1. Feeling Crappy
Turns out, I didn’t have a hangover the other day. It was the beginning of my PMDD/Migraine/Depression/Misery Days. At least they don’t drag on for as long as they used to. There’s that. It was particularly rough this time, though, and the inner critic really capitalized on the opportunity to run rampant. I remind myself that it has been far worse in the past, but it’s still so hard to get through when it’s happening in the moment. Things are getting back to normal now, since some time Thursday. Phew.
I have noticed that during Hormone Hell Week (hereafter to be affectionately known as HHW), I am far more likely to misunderstand things people say, or to misread their energy. It occurred to me the other day that a situation with my therapist that happened back in August, where I completely misread and misunderstood her and more or less mentally “checked out” from the whole process for a little while, probably happened during HHW. I looked back on my calendar this morning, and sure enough, it was smack-dab at the beginning of HHW for that month. Going back through emails to my therapist in the few days around that time, I can really see how I was melting down.
So, I have added a recurring reminder to myself in my calendar, to appear every fourth Monday: “HHW – Don’t let it get to you.”
* * *
2. Screwups
So, I went to the doctor’s office Wednesday (my GP’s office), intending to talk to the nurse practitioner about trying some ADD medication. I’d already spoken with my therapist about it, signed a release, and she’d faxed the information to the doctor’s office last week.
When the nurse (or medical assistant? I’m not sure) called me back (almost a half hour after my appointment time, although it’s common for that office to be running behind), I noticed she was new and I took an immediate (and at first, unexplained) dislike to her. I smiled anyway and tried not to let it show, aware that I’ve been tense and hormonal for days.
I got on the scale, and while I was standing there waiting for her to move the little slidey-things and find out my weight, she was reading a note on my record.
I see you called in recently asking for a prescription for Yaz.”
“Yes, that was taken care of.”
“The doctor isn’t going to prescribe Yaz for you.”
“He already did. It’s taken care of.”
(This was almost four weeks ago, when my prescription had run out and I’d had to cancel my annual gynecologist appointments a few times because of other issues, and the gynecologist wouldn’t call in another refill because she hadn’t seen me. I asked my GP to call it in once, which he did, and then I saw the gynecologist last week.)
“He won’t do it again.”
“It’s ok. I don’t need him to.”
“Yaz is dangerous. There are problems with it.”
“L (who has worked there for years and years) called me last week and we talked about it. I’m aware of the issues.”
“The doctor won’t prescribe that for you.”
“I don’t need him to!”
Why wouldn’t she mind her own business?
Then we went into the exam room and did the whole checking-blood-pressure and going-over-my-records thing.
“Is this a follow-up?”
“It was supposed to be, but I didn’t do my blood work yet. I kept the appointment because I want to talk to her about ADD medications. My therapist faxed over the information on Friday.”
Nurse-Or-Medical-Assistant rolled her eyes and said, sardonically, “She probably didn’t do it.”
“She did.”
Don’t'choo be talking bad about my therapist. My hackles were up.
She searched my record on the laptop.
“Who was supposed to fax it?”
“My therapist.”
I told her my therapist’s name, and spelled it. Twice.
“The cardiologist?”
“No.”
Seriously? Did she really ask me that?
“Who was supposed to send it?”
“My therapist.”
I spelled her name again.
“And what was she supposed to send?”
“An ADD assessment and the release I signed.”
There’s nothing here. She didn’t send it.”
“She sent it. But if you don’t have it, there really is no need for me to stay today, since I didn’t have the blood work done yet.”
“Well, let me go check.”
She left the room. I waited, and steamed, and finally decided she had five more minutes and I was going to leave, when she came back in (now more than an hour after my scheduled appointment time) and told me that they had received the fax but didn’t know where it was.
I stood up to leave.
“Wait. Don’t you want to talk to her anyway?”
“About what? Without that fax, there’s nothing to talk about.”
“Why don’t you just talk to her anyway?”
She’s not going to prescribe me amphetamines based on my saying I want them!
I left.
Oh well. I had some reservations, anyway, about ADD medications, because I’ve already had problems with medications that affect neurotransmitter levels, and because of some other possibly illogical “terrors” that have arisen around the whole topic (“What if I don’t really have ADD? What if I’m just lazy?”, or “What if the things that appear to be ADD symptoms are really just the cognitive symptoms of Fibromyalgia / Chronic Fatigue?”, and, “What if the meds make me feel crazy or out of control?”) So it wasn’t terribly difficult for me to just walk way and drop the whole idea of meds anyway.
I do feel a little sad, though. I had begun to imagine less noise in my head. Being able to grasp and focus on what is important and needs my attention at the moment, rather than ruminating about things that just aren’t important right then and don’t necessarily even serve a useful purpose at all. I’d begun imagining what it might be like to be able to stay on task more easily at work. My job isn’t ideal for someone with ADD. There are a lot of interruptions, often layering over one other, and while I multi task pretty well during the higher-intensity moments of being interrupted by more than one person who thinks their problem or issue is the most important thing in the world at the time, it’s the getting-back-to-whatever-I-was-doing-before that is so hard. And with each new interruption, the getting-back is harder and harder, until I finally just sit and stare. I had anticipated that becoming easier.
And reading. I so miss reading for pleasure, and being able to follow the plot of a novel without re-reading the same sentence or paragraph multiple times, and being able to remember which character is which, so that the next time they appear in a scene, I remember how they fit into the story. I miss that.
I’m leaning toward asking my therapist if she can recommend a psychiatrist. If there is one she recommends who is also on my insurance plan, I might make an appointment to talk about the meds. After doing some further research to find out if maybe, by altering the amino acids I take to keep my neurotransmitter levels where they should be, and by not taking ADD meds every single day, I could avoid the sort of neurotransmitter damage I experienced before. I think the ideal scenario would be to find a psychiatrist who incorporates a bit more of a holistic approach into their work, and perhaps would be willing to order tests to monitor my NT levels once or twice a year. Other than my PMDD times, I seem to be in a really good place right now, so I would think that whatever my levels are during my non-PMDD weeks would be a good base line to go by.
Just thinking.
* * *
3. Decisions
PMDD time is a bad time for me to make decisions, and ironically it’s also a time when I keep ruminating about decisions I shouldn’t be making at the time, but can’t seem to let go of.
One of those is whether or not to do NaNoWriMo this year.
On the one hand, I participated for the past five years. This will be number six, if I do it. It’s become such a big part of my fall. I’ve loved writing for most of my life and it’s fun to prepare for NaNo, making notes and brainstorming with Sister to come up with the framework of a story. It’s fun to plan what kinds of snacks I’ll have available while I write, and it’s fun to go to write-ins and enjoy the social aspects of the whole thing.
On the other hand, I have a lot of other things going on this year. My older nephew is getting married in November (my younger nephew just got married in September). I’ve been working on my clutter problem and preparing for a very special visit in December. This last week or so, I’ve been pulled away from decluttering because I’ve been working on getting my taxes filed, since the extension I filed for back in April will expire on the 15th, and then I spent a few days in “dialed-down” mode because I didn’t feel capable of much other than dragging myself into work and home again. In order to completely immerse myself in NaNo, I’d like to have the decluttering done by the end of October, and I’m just not sure I can do that.
I also have this other pressure-feeling this year, that since I finally won last year, I have to win again this year.
I did decide that if I do NaNo this year, though, I’d rather not continue on to the third novel in the series I’ve been working on, simply because without having finished either of the first two, it becomes more and more difficult to keep starting the next ones. I’d really like to finish one or both of the first two before moving along to the third, even though I have notes and a basic outline and time line for the entire series.
I decided I’d like to do something completely different this time, if I decide to do it. I thought about it, came up with a couple very loose starter-thoughts, brainstormed with Sister (who, on hearing my first loose starter-thought, said, “And then what?”, and I said, “That’s all I have so far.”), then brainstormed some more with SS, then with Sister again, and then even more by myself, and . . . I think I’ve got it. It’s an exciting concept, to be done in a somewhat unusual way. It’s getting more and more exciting, the more I work on my notes and the more thinking I do about the plots and each character’s individual story.
And that, I believe, means I’ve made a decision.
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