[TarielHeck]

So a bit about me.
I'm 32 years old. I've been up since 4am due to nightmares again. Close to two years ago I was told I have PTSD. That comes a bit later in my story.

I'm a mother, one son who hates me (I was 17 when I had him) so asked for help from the wrong person. Long story short with him my mother caked child services because I wouldn't let her take him for a week at the age of two. He had only seen her the day he was born. So vindictive as she is she called child services. They showed up, right after a nasty fight with my now ex. My lace was a mess so asked them to place him with my aunt for a few weeks. She was supposed to drop him back off because there was no order nothing. Being young and dumb I didn't know this. She disappeared for a long time on me. Finally things got sorted just before I had my daughter. Was decided he would spend a year with his paternal grandparents who he still knew and visit me on weekends and school breaks and move the following summer. Didn't happen. By the time I got a lawyer my daughter fell ill because it was so severe it was better he stay where he was.

This is when the road to PTSD started for me. For 2 years 5 months we didn't know what was wrong. She couldn't produce enough blood cells and what she did produce wouldn't mature. She would also hold fluid so badly that at one point her eyes could barely open. We got the fluid issue under control after around 6 months. This was after 2 heart surgeries and a scare that she would need a chest tube. This was only the start. We went through many gi bleeds, this would cause a stay in the PICU. That's the first flash I recall having and still do. I remember the residents sitting around on their phones trying to figure out what to do while a child, my child soaked through a soaker, sheets and the blanket with blood a normal sized bed. The nurses looked lost as well. I recall the smell of the gi blood, words cant describe that. I can tell you exactly how bright the lights were. It was 3 am all the lights weren't on. I can tell you Erich ones were that night. I recall the blinding furry that they weren't ding anything. I was on the medical field myself. I leaned over, craddeling my daughter who was happy as could be. She always was. And ripped the cord for the call button from the wall knowing it would set off an unholy alarm. They came in, said they were trying to get a hold of the Dr on call. My words "you can activate RAP" means a team from the PICU comes down. A specialist from almost every department. "Once the RAP call has gone through you can call ***-***-****." I pulled my cell out of my now blood soaked scrubs to give them the number. As RAP came in and immediately started a transfusion abs doing their thing the nurse who was making the call came back in shocked and asked how I had his personal number. This was in referance to my daughter's ped who is on call 24/7 for his patients. The ones who are critical get a direct line to him. Wasn't the first time I used that number. Eventually the nurses learned to just listen to me and the residents because not once when they called were his orders any diffrent the mine. I can recall the transport, being put into an issolation room (she had no immune system at best). Had I not made that call when I did my daughter would have died that day. Things settled once the nurses relized I wasn't singe freaking out parent. What we didn't relize is I'm autistic. I compartmentalize very well in certain situations. Anything medical is one. This was my dust flash back.

We ran into many of the smaller flashes as I call them. Mainly because I'm able to settle that day from them. They involve surgeries that were life or death, tests, knowing every transfusion increased chances of a reaction leading to death.

My big flash (if you had issues reading the last one STOP NOW) involves a reaction to a transfusion. I noticed a fever, now a 99° fever is nothing for most, for her could signal a cold that could lead to death. We go in, normally we wait for a second reading an hour later of the same or higher temp but I knew something was wrong. We get placed in the trauma bay. Not a good sign. They couldn't get a good blood draw, by the time it hit the lab it would coagulate. Another gi bleed started and the signs of jaundice set in. RAP is called, we can't get things going. She is saying up mommy up. She has a nap and I get my last picture at 1547 of her alive. We get up to the PICU the coworker of her main ped is on. He starts ding what needs to be done. It's calmer. Again "up mommy have pee" now being an ICU potties were hard to come by so they had to get a commode. She had a normal per, no blood. I lifted her down, arm around her to support her. She was weak from blood loss. I get her decent when her legs give and she is dead weight. Alarms are going off and she has no pulse. I scream for help that was on the other side of the curtain. By the time they round in already giving CPR. I maintain this until they step in with equipment. My own training permitting me to stay. They get her heart going 3 times but it would just stop. The Dr places his hand on my shoulder and goes "her organs are shutting down from the transfusion, the machine that could save her would kill her because of her condition. I think she is trying to die" the scream on tv doesn't do justice. Time does slow. I walked over to my daughter who is intubated by this point. They are doing everything they can. I walk to her head. I remember the feeling of her hair. I also remember the scent i was to familiar with. Death. I sang to her one last time and leaned on abs said it you need to go mommy understands, I want you to keep fighting, I need you to but if you can't that's ok. I remember her ped showing up out of no where. His tears and expression ending any hope. This man never gives up on his patients. Ever. I recal being handed her and losing my mind over the breathing tube left in. I forced them to take it out. No more. She suffered in life for 2.5 years almost 3 with machines, medical devices etc. I couldn't take it. The rest is fuzzy besides that couch, the man who was my ped and took a amazing care of my daughter crying next to me and just holding her. Screaming inside and numb.

And that is the short hand of that flash.

Now during that trauma bay time I had an anxiety attack or. What I thought was one. They brought a psych Dr from the adult side as I had forgot my meds. After listening to me for 5 minutes she decided PTSD. I wasn't surprised. I had suspected for a bit. She got me on clonaxapam and gave me some ativan and told me when things are settled to come back to the adult side abs they will do the needed referrals. Kinda didn't happen. About 6 months later in trying to fake it with pulling my life together thinking if I can fake it eventually it will become true. I was flashing still pretty bad. A few points I had to hide in the deans office under the desk. This was a year ago. I've been trying to get help since then. Never get calls back. Starting to feel like the only way I'm going to get what I need is to go to the hospital. Especially after the day before yesterday.

Finally got into a mental health nurse. Gave her a list of what was going on. Even told her PTSD was there. She didn't want the list. Wanted me to go over the 6 pages of points on half an hour. Went over many things. I told her I can't take anymore, I'm at my whits end, I need help, I'm cutting again. To that she responded change your attitude and you will feel better. (It's a good thing my service dog was already tasking and in my lap or I probably would have verbally tore into her) sadly that wasn't the worst. I told her how I avoid places with toys, how the sound of laughter of a child creates agony to the point I don't go out when there are high chances of children. I told her about the flashes and how no matter what I did I couldn't stop them. No matter what I was thinking about they would intrude. She decided she wasted me to tell her about the flashes in detail. So I did hoping for a damn life line till I could see a psych Dr and go about learning to work around my issues and have my quality of life back. I'm sobbing, my dog has had enough and gone to full on removal of the stimulus. Thankfully she is small and can't drag me out the door. Outside to the car. That's safe. I can settle there. I'm watching the seconds waiting to hear what to expect next. What I heard pissed me off a great deal 'its just grief not PTSD just move on already' don't think I have wanted to clock someone as bad as I did then always being on edge doesn't hell either.

Now a quick run down. I have anxiety, they say bipolar I don't show the symptoms, ADHD, and confirmed PTSD and suspected aspbergers syndrome.

The next words were to ask who diagnosed me with ADHD. When I said who I got some pleasure. She went a bit white. No one likes crossing him for some reason. Then she went, I see your relatively new to Dr ***" my response was snapish at this point and I asked if she bothered to look at netcare where it would show I've been a patient since I was 9. All of a sudden she wants me to email that list and I've got a referral to the autism clinic being promised. Nothing else. Just that. No tools to help besides change the attitude. Nothing. Not even a pamphlet on mental health crisis numbers and such.

Now where I need the advice is this:
Until I can get into someone what are things you find helped when you stated flashing?
What tools do you find helpful when you run into a trigger?
I've been trying to get help since August 2017. I'm not going to stop but I need some help from those who live with PTSD to find tools to get me from here to that first appointment of until it gets so bad I go to the hospital which would be fun because that's the hospital my daughter died in. I can't get within 10 blocks of that place without puking from the anxiety and flashes.
Any other tips would be greatly appreciated to. I'm desperate at this point. While I'm not the type to lose the battle with suicide especially since I know the hole left when you can't do anything. I wouldn't wish that pain in anyone but the fact that i have my funeral planned in my bread scares the crap out of me along with the fact that I do think about if I was the type how I would. Again not one to give in but if I was I'm not sure I wouldn't have by now. Those things scare the living **** out of me yet no matter who I tell it feels like it's shrugged off or that it's being dismissed as me being dramatic.
Anything at this point I would be grateful for.

[Skeezyks]

I'm sorry I can't be of help with this personally. However I noticed no one had yet replied to your post. So I thought I would. Hopefully there will be other members who will yet have some helpful suggestions they can share. In the meantime, here are links to some articles, from PsychCentral's archives, that hopefully may be of some help:

Understanding the Effects of Trauma: Post-traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) – Psych Central

Why Do Flashbacks Happen? | After Trauma

Coping with Flashbacks – Psych Central

What is a Trigger? – Psych Central

What Triggers You? – Psych Central