom) I actually had a lot of fun while living the High Life before it all turned to shit. And believe it or not I miss it sometimes.

Me just before heading off to a music festival on New Years Day 2007

This morning Noo and I were driving around looking for a place to park the car in the inner west of Sydney because I was gagging for a good piccolo latte. While swearing my way around several blocks of Marrickville (Sydney's latest centre for good coffee) we were listening to my favourite radio station, Triple J.

Zan Rowe, who does mornings, had a couple of the fellas from The Cat Empire on the show talking about some of the all nighters they'd had and their top five favourite tunes to party on to. You can check out the podcast here if you want to listen to it. The Cat Empire absolutely rock!

Anyway, the show got me thinking about the all nighters I used to have. Boy, have I had a lot. In the almost four years I lived in London I would guess at least once a week I missed a night of sleep because I was out and on it. Or in and on it. At least once a week.

I guess I've never written about it here because I don't want to glorify drug taking and boozing. I also worry that I couldn't do the stories any justice if I didn't.

Those were heady days as the cliché goes. Debauched, risky, exciting, arousing, demented, exhilarating. An escape from reality that I don't get any more. There's a reason why people get addicted to the party life. When you're on a high, up all night, breaking all the rules it feels fucking fantastic.

In rehab they call it "dry drinking". Basically talking about past experiences of drinking and drugs can give a sense of euphoria with just the memory it. You're not allowed to talk about using while you're an inpatient. It's counter productive to getting sober.

I enjoy it. Not that I do it often but I can sit with my buddies I used to take drugs with and talk about our past nights out until the sun comes up. It makes me feel good. I get tingling body sensations as the memories shoot through my brain, travelling along the same neural pathways that used to be filled with alcohol, cocaine and ecstasy.

Just writing this post is having a mild affect on me. But, don't worry, I'm not gonna run out and try to score. For me those memories are just that. Ghosts of my past.

I don't yearn for drugs any more or for booze. I don't even crave cigarettes which is amazing. But I would never be tempted by any of it lest I get hooked once more.

There will need to be stories written one day. Perhaps I'll veil them loosely as fiction. Names will have to be changed to protect the guilty.

Until then I will just savour my fond memories alone.


V.



PS. I just want to say thank you to all those who read and commented on my last post about my anxiety attack on the weekend. You have no idea how wonderful you all are and what relief you provided me with your acknowledgement of my blog and support for what I tried to express. A million times, thank you!

Floggin my bloggin over at With Some Grace.