Let’s Talk About Meds…

I’ve diligently tried to avoid anti-depressants.  I’ve always heard things about them like “they make me feel like a zombie…” “I don’t feel anything while on them…” and I’ve always felt as if by taking them, somehow I would be gypping myself of life experience.  That sadness was a part of life, that it made the good times brighter and that it was simply something I had to deal with.

When I went to the doctor to be put on anti-anxiety pills, I started small.  I’ve avoided heavy drugs – opting to start on a beta blocker and eventually forego that for a prescription of Buspirone – which I ended up having the dosage upped.

Finally though, I’ve given up the fight against living with un-medicated depression.  One day, I sat outside as the sun shone against a clear, blue sky.  I watched birds fly from rooftop to rooftop.  I burst into tears.  The sadness was more than I could handle.  The day was perfectly fine and yet, I was so fucking sad.

It was past sad, really.  So deep was I into the depression that crept up on me that I felt absolutely nothing at all.  I was numb.  The day was gorgeous but it felt gray.  Everything felt gray, devoid of joy and colorless.

That is no way to live.  No way to feel.  I have only so much time with my little Punk, before she grows up and I don’t want to waste the rest of it struggling.

I called and made an appointment to go meet with my doctor and get a prescription for anti-depressants.  I don’t want to do this on my own, anymore.  It is exhausting.  I need the help.  I need the medication to right my moods, to buoy me, to help me deal with this so that I can be the person I want to be.  I’m tired of not recognizing myself.  Of not being happy.

So, my journey with medication advances on the 26th.  I am eager to see what the pills do for my moods – if they help keep me from that bottomless pit of awful, if they make those moments easier to deal with…

Making Memories

Yesterday, Keith and I didn’t feel like doing much of anything. It had been a taxing weekend, a stressful few days. We were bummed and wanted to just hide under the covers…

But we couldn’t.

Instead, we went to the park as a family.  It ended up being an excellent decision because, for a while, we ran around and played and laughed and forgot about what has been weighing us down.

Getting out and treasuring and experiencing our family – the three of us, as we are, now – was important.  I think that this past weekend has reiterated to both Keith and myself how lucky we are.  Everyone’s healthy, we have the luxury of time together as a family…

We returned home and decorated our Christmas tree.

This evening, we built a “campfire” and roasted marshmallows in the backyard.

I’m looking forward to the newfound adventures we will go on, as a trio, as I have a feeling they will be more of a regular thing, from now on.

 

Well.

On Monday, we found out we were pregnant.  On Saturday, the miscarriage began.  At the car dealership, no less.  Where we were at, to get a larger car to accommodate our growing family.

I wrote about it here.

…I want this to be over. I want to wake up the person I was before I peed on the stick a week ago. I want to be done with this miscarriage. But that’s impossible.

I’m still riding the crash of hormones this loss has caused. I’m still coming to terms with the fact that I’ll have to explain to people who knew that “we’ll keep trying.” I’m still accepting that we have to keep trying. That we went from pregnant to not…

I’m doing alright.  Not stellar, not terrible.  I feel muted.  Quiet.  Depressed, but mildly.  I’m functioning.  Being the fun mom who bakes cookies, sings songs and has bathtime tea parties.

During the day, so far, I’m fine.  It’s when night hits, no work comes in and I’m the only one awake, not feeling like reading or writing or drawing or laundry…  When it’s just me and my thoughts, is when things get difficult.

I know we’ll try again.  I imagine we will be successful.

That does little to buoy me right now, when this is still fresh.

…But I know it and it helps.

Numero Dos.

4 weeks!

I’m pregnant with #2.

We’d always talked of having two kids.  After the first – and the year-long depression and anxiety that followed – I wasn’t too sure if I wanted to do it again.

Once I tackled the depression and anxiety, I still wasn’t sure.  After all, things were getting easy. We had a routine, potty training had happened with ease, my in-laws take her most weekends and Keith and I have time to work and an opportunity for a date night every once in a while…  A baby would change all of that.

We talked about my fears and I thought a lot about it.  Finally, I told Keith I was ready.  I could do it – handle two kids and myself, work and the house.  Finally, I felt confident.

It took two months and a couple days ago (24th), I took a test.  A faint positive.  The next day, I took two more.

The third day into knowing, I suddenly had a bump.  The same  bump it took me like three months to develop the first time around…

We have yet to make an appointment, but it’s next on my list.

I’m stoked.

 

On Space.

My blogging spot.

When we moved into this house, we were thrilled about the “extra room.”  A third bedroom that we didn’t have any actual use for.  A guest room?  A play room for Lé Punk?  The possibilities were endless.

I moved my desk and computer into it and there it sat, surrounded by kids’ toys and Crayola art supplies.  I wasn’t particularly happy with the room – it looked barren and thrown together.  I wasn’t comfortable in the space because it lacked any design whatsoever.

I decided to make the room an office.  Not just mine, though I would be spending the most time in there.  So, an office and a space for Lé Punk to make art.  Simple enough, right?

Sort of.

I wanted it to look nice and feel cozy but I didn’t want to spend a ton of money.

This decision came right around the time of the 50% off Goodwill weekend.  Everything in the store was half off.  I was thrilled.

Keith and I set out one Saturday and hit up about four Goodwills.  From that trip, I found the area rug I wanted, the perfect office chair and some artwork.  I bought a can of spray paint and made the filing cabinet my own.  I framed pictures, took apart a standing mirror I’d rescued from the curb and spent the entire day making the room mine.

Finally, an office came together.  One that I liked, was comfortable in and happy with.  Behind it is Lé Punk’s table and easel and on the opposite wall are all of her art supplies.  Now, we both have a space to create in.

I couldn’t be more pleased.

Finally.

  
This was me, today. 

I’ve wanted this for a good, solid week, now. Just to get in bed, bury myself under the covers and exist peacefully there for a while. 

While yes, things are going well, I’ve been… Overwhelmed? Underwhelmed? Stuck somewhere between “I got this!” and “This life thing can kiss my ass!”

When Keith and I set out on vacation, we were stoked. We drove a couple hours to a bigger city and hopped a plane, headed for Nevada. 

We had two whole weeks at our disposal – one of them, kidless – and we were going to have FUN. 

Two days into the trip, Keith set out to go ATV riding with his best friend. I was apprehensive and worried. What if something happened?

I kissed him goodbye and told him to be safe 

Not an hour later, I got a call. 

“I’m sorry.” He said. 

Instantly, I froze. Something was wrong. I could tell by his voice. 

“I… Think I broke my arm.” His words were tinged with pain. 

“Have Walter (his friend) take you to wherever people go with broken arms,” I told him. “I’ll meet you there.”

After stopping to buy him new clothes (on my way, Walter had called to tell me they cut Keith’s clothes off), I arrived at the ER (where people with broken arms go…) and assessed the situation. 

In the end, the official diagnosis was a separated shoulder and a completely pulverized radial head. On opposite arms. 

The rest of the vacation was… Interesting. Not bad but different. 

Keith is my go-to person for things I feel uncomfortable with. Driving in a new city? I look to Keith. (Shit, driving in general is something I defer to him, usually.)

Picking up luggage, moving heavy things, having help with Lé Punk… All things I rely on him for. 

With him sporting two fucked up arms, I had to man-up. Even though he drove a LOT when he wasn’t on pain meds (most of the time he wasn’t), I spent a lot of time trying to simultaneously compensate for his injuries and trying to do so delicately so he didn’t feel bad about it. 

On top of that, he needed help. With showering, getting dressed and even eating in the first couple days after the accident. 

It’s difficult to reassure your husband when he’s terribly upset about being “useless” (his word). It was hard for me to see him so down in the dumps and so regretful that he went ATV riding in the first place. 

Despite everything, we had a nice vacation. It was relaxing – except trying to find care in a different state. We never did. Nobody would take our insurance so all of his care, except the initial ER visit, had to wait until we returned. So, minus the day I spent on the phone with doctors offices and insurance people, it was relaxing.

Since then, I’ve just been… Eh. Not bad. Not jubilant. Just sort of making it through. Inexplicably apathetic but calm. Quiet. 

Financially, it’s tough. Getting set up in a new place is costly. Missing out on two weeks of work is costly. Medical bills, even after insurance pays their part, are costly. I’ve been worried about money and simultaneously going “FUCK IT. I CANT WORRY ABOUT IT.” (Yes. In all caps. Just like that. How emphatic.)

So, I’ve wanted alone time. Solitude. To not have to worry about things. To just be somewhere quiet and dark. Like under the covers. 

Today, my wish came true. I wanted a thirty minute nap. Keith let me sleep for three hours. 

It was glorious. 

Say, What?

“What happened to your blog?”

I’ve been asked that more times than I care to admit in the last couple of months. I’m flattered that a few people actually check back here regularly and have asked me about posting.  I’m also a little ashamed that I’ve completely quit making original content.

What happened?  …I’ve asked myself that on several occasions.

A LOT has happened, actually.

We just returned from a two week vacation – one in which Keith shattered his elbow (he had surgery on it today – more on that, later).  We also just moved into a house – something that has given me much joy and distraction, in decorating.  (Also more on that, later…  Suffice to say, I have an addiction to scented candles and wax warmers.)

It’s no lie to say I’ve been busy.  Between those things, parenting and work, I’ve had my hands pretty full.  Quite a bit has happened since the last time I posted and I think it’s about time to cut the bullshit excuses and get back to this blogging thing…

Keep an eye out for work stories, pictures of the new place and tales of Living With a Husband With a Broken Arm.  (I wouldn’t wish that on ANYBODY.  Because, holy shit.  It seems so painful.)

I’m anticipating typing more in the future…

Hot Dawg.

 
I had a four day break. From parenting and from work. It was so rejuvenating and glorious that I am having trouble finding the words to describe how great it was.

Don’t get me wrong, I love being a mom and I enjoy what I do for work. That said, I think that everybody needs a break every once in a while…

During that time, I watched all of season 1 of Grace & Frankie on Netflix, had a milkshake for dinner …twice. I also randomly asked Keith if he wanted to go to the Humane Society. 

He said no. 

But he went with me anyway.

I wasn’t intending on getting a dog. But I met this guy. He’s 10, deaf and one of the sweetest dogs I have ever met.

He’s fully trained. House trained. Trick trained. Leash trained. 

I pestered Keith all weekend after we met him. I pushed for this dog, even though I don’t want to admit that I did it. There was something special about him. I had to have him. I didn’t want to wait until Monday and I didn’t want to think about it.

We went back a couple days later and got him. He is fabulous. Seriously. The perfect dog.

Sofa King Clean.

The alcohol scrubbing worked and the sofa is almost brand new looking.

Of course, the second it dried and Lé Punk woke up, she spilled juice on it.  Not kidding.  It’s whatever, though – sans the one spot, it’s perfect.

The PPD Group, Nurse’s Office and Tackling Depression: An Update

A few months ago, I attended a PPD support group.  In it, I found women in similar situations as myself – in various stages of the depression that I had experienced.  It was not only an eye-opening experience (there are others out there) but it was a tremendously helpful one, too.

I admitted my struggles with depression (the toughest part) and actively began seeking out support.  A part of that support was being referred to a psychiatric nurse for a formal diagnosis and potentially some medication to help level things out.

The director of the support group made a phone call or two and I was supposed to hear back from the nurse’s office about scheduling an appointment.  That never happened.  I called and left a message with my insurance information, as I was told to do by the director.  Still nothing.  Almost a month went by and during a follow-up call from the director, I mentioned that I hadn’t been called back.  I must have fallen through the cracks and I was okay with that; there are other women out there who needed the help more immediately than I did.

More phone calls were made and a few days later, I received a call from the nurse’s office asking for my insurance information.  I was told I’d be contacted soon to set up an appointment.  I was excited because it was something I thought could really help me.

A few more weeks went by and the cycle repeated with hearing nothing, with more phone calls, waiting, a call back and me giving my insurance information again.

Still, nothing.  Nobody had even told me if my insurance was accepted, let alone when I could come in for an appointment.

By this time, I had self-leveled my depression.  Admitting it was crucial – and from there I made small steps to right the wrongs in my lifestyle that contributed to me staying in The Pit.  I had, at this point, reconsidered medication and decided that an antidepressant isn’t something I needed – I was doing just fine on my own.  For now.

After yet another follow-up call from the director of the PPD group and me telling her things still hadn’t moved forward, she made a few more phone calls.  Some time later, I received a call from the nurse’s office.  They were asking for my insurance information again.  A third time.

I let the call go to voicemail and I didn’t call back.

I was irked – not at the director, because she did try – but at the nurse’s office.  1) Had I been important, I wouldn’t have slipped through the cracks three times and 2) Should I allow them to be responsible for my treatment when they can’t even manage to find the time/resources/information to get me in for an appointment?  The resounding answer was No.

Despite never having gone in for a diagnosis or a consult, I was grateful for the experience.  It brought me to a point where I realized I needed help (even if it was just in the form of support) and I successfully went out and found that assistance.  I met some great people through the experience and the entire thing helped me explain to Keith more of what was going on with me, so he had a better understanding, too.

As for the PPD group?  I stopped going.  I only attended a couple – maybe three or four – meetings.  Between work calls and balancing family time, I wasn’t able to consistently attend and through that, I found that at this stage in my life, I’m okay without it.  It served its purpose, I am thankful for it, I appreciate it and it helped to get me where I needed to be.  It’s there if I need it – and I may, in the future – and just knowing it exists provides a tremendous amount of support.

I take each day as it comes.  Beta blockers have helped a ton.  Managing my anxiety keeps my depression at bay and while it still crops up, it’s not nearly as severe as it was.  I’m able to balance things a lot better and that has made for an easier time, too.

Things are looking up.