My Day

Haven’t posted since getting back from Ohio. Had several weeks of recuperating, a day or two of decent health. Murphy went to camp, which I’m going to write about in a more pleasant post, but this, unfortunately for you, Kind Reader, is not going to be a pleasant post.  This post is about My Day Today.

So, here’s my day.

I wake up early, and as usual, my laptop won’t connect to our internet somehow.  I can’t figure out what the problem is; sometimes it works great, other times it connects for two seconds, then disconnects over and over.  It’s not the ISP; all the other computers in the house work fine, so it’s something in the way my laptop communicates with the router.  Go figure.

I take my handful of meds with my coffee and breakfast and go to take a shower.  I’ve been heartbroken about  being out of my favorite soap and shampoo, made by Lush. Fragrance is Karma, a blend of patchouli and orange, which is strange because while I love patchouli, I hate orange.  But it works.  Anyway, on a whim, I look under the other sink in my bathroom in the box I keep my Lush treasures in, thinking there might be a sample of something else in there, and what do I find?  TWO bars of Karma shampoo bars.  I leave it to you to visualize the dancing of the happy dance naked in the bathroom, or not, as you prefer.

I take my shower, no mean feat for me. Taking a shower wipes me out, but I’m bright and shiny simply because of my Karma. I get dressed and go to work.

That’s where the trouble begins.  My boss, BR, is not home, and her fiancee is, and obviously torqued off. They’ve been having issues lately, trying to see if they can save the relationship, and I think uh oh, maybe not!   I sit down at the desk and sigh. The desk is piled HIGH with disorganized miscellaneous papers.  Bills, mail, lesson notes, club info, catalogs, checks and payment receipts, tons of stuff to sift through before I can even begin to figure out what I need to be doing.  There are three companies that I’m doing bookkeeping and administration for, each with a clearly marked inbox, yet only about half make it to the correct box. Of the remaining half, half go in the wrong box, and half are strewn all over the L shaped desk.

So I wade through the papers as much as I can.  It’s so awkward for me because there are hundreds (literally) of notes scrawled on the backs of envelopes, on lined paper torn from legal pads, on torn up recycled scrap, all over everywhere, and I don’t like to mess up her piles,or delve too deeply into what it is, because I don’t know what’s personal, what’s confidential-none-of-even-an-admin’s-business, and what is stuff I’m supposed to deal with.  I do my best and after about 40 minutes, I have a little bit of a clue; well, I found the mail, opened and sorted it, and figured out what bills need entering, as well as cleared a small work space.

I begin doing my thing, and run into the next snag. The printer was out of cyan ink for weeks, and hooray! they finally installed new cartridges!  But the  *%&$(+ HP machine (or the computer, actually, now that I think of it, it has to be the computer) still thinks the cyan ink is out.  Despite the lovely ink indicator widget that shows it’s full. I have a work around that manages for a while, maybe an hour or so. BR comes home, obviously torqued off, and in a rush, because a client is at the door.  She needs copies of the intake forms, which I manage to print for her, and she asks for several more copies for later. I start trying to diagnose the problem.  I align the cartridge. I clean the print heads. I check there’s no tape over the thingys.  I reboot the printer.  I re-install the cartridge through the program on the printer.  Nothing works.  I try the help forum on HP; astoundingly unhelpful. I finally decide to reboot the computer.

Disaster.  The laptop will not boot back up. I try and try and try, for fifteen to twenty minutes, same thing every time; the computer stops booting really early in the sequence.  Finally, radically, in an effort to NOT have to take the laptop to the repair shop, I try accessing the BIOS during boot up- it works!  Get to the BIOS menu, continue boot up from there, and magically, it works.

By this time, it’s almost time for me to leave. I tidy up and write BR a note.  The same note that I’ve now written three times.  I need her bank statement from May, in order to reconcile her account. That’s right, I said MAY.  Her bank account is online, and if I ask her to log in while I am there, she gets all flustered and upset and can’t remember how to log in.  So I’m trying to get her to print it out for me when no one is looking over her shoulder. You need to understand that BR uses her debit card for EVERYTHING and keeps no record, so at the end of the month I have to enter a hundred or so individual debits into QB to keep her account equal to the bank.  Now, add to all this knowledge the fact that she pays in and out of ALL THREE separate companies; a trust from her parents, her personal, and the business account; she pays in and out of all three accounts sort of indiscriminately.  No funny business at all, don’t misunderstand, just a disorganized mind and a poor understanding of accounting.

In the note, I also ask again about the mortgage bill, which here on the 6th of the month, I have not seen yet (due on the 1st).  She has no clue.  She will go and pay it at the bank, with a check I will have no record of, and I will also have no record of the principal vs interest on her adjustable rate mortgage to post. Sigh.

So, for three more-complicated-than-they-need-to-be accounts, I work three hours, twice a week.  How much can I realistically get done?  Pretty much the only productive, necessary thing I got done today was putting the business deposit together to take to the bank.

The one good thing about the work situation is that both of them, BR in particular, don’t usually take their stress out on me; they speak civilly to me at worst, and nicely most of the time, but seriously, the tension in the house is ungodly. I’m so glad they don’t have kids.

So I come home.  Too tired to go to the bank, and not enough time, really. I get a phone call from Murphy’s school; they want me to come work for them. Gratis, of course.   Dear god.  Really? You’re going to do this to me now?  They need someone in the office two days a week, 8 am to 2 pm  and since we’re applying for a scholarship and all….. I’m freaking out; first of all I’m driving, and I hate talking on the phone while driving, but when I saw it was the school… well you know I’m a catastrophic thinker.  I’ve got all these thoughts in my head – what if this is a threat to our scholarship?  Why, just when I was getting some bites on paid fiber ed jobs?  Why, when last week I couldn’t even walk without a cane and my brain is turning to mush besides?  But maybe if I was volunteering, it could turn into a paid position, and she even said as much, and how cool would that be?  I explain my situation a bit, and say I’ll talk it over with the Beloved and get back to her.  And I’m home.

I have a doctor’s appointment at 1:30.  I’m famished, but the only quick food at hand is tuna salad, and I took pity on the poor doc and opted for rice cakes and vegan cream cheese. Tidy myself up, leave, and am at my appointment 10 minutes early.

Now, I take the 1:30 appt because it’s the first appointment after lunch, and theoretically, they shouldn’t be behind. So, I sit and wait, and knit, and sit…. actually, today the wait actually wasn’t bad, only about 20 minutes or so.  From the appointment time.  I limp in to the prep room, get weighed (if you had an appointment every day, they would still weigh you.  Drives me nuts.)  I note that I have gained about four pounds in two weeks; partly due to fluid retention, and partly due to old habits slipping back in.  I’ve been so stressed, and so immobile to fix my own meals as much, that I’m starting to make poor choices again, which feeds more poor choices.  This has to stop now.  They take my blood pressure, 120/90.  My diastolic tends toward the high, but no one in this office has ever even commented on it. Mostly, it hasn’t been that high, but like I said, I’ve been under a lot of stress lately.

I head towards the exam room; they asked why am I here?  Duh, cause he told me to make an appointment for two weeks last time!  I give the poor nurse a break and say for Fibromyalgia follow up.  She asks my pain level, and actually, it’s not horrible, so I say 6.  She says, the doctor will be in shortly.  So I sit, and I knit, and I sit, and I sit…. The longer I sit, the more my pain worsens. I do focused breathing while knitting, and it helps a bit. Finally, the doctor comes in.  He’s pleasant, as he always is.  I do note that since I took my husband with me, he does seem to take me more seriously; don’t know if that has anything to do with it, or if it has more to do with an actual diagnosis by someone he thinks is smarter than him, but either way, it works.

He asks “What can we do for you today,” and again, I think YOU wanted me to come in. I ask about the ultrasound of my thyroid I had last week, and he’s flustered, he hasn’t seen it. I ask about the status of the consults I’m supposed to be getting: ENT, GI, PT, Rheumatology; again, he knows nothing. I ask about the preauthorization he was going to get for my thyroid med that is no longer covered, and the Lyrica we wanted to start; again, nothing. He says “you haven’t heard anything?”  I’m supposed to hear?

He goes to check on those things with the nurses in the office, and I sit. and knit, and sit. While I sit my doctor visits two other people and a pharmaceutical rep.  I know that he did, because the walls are so thin that even with the doors closed I can hear what’s being said.  I even heard the nurse discuss the approach to take with Medicaid in approving my meds. I sit, and I sit, and I sit.  The longer I sit in that horrible chair, the worse my back is getting, and my pain has moved from a 6 to an 8.  I’ve had no pain med today, and I’m miserable. I’m shifting around in my seat like a hyperactive 5 year old at a birthday party – in a candy store!

Finally, he comes back, tells me the work around we’re using with the meds, so I’ll get them tomorrow.  Tells me they’re still working on the consults, and tells me the u/s showed my thyroid was slightly enlarged, but not enough to cause the trouble swallowing I’m having.  He can’t think what might be causing it, and says the ENT will figure it out.  If I ever see him.

He makes the mistake of asking if there’s anything else he can do for me. Well, yes, there is.  I feel shaky in the afternoons. My hands  and sometimes my legs, have tremors, sometimes (not often) bad enough that it’s hard to knit. This is a problem, since I’m currently trying to earn a living (unsuccessfully, but he doesn’t need to know that) by knitting. To my surprise, he actually pays attention to this one.  He does a bunch of “touch your nose” type neuro tests, and while I pass, he can visually see my hands shaking. He’s not quite sure what to do about this either, and starts thinking about a new med, and I stop him.  I’d rather know WHY.  We decide that until it gets worse or there’s other symptoms, we’ll just “watch” it.  I leave with new meds called in, still waiting for consults, with an appointment guess when?  Two weeks.

I’m really grateful to be able to see a doctor; I know a lot of people aren’t able to, people in worse shape than me. But still, I think, here is medicine at the bottom of the barrel.  Literally across the parking lot is a Complimentary Doctor I’d love to go to; a doctor that blends “alternative” medicine with “regular” medicine, who has an open mind, who could provide treatment and medication and testing that is simply not available to those on Medicaid. I know that his office is private enough not to hear other people in the hall or even across the hall.  Instead, I have a doctor who seems less than sure of himself, who doesn’t seem to understand a lot of what I say,or what I’m going through (although, I must admit, he was much better today!) in a clinic with paper thin walls and a door that must be unlocked to let you into the examining area. I would LOVE to see a chiropractor, and it’s even covered on Medi-Cal (though I’m not sure about the new Gold Coast (ptooey), but that doesn’t matter much when there isn’t a single one that accepts it. PT would help a lot too, but the consult for that has been pending for 2 months, as have all the others listed above.

So anyway, I get my appointment scheduled and get ready to leave.  Suddenly, my phone rings.  Now, when I went home between work and doctor, the Beloved was out cold on the couch.  I got my snack, cleaned up and left with him still snoring. I forgot that today was Murphy’s first real day back at school, and he needed to be picked up at 2:30.  My phone rang at 2:57. It’s the Beloved. No one had picked up Murphy.  He seems a bit annoyed. The Beloved does drive him to school in the morning, and I usually pick him up, but with the crappy day I’ve been having, coupled with it being the first full day and me forgetting to set my alarm, the appointment that I didn’t expect to last an hour and a half, and the fact that the Beloved had passed out as soon as he got back from dropping him off, and slept through my noon visit, I thought he’d probably be awake to pick him up.  Of course, he didn’t know what kind of a day I was having; the last time he saw me I was doing the dance of joy.  A wee bit of a miscommunication deal here. So, I go pick up Murphy and drive home, not looking forward to soccer practice at 4:30. Thank goodness, the Beloved agreed to that duty, and even said he’d get pizza for dinner, so I can rest. Instead, I wrote this train wreck of a journal entry.  Helped to get it out anyway. It’s now almost six o’clock; hopefully the rest of the evening will be peaceful; tomorrow is Murphy’s birthday and I have a TON of stuff to do. Sigh.

You know with the exception of a few major meltdown days a month (you know what I mean girls…) I’m really a very happy person.

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Watch out; another rant.

My clinic just called, to inform me that Dr. A, who I’ve been seeing for around two months, will no longer be seeing patients at this clinic, only the one in Ventura. So tomorrow’s appointment will be with the only other doctor in Ojai that takes Medicaid patients; the one who told me I should see Dr. A because he felt “incompetent to treat (my) complicated illness.” Oh joy.

I’m trying not to see this as a setback.  Failing, somewhat, but trying.  Now that I’m starting to think okay, maybe it really is FM, maybe I can work with Dr. S on Dr. A’s plan.  He was a little more amenable to suggestion than Dr. A, so we’ll see.  It’s very hard though.  I feel like I have little say in my care.  I have to fight the medical community, the financial setbacks, the loss of my mobility and strength, the pain, the guilt of not contributing to the home.  Oh yeah, and the pain and exhaustion.  And the pain.

If it doesn’t work, I guess I can always make appointments with Dr. A in Ventura, though that increases the cost of a free visit  a bit.  I’ll see how tomorrow goes first. Maybe he’ll work the Rheumatologist angle, since he was so eager to turf me before.

Disappointment

So, after a day and a half of improvement, today is not going well.  I woke up aching before I  even moved out of bed.  The tinnitus is bad today, and the newest symptom, which I’ve had on and off for a week or two, a burning sensation in the soles of my feet, is so bad I don’t want to put my feet on the floor.

It’s extremely discouraging.  I had really begun to believe that the Neurotonin was helping; I suppose it still may be, but it would have been awfully nice to have more than 36 hours of relief.

The noise in my head is so distracting I can’t knit; added to the distraction of my soles being on fire and my threshold of stimulation is so over the top I can barely keep from screaming.  The TV is alternately too loud and too soft, sometimes both at the same time.

I’m trying to distract myself with more pleasant things but not having a ton of success.  The current political debate is too depressing to even try to contemplate.  Going to go teach Eric how to braid…

Bait and Switch

I feel like I’ve been taken.

Went to the Doc on Tuesday to follow up on our last appointment and get the results of my CT.  Negative, as expected.  Doc is convinced I have fibromyalgia, and wanted to start me on Cymbalta.   If you’re not familiar with it, Cymbalta is an antidepressant.  However, it is also prescribed specifically for fibromyalgia pain.  Having reached the end of my rope and willing to try almost anything, I dutifully read the literature she gave me (explaining the horrifying possible side effects) and filled the prescription.

I got home from the pharmacy, took out the bottle and was astounded to find that the bottle contained not Cymbalta, but Effexor.  Effexor is of course, another antidepressant.  So I called the doctor to find out what was going on; she said that Medicaid will not pay for first tier drugs until the cheaper drugs have been tried and failed.  Nice of someone to tell me.  She said they’re in the same class, same side effects, and that it was worth a try.  So, that night, I took it.

Since then, I’ve had a bunch of strange symptoms, some of which I’ve had before but not this bad, and some totally new ones. So I went to check the side effects.  I was terrified at what I found out.  Yes, the side effects are similar to Cymbalta, and yes, it is used (off label) for fibromyalgia sometimes.  That was the good news.  The bad?  Effexor has the worst in it’s class record for withdrawal symptoms.  Coming off this drug for some people seems to be as bad as heroin withdrawal.  Incapacitating dizziness, nausea,  what they call “brain shocks”, a painful sort of zapping feeling in your brain and down your neck and shoulders.  These symptoms (and more) can last from two weeks to several months.  The stories of the people who’ve experienced this are terrifying.

I feel like they’ve been trying to get me to take antidepressants so hard that now they’ve pulled a bait and switch.  I was willing to try the Cymbalta since it is supposed to help with fibromyalgia pain totally aside from it’s anti-depressant effects. But instead, I’m on a dangerous drug that probably will not help, and will make me feel horrendous when I stop it.

As far as I’m concerned, the side effects I’ve already experienced are enough to stop taking it.  Insomnia, dizziness, hiccups, nausea, headache.  Most of what I’ve read say that the withdrawal symptoms happen after six weeks of treatment, so hopefully with only four doses, I won’t have any problem.  I’m just so angry that I wasn’t told. 

In more pleasant news; Murphy got to ride in the Ojai Valley Little League parade float for the fourth of July.  He was proud.  As were we.  I tried to get a picture but of course, my phone chose that very moment to notify  me that the battery was low, so the float had moved before I could get close.

We went to the fireworks too, and that was fun; they do a good job every year. Ojai is such a great community, and the parade really illustrates its diversity; hippies, Mexicans, Indians, Hindus, kids, cars, tractors, dancers, bands of every sort.  It was HOT though.

My plum jelly has been a hit; I ended up with 24 jars. Still have a few more plums, but haven’t really had the strength to do much with them.  Tried dehydrating them to prunes with less success; they came out rock hard.  I think next time I’ll try halving them.

Witches Brew Roving

I’m spinning for the Tour de Fleece; it’s an annual event held during the Tour de France, where spinners all over the world commit to spinning every day the race runs, and often set specific goals.  I’m on a Ravelry team, the Lantern Rouge, which is a “I’m not sure I can spin every day but I’ll try” team.  I’ve spun at least a tiny bit every day but one, and on the fourth, watching a “Firefly” marathon, I managed to spin a full ounce!  Here’s the fiber I’m spinning; the colorway is “Witches Brew.”  I was aiming for  fingering or sport weight, but I think it’s ending up more worsted.  I really like it so far; today may be a plying day as my bobbin is almost full.Tour de Fleece spinning

If I finish the pound of this fiber I have before the end of the Tour, I have some gorgeous merino/tencel blend that I’ve been waiting to spin until I was “good enough.”  My last few bobbins have been  lovely and even, so I think I might be ready to give it a go.  I spin so slowly though that I might not finish the pound; that is a LOT of fiber!  I have no clue what I’ll make from the yarn, but I can’t wait to see how it looks plied.  I may do one bobbin navajo plied and one plied back on itself to see the difference in the colors; should be fun!

Off to clean my room; I’ve been feeling so badly that everything has been let slide.  Disaster area doesn’t begin to cover it.  Ever seen “Hoarders?”   Approaching that level…

Roller Coaster Ride

So, the more I learn, the more I need to know, and the more complicated it gets.

Over the last two months or so, I’ve been through a bad cycle that I believe was touched off by starting the Armour Thyroid and not being dosed appropriately.  According to the “Stop The Thyroid Madness” website, staying too long at a low dose of NTH (natural thyroid hormone) causes a feedback loop:

STAYING ON A STARTING DOSE TOO LONG. The key to understanding this mistake is with the word “starting dose”. When first starting on any natural desiccated thyroid product, it can be wise to start on one grain or less, which is lower than you will ultimately need. Why? To help your body adjust to the direct T3. BUT, patients have found it UNWISE to stay on that low dose much longer than 2 weeks without raising. Why? Because hypothyroid symptoms can return with a VENGEANCE due to the feedback loop between the hypothalamus, pituitary and thyroid gland, i.e your hypothalamus gland senses the addition of desiccated thyroid (thinking the thyroid sent it), then sends a message to the pituitary gland, which in turn sends a message to the thyroid gland to stop producing, making you even more hypothyroid than you began.

Additionally, I never checked my adrenals or my ferritin.  Adrenal fatigue would explain some of the other bizarre symptoms I’ve been having. Again, per STTM:

THINKING YOU ARE ON TOO MUCH BECAUSE OF HYPER-SYMPTOMS Yes, a doctor can guide you to  go too high with desiccated thyroid and you’ll have hyper symptoms. You would then want to decrease your amount. But even more common is having hyper-like symptoms (anxiety, shakiness, fast heart rate, etc), especially on doses lower than 3 grains, because of underlying low-functioning adrenals (i.e. not enough cortisol), or even a low Ferritin—-each and/or both of which can be quite common in hypothyroid patients.

That sure sounds like the episodes I’ve been having.  It’s so hard to determine what’s going on, since so many of the problems have the same symptoms.  So now I’m stuck in nowhere land.  My last lab showed a low TSH and a high T3 which told my doctor I was on too much, and he told me to stop taking it.  I’m not seeing him til the 18th.  I’m exhausted, in pain everywhere, my brain isn’t working well, my throat is sore and I can’t swallow well, and my hair is falling out like crazy, and feels like straw.

I wish I could afford another doctor, but Medicaid limits me to only a few doctors in my area, none of which seem to have any open-mindedness about treating by symptom rather than the almighty TSH.  I’m gearing up for one more fight with this doc, to get the labs drawn including a salivary cortisol test, and maybe if I sign a waiver he’ll dose the Armour the way I ask him to.  If that fails, well, I don’t know what I’ll do.

Anyway, that’s enough about my health; I”m tired of talking about it, worrying about it, thinking about it. Next posts will be on more pleasant topics; the promised Easter egg dyeing, a bunch of knitting, my new website, and family stuff.  Might even get them posted before next month…

Thinking+Hormones+Pain=Someone isn’t going to be happy

I’ve been trying to cut back on the pain medication this past week.  Why, you ask?  Well, several reasons.  Slowing down my GI system unpleasantly is one, a basic avoidance of medication in general whenever I can help it is another, and the third reason is paranoia.  I’m so afraid of being labeled a drug seeker.  Doctors immediately become suspicious about anyone complaining of pain; for my previous doctor to prescribe a bottle of Vicodin, I had to sign several “contracts” stating how I would use the drug, promising to only fill my prescriptions at one pharmacy, surrendering my rights to my first born… ok, that last one was hyperbole.   But you get the point.

This is one of the hazards of having an “invisible” illness.  One that can’t be quantified by lab tests, or by visual examination.  I walk into the office and I look fine.  I walk ok, I smile, laugh, move ok.  I look like any healthy person on the street.  But check in with me later in the day when simply moving through a normal day has worn me down, tired me out.  You still can’t see the pain I’m in, though I might be limping a bit.  You can’t feel the aches in my hands, the burning of the soles of my feet, the fire burning in my lower back.  You could watch me cook dinner though, watch me as I have to sit down while I cut and slice and chop, and invariably despite the sitting, by the time dinner is done, I’m on the verge of tears.  You definitely can’t feel how utterly exhausted I am.

I had a bad day today.  A fight with the kid, exhaustion, over-stimulation, trying to do too much, and I’m probably premenstrual.  I went into the kitchen to get some lunch, had the aforementioned fight with the adult child, ended up never making lunch.  By four pm, I was cranky, hungry, irritated, angry, in pain (not having even taken a Motrin today) and was trying to figure out what to make for dinner.   I did take a pain pill then, at least, but was so overwhelmed that I could not plan dinner.  The Beloved fed himself and the child while I tried to de-stimulate with solitaire.  Finally, I made myself dinner (vegan sausage sandwich, kale salad, Fritos) which was delicious; but by then was so tired that literally, the effort involved in lifting my fork to my mouth and chewing was almost too much. I know how melodramatic that sounds.  Even having felt that way, later, when I’m not in that state, I can’t quite remember the depth of that kind of exhaustion.

Later, after the Vicodin peaked, I was able to do some laundry, clean up after myself in the kitchen.  And that’s why I take the Vicodin.  It allows me to function, least a little bit.  I only take one a day usually; on a bad day I might take two.  Never taken more than two in a day.  I feel so defensive about it, which makes me so angry.  I should not have to avoid taking medication because I’m afraid my motives are in question.

My one consolation is that I’ve gotten really good over the last few years at recognizing the sources of my discontent, and don’t generally take it out on the people I love (though Eric might disagree with that today.) At least I don’t have to add the guilt of that to my ills.

 

Hope: An Epic Fail

I just returned from the doctor after reviewing my bloodwork.  It did not go well.

I have textbook perfect bloodwork, except for a Vitamin D deficiency, which from a quick trip to Web MD seems to be due to being overweight, as Vitamin D is trapped in the fat cells.  Nutritionally, I probably get enough, since I eat eggs frequently and fish occasionally.  He’s going to put me on a supplement to see if that helps.

Other than that, I’m perfect.  So why the pain, exhaustion, difficulty swallowing, and other weird symptoms I have?  Three guesses, and the first two don’t count.  Depression.

I just looked up the DSM IV criteria for depression.  To diagnose depression, there are a list of symptoms, of which you must have 5 consistently for two weeks, and one of which must be a cardinal sign, which is 1.)depressed mood or 2.)loss of interest.

I have two of the criteria, neither of which are a cardinal sign.  The two I have are fatigue and diminished ability to think.  Pain is not even listed among the criteria, much less dysphagia, dizziness, temperature fluctuations, dry skin and itch, etc.

I asked him about combination therapy for the hypothyroidism; he flat out refused, since my TSH is normal.  I asked why there is so much resistance to even trying combination therapy, to which he replied he sees no reason for it.

He did test me for FM tender points, which was negative, not surprisingly. He did NOT touch my thyroid or in fact, touch me for any other sort of exam.

Tears of anger and frustration are ALWAYS seen as depression. I wish I could not cry, but that’s who I am, how I’ve been all my life.  I cry when I’m happy, I cry when I’m angry, I cry boatloads when I have PMS, I cry when my heart is touched, I’m the John Boenhner of crying. It does not mean I’m depressed.

I have not lost interest in anything.  I love spending time with my family, doing things with them.  I find happiness in playing board games with Murphy, or in watching his baseball practices.  I love to cook, I love music and reading and crafting and so many things, none of which do I not “WANT” to do.  Some I can’t do sometimes, most I can make myself do and the cost is always high, but I do it because the joy is worth the cost.

His plan is to treat the Vit D deficiency, see him in a month.  Ok, fine.  Meanwhile, unlike a depressed person, I will comb the internet for medical studies and see what I can do to find data for combination therapy.  I will get as much sun as I can.  I will see the NP and discuss it with her, since she presented herself as an advocate.  And I will continue to thank God every day that my husband still believes me, supports me, loves me.

Right now though, I think I’ll go cry some more.

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