Daily Archives: November 20, 2012
Well Folks, as hard as it is to believe, we are winding down to the end of another year. It seems to me they fly by so much quicker as I get older. It is easy to lose time not just in hours but days, weeks heck I have lost a few years. I just … Continue reading
I am sick of this.
This morning I woke up and stretched out my right hand, and it started shaking as if I were being electrocuted. No kidding. I was scared to death. I drew my hand back under the covers, thinking maybe I had slept on it wrong, except it didn’t feel numb or tingly. Then I tried it again: I stretched my hand out as if to grab something, and my hand is shaking like a leaf in the wind. OMG, WTF. What now?
I have been struggling with a major depression for the past couple of weeks. I don’t know what happens to my days. I have all this stuff to do, and none of it gets done. The bills aren’t paid; I can see them from here, still in their envelopes on the dusty old wire spool that would serve me for a coffee table if I would clear off the propane lantern, the iron, the scrub brush, the pile of catalogs I will never look at, miscellaneous empty jars that I can’t bring myself to throw out/recycle for a variety of lame reasons, and oh yes, the bills.
Part of this depression probably stems from the short days. I haven’t been able to haul myself out of bed in the morning; I am not a morning person to begin with; my mornings usually begin at eight. Lately I’m lucky to drag myself out of the rack by ten. If I let myself, I’d sleep all day. I really meant, the short days this time of year; but yes, my days are that much shorter because I can’t get out of bed.
Oh, and my attention span has been downgraded from “flea” to “gnat.”
I texted my psychiatrist about the tremor and the depression. He prefers texting. I also left him a phone message, because he has his own attention issues and I’ve learned over the twelve years that we’ve been doing this thing together that it’s best to hit him with two different message modes.
He called me after his work day, as I expected he would. I explained the situation.
“What do you think is the problem?” he asked, as he always does.
“I don’t KNOW what the problem is!” I groan, exasperated. He always does this.
Then he started going through my meds with a fine tooth comb. Half an hour later, his feeling was that for some reason, my nervous system just isn’t tolerating the combination of lithium and lamotrigine. But, since I’m depressed, I can’t take a break from either of them; in fact, I have to increase the lamotrigine by 50 mg. If I want to, I can take some Propranolol for the tremor. It’s a beta blocker, lowers blood pressure and gets rid of tremors.
But oh, no, not me, I can’t take Propranolol because I have asthma. The same mechanism that lowers heart rate and blood pressure can also trigger a fatal asthma attack in susceptible individuals: that would be me. And even in my depressed state, where ceasing to exist looks pretty good, suffocating to death is not my choice of exit strategies.
My shrink likes me to take an active role in my medication management. That is why he gives me such a pain in my ass every time I call him for advice. He is certainly capable of simply telling me what to do; but since I have a chronic illness, he prefers that I engage with the process of disease management.
Frankly, I would prefer it if he just said, “Take more of this, take less of that, try this other thing,” because then I could just go on ahead and not think about the fact that I have this disease, and it is not going to just go **poof** and disappear.
No, I will not wake up normal one morning. This is a life sentence, without possibility of parole.