I certainly don't. I would so much rather plunk down anywhere from $200-$350 to go to a doctor, have me tell them what's wrong with me, and have them hand me a piece of paper that I then give to someone else, and hand over another $100 or so for the privilege of getting my happy pills, that may or may not work but I'll have to give it a go for at least 3 weeks before I can go back and pay ANOTHER $200 and do it all over again. Oh yes, the joy that inspires in me. And I am so frustrated about all the different medication options. All I want is a simple, easy to understand web site that shows all of my choices, and all of their side effects, in a nice, easily comparable form. Is that so fucking difficult? Yes I know I should be letting my doctor decide which medicine is best based on my history and symptoms and blah blah. And maybe it's too much to ask that the medicine with the particular side effects I want to avoid would also coincide with the particular symptoms I have, but geez, I just really don't want to be stuck taking a medicine that causes more problems than it fixes. Most of the meds I have looked at list sleepiness/drowsiness and weight gain as the side effects. Well, I hate to say it, but if it's going to make me fatter and lazier than I already am, I'm better off just saving my money and sleeping without pharmaceutical aid. Yes, I'm irritable (OK, or in the words of my darling husband, "a raving fucking lunatic"), and I don't want to do anything, but frankly, having to spend that much money to feel as crappy as I already do is going to make me just as cranky, and if I'm broke, if won't matter if I want to do anything - I won't be able to afford it. Grrrr.
And to top it all off, John wants another baby. I do too, I just really wonder if this is the right time for it. Then again, this whole depression thing is something I've been dealing with for years, and it didn't really get any worse with the pregnancy and birth of my youngest, when I was the deepest in the pit of despair, so maybe it wouldn't be such a bad thing. And it would solve my insurance problem. The minute the line turns blue, I get free health care from the native hospital. Gotta love being married to an Indian. But if I go that route, then I really have depression issues, because I really really abhor the idea of taking a daily medication, of any kind, while pregnant. Maybe it's a completely irrational fear, but I was taking various types of medication (pain pills at one point, and allergy pills at another) during the year that I suffered through 3 miscarriages all in a row. That, and no one really knows what causes leukemia, and I just don't think I could live through having to bury another child, especially if it could in any way be linked back to a drug that I took while I as pregnant because I wanted to be a little less grumpy.
Why is it that there is never such a thing as an easy decision in life?
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Monday, January 21, 2008
Post-Holiday Blahhhhh, and More Evidence of my Insanity
Is it just me, or has the blogging world seemed a little, I don't know, quieter lately? I don't know about the rest of the world, but I wonder if it's because of the typical after-holiday let down. Even without the alleged depression thing, I always feel like crap in January, after psyching myself up for Thanksgiving and Christmas. I almost always get sick this time of year, and I have no desire to do ANYTHING. I don't think I'm the only one, though, am I?
Or maybe it's just a girl thing, because John is the exact opposite of me. He has apparently decided that now that the holidays are over, he can start working on all of those house-cleaning and organizing projects he's been wanting to get done since we moved in August. Which essentially translates into ME doing all those house cleaning and organizing projects he wants done. Don't get me wrong, I love my husband, and he's a great guy. He was raised in the very rural South, in the heart of the bible belt, and while he is very enlightened for his breed, he just doesn't have an organizational bone in his body. You should see him pack. Seriously, it gives me nightmares. I guess I am kind of a strange person, in that I don't care how much of a mess my house is (most of the time), but all hidden areas must be organized to the point of obsession. Toys, laundry, blankets all over the floor, couch and any other available surface? Sure, no problem. Dishes out of place inside the cabinets? I can't sleep until it's fixed. And so, when he says things like, "Let's go clean the garage," I know I'm in for a long weekend. His idea of "clean the garage" is clear a walking space by taking everything and shoving it in the first available box and sticking it in the crawl space. My idea of clean the garage is to bring all of the Christmas stuff back in the house, sort it out by type and pack neatly into the appropriate box (he took it all down, not me, or it would have been done right the first time). Then go under the house and move all the stuff around down there until I have a space large enough to fit the two new boxes we added this year, and bring up some of the other stuff needed for other cleaning projects he wants done. Then pick up all the hats, gloves, boots, and other winter ear, sort by size, style, and child, and find a nice, neat storage solution, appropriately labeled, for each item. Then, sort all of the food on the pantry shelves by type. Then, break down and throw away all the boxes left over from the large Christmas presents. Then sort all of the stuff I had been planning to either sell of Craigslist or give away on Freecycle and set them aside in neat, sorted piles, take new pictures, and repost. Then, clean out and reorganize the freezers. Then, go through the paints and cleaning supplies and other miscellaneous fluids stored in the garage and check for expiration dates and empty cans, then resort by type and size and put back. All of this while my kids are in the house, throwing toys at each other across the living room, ripping any paper they find to shreds, and chasing the cats through the house. I swear, it's a disease. I can't help it though, if it's a space no one is going to look in but me, it HAS to be organized. All the clothes hanging in the closet are arranged by type and color. My sock drawer has dividers so I can arrange by type. I have separate containers for the pens and the pencils on my desk, because pens CANNOT be in the same cup as pencils, they might crossbreed and then I would have some mutant pen/pencil hybrid, and the world would come to an end. So my weekend, yeah, it sucked. Because I have this post-holiday blah thing, and I didn't want to clean the garage. So I did some of it. And then I couldn't sleep all night, because I could hear the pantry shelves calling to me, begging me to come put them back in order. And I could hear the Christmas angel, under the house, crying, because I just shoved her in a box mixed with Christmas lights and placemats. And this is why I found myself up at 3:30 this morning, sneaking out into the garage to sooth all my precious shelves with a plan of attack and a promise to finish it all tonight when I get home. As long as John stays far, far away from me.
Or maybe it's just a girl thing, because John is the exact opposite of me. He has apparently decided that now that the holidays are over, he can start working on all of those house-cleaning and organizing projects he's been wanting to get done since we moved in August. Which essentially translates into ME doing all those house cleaning and organizing projects he wants done. Don't get me wrong, I love my husband, and he's a great guy. He was raised in the very rural South, in the heart of the bible belt, and while he is very enlightened for his breed, he just doesn't have an organizational bone in his body. You should see him pack. Seriously, it gives me nightmares. I guess I am kind of a strange person, in that I don't care how much of a mess my house is (most of the time), but all hidden areas must be organized to the point of obsession. Toys, laundry, blankets all over the floor, couch and any other available surface? Sure, no problem. Dishes out of place inside the cabinets? I can't sleep until it's fixed. And so, when he says things like, "Let's go clean the garage," I know I'm in for a long weekend. His idea of "clean the garage" is clear a walking space by taking everything and shoving it in the first available box and sticking it in the crawl space. My idea of clean the garage is to bring all of the Christmas stuff back in the house, sort it out by type and pack neatly into the appropriate box (he took it all down, not me, or it would have been done right the first time). Then go under the house and move all the stuff around down there until I have a space large enough to fit the two new boxes we added this year, and bring up some of the other stuff needed for other cleaning projects he wants done. Then pick up all the hats, gloves, boots, and other winter ear, sort by size, style, and child, and find a nice, neat storage solution, appropriately labeled, for each item. Then, sort all of the food on the pantry shelves by type. Then, break down and throw away all the boxes left over from the large Christmas presents. Then sort all of the stuff I had been planning to either sell of Craigslist or give away on Freecycle and set them aside in neat, sorted piles, take new pictures, and repost. Then, clean out and reorganize the freezers. Then, go through the paints and cleaning supplies and other miscellaneous fluids stored in the garage and check for expiration dates and empty cans, then resort by type and size and put back. All of this while my kids are in the house, throwing toys at each other across the living room, ripping any paper they find to shreds, and chasing the cats through the house. I swear, it's a disease. I can't help it though, if it's a space no one is going to look in but me, it HAS to be organized. All the clothes hanging in the closet are arranged by type and color. My sock drawer has dividers so I can arrange by type. I have separate containers for the pens and the pencils on my desk, because pens CANNOT be in the same cup as pencils, they might crossbreed and then I would have some mutant pen/pencil hybrid, and the world would come to an end. So my weekend, yeah, it sucked. Because I have this post-holiday blah thing, and I didn't want to clean the garage. So I did some of it. And then I couldn't sleep all night, because I could hear the pantry shelves calling to me, begging me to come put them back in order. And I could hear the Christmas angel, under the house, crying, because I just shoved her in a box mixed with Christmas lights and placemats. And this is why I found myself up at 3:30 this morning, sneaking out into the garage to sooth all my precious shelves with a plan of attack and a promise to finish it all tonight when I get home. As long as John stays far, far away from me.
Friday, January 18, 2008
So very tired....
Well if today and yesterday's jumping up and down jubilation is anything to judge by, my depression is a thing of the past. Who knew comments and links would cause such extreme joy? Thank you Kim, Jeni T and Christie so much for making this week so excellent!
On a more serious note, I did call around to different doctors to see about getting some medication advice. Unfortunately, because I am between insurances at the moment, I am looking at a $300 office visit, plus the cost of whatever prescription I get, so I am holding off a little bit longer. Insurance should be up and running again by March, but depending on how I feel over the next couple of weeks, I may just bite the bullet and pay for it sooner. It truly sucks being the only person in the house without reliable insurance. My husband and children are covered all the time, because they are part Native American, but I have to rely on my husband's insurance plan, and since he only works half the year, I'm just not allowed to get sick or hurt during the winter. Oh well.
And on to the bone-crushing exhaustion - Chunky decided that when we told him to go to bed last night, that was just a suggestion, not an order, and he had other plans. We put him to bed at 8:30, he and Peanut were still up giggling and playing with the lights until after 10:00. They finally fell asleep, John went to bed at 11:30, and I laid on the couch reading a book until 1:00. I had just gotten to the point where I was so sleepy I kept dropping the book, when all hell broke loose up in the boys' room. Chunky started screaming at the top of his lungs like he was dying, so I race up the stairs and get him out of bed. He has a very soggy and very stinky diaper, and a raw, sore tushie. So I fix him up and his cuddles with me on the couch, but apparently, he couldn't get comfy enough to sleep because he kept flipping around, kicking me in the face, the stomach, and any other part of me he could find. After fishing his foot out of my nostril for the fourth time, I finally gave up and made him go back to bed. All is good until 3:00am, when the screaming begins anew. No bad diaper this time, just a very upset baby. After calming him down, he decided this time, heck with that sleeping business, it's time to play! So despite all my best efforts, the little demon was awake until 5:00. Finally get him back to bed, and guess what? 6:00am it starts all over. At 7:30, I call into work to be late because I need a nap, forgetting that our bookkeeper has a meeting this morning that will prevent her from being able to fill in for me too. Oops. Luckily, it was a really dull morning. At 10:00, I wake up to a very wet baby patting my face with his very wet hands, and a very annoyed 3 year old informing me "Chunky bwoke TB, Mommy, fitsit PWEEEEEEASE." Apparently, Chunky woke up feeling just fine, and decided to go fishing in the toilet, his new favorite pastime (you through in a truck and fish it back out, sounds fun, doesn't it?), after pushing every button on the remote he could get his fat little fingers on at the same time. And where was John during all this you ask? Well, I THOUGHT he was outside working on the truck, and although I wanted to kill him for leaving the boys essentially unattended, I thought at least he's in the driveway, and probably going back and forth from in to out hunting tools and other miscellaneous stuff. So I get ready for work, and walk out the door to inform him I'm leaving, and I notice something funny about my driveway. What could it be? Oh yeah, there's a car missing! So I try calling him. 4 times. No answer. An hour later, he strolls in, saying he had gone to the library and the parts store, trying to find a repair manual for the truck, and that he had told the boys where he was going and to go wake up Mommy before he left. Umm, excuse me? They are 18 months and 3 years old. Somehow, I don't think they've quite got that whole relaying messages thing down pat yet, but thanks for trying! Idiot. So now, I am sitting at work, trying to look busy while avoiding any possibility of real actual work, and all i really want to do is crawl under my desk and take a nap. Oh yeah, and my head hurts. But hey - the good news is Chunky learned a new skill this morning - he can now fish for TWO trucks at the same time. Go baby!
On a more serious note, I did call around to different doctors to see about getting some medication advice. Unfortunately, because I am between insurances at the moment, I am looking at a $300 office visit, plus the cost of whatever prescription I get, so I am holding off a little bit longer. Insurance should be up and running again by March, but depending on how I feel over the next couple of weeks, I may just bite the bullet and pay for it sooner. It truly sucks being the only person in the house without reliable insurance. My husband and children are covered all the time, because they are part Native American, but I have to rely on my husband's insurance plan, and since he only works half the year, I'm just not allowed to get sick or hurt during the winter. Oh well.
And on to the bone-crushing exhaustion - Chunky decided that when we told him to go to bed last night, that was just a suggestion, not an order, and he had other plans. We put him to bed at 8:30, he and Peanut were still up giggling and playing with the lights until after 10:00. They finally fell asleep, John went to bed at 11:30, and I laid on the couch reading a book until 1:00. I had just gotten to the point where I was so sleepy I kept dropping the book, when all hell broke loose up in the boys' room. Chunky started screaming at the top of his lungs like he was dying, so I race up the stairs and get him out of bed. He has a very soggy and very stinky diaper, and a raw, sore tushie. So I fix him up and his cuddles with me on the couch, but apparently, he couldn't get comfy enough to sleep because he kept flipping around, kicking me in the face, the stomach, and any other part of me he could find. After fishing his foot out of my nostril for the fourth time, I finally gave up and made him go back to bed. All is good until 3:00am, when the screaming begins anew. No bad diaper this time, just a very upset baby. After calming him down, he decided this time, heck with that sleeping business, it's time to play! So despite all my best efforts, the little demon was awake until 5:00. Finally get him back to bed, and guess what? 6:00am it starts all over. At 7:30, I call into work to be late because I need a nap, forgetting that our bookkeeper has a meeting this morning that will prevent her from being able to fill in for me too. Oops. Luckily, it was a really dull morning. At 10:00, I wake up to a very wet baby patting my face with his very wet hands, and a very annoyed 3 year old informing me "Chunky bwoke TB, Mommy, fitsit PWEEEEEEASE." Apparently, Chunky woke up feeling just fine, and decided to go fishing in the toilet, his new favorite pastime (you through in a truck and fish it back out, sounds fun, doesn't it?), after pushing every button on the remote he could get his fat little fingers on at the same time. And where was John during all this you ask? Well, I THOUGHT he was outside working on the truck, and although I wanted to kill him for leaving the boys essentially unattended, I thought at least he's in the driveway, and probably going back and forth from in to out hunting tools and other miscellaneous stuff. So I get ready for work, and walk out the door to inform him I'm leaving, and I notice something funny about my driveway. What could it be? Oh yeah, there's a car missing! So I try calling him. 4 times. No answer. An hour later, he strolls in, saying he had gone to the library and the parts store, trying to find a repair manual for the truck, and that he had told the boys where he was going and to go wake up Mommy before he left. Umm, excuse me? They are 18 months and 3 years old. Somehow, I don't think they've quite got that whole relaying messages thing down pat yet, but thanks for trying! Idiot. So now, I am sitting at work, trying to look busy while avoiding any possibility of real actual work, and all i really want to do is crawl under my desk and take a nap. Oh yeah, and my head hurts. But hey - the good news is Chunky learned a new skill this morning - he can now fish for TWO trucks at the same time. Go baby!
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
Ummm, wow...
I got my first ever, shiny, pretty link in someone else's blog. Holy cow, can we say excited? Yay me! Umm, but wait, I haven't written anything in weeks... and ummm, all my whining over here is kinda, I don't know, whiny. Umm, must post quickly and pore over previous entries to make sure nothing too horrible has been said...
So anywho, how was Christmas and all those over lovely holiday type events for you? Mine was surprisingly, not too bad. A little disappointing, considering my dad decided to take advantage of the 4 day weekend by getting so completely drunk he didn't even sleep for 3 days, forgetting my daughter's birthday completely, and falling on the ice numerous times, but not really feeling anything until he sobered up, briefly, Christmas morning (by briefly, I mean he woke up in horrible pain, and by 10am was trashed again), so he didn't show up for Christmas either. And all of our friends that come over last year for Christmas had their own plans this year, so we didn't have any visitors. In a way though, it was nice, not having to get dressed and look nice for anyone, not having to worry about wrapping paper strewn all over, not having to make a meal because we said we would by any particular time, just whenever we got hungry. The boys loved their beds, Princess loved her litter box, and all was right with the world. I was incredibly spoiled this year by John - he is really good at the Christmas thing, I however, suck at it mightily. At least I'm consistent I suppose.
New Year's was kinda crappy. We don't normally do anything anyway, but John was in a lot of pain and was incredibly cranky, so he was in bed by 9, and I stayed up and read until 3. That was pretty much the extent of the day. Exciting, no?
For the past few weeks, everyone around me has been in pain or sick, so that's been fun. John fell down the stairs and dislocated his ankle. My dad ended up in the ER New Year's Eve on a morphine drip because of his back pain. I got some funky headache/laryngitis thing that made me miss 3 days of work, and I NEVER take time off for being sick. So that was fun.
And now, nothing much new happening, the kids are back in school, everyone's pretty much healthy and mostly pain free, and Murphy continues to slap me in the face every chance I get. My car broke down in Anchorage yesterday, not once, but twice. The first time, I was halfway in a parking lot, halfway in a small side street, and sat there for 3 hours before anyone could come rescue me and get my car running again. The second time, I was at a light in the middle of town, just barely outside of rush hour traffic, and it took another 20 minutes to get moving again. I had been on my way to make a delivery for work, and by the time the car was running again, the business I was delivering to had closed, so I figured I would do it today. Turns out, it had to be there yesterday to make it on an emergency flight to the Bush last night. So now I'm in trouble for not getting it there. And the best news? I didn't have to deliver it at all. The company had sent a courier to us to drop off some stuff and pick that up, but they didn't do it until after I had left to go deliver. And someone was supposed to have called me to see what the delivery status was. If they had, I would have been able to have the courier come to my broken down car and pick it up. But no one called, so here I am today wondering how deep of trouble I'm going to be in. Sigh.
In case you were wondering, the reason I am linked in someone else's blog today is because of a post about depression. I have been struggling for the last two years, mostly since my son died, to deal with this overwhelming case of blah that just never really seems to go away. Don't get me wrong, I have good days. But most days, I'm just exhausted all the time, and I really don't care about much of anything. And I'm angry, so freaking angry all the time. And for the longest time, I have thought, well, maybe it's just the grieving process, and then I had a baby, and I thought, well, I've never had PPD before, but maybe I do this time, and then I thought, maybe I'm just sick or something. But I think I need to face that this just isn't going to go away. And to be completely honest, this isn't the first time. Granted, it's worse now than ever before, but when I was younger, I had a lot of issues like this, times when I could barely get out of bed every day, times when I was so angry at everyone and everything that I did really incredibly stupid stuff, just to feel SOMETHING. But I always pictured depression as something different. Literally being unable to get out of bed, crying all the time, not being able to eat, or even hold a conversation. I'm not like that. I get out of bed, just really reluctantly. I rarely cry, and never for no reason at all. I function, I just feel nothing most of the time. So when I read Kim' description of depression, especially her "death by a thousand paper cuts," I thought, well, hmm, maybe there is something to this depression thingy after all. So now I am researching medication. And I'm just waiting for the day I have insurance again so I can go to the doctor. Which should be in about 2 more months, so we'll see what happens between now and then. I think I'm going to try to find an alternative before then though, I just feel like, if this is what's really wrong with me, I want to fix it now, I don't want to wait. So I'll update as soon as I'm able.
And now, back to work I go.
So anywho, how was Christmas and all those over lovely holiday type events for you? Mine was surprisingly, not too bad. A little disappointing, considering my dad decided to take advantage of the 4 day weekend by getting so completely drunk he didn't even sleep for 3 days, forgetting my daughter's birthday completely, and falling on the ice numerous times, but not really feeling anything until he sobered up, briefly, Christmas morning (by briefly, I mean he woke up in horrible pain, and by 10am was trashed again), so he didn't show up for Christmas either. And all of our friends that come over last year for Christmas had their own plans this year, so we didn't have any visitors. In a way though, it was nice, not having to get dressed and look nice for anyone, not having to worry about wrapping paper strewn all over, not having to make a meal because we said we would by any particular time, just whenever we got hungry. The boys loved their beds, Princess loved her litter box, and all was right with the world. I was incredibly spoiled this year by John - he is really good at the Christmas thing, I however, suck at it mightily. At least I'm consistent I suppose.
New Year's was kinda crappy. We don't normally do anything anyway, but John was in a lot of pain and was incredibly cranky, so he was in bed by 9, and I stayed up and read until 3. That was pretty much the extent of the day. Exciting, no?
For the past few weeks, everyone around me has been in pain or sick, so that's been fun. John fell down the stairs and dislocated his ankle. My dad ended up in the ER New Year's Eve on a morphine drip because of his back pain. I got some funky headache/laryngitis thing that made me miss 3 days of work, and I NEVER take time off for being sick. So that was fun.
And now, nothing much new happening, the kids are back in school, everyone's pretty much healthy and mostly pain free, and Murphy continues to slap me in the face every chance I get. My car broke down in Anchorage yesterday, not once, but twice. The first time, I was halfway in a parking lot, halfway in a small side street, and sat there for 3 hours before anyone could come rescue me and get my car running again. The second time, I was at a light in the middle of town, just barely outside of rush hour traffic, and it took another 20 minutes to get moving again. I had been on my way to make a delivery for work, and by the time the car was running again, the business I was delivering to had closed, so I figured I would do it today. Turns out, it had to be there yesterday to make it on an emergency flight to the Bush last night. So now I'm in trouble for not getting it there. And the best news? I didn't have to deliver it at all. The company had sent a courier to us to drop off some stuff and pick that up, but they didn't do it until after I had left to go deliver. And someone was supposed to have called me to see what the delivery status was. If they had, I would have been able to have the courier come to my broken down car and pick it up. But no one called, so here I am today wondering how deep of trouble I'm going to be in. Sigh.
In case you were wondering, the reason I am linked in someone else's blog today is because of a post about depression. I have been struggling for the last two years, mostly since my son died, to deal with this overwhelming case of blah that just never really seems to go away. Don't get me wrong, I have good days. But most days, I'm just exhausted all the time, and I really don't care about much of anything. And I'm angry, so freaking angry all the time. And for the longest time, I have thought, well, maybe it's just the grieving process, and then I had a baby, and I thought, well, I've never had PPD before, but maybe I do this time, and then I thought, maybe I'm just sick or something. But I think I need to face that this just isn't going to go away. And to be completely honest, this isn't the first time. Granted, it's worse now than ever before, but when I was younger, I had a lot of issues like this, times when I could barely get out of bed every day, times when I was so angry at everyone and everything that I did really incredibly stupid stuff, just to feel SOMETHING. But I always pictured depression as something different. Literally being unable to get out of bed, crying all the time, not being able to eat, or even hold a conversation. I'm not like that. I get out of bed, just really reluctantly. I rarely cry, and never for no reason at all. I function, I just feel nothing most of the time. So when I read Kim' description of depression, especially her "death by a thousand paper cuts," I thought, well, hmm, maybe there is something to this depression thingy after all. So now I am researching medication. And I'm just waiting for the day I have insurance again so I can go to the doctor. Which should be in about 2 more months, so we'll see what happens between now and then. I think I'm going to try to find an alternative before then though, I just feel like, if this is what's really wrong with me, I want to fix it now, I don't want to wait. So I'll update as soon as I'm able.
And now, back to work I go.
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