When thoughts will not flow coherently into one another, it’s time for a list:
1. Last Wednesday I went ahead and called the doc (who is not actually a doctor, but a nurse practitioner) (and who has the bedside manner of a wet mop) to let her know that I felt like the meds weren’t working. She was out (well, of course she was1) until noon Thursday, so I left a message and was told I’d hear from her Thursday afternoon. I didn’t. (of course I didn’t1) I called back Friday afternoon (thinking I might hear from her Friday morning, but of course I did not), and was told, oh hey, everyone’s in a meeting, and oh, gee, we just don’t know when they’ll be out, but maybe someone can get back to you on Monday. I said, “
Forget it, Fuckers. No, that’s okay. I’ll just wait ’til my appointment next Wednesday.”
2. So I went for my regularly-scheduled meds check yesterday and saw the doctor (who is not actually a doctor, but a nurse practitioner) (and who has the bedside manner of a wet mop). Knowing that I had called and said I was feeling worse instead of better last week, she had already decided what she wanted to do (increase my meds) before I even started talking. I watched her write it down before I had five words out of my mouth. She didn’t really listen to me, since she’d already made up her mind what the next step was. She was patronizing and condescending, and I was getting angrier and bitchier by the moment. She said she felt like my body had grown accustomed to the meds, so we should try increasing the dosage.
Me: Okay, so…I’ve been on this for about 8 weeks. You guys TOLD me it would take 4-5 weeks to completely kick in, right?
Doc (who is not actually a doctor, but a nurse practitioner) (and who has the bedside manner of a wet mop): Yes, that’s right.
Me: Okay, so it took 4-5 weeks to kick in completely, and then a couple weeks later, my body’s already accustomed to it, and it’s ineffective? And now, you want to increase the dosage…does that mean, in another 3 or 4 weeks, I’ll be accustomed to it again, and it’ll stop working again?
Doc (who is not actually a doctor, but a nurse practitioner) (and who has the bedside manner of a wet mop): Well, hopefully, that won’t be the case. Hopefully, the higher dosage will work. But it’s easier2 to just increase this one, than to start over with a different antidepressant. And if you feel like it’s not working, you can always call.
Me: Well, I TRIED that. I called LAST WEEK, and you never called me back.
Doc (who is not actually a doctor, but a nurse practitioner) (and who has the bedside manner of a wet mop): Well, when I got your message Friday, I just figured we’d go ahead and just keep your appointment for today.
Me: I called LAST WEDNESDAY.
Doc (who is not actually a doctor, but a nurse practitioner) (and who has the bedside manner of a wet mop): Well, I just got the message Friday.
Yeah, RIGHT, bitch. Plus, you’re leaving3, and I really don’t want to get lost in the shuffle.
The rational side of me knows that it probably does make more sense to try the increased dosage before making a change to a different antidepressant (and a chat with kalki last night reinforced that theory). I think I had just prematurely resigned myself to having to switch my meds, and was surprised when the doc (who is not actually a doctor, but a nurse practitioner) (and who has the bedside manner of a wet mop) didn’t go with the course of action my online friends and I had decided upon. (I mean, really, aren’t we all far more qualified to diagnose and treat me? Yes, I thought so, too.)
3. (Geez, am I really only on number three? This is already too long, I think.) Deputy Dad’s schedule changed this week, which means he’s back on night shift for the next twelve weeks, which means it’s just the kids and me five evenings a week, with homework, supper, baths and bedtime staring us down each night. Pray for us…PRAY FOR THE CHILDREN, YA’LL.
4. I’m thinking about slapping a Paypal button on my blog. Mainly because, hey, whaddya know, we’re FLAT BROKE. But then, there’s the whole issue of how I just never will ask for help, and how I never will accept help when it’s offered. But of course there’s that whole FLAT BROKE issue. I don’t know why I feel so weird about the Paypal button. I read several bloggers who have them on their sites, and it doesn’t make me think any less of them. What say you, Internet? (Now, be honest, here. Don’t patronize me, mmkay? I want raw, brutal, honesty. Okay, maybe not so much brutal, because well, hello? Bitchy.1)
UPDATE 10/14/05: The deed is done. Thank you, everyone, for all your supportive comments.
5. Okay, I can’t remember number five. But it was important!, I’m sure. Also, extremely clever! and witty! So, just think of the most important, clever, and witty thing you can come up with, and insert it here. Or hey!, leave it in the comments, even. Maybe your number five will help me remember my number five, and I’ll come back with an update! (Hey, it could happen. Or, you know, NOT.)
UPDATE, just moments after posting: Yes, because this is how my mind works (or doesn’t work) these days, I remembered number five within about 30 seconds of clicking “Post.” Sigh. So, an updated number five:
5. The winner of the unofficial “name that disease” contest in the last post is Closet Metro, whose unofficial entry – “My brain has messed itself” – almost made me, um, mess myself. Hee. Thanks for the giggle, Metro.
1I might possibly still be
ready to kill just about anyone who dares cross my path a wee bit bitchy these days. Maybe.
2I think she was trying to tell me it would be easier on me, as in, easier on my mind and body; but I couldn’t help thinking it was probably easier on HER, too, since it was probably less paperwork, and since she’d already made her mind up that that’s what she wanted to do.1
3Yeah, that’s the one piece of GOOD news. Apparently, the fact that she didn’t call me back LAST THURSDAY is somehow related to the fact that she’s turned in her resignation (she’s moving), and will be leaving AT THE END OF THE MONTH. So, for those of you keeping track:
Leaving in 3 1/2 weeks = No time to return calls from stressed-out, depressed, mentally-drained clients.