Worst Day

If this isn't the worst day of my life, it's among the top three for sure.

It started out with Clover waking me up and walking all over me. It didn't take long before I realized she had feces all over her legs and behind. So, nauseated, I bathed the kitten. Stephen was awake and on his phone. I asked him if he'd called the dentist yet.

Last night we'd spent a little while in the emergency room. The right side of his face had developed an infection after a toothache. We got medication, lortab and amoxicillin, and went home.

So I was nervous that he get the real problem fixed soon - his teeth. They're really bad. I'm not sure what's wrong with them, but they are falling apart. I like them, they're just another asset to Stephen's charm, but I know it's not healthy. And, since he wasn't getting it done himself, I decided to nag him. It's apparently effective.

"No," he replied, "but I'll do it right now." And he did. He even got an appointment for today! I asked him if he'd taken his antibiotic. Again, he hadn't, but he did so right away. Happy wife.

So, still nauseated, I took him to his dental appointment. Stephen seemed as happy and carefree as always. We signed in and were taken back. I took a seat in the office, holding Stephen's things, as he left to an adjacent room to get X-rays of his mouth.

The (I assume) dental hygienist was very nice as she worked with him. I could see into the room, but my view was partially blocked by a wall. She kept asking him what was okay and if things hurt (he still had a swollen cheek from the infection). I noticed a specific question being asked more and more frequently as she took the X-rays. This is when I started to get concerned.

She asked: "Do you need to take a break?". It was maybe the 4th time before he responded with anything other than a refusal.

"Yeah, I think that would be best. I'm feeling kind of queasy. I think it's the radiation..." He paused. "How many more do you have to take?"

"8." She replied. "Yeah, you're looking kind of pale."

That's when Stephen started making this sound... I'm still not sure how to describe it. Like he was moaning, but in short intervals. That's when I got alarmed. I shot up and rushed into the room where I saw Stephen sprawled back into the chair with his arms out by his side, open-palmed to the ceiling. He was so pale, he was almost green. There was pink around his eyes, which were rolling back and fixed on nothing.

"He's had a seizure." The hygienist managed to say before I burst into tears, panicking.

I was in the hallway in zero seconds flat, shouting: "Please help him! Somebody help him please!" The dentist came in with an electronic blood pressure machine. Another hygienist came back...to see? I'm not sure. I stayed behind the wall. I couldn't see Stephen like that. I knew I should have been keeping it together for him. It wasn't about me, and I didn't want him to panic, but I just couldn't. I tried to stifle my crying behind the wall.

"I'm sorry, I don't know what happened." I heard Stephen say. He'd regained consciousness. He threw up a couple of times. "I'm so sorry."

The staff kept reassuring him that it was fine. The dentist conveyed to Stephen that his blood pressure was really low and that he was going to call an ambulance. He left the room.

"Baby?" Stephen said.

"Yeah, sweetie?" I came in, embarrassed.

"I'm sorry I worried you." He said. He was sweating now, and still very pale, a trashcan of vomit in his lap.

"No, baby! It's okay." I replied. I could hear the dentist telling another hygienist that his blood pressure was 80/44.

"I think it was the radiation."

"Baby, this doesn't happen to most people who get X-rays. You're blood pressure is really low. 80 over 44. Normal is 120 over 80."

"Oh.." He replied. "I don't need this anymore." he said, referring to the vomit-filled trashcan. "I feel fine."

I heard a hygienist say that "they" were almost here. She could hear them. I then heard the ambulance. I moved out of the room to make way. I stood there, stifling my crying again, when the original hygienist offered me a seat. I took it and watched as a parade of EMTs, firefighters, and even a cop glanced in at Stephen. The original EMTs stayed to check on Stephen. They asked how he felt, what his history was with epilepsy and if he'd passed out before. I remember them asking about a brain tumor. He replied to their questions.

One of them pointed to me and said something like "Wife?" And Stephen confirmed. The other one said I could come in. Stephen looked a lot better. Much less pale, but still noticeable. His sweating was no longer an issue. The EMT began explaining to me that what Stephen had gone through was called hypovolemic shock. I asked if they'd checked his blood sugar. The pointing EMT said he could and began getting things set up, and the other said "I don't think so. If his blood sugar was too high...(listing off symptoms) and if it was too low...(different list of symptoms)."

"Okay." I said. "I'm sorry." They made it a point to say that I was fine.

"Besides..." The EMT said "we don't want to give him a bad reaction to a needle and have his blood pressure drop again."

That had happened before, when Stephen went to donate plasma. He was turned away because he began to get faint. He doesn't have good reactions, I suppose.

The dentist had come in and began talking with the EMTs. It was kind of a blur. I was just happy Stephen was okay. His blood pressure had gone up to 109 over 70...something.

We set another appointment for tomorrow at 12pm. I hope this doesn't happen again.

ESA

I finally got an ESA.

Both my psychiatrist and therapist thought it would be a good idea.

I thought it would be a good idea.

Stephen is my everything and, when he's gone so much, I get very lonely. Not that people can help with that - they can't. I'm too afraid of them. And I love cats. So having a cat around could help fix the loneliness. Maybe the responsibility would force me out of bed and get me in the habit of doing things (like taking showers and washing dishes and maybe cooking and cleaning). Who knows? Maybe I'd even get some socialization practice in.

Leading up to the day I got my letter, I was going to Petsmart nearly every day to look at the shelter cats. I'd try to gain connections to them and pet them, but there was a problem. I couldn't really connect to them like I used to. Hardly at all. I felt much less excited and much more apathetic. This had happened before when I visited a friend of mine's foster kittens. I was so excited to see them but, when I got there, I was just...not excited anymore.

Maybe this is what they mean by "losing interest in things you enjoy".

It's not like I had many interests ever. Maybe up to 10, with only three being serious and apparent. Loving and connecting with cats was one of those. I loved cats. I still love them, I feel bad for what they go through, but I can't connect with them anymore.

Anyway, as I was checking out the cats, more and more I'd notice that I just didn't empathically "click" with any of them. It really concerned me, but I just figured I'd find "the one" and we'd click. It didn't happen. In fact, I resolved to get a kitten because I'd concluded that the reason I wasn't finding the right cat was because I needed to start with one as a baby. Maybe I rushed things. When we went to get a cat, Petsmart was in the middle of switching shelters, so they had no cats available. The next closest thing was Animal Ark. I said we'd just check them out. Sure enough, they had three ginger kittens.

They were so cute, obviously, but I was hesitant about the fact that they were orange. For some reason, it really bothered me. I didn't typically gravitate toward orange cats. But our kitten woke up and came right up to the glass and began meowing at us. Stephen liked her, so I thought we'd try out our first orange cat.

After she came home is when I really started breaking down. At first I was bawling because I missed Milo. I felt so incredibly guilty that I had a kitten now. I remembered when Milo was a kitten. I was worried I'd have to give her up too someday. She's an ESA, so I can't be parted with her because of housing, but what if something else happened and I'd have to give her away?

Then I started feeling guilty for all the shelter cats I'd just denied. Here, I got this fresh kitten when I could have easily waited a day to get a cat who has no home, is scared and lonely. Someone else could have gotten this kitten. Why couldn't I just wait a day? Someone (I hope beyond hope) chose Milo over a kitten. How could I not return the favor?

I pushed it to the back of my mind. Someone will give those cats homes, and it's kitten season. Clover could just as easily be homeless.

But then I began to realize that I have to commit to this kitten for the next...maybe 20 years. And I don't have a connection to her. I didn't even know if I liked her. For some reason, her being orange was bothering me, she wasn't Milo, and she wasn't a shelter cat. What am I doing with her? How can I do this when Milo is out there with new owners wondering what he did wrong? A wave of panic overcame me for several hours.

I don't know if I just don't love cats as much as I used to, if I'm shallow enough to dislike orange cats, or if I'm too afraid to connect again because I don't want to have it ripped away from me. I'm trying to get over it. She's a cute kitten. I just worry I've forced myself to make the wrong choice.

Mindfulness

Tim is helping me learn mindfulness this week. Too often, we might find ourselves willingly or unwillingly reliving the hurt of the past. Maybe we even guilt ourselves for things we should've done or regretful things we did. Maybe (especially if you're like me) you burden yourself with worry about the future. Honestly, I believe there is plenty to worry about. A LOT to worry about. But why ruin today with what hasn't even happened yet? Why let today be ruined by something that happened years ago? Or even months ago? Weeks ago?

I do that too much. When I'm alone for even 5 seconds, I'm worrying about something. I'm mulling over memories, future plans, things that scare me, things that have scarred me... If I could truly master mindfulness, I think I'd be a much better person. A much healthier, happier person.

Mindfulness is living in the present. Taking things day by day. Not living in the future or the past, but living each day in it's singular glory.

It sounds easy, but I wonder what I could think about if I'm not thinking of the future or mulling over the past. I wonder what feelings I could feel if I wasn't sad/fatigued/utterly hopeless or worried literally sick.

I hope this would work, anyway.

Bupropion Day 6/GREAT news!

So it clouds my mind, and wrecks my short-term memory. I'm beginning to forget words. I hate that. It also gives me a headache and it hurts my heart. I'd quit it, but I want to try it for a month to make Dr.Knowles happy and to see if it can make me happy.

As far as benefits, there has been nothing as far as depression.

However, this is where great news comes in. As you know, I'm seeing a therapist. It's been surprisingly helpful. If the advice isn't legitimately good or applicable - which it usually is - at least I have someone I know I can trust who will also be impartial.

Anyway, he told me today that my prescription for an emotional support animal is in the making and it will be ready NEXT WEEK!! I'm beyond excited and relieved to not be lonely anymore and to maybe be happier? I'm a little worried it won't help at all, but I think I'm excited.

Now I just have to find a cat or kitten who will love me! And be patient for a week and a day (to tell my landlords).

Bupropion Day 3

I'm not sure how to feel about it.

I love how it's purple! It's my favorite shade of purple.

It makes me dizzy. Kind of light-headed. It's a little harder to walk and think normally. It creates a slight fog in my head, but that's good. Thinking and mulling things over is disastrous.

Today I woke up at around 9:30am as I had a nightmare about being an animal abuse investigator. No thanks, I could never handle that job. So I forced myself awake, and that let me think about a lot of different things. When I get time to think (and even when I don't) my brain takes me on a train ride through every mistake, every horror, every downfall, and every disappointment I've ever experienced. I can't stop it. Last night I finally was able to stop thinking at 6am ish. So I got 3.5 hours of sleep, basically.

A great medication or therapy would stop me from taking those rides. I think that would help a lot. Doing things and distractions would help a lot, except I'm too scared to leave the house.

As far as depression goes, I'm not sure it's helping yet, even though it clearly affects other things. As I mentioned before, it's harder to walk and think (especially short term memory), my pulse is much weaker, but it seems to be positively affecting my sex life. We think. But I cry all the time still. I am still far too afraid to do much of anything. I try to play viola to help, and it does a bit.

Anyway...I'm doing everything I can, but I just don't seem to get anywhere. I keep thinking of finally getting my degree, but I'm not sure it can happen. And, even if I was to get it, who would hire me? What jobs could I possibly work? I have a mostly-crappy school record. I have a mostly-crappy work record because I can't hold a dang job because I can't stand being around people.

Like...when will the chains be loosed? I am doing everything I can, and the depression hasn't improved. Since I began doing all this, the depression has worsened. My anxiety is still monstrous. I can't even imagine taking another job right now. I feel like every time I try and pep-talk myself into doing things and being normal, it just ends badly.

Ugh.

Bupropion Day 1

It's been awhile. 

Things have gotten worse in some ways. The depression is worse. My digestion has gotten worse. But I am liking therapy. I mean...I hate talking about my problems, but I like having someone who can help me with them and will hear all the nitty gritty details of my issues. 

I like having a viola. It's helped immensely just to have something I like to do available. It's really a beautiful viola. 

Anyway, my psychiatrist has me on Bupropion again. I've been on it before, and it was bad. I'd keep getting heart palpitations, so I stopped after only a week. She believes it happened because I was put on too high of a dose too soon. It's a problem with anxiety patients, apparently. At least this has happened to other people, so I'm not too afraid of this medication. 

The problem is - on the first day, mind you - my heart hurts. It's not palpitating, but it feels tight. My body feels tight too. Like...rigid. And I'm more anxious. 

It's frustrating. This one is supposed to be good because, unlike most antidepressants, it will help instead of hinder sexual issues. It can aid in weight loss. What I'm most afraid of is exacerbating my IBS-C. I. Can't. Handle. It. 

Rant alert** I'm this close to getting a colostomy bag. I'm serious. And I'm so tired of hearing people say: Do you drink enough water? Do you take enough fiber? 

I do. I drink more water than most people my age. And yet... here we are. I'm sure there is something tangible that they can find if they just tried. I'm absolutely positive because this was a sudden, intense change. It was not gradual. And it's never gone back to normal - not even once - since April 19th, 2012. 

They just refuse to try because I'm young. Bad things can't happen to young people. 

Yet we know they can. I have PKD. No family history. Out of 1 in 500 to 1 in 1000 people, out of those few, 15% of them are like me. 

So how is it not completely possible to have a simple gut bacteria issue? If some gene mutation can cause my body to kill itself, how can I not have a simple gut bacteria issue? 

I didn't mean to go on a rant, it's just incredibly frustrating to see doctor after doctor just belittle me, if not, completely ignore me. I'd keep getting UTIs (a symptom of PKD), and I can't tell you how many nurses would tell me: "You know you wipe from front to back, right?" 

No s**t. Nursing school taught you that? What a genius. 

It was insulting and, turns out, it wasn't even my fault. 

Anyway, new medication is always scary. I'm going to try it anyway because I want to get better.