I had my FaceTime visit with Dr Melfi today, and we decided that it's time for me to get a script for Xanax on board to help stop the panic attacks at dialysis.
So I call my family doctor, Dr N, and I explain the entire thing to her medical assistant.
In great detail.
About how I am deep breathing and looking at pictures of sunsets and coloring mandalas and thinking happy thoughts and petting a virtual puppies and practicing good sleep hygiene and counting backwards from 100 and stitching and baking and reading and deep-knee bending and all of the other things I can do to just. calm. the. bleepity bleep. down.
Wait for it...
You know it's coming...
I went into the kitchen and re-filled my 27ounce cup of damn good with number seven for the day.
What can I say, Dearies?
Sometimes I am just not smart enough to work my way out of a wet paper bag with two hands, a flashlight, and a pair of scissors.
Never fear. I'm still going to slurp my damn good with impunity, but will switch it to decaf the minute I start to get twitchy and hear colors and taste sounds and smell words. I've kind of enjoyed that, and have found it a pleasant way to pass the time, but I guess keeping Starbucks in business isn't doing me any favors in the fritzing department.
On a more serious note...
If you are struggling at the moment and have issues with anxiety or depression or....anything, really, please please please do not be afraid to ask for help. You're not nuts. You're not a hypochondriac. You're a human person in an extraordinary circumstance.
And watch the caffeine.