Drugging Our Younger Generation

“Over the last decade the percentage of Americans who took at least one prescription drug in the past month increased by 10%. The use of multiple prescription drugs increased by 20% and the use of five or more drugs increased by 70%. By 2007–2008, one-half of Americans used at least one or more prescription drugs; and 1 out of 10 used five or more. One out of every five children used at least one or more prescription drugs compared with 9 of every 10 adults…”  -National Center for Health Statistics (NCHS) Data Brief; No 42 September 2010

               Today most people will agree that one of the most pressing issues in our society are the drug wars. Illegal drugs are linked to violence, crime, and even hard hits against our economy’s welfare; however, you rarely hear about the major addiction that our nation, as well as many other nations, has to prescription medication- specifically, psychiatric medication. Almost everyone I know has taken some form of psychiatric drug, given to them for everything from depression, anxiety, aggressiveness, to more specifically diagnosed disorders such as bipolar disorder, ADHD, manic depressive disorder, etc. The funny thing about all of these “disorders” is that we are made to believe they are really physical diseases. Doctors push the prescription of medication so hard by leading us to believe that these disorders are caused by chemical imbalances, when really there is absolutely no way to prove what a chemical imbalance even is. When a person is diagnosed with a mental disorder, there are no blood tests, no CAT scans, no lab work that is performed to determine the cause. They are simply diagnosed ("Real Disease").  

           Of course mental disorders do exist, but according to the American Psychiatric Association's Diagnostic and Statistical Manual for Mental Disorders there are thousands of different mental "diseases" that have basically been identified based on certain behavioral symptoms. They are voted into this database by a board of psychiatrists. There is no way to determine differences between one disorder and another--it's like they gave one disorder a thousand different names. Furthermore, the only reason doctors treat them as if they were physical ailments is to sell drugs. In the US, the distribution of prescription medication has become a 76 billion dollar industry (“Hooking Your World On Drugs”). It is true that many of the drugs prescribed to treat “mental illness” can be effective for a time, but in many cases psychotropic drugs immensely increase the risk of suicidal or homicidal behavior, having the complete opposite effect on the patient than what was intended. (Kuba, Teizo et al. 241) The number of adults taking various medications for these mental issues is troubling enough, but even more so is that of the growing percentage of children and young adults also being prescribed these medications. Currently 1 out of every five children take at least one prescription drug regularly (that's over 7 million children) and 9 out of 10 adults. (NCHS Databrief, 2010).

              We teach our children to say no to drugs. We know that illegal drugs such as marijuana, cocaine, LSD, heroin, and even legal substances like alcohol and cigarettes are harmful to our bodies. What many people don't understand is that prescription medication can be just as if not more dangerous, especially in youth. Common and well-documented side effects of psychiatric drugs include mania, psychosis, hallucinations, depersonalization, suicidal ideation, heart attack, stroke and sudden death. These side effects although clearly documented in the fine print of the prescription papers given with the medication, are hardly addressed in the doctor visit prior to the prescribing of the medication. (I can say this from personal experience!) Doctors are only too quick to write off a prescription for each and every symptom, and soon we are overwhelmed with the amount of medication we are taking for problems that might have been managed otherwise- perhaps by exercise, dietary adjustments, therapy, etc. 
            Another fun fact--over 80% of prescription medication prescribed to children have never been tested in children ("Drug Research"). Doctors prescribe these medications "off label" meaning that the drugs have never been approved by the FDA for use in children based on well controlled clinical trials. Why is this? Basically pharmaceutical companies "...generally have viewed children as a market that would bring only small financial benefits."("Prescription Drug Use"). It's also harder to conduct clinical studies for medication in children, as they don't have the same ability to retain all information, way the risks, and feel secure in the testing processes the way adults do. By law, children over 7 years of age have the final say whether or not they will participate in a clinical study. True, prescription drug testing can be difficult and expensive, but that doesn't mean we can just skip doing it ("Prescription Drug Use")!
           

           Parents should seriously consider the side effects these drugs might have on their children before they put their entire well being on the line. Even when these drugs do work to stabalize behavior, or calm a hyperactive mind, they can change the entire personality of the individual. Not only do these drugs take the "edge" off of anxiety, depression, hyperactivity, etc.; they also take the edge off of life itself. They numb the mind and the senses and make it difficult to be fully present in all of life’s situations (“Hooking Your World On Drugs”). Another point is that once a person has taken one psychiatric drug, they are more than likely prone to take others, sort of like the way marijuana is a “gateway drug” to more dangerous illegal substances. Many people who begin taking one antidepressant will soon find they suffer from anxiety. When they take a pill for anxiety, they will learn that they have insomnia. When the insomnia is under control, they might feel that the antidepressant isn’t strong enough and needs a “helper drug” such as Abilify. It’s a big circle. People, especially parents, need to know what they are getting into when they open themselves up to the world of psychiatry. It doesn’t have to be this way, but we need to educate ourselves and know exactly what we are putting into ours and our children’s bodies.

So. We know that the drug wars are a big issue in our society today. Hopefully more people will see what a rising issue the drug war between society and pharmaceutical companies is too. We need to realize that pills aren't the answer to everything. There are other methods of treatment available. Medicine is a wonderful thing. Prescription medication can also be a great asset to our health care; however, we must stop the over prescribing or soon we will all be hooked on something. 

Dependent- Another Memoir

January, 2009

I can hear my alarm going off. It's been buzzing for about five minutes now, but I just can't seem to find the strength to lift my bony arm to turn it off and get out of bed. When I finally do hit the off button, I just lay there for a while. Why am I always so tired? Didn't I just sleep for ten hours? I can't seem to get it right. It doesn't matter if I get 4 hours or 12 hours, I'm still going to fall asleep in each class today. People will laugh and think I don't care, but there isn't much I can do about it. 

I get up and stumble to my bathroom. My stomach feels empty, and yet, as though I swallowed a ten pound weight. In the past few months I've gone from 125 lbs to 110...I just don't have an appetite anymore. I turn on the fluorescent lights. First, let's put our contacts in so we can see, I say to myself. Next I look at the various pill bottles along my counter, each with my name neatly printed along the white label. I go through my list of medications and wonder again to myself if any of them are actually making things any better.

Morning Meds: 

Ritalin- For ADHD...supposedly to help me focus.

Provigil- Supposedly to help me stay awake.

Cymbalta- Antidepressant. You know, so I don't kill myself.

Abilify- To "enhance" the effects of the antidepressant...

Lortab- For my constant head ache. (These usually stay with me throughout the day...)

Nighttime Meds:

Clonopin- Sleep-aide. Much better than the Ambien I was taking, which made me hallucinate...

Flexoril- Muscle relaxer, self explanatory.

Lyrica- Muscle relaxer, supposedly to help specifically with Fibromyalgia and its other symptoms.

Ativan- For anxiety, so I don't wake up and have a panic attack after dreaming about my mom....

Lortab- Again.

I really would stop taking this crap if I could, but the last time I didn't take my medication for a couple days, my body went into withdrawals and I ended up in the ER. 

I can hear my dad snoring in the next room. No matter how overly medicated I think I am, I can't compete with this guy. He takes everything I take, or something similar, and then a bunch more pills to help his heart and his lungs and his stomach...and who knows what else. I'm glad he is home from the hospital. It's the second time this year he's had severe pneumonia. This time he stayed for a whole month, and I was left at home. Alone. I hate being alone. It's been four months since my mom passed away. I still feel like it's a dream. Maybe it is. I can only hope, right?

Four Years Earlier...

I'm sitting at my new doctors office, waiting for Dr. Cheddar to come back and tell me what the heck is going on with me. His name is spelt, Tschetter, but it sounds like Cheddar. As I wait, I stare at this picture on the wall. It's by some guy named M.C. Escher. It's a picture of a chessboard planted between a light New York and a dark New York, and as you move up the squares turn into birds....the longer I look at it the more my head hurts so I decide to stare at my untied shoe laces instead. My dad is dozing off in the corner and my mom is reading a magazine. I look up when I hear the door click.

"Okay, Karllen. We got your blood tests back and nothing seems out of the ordinary. Why don't you explain to me a little more about your symptoms and we'll see if we can't get an idea of what's going on, hmm?" Dr. Cheddar says. 

"Well," I start, "I'm having trouble sleeping. My muscles shake a lot and it wakes me up. My body is also really sore lately, especially when I wake up..."

My mom jumps in, "She's been sleeping with me the past few nights and I've tried to watch her. She'll be fast asleep and all of a sudden her body starts to spasm. It's like she is shivering. It's causing her to fall asleep in school. We're just getting a little concerned..."

"What other medications has she taken in the past?" Cheddar asks. 

"Well, these symptoms haven't shown up until now, but in the past she's been diagnosed with Anemia and Acid Reflux Disease. She stopped taking her iron medication for the Anemia a couple of years ago and has been doing fine without it, and for the acid reflux she takes Prevacid before meals," My mom answers.

"And you've noticed no side effects prior to now?" Cheddar asks.

"No," My mom and I both answer.

"Alright then. Karllen, I want you to hop up on the table here and I'm going to try a couple things, okay?" Cheddar prompts.

I do as he says. He begins by pinching, massaging, and tugging at my biceps and shoulders and calves. He asks if these areas are tender at all, I tell him they are. Lately it feels like my whole body is bruised. Like I just raced a 10 K or something. After he is finished poking at me he asks how I've been feeling emotionally. I have to think about that for a minute. I suppose I haven't been as energetic lately, maybe even a little down. School is stressful, but what kid doesn't feel that way? My mom has been sick lately as well, so that has been hard, especially since the doctors can't figure out what is wrong with her either. After I explain all of this, he thinks for a moment before saying,

"Karllen I believe you have what is called Fibromyalgia. It's a muscle disorder common among older women and is brought on by anything from hormonal or chemical imbalances, to other illnesses, to stress and emotional trauma. This would explain the pain in your joints and muscles, and would also explain any anxiety or depression you might be experiencing," Cheddar explains very matter-of-factly.

The rest of the appointment consists of my parents asking questions about treatment and whether or not it will go away. Dr. Cheddar explains that with some medication and staying physically active, it might not go away, but will be very manageable. I end up leaving with three prescriptions, an anti depressant (which bothers me for some reason, I feel like I don't need it...), a muscle relaxer, and something for pain. 

***

As the years passed, Cheddar would add on to my list of medications: sleep-aides, more pain-killers, other antidepressants, higher dosages for everything. My mom would continue to get sicker. We would eventually find out that she has stage 3 breast cancer. She would then go through two years of harsh chemo therapy. She would be told that the cancer is gone and she will soon be on her way to remission.

And then she would die. 

***

January, 2010

So here I am. Another year has gone by. I stare again at the pill bottles along my counter. Most of them are almost empty. I'm afraid of what will happen when I run out. In April I will turn 19, and my government funded health insurance will be taken away--rightly, I might add. I am old enough to go find a job that gives me health insurance...the problem is I just can't find one. I've decided to try to wean myself off of some of these medications. I still wonder if they even help. I'm still in pain most days, I'm still pretty dang depressed. I've begun to build quite a lot of resentment against that Cheddar, for each time I entered his office, complaining of a head ache or night terrors--did he ever once try to find out what exactly was causing all of this? No! He'd just happily write off another white slip for me to take to my friend the pharmacist to give me more happy pills or pain pills or any other kind of pills to make me "normal" like everyone else. And now here I am. 18 years old and addicted to the medications my 60 year old father takes. It's ridiculous. 

You know what I think? I think this is crazy. I think it's anything but normal. I just heard from my older sister that her 12 year old son is starting an antidepressant and a heavy sleep-aide for his insomnia. 12 years old. Will he end up like me? Where the side effects of these medications have caused me to forget 75% of my high school experience? Causing me to sleep through most of it? To not graduate? To be terrified of what happens if I don't take them all? I certainly hope not. 

Present Day

So.....here I am. I am now 22 years old. I did wean myself off of all those medications and I am better now than I've ever been. I can think clearly, I sleep fine most nights, I have an appetite and I have the energy to do everything I need to do. All those years I was given medication to help me perform better mentally and physically, and all those years I only got worse. I am writing this because I am angry that I wasn't given another option. That the effects of these drugs weighed down on me so heavily that I couldn't function enough to graduate high school. I want others to learn from my experience. I don't think it's right for children to be given these heavy medications with no alternative. There are other alternatives.

It starts with you, parents. Don't let a doctor feed your child with narcotics and addictive medication just because it's an easy fix. It has taken me years to escape the effects of those drugs and I will never do that to my child, not if I have other options. Be informed. Know what you are putting in your child's body and what it's really doing for them. 

The End.

Looking Back

So here I am now. It's been four years since my mom passed away. I feel like things are easier to handle now, but of course I have my good and bad days. I still have so many questions. So many "what ifs". I still carry so much guilt for her death...I mentioned before that she used to beg me to stay home and spend time with her, and I explained that the reason why I didn't was because I hated seeing her suffer. I look back now and realize how it must have looked from her point of view.

She spent every waking moment in that bedroom. Mind you, it was a small bedroom. She was constantly overwhelmed with endless pain and nausea. My dad was usually home, but there was only so much he could say or do to comfort her. All she wanted was a little extra attention. Just to know that I cared and that I wanted to be with her.

I see now that if I had maybe spent more time with her, even if we couldn't do much, it would have relieved her of some of the pain, in a way. Maybe if I had, she would have been happier, and would have had more motivation to eat right so she could get better faster. Maybe if that was case, her body would have been just a little stronger. Strong enough to handle what should have been a simple surgery. I blame myself so much for not checking on her sooner as well. She had just had surgery! Why didn't I go check on her first thing when I woke up that Sunday morning. Why didn't I think to find out if I could get her anything. Why didn't I just make sure she was sleeping comfortably? All I cared about was stupid Myspace......I hate myself for it. Maybe if I had found her hours earlier, there could have been a chance to save her. Maybe, maybe, maybe. But what good do maybe's do?

All I know is that now I do everything I can to not make the same mistakes with my dad that I made with my mom. My dad is all that I have left. I can't live with him, but I have to make sure that he is taken care of. I'm always nagging him about his health. I try to spend time at his apartment. I try to call him every day, even if it's just to tell him I love him and that I'll see him soon. Something tells me that these things do make a difference. You always hear about how people don't realize what they have, what they could have done, or how they could have showed a loved one that they cared, until it's too late. It was too late with my mom. But I'm closer with my dad now than I have been since I was a little girl. I can help him. I can make sure he knows that I care. And someday, I'll be able to show my mom again too. Someday, maybe I'll forgive myself. Maybe.

The Story I Hate Telling

It was Sunday morning, September 7, 2008. I woke up really early and couldn't get back to sleep, so I decided to go downstairs and check my myspace. I remember being upset that a friend hadn't responded to a message of mine. After myspace I watched a little TV, and around noon I decided to go back to bed. My parents weren't up yet, I wasn't surprised because my mom had just gotten back from the hospital the day before and my dad was always tired from taking care of her. Just as I started dozing off my dad started calling me. I didn't want to get out of bed but his voice started to sound frantic. Something was wrong. I heard him say my mom was unconscious, that he couldn't get her to wake up and she wouldn't move. I ran to their room. My dad was shaking my mom's arm, calling her name. She was lying on her stomach and her face was buried in her pillow. My dad asked me to help him turn her over. I walked over to the bed and placed my hands under her shoulder and took her hand.....she was cold. Why was she cold. We turned her over, her lips were blue. Why are her lips blue. Her chest isn't moving. I start to shriek her name. I lay my head on her chest and I can't find her heart beat. I look up and my dad is just standing in the doorway staring at us. I tell him to call an ambulance, he doesn't hear me at first. Dad! He snaps out of it and runs to the phone. I look back at my mom. Her mouth is open. I want to give her CPR but there is some godawful feeling in the pit of my stomach, telling me it's too late. It can't be too late. My mom. I have to save her. I don't know what I'm doing but suddenly I'm tipping her head back and forcing my breath into her lungs. Her chest rises and falls with each breath but it's not working. I beg her to breath. Please God, please no. Please mom, please God no. Don't do this. Please mom, don't leave me. Mom, please breath. God please!

The next thing I know the paramedics are there and they are peeling me off of her, I'm sobbing and screaming and pleading for someone, anyone to help. I go to the bathroom and throw up everything in my stomach. I'm laying in the bathroom doorway as I listen to all of the voices but no one is speaking English. I can't understand anyone. Someone comes to ask me a question, I try to answer but nothing sounds right, everything is blurring. Eventually, the paramedics leave. They tell us people will come back to take the body. I'm not sure what they mean by "the body." Or I don't want to be sure. They leave and somehow I bring myself off the bathroom floor. I stumble back to my parents room and my dad is sitting on the bed next to my mother, stroking her hair. He keeps saying, "Oh honey. Oh Myra."I look at her. Lying flat on her back. She is wearing the nightgown I got her a few months back. It has cats on it. I crawl in bed with her and lay my torso across hers. I pick up her lifeless arm and place it around my shoulder, part of me knowing that any second I'll feel her squeeze me tight. Part of me knowing that she'll whisper that she's fine and we're fine and everything is fine. But it doesn't happen. I make a couple of phone calls to my older sisters. I no longer remember what I said or what they said. I know they came over. I only remember lying there with my mother's arm draped across me for as long as they would let me. When they came to get her I went back to the bathroom. I watched them pass by with a large black bag. I had the strongest urge to hurl myself at them and cling onto that bag for dear life...literally. That was my mother in there. How could I let them take her away? But I sat on that floor and watched them carry her down the stairs and out the door.

The rest of that day....rest of the week...is a complete blur. I barely remember picking out flowers and a casket. Hardly recall getting ready for the funeral. I spoke and I sang her favorite song, "You're Not Alone". My older nephews and a few of my very close guy friends who knew my mother well carried her coffin to the hearse. We put her in the ground and that was it.

Really, I would say that the rest of that entire year was a blur. I'm pretty sure I was on auto pilot the majority of the time. I was also under a lot of medication. When I was fourteen I was diagnosed with this muscle disorder called fibromyalgia. I had spent the last four years seeing this primary care doctor who stuffed me with a new prescription every visit. Sleeping pills, pills to help me wake up, pills to calm me, pills to help me focus, pills to relax my muscles, pills to stop the pain, pills to make me happy, pills to help the pills that were supposed to make me happy. It was ridiculous. I couldn't stay awake in my classes. My teachers and friends were very sympathetic at first but after a couple of months it got old. They were tired of my crying, tired of my excuses for missing class. People forgot and I didn't get any better. I was a part of my school's Vocal Ensemble and another audition group that did music dance and theatre. After Christmas, I dropped out of the second group. I couldn't handle it anymore and frankly, the director really didn't want me anymore since I wasn't really contributing any good energy. I sort of stumbled my way through the rest of my senior year and did not end up graduating. After high school though, slowly but surely, I started to feel again. I started to wake up and find my way back into life. I got my GED, moved out of my parent's house, enrolled in college and vowed to make up for all the lost time. And here I am today four years later. Still finding my way back.

Here and Then Gone

My mom started getting really sick when I turned about fourteen years old. It started out with simple things like stomach aches, loss of appetite, fatigue, etc. It seemed like no matter how many tests they did or doctors she went to they couldn't figure out what was going on. We eventually found out that she had type 2 diabetes and although it would take a little effort to make some diet changes and she would need to take insulin medication, we were relieved that it was something manageable. She felt better for about a year and then things really went down hill. She started getting sick all the time and we soon found out she had breast cancer. She was to go through a series of radiation treatments first, and if those didn't work then we would go to chemotherapy.

Turns out the radiation wasn't strong enough and the cancer spread to her lymph nodes under her left arm. She began chemo treatments and also had the first of two biopsies and mastectomy of her chest. She started losing her hair and decided that she would rather just shave it off. We actually had a shaving party and she let all of the grandkids come over and each take a turn with the buzzer. It was an extremely long and difficult journey ahead, but she was optimistic and we were soon shopping for colorful scarves and hats and all kinds of breast cancer paraphernalia. As the weeks turned into months she became very ill. Eventually she couldn't work, and could hardly leave the house. She spent the vast majority of her time in her room trying to read or watch movies or sleep to escape the endless nausea from the chemo treatments. Her immune system had completely shut down and she couldn't find the energy to be optimistic anymore.

I began spending as much time as I could away from the house. I couldn't stand to see her suffering. She cried all the time now and I felt so helpless. There was nothing I could do to take away the pain, or so I thought. She begged me to stay home sometimes, but all I wanted was to be anywhere where I didn't have to hear her or see my mother deteriorating before my eyes. I now know that she thought I didn't care....she thought I had no sympathy for her, but the truth is is that I just couldn't handle it. I was confused and lost and angry and sometimes mistakenly let her see it...

I knew she was sick. How could I not? But never once in the entire time that she was going through this did the thought of losing her ever cross my mind. I knew she would get better, she had to. It just seemed logical. I knew she was suffering, and I knew that she was sad and felt like she had no chance to heal, but I told myself it was in her head...that if she wanted to get better she could make it happen. She also wasn't taking care of her diabetes. She hardly ate and when we could convince her to, all she wanted were things that make her blood sugar sky rocket, which made her all the more ill.

Turns out....things did eventually get better. We were nearing the end of two years of chemotherapy. She had lost the entire left side of her chest. She came home from the doctors one day and seemed happier than I had seen her since before the diagnosis. She sat me down and told me that her last treatment was scheduled and they had done a scan and found no more cancer. She would be done. She would start healing. We- could start healing. I was so excited to have her back. She was still sick, but she smiled now. She talked about what we could do when she got better, trips we would take, places we would go. She told me she would never miss another performance. About a month went by and she was scheduled to go in for re-constructional surgery so she would look normal again...it wasn't a big deal, basically just plastic surgery.

She went in on a Friday....came home Saturday and other than being pretty sedated from the anesthetics, incredibly happy....then I found her Sunday morning...gone.

Opposites Attract

I wanted to tell a little more about my parents and how they met.

My mom grew up in New York. She had two older brothers and they were they only Mormons (LDS) in their entire school. Her mother was an immigrant from Germany, and was the only grandparent I had when I was born-though she died when I was two. My mother moved to Utah with her family when she was an adolescent.

My dad grew up in California. He had two older sisters and was raised in a tightly knit Christian community. He began showing symptoms of mental illness after high school and ended up moving to Utah.

My mom ended up marrying and having three children. She was married for over twenty years when one day her husband sat her down and explained that he was having an affair and wanted a divorce. She was devastated-obviously. Her kids were out of the house, she had just hit forty, and had no intention of dating ever again.

My dad came to Utah, and within the first few months he was converted and baptized into the LDS church. He smoked at least a pack a day, and drank more than just socially, but somehow felt it was right. So he set out for change.

One of my mom's girlfriends had been begging her to go to an adult singles dance at on of the LDS church buildings. My mom wanted nothing to do with it but after a while, was worn down and finally said she would accompany her friend, though she would do absolutely no dancing, and was purely there for moral support. As she sat along the wall she watched the other couples dancing and laughing, wanting nothing more than to just go home and be alone herself. Then the unthinkable happened. A man came up and asked her to dance. First thing she noticed- he REEKED of cigarette smoke. She really didn't want to dance, especially with him, but he seemed nice and she felt bad so she said yes. As she danced with him she learned that he had just moved to Utah and didn't know anyone. When he asked for her number, she had told him that she wasn't interested in dating. He told her that he understood, and all he was really looking for was a friend. She thought about it for a second and figured there was no harm in friendship, and he did seem like a nice guy despite the smoke smell. A few days later she received a call in the middle of the night from a hospital in Park City. My dad was working at one of the ski resorts at the time and had a bad fall down one of the ski slopes. Her number was the only contact information they found in his wallet and asked if she could come pick him up. She  did and spent the next few weeks taking care of him. The rest just sort of happened. They fell in love, he proposed, she said yes, and a year and a half later she had me. The end.:)

Um....I like cats.

So since most of my other posts have been/are going to be a bit heavy....I wanted to post something a little...fluffier.:)

I love my cats. I've had many over the years. I love dogs too, actually I just like animals. (What girl doesn't...?) But seriously, if I never marry and have children, I already know my fate. I will be the crazy cat lady who takes in every helpless feline she finds wandering around out in the cold......anyway..

About two years ago, my dad and I found out that if I kept living with him, his federal housing would be taken away because I was working and technically made enough to pay more rent than what we were paying. We decided it would be best to split up so he could still get assistance, not to mention that he was lonely because I was never home to spend time with him. He moved into a 55 yr old+ apartment complex and has since made lots of friends. I moved into my own place for about 7 months and realized that I wouldn't be able to pay for school and the apartment and later moved in with my sister so I wouldn't have to pay as much rent. The reason I explain all this is because my sister's daughter is allergic to cats so when I moved in with her, I had to give one of my cats away and the others my dad took. Long story short, I miss them. When I get my own place again, I'll take them back.:)

Here are the kitties I still have, though there have been many others....:)

 This is Toby! We actually put him down a few months ago....he had diabetes and we weren't able to find a suitable treatment for him. It was heart breaking but we know he is much happier now. I found him at a library.:) I used to hang out there a lot growing up and one cold winter night as I walked in the building there was this little tabby cat hanging out by the doors, apparently he had been trying to sneak in whenever people came in or out and the librarians kept throwing him out. He was there when I went in and was still there two hours later when I went out. We took him home and put up flyers but no one claimed him so he stayed with us.:) I miss him.

 This is Chiko. He is the strangest cat I've ever met....and I've seen loooots of kitties... He is very silly and has big googly blue eyes and a very pink nose. He is pretty short and round and super soft. He is the most playful kitty I have and has a slight cat nip addiction...he'll always have a special place in my heart because my mom picked him out of a litter outside the shelter two months before she died.

This is Paxil and he is my baby. I've had him since I was nine and witnessed his birth from one of the other cats we had. I originally named him Socks- I'm not sure why since he has no sock marks on his feet...later on, my mom decided we should name him Paxil, after the anti-depressant pill, because he would cuddle with her when she was sick and she said he calmed her down.


I don't care what anyone says...I love my cats. And I know they love me back.:)