A Slump...

I am between psychiatrists right now and that is a bit scary for me.  After months of debating whether to stick with the doctor I had I finally made the decision to find a new one.  Dr. W. was really good for me in the beginning.  She seemed to be right on with med changes and I was encouraged to finally have a doctor who "got" me.  That was three years ago. 

In the last year, my appointments with her either left me feeling that she was still right on, or completely the opposite.  Sometimes I would visit her and she would seem to be completely up on what we've tried, where we're headed and what changes would be best.  Other times she seemed as unfamiliar with me as if it had been a year since I last saw her, even when it was only 2-3 weeks.  

Lately, though, I had a sneaking suspicion that she was pushing certain drugs on patients.  I have no proof of this other than my experiences in her office and some snippets of conversation overheard in the waiting room.  No matter what side effects I complained about, she would pass it off as something else or attribute it to a medication I had been successfully taking for months if not years.  

I recently started a medication that is commonly used for bipolar and schizophrenia.  I tend to have very bizarre reactions to medications.  Reactions that are so bizarre they are sometimes not even recognized as problems with the medication.  This time it was pretty obvious that it was the medication.  Weight gain and blood sugar issues, along with some minor side effects were making me uncomfortable on this new med, but my doctor breezed through our appointment emphasizing all the drug's positive attributes.  It was at this time that I decided I needed a new doctor. 

I had other issues with Dr. W.  She rarely returned my calls, was getting worse and worse about running way late on appointments.  She couldn't be counted on to be at the top of her game.  And since she doesn't bill insurance, it was costing me a great deal out of pocket to see her, not to mention the medication changes and the costs involved with that. 

So I have a new doctor - Dr. K.  He runs a bipolar and depression clinic and is supposed to be top notch.  In fact his waiting list is a bit long, so I will finally get in to see him in early December. I got on his list at the end of September.  I dread changing doctors because it can be a lot of work to establish where you are, where you've been and where you need to go.  However, Dr. K has a packet for new patients that is about 36 pages long, so we should be on fairly familiar territory by the end of the first appointment.  

In the mean time, I knew I couldn't take this new drug anymore.  So, I weaned myself off of it which you should never, ever do.  It is a very bad idea to quit meds without doctor supervision.  And I knew this but did it anyways.  I told Kyle it was probably going to be a rough couple of weeks as I withdrew from this medication, and it was.  I have been very depressed, very lethargic, sleeping a great deal more than I should, and experiencing lots of symptoms like fevers with chills and horrible headaches.  It's a really frustrating experience.  

Thanks to a wonderful therapist and the support of Kyle and that of my little dogs, I am getting through the slump, but it sure isn't pleasant.  It's amazing to me how one little pill can either pick me up or really let me down hard.  This is probably one of the hardest withdrawals I've gone through, and I have been through a few. 

Looking forward though, I'm excited about a new doctor who may bring new expertise into my treatment and hopefully get me in a good place to enjoy the holidays and greet the new year.

Dearest Lil' Pip...

My darling boy, 

What pleasure, joy and comfort you've brought to my life in the 18 months since we met.  From that first afternoon we spent holding one another, I began to experience a bond with you I'd never had before. 

I've had many pets over the years.  Growing up on the farm allowed me many opportunities for a wide variety of pets, but my mom was the one who was their main caretaker.  While I was at school, she was potty-training them, feeding and loving them.  I wasn't great at making attachments.  We moved a great deal, so people, places, and sadly, even pets came and went. 

YOU were different from the start.  Your adorable pug nose and soft brown eyes struck me immediately.  And those ears!  I wasn't sure if I was getting a chihuahua or a bat!  I saw about twenty chihuahuas before I first saw you, and you picked me the minute my heart leaped when I saw you.  

I have a couple of apologies to make to you.  First, for this costume.  Captain Jack was a popular Halloween costume pick among the other kids, so I thought you would enjoy it.  I guess I was wrong.

And this...so it may be that you're just not as into Christmas as I am.

And maybe you're not into the Gap, and I get that, too...

 
I'll try to do better by you, but I can't make any promises.  We girls never really give up playing with dolls and dress up.  We had dolls and younger siblings to dress up when we were kids, and as adults we exchange Barbies for babies, and since you are my baby, I substitute sweaters for onesies and you get the short end of the stick.


I would also like to apologize for the disruption to your life that the introduction of your little brother Dobby has brought to your life.  But you two seem to be getting along just fine.  

I know deep down that it's best for you to have a companion when Daddy and I are away, but there's still some Mother's guilt at not being able to give you the time and attention that I could when there wasn't a pushy, needy sibling stealing your thunder.  The arrival of the second kid is an adjustment for everyone.  I miss our quiet afternoons together, but at least you have someone to race around the house with.   So maybe you will forgive me the minor inconveniences of our new life together. 


We will always have our special connection that I only feel for you.  You may only way three pounds, but you reside in a large portion of real estate within my heart.  

I have so many favorite memories of you already. 

Your first night in Denver.  You were quite content with the accommodations at The Curtis. 

Your first Superbowl.  Go Peyton! (Unfortunately, we lost).  But to the Saints, so it wasn't too traumatic.

Your way of curling up on my neck for your naps when you were a babe.

The way your little tongue would stick out when you slept.  Dobby's tongue sticks out too, but pretty much all the time, not just when he's asleep.

Seeing Daddy and you together melts my heart.  Daddy is half his size now, but he still seems giant in comparison to you.  However, he's just a teddy bear inside, especially when it comes to you.  You know what the word "daddy" means, and when I see his car pull up at the end of the day I say, "Daddy's home!" and you whimper and run to the door to greet him.  It's truly one of the delights of my life, and my happiest time of the day.  

Another quality you have - you are SO easy to transport.  

Most of all, you just really, truly, completely thrill me. I love you to pieces, wouldn't trade you for a million dollars, and would do anything for you.  Thank you, Pip, for being one of the most perfect gifts in my life. 

Writer's Hypochondria...

I've decided to diagnose myself with a new illness called Writer's Hypochondria.  It seems that when I am supposed to be writing and focusing on getting words on the page, I suddenly become concerned that I might be dying.  In fact, I'm certain that if I am to live, I best get to the doctor.  Or take a Tylenol.  Or at least a nap.  Yes, a nap will surely cure me of all that ails me.  

It amazes me how many distractions I can find to keep me from actually putting pen to paper.  The load of laundry that hasn't been folded for three days suddenly must be put away.  The junk drawer needs organizing for the first time in five years.  The dogs need to go for a walk (i.e. I carry them and I walk).  The mail must be checked.  The checkbook needs balanced.  I must paint the living room, vacuum the stairs and wash the car.  Everything minor in my world immediately becomes of paramount importance.  

Why do I avoid doing what once gave me great pleasure?  Writing has, for most of my life, been a huge comfort to me, whether I was reading another's or doing my own.  But in the past couple of years, I've struggled to write, and it mostly comes down to the impact my psychiatric medications have on my creativity and my ability to come up with the words I am looking for.  

One of the big debates in mental health is when and if people should be forced to undergo treatment with medications that can have debilitating side effects.  No one would be forced to take insulin for diabetes if they chose not to.  It isn't always the same with psychiatric medications, especially if people become a harm to themselves or others.  It is quite common for those prone to mental illness to also be very creative.  This, too, has undergone intense debate and research.  Are persons with mental illness more creative?  Or, are those who are unusually creative more prone to mental illness?  Regardless, it has been proven that psychiatric medications can definitely impact the level of creativity a person is capable of achieving.  

I have encountered this many times in my treatment.  I used to look at a blank page as potential. I was excited to see what would become of it, whether it was a scrapbook page or a page in my journal.  Now, more often than not, I find it daunting. I know I will struggle to find words, I won't be able to concentrate as well as I once could, and I won't be able to envision potential as well as I used to.  Is the trade off worth it? 

I don't know. 

If one lives to create, yet that creativity and production is hampered by medications, one's life can still seem empty and one may experience depression-like symptoms at the loss of their creativity.  Yet, without the medications, one cannot function many days a month, making creativity also difficult if not impossible.  It's a frustration I have quite often, but don't have an answer for.   

PS (A Few Hours Later) ...


Just found this quote by Steven Pressfield, "Resistance is fear."  So true for me. If I don't write it, I won't know whether I fail at it or not.  Not writing is safe.  It's comfortable.  Writing is terribly scary. 

Right Now...

It's been far too long since I last blogged.  I have a million excuses but no excuse at all.  Mostly a major lack of motivation.  Here's a quick update about life in the past few weeks:

• Flooring still not in.  Hasn't even been scheduled yet.  We're looking at mid-November. 
• I finally reached a manager today at Home Depot after several days of unreturned phone calls and general run around. 
• Kyle and I are really tired of living out of our bedroom since the entire upstairs is waiting on flooring and we can't have any furniture up there.  But this will make the finished project that much more enjoyable.
• We had a snow storm that dumped about 8 inches of snow on Cheyenne in late September or early October.
• Tonight we are under a Winter Storm Warning with the threat of 8 to 10 inches of snow.
• I'm taking a memoir writing class in Ft. Collins and I have to come up with five life stories I want to write during the last half of the course.  
• Had a rough withdrawal from a medication that was giving me very intolerable side effects. (More on that in another post). 
• Struggling with the changes in season and the impact it has on my moods.
• Missing the longer daylight.
• Loving hot chocolate and soup in the crock pot during snowstorms.  
• Bulbs in the ground to prepare for their spring emergence. 
• Pip and Dobby are as ready for the house to be back in order as I am. 
• Reading Wuthering Heights.  It's my favorite book this time of year.  Contemplating starting Frankenstein or Dr. Jekyl and Mr. Hyde this weekend in time for Halloween. 
• Congrats to my dad on his nice bull elk.
• Feeling thankful for what I have, and maybe even for what I don't have. 
• Determined to blog regularly, regardless of motivation.