So, for all of you who have been waiting with bated breath, yes, the counsellor actually showed up yesterday. So did my period.
Nothing too exciting to report from the counsellor visit, unfortunately, except for the fact that she actually DID spend the full hour with me and didn’t say the words “you have depression all right. I can’t help you, but…” the way everyone else has. She also seemed suitably disgusted by my doctor and agreed that I shouldn’t have to go back and that I was right not to try the pills. She does want me to get checked out by some doctor, though. Of course, Dr. Useless had examined me just recently, but it’s true that she was rushing the whole time. If I can find a doctor who has time for me, I’ll get looked at. I still wouldn’t mind trying Wellbutrin on top of the therapy.
Since I don’t have Wellbutrin, I am trying iodine.
My mother’s always gone on about idodine since it is supposed to be important for thyroid function and my father’s whole family is riddled with thyroid issues (one on hypothyroid medication, another with a goiter, another dead of thyroid cancer… and these are his three siblings) but iodine supplements are hard to find. Mind you, they put some iodine in my prenatal vitamins, and I never noticed a difference. Still, Perfect Husband found a dropper bottle of iodine supplement and we’ve been adding it to our juice at least once a day (after checking toxicity levels etc online – there is such thing as too much of a good thing). Maybe it’s the placebo effect, but I actually feel slightly better this week. My arms aren’t so heavy, and things don’t seem so unbearable. Could also be hormones. I’ll let you know if I get a goiter from all the iodine 🙂
And now, the moment you’ve all been waiting for… in which I explain the baby clothes properly, so as to not sound like a crazy woman who is already purchasing baby supplies for an imaginary child.
When I was in university, a girl I went to high school with got pregnant. We were friendly, so when her baby was born I bought her an adorable fuzzy yellow sweater with the name of my university on it from the campus store. It was the softest thing in the entire world (the sweater, not the store itself). She loved it, kept it, and when my best friend got pregnant a couple of years later, she donated it along with many other baby supplies to my friend. The sweater, now a well loved hand-me-down, had lost some of its original fleeciness but was still darn cute. It fit my goddaughter for, like, a day. When she had outgrown it, my best friend asked me if I wanted the sweater back. She knew how much I loved that school. Darn straight I wanted it! I’ve always known I wanted kids some day. I have so many books that I wouldn’t let my mother get rid of because I wanted my children to have them. So I put the sweater away in a closet, waiting for the day when I would need it for my own child.
I laid the sweater next to a tiny tie-dyed girl’s top which I had picked up at Frenchy’s for, like, fifty cents one day. The year before, in grade 12 Chemistry, I had tie-dyed my own T-shirt, and I thought how cute it would be for my someday-baby to have a little tie-dyed shirt too (the shirt was very much part of my self-identity at the time). It was cheap, and cute, so I picked it up on a whim and hid it so my mother wouldn’t panic.
Fast forward many years down the road. I am married, that first baby is going into second grade and my goddaughter just finished kindergarten. While I am home for a friend’s wedding, my mother and I go through my old closets, trying to get rid of some of the clutter, and my mother finds a folded fuzzy yellow sweater with my university’s name on it and a girl’s tie-dyed tee, both clearly for babies under six months. I hastily explained about the yellow sweater, and left my mother to imagine that I had also received the tee from my best friend, as well. I didn’t want to be too explicit over the fact that I had been yearning for a baby since High School (although she probably got a clue in grade 11, when I became emotionally attached to my Baby-Think-It-Over and didn’t want to give him up).
I set the stuff aside casually, but later shoved the two tops into my suitcase to bring home with me. After, my period was late, my husband was bugging me over the phone, going “you’re preeeegnant” and wouldn’t it be cute if I showed up with a little sweater with the name of our university on it, all ready for baby?
Of course, I wasn’t pregnant, but the baby clothes came home anyway, and have been folded on my dresser ever since. Every now and then I pick up the fuzzy sweater, unfold it, look at the logo on it, think of the babies who wore it, fold it again, and sigh.