Well, I just got back from the hospital…
Okay, that’s not really true. It’s just a nod at Hannah from Me And My Shadows and her foresightful comment on my last post. I actually got discharged around noon.
I went home Tuesday night completely crackers and was all liek “NO ONE LIKES ME AND I’M A TERRIBLE PERSON AND WHY SHOULD I LIVE WHEN YOU’RE THE ONLY PERSON WHO LIKES ME…
YOU HATE ME TOO, DON’T YOU? DON’T YOU?”
Perfect Husband’s response was to calmly stroke my hair while I went on for a while, and then just as calmly to tell me to stay put while he put the dogs away, and then usher me into the car and take me to the emergency room.
“My wife is expressing suicidal thoughts and some mild paranoid delusions,” he said to the triage nurse man. A barrage of questions followed, which I would ultimately repeat the answers to when asked the same things by the admittance nurse, the ER doctor, the admittance nurse at the other hospital the next day, and finally to two psychiatrists.
The first hospital didn’t have a psychiatric unit, you see, so the ER doctor referred me to the next hospital over. I spoke to two psychiatrists there the next day, and they concluded the following things:
a) I have depression (I tried to nod and look solemn and concerned about this information, rather than to say “no shit, Sherlock.”)
b) I need a new GP (this, I also knew)
c) I need antidepressants (okay)
d) Wellbutrin is my best bet, since they aren’t likely to increase my anxieties the way SSRIs might (I pretended that I had never heard of this drug and asked several questions about its safety. I was worried that if I said “That’s what I was hoping for!” they would lock me up for drug seeking or some nonsense)
e) I should have follow up with psychiatrists, and they are referring me to the mental health clinic that originally said that they couldn’t help me
So, while the doctor thing is far from solved, at least people know about my doctor problem. They told me that worst case scenario, I can keep going to the same walk-in clinic, so that at least my chart is being kept in one place. They gave me two weeks worth of the antidepressants, warned me that I should have close follow up, and promised the mental health centre would call.
Perfect Husband has vetoed my returning to work (my major stressor) for the rest of the week, and my coworker friend agrees that I need this time to recuperate.
My eyes are deep set and black, and feel puffy when I press on them. I feel tired and weak, as though I had been through physical distress.
But I think this is going to be the turning point.
If By Yes 