I had an appointment with my pdoc last Saturday. I had the satisfaction of showing him the surgical scar on my throat. I reminded him that he encouraged me to get back to my orthopedic doctor and see if something could be done about my neck. I needed to get some relief from the chronic pain and fatigue.
I did. And, between my August pdoc appointment and Saturday’s appointment I had my surgery. The results are encouraging.
For the first time since being under the care of my pdoc, my medications were not changed. I have been experiencing a long run of hypomania which is at least better than the deep depression that I experience after Dad’s death. My sleep schedule is totally messed up. Who cares? I am still too anxious to leave the house anyway.
I don’t want to drive anywhere either. Maybe when I can move my neck from side to side I’ll make a Mickey D run. I won’t have to talk to anyone or get out of the car.
The only place that I feel comfortable going to is the CVS Pharmacy at the north end of town. I haven’t had to order my psychiatric cocktail meds from the mail order pharmacy, so I have gone there for those meds and the pain pills prescribed for me following my surgery. Anyway, the pharmacists and pharmacy assistants greet me by name and they are kind, courteous, and caring folks. That CVS Store is the only place, besides the mail order company I was forced to use, that I have ever taken my prescriptions in the last 15 years.
Having Bipolar Depression is hard work. No matter when and how my moods swing, my entire household is affected. Since I am prohibited from performing most household chores the strain on my partner is so much greater. My cat naps are coming more and more at inopportune times. We need to get out to do some shopping, he hates to go alone, I don’t want to go out of the house, and ….
My mood swung quite low over the weekend as the Mark Foley controversy started to blow and drown out most of the other day’s news. Being a news junky has not been fun this week. I commented on Predatorgate here, here, here, here, here, and here.
I seem to be dealing with some symptoms of PTSD. The shrill “blame the victim” freaks bother me more than the enablers that allowed Mark Foley to continue to have contact with the House Pages after the alarm bells started ringing. The ignorant so-called Christians that want to characterize the entire mess as a “gay thing” make me want to hit something or someone. In fact, I’d like to shake that idiot Dobson who also claims that the victims were partly responsible for what happened to them. Aaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrggggggggggggggggggh!
I sort of imagine that if I were not taking my psychiatric cocktail, I might be sleeping in the fetal position in the basement guest room right now. It seems it is naptime, again! I will be back at the computer reading and writing in a couple of hours. Same shit, different day.