I snapped at my therapist yesterday morning. He looked pretty surprised and told me I get a pass because I was in such a state. I poured out my frustrations, he told me to be more assertive in seeking care, and that he’d be happy to interfere on my behalf. I promised to pet my dog when I got home, but almost as soon as I closed the car door, I started crying. Again. Just a little, though.
By the time I got home, however, I was crying buckets. Ironically, this was the day of the Fresh Pressing of my Canvas post on asking for help. The recent depression has been wearing me down for awhile, but (again) I needed someone else to help me decide to make the call.
So I reached out to the one person to whom I felt I could really reveal the things that are worrying me (a first). Fortunately, my friend is a very wise, experienced, and brilliantly honest gal, so she made no bones about it – I needed help today, not next week at my regularly scheduled appointment. Since I was all tears and snot and headache and exhaustion and indecision, I knew she was right.
For a few minutes after hanging up the phone, I distracted myself, trying to talk myself out of or into it. My eyes blurred with tears as I pulled out my phone, took a deep breath, and pushed the call button; I made an emergency appointment with the psych’s office (another first). I got in same day, but with someone I’ve never met before. It seemed a better choice, under the circumstances, than waiting until Thursday for my usual PNP.
So I put aside my pride and sat down with the new nurse. She started by taking my blood pressure, and asked if I was on meds for hypertension! No, just massive anxiety. She hadn’t reviewed my files, so I had to give her a quick run-down. To my shock (pun intended), the first thing she suggested was ECT! I said that’s not an option – my brain is all I have, I can’t risk the memory loss, and there are many other options that haven’t been tried yet. We selected an antidepressant that should complement my current cocktail – Pristiq – which is a brand drug and therefore requires Prior Auth by the insurance company. And the nurse who takes care of that paperwork had just left, which would mean at least a day delay – not acceptable in this situation.
So the NP dug through the magic closet of samples and produced 2 one-week packs of Pristiq. She also suggested getting in line for an appointment with the Psychiatrist Himself, who’s supposed to be an excellent psychopharmacologist. And on Monday I’ll still have my last appointment with my beloved PNP, so we’ll strategize further at that point.
I’m sort of glad I chose to act, but at the same time, worried about side effects, changing psych nurses, and the fact that I can’t keep up with my work while I’m doing all of this stuff. I’m trying to do what I can but right now that’s pretty limited. I’m exhausted and my head feels all weird. So I’m laying low, again, and hoping to do just enough work to keep me from fretting.