Tuesday
Apr192005
Damn, I Just Can't Come Up With a Good Nickname
Tuesday, April 19, 2005 at 06:59PM
So, yeah, I mentioned I was going to see the doctor today, right? The doctor I still can't come up with a cute name for. *sheesh* When he asked me what I wanted to talk about I almost said, "I am SO losing my touch, pal. We need to find it RIGHT NOW."
Although, in a way, I guess I did.
Does anyone else try to come up with the perfect combination of the smallest amount of words with the most amount of information on the way to the doctor? You know, you want to get as much info in their hands, so to speak, before they get all impatient and cut you off. My doctor's not so much like that but I do it anyways so I don't end up rambling on and on and on. He's actually one of those guys that really does monitor his patient's progress so, you may have noticed this, I see him A LOT. I try to keep it short and sweet.
What I came up with today was trying to explain to him that the things I've felt over the last few years - the irritability and the crying at the drop of a hat, interspersed with the little excited Jenny bits - I've been figuring they'd get better, see? It's the depression and so all I had to do was take the damn pills and do good things for myself - the exercise and being aware that getting irrationally angry at that person walking up the parking ramp under the sign that says do not walk on ramp was a bit counter productive since I'd be walking up the bloody ramp myself if I were out there. To eat right and sleep right and not really drink etc etc etc. Then those other things would get better, right? Cause it's just my personality that's so used to reacting in those ways, right? All those years, it would make sense that I'd get more irritable and shit eventually - we just become MORE of who we are as we get older, after all.
Wrong.
I'm always wrong about the important shit, you know? Lesley remarked last weekend that she was utterly floored that, being one of the most intelligent people she knew, I never thought there was anything wrong with me for all those years. She just looked at me, shaking her head. I'd catch her when she thought I wasn't looking. Just sitting and shaking her head at me.
If any of you are paying real close attention, you'll remember that a few weeks ago the doctor asked if we should maybe adjust my meds and I got all pissed off cause I figure "NO, this will work out, the Wellbutrin is doing exactly what it's supposed to, the rest is my fault and I'll deal with it." Wrong again. And yes, Rob, I agree with you that I want to fix things myself but eventually I will admit that I can't. I just have to try first, that's all.
So, my lovely doctor has split the meds - he says if I'm sleeping well and have a good appetite then it seems likes it's brain chemical Moe that I have the problem with (if we call the three that I can't be arsed to spell right now, saaaaaay, Larry, Curly and Moe fr'instance). Then I'll take Larry's buddy in the morning and Moe's buddy at night and (I quote)
"You are doing everything right. Everything. So, it's obvious that this is completely a chemical imbalance and with a little tweaking, we'll have you right as rain."
What? I swear, I don't think I've ever been told I'm doing everything right in my entire life. There's always a ...but.... It felt kind of cool. Of course, Moe is the drug that made me lose my appetite and a shitload of weight last year when I took it alone so I'll not be keeping my fingers crossed that it's a keeper, but only the first in a series of tests. Which is fine with me, because I'm doing everything right.
Then he high-fived me for being a non-smoker for 6 months and smacked me in the back of the head with my chart on my way out the door, saying, "I'll see you in two weeks."
I'll tell you this, again... . good doctors are a blessing. MY doctors are a blessing. I wish I could share them with some of you.
Although, in a way, I guess I did.
Does anyone else try to come up with the perfect combination of the smallest amount of words with the most amount of information on the way to the doctor? You know, you want to get as much info in their hands, so to speak, before they get all impatient and cut you off. My doctor's not so much like that but I do it anyways so I don't end up rambling on and on and on. He's actually one of those guys that really does monitor his patient's progress so, you may have noticed this, I see him A LOT. I try to keep it short and sweet.
What I came up with today was trying to explain to him that the things I've felt over the last few years - the irritability and the crying at the drop of a hat, interspersed with the little excited Jenny bits - I've been figuring they'd get better, see? It's the depression and so all I had to do was take the damn pills and do good things for myself - the exercise and being aware that getting irrationally angry at that person walking up the parking ramp under the sign that says do not walk on ramp was a bit counter productive since I'd be walking up the bloody ramp myself if I were out there. To eat right and sleep right and not really drink etc etc etc. Then those other things would get better, right? Cause it's just my personality that's so used to reacting in those ways, right? All those years, it would make sense that I'd get more irritable and shit eventually - we just become MORE of who we are as we get older, after all.
Wrong.
I'm always wrong about the important shit, you know? Lesley remarked last weekend that she was utterly floored that, being one of the most intelligent people she knew, I never thought there was anything wrong with me for all those years. She just looked at me, shaking her head. I'd catch her when she thought I wasn't looking. Just sitting and shaking her head at me.
If any of you are paying real close attention, you'll remember that a few weeks ago the doctor asked if we should maybe adjust my meds and I got all pissed off cause I figure "NO, this will work out, the Wellbutrin is doing exactly what it's supposed to, the rest is my fault and I'll deal with it." Wrong again. And yes, Rob, I agree with you that I want to fix things myself but eventually I will admit that I can't. I just have to try first, that's all.
So, my lovely doctor has split the meds - he says if I'm sleeping well and have a good appetite then it seems likes it's brain chemical Moe that I have the problem with (if we call the three that I can't be arsed to spell right now, saaaaaay, Larry, Curly and Moe fr'instance). Then I'll take Larry's buddy in the morning and Moe's buddy at night and (I quote)
What? I swear, I don't think I've ever been told I'm doing everything right in my entire life. There's always a ...but.... It felt kind of cool. Of course, Moe is the drug that made me lose my appetite and a shitload of weight last year when I took it alone so I'll not be keeping my fingers crossed that it's a keeper, but only the first in a series of tests. Which is fine with me, because I'm doing everything right.
Then he high-fived me for being a non-smoker for 6 months and smacked me in the back of the head with my chart on my way out the door, saying, "I'll see you in two weeks."
I'll tell you this, again... . good doctors are a blessing. MY doctors are a blessing. I wish I could share them with some of you.
Reader Comments (1)
david