A isn't supposed to drive because of his shattered wrist, and he's out of work while we figure out if he'll recover, but he had to sit in on med student admission interviews nevertheless, so I was driving him to Saginaw. We almost made it to the hospital (after being pulled over once for speeding--but no ticket) when he noticed that I was trying hard to catch my breath but wasn't able to and I noticed that I was getting light headed, nauseous, and headachy in the process.
So A hopped into the driver's seat and we got to the hospital where the interviews were--except A and the kids ended up accompanying me to the E.R. Where it was discovered (just as I had insisted all along), that there was absolutely nothing wrong with me. I got handed an official diagnosis of acute anxiety and prescription for Xanax--making me the most embarrassingly 1950's cliche of a doctor's wife ever.
Yet--it was scary. And comes at a time when we can least afford additional medical bills. And once I started crying--progressing quite rapidly to sobbing and then wailing--it was impossible to stop even as I was ashamed of myself and trying to stop so the kids needn't see me so completely lose control.
It's been a tough six months or so--two new jobs, all four of us at new schools, and moving to a different state where the skies are frequently grey, not to mention all the other doofus antics we've been up to. But more than the every day stressors, I can't explain how consumed I've been by the Newtown shootings and the New Delhi rape. Every time the kids aren't around, this is what I end up talking to A or friends about. And I took this international by calling my sister at work and my mom first thing in the morning to worry even about things as quotidian as taking my kids to school. And I know it's unhealthy--in the sense that it isn't good for me. But not being able to stop thinking about eleven bullets in a five-year-old's body or wondering how someone can be raped so violently that it requires that their small intestines be surgically removed is probably mentally unhygienic as well.
And that's just where I am.
_
So A hopped into the driver's seat and we got to the hospital where the interviews were--except A and the kids ended up accompanying me to the E.R. Where it was discovered (just as I had insisted all along), that there was absolutely nothing wrong with me. I got handed an official diagnosis of acute anxiety and prescription for Xanax--making me the most embarrassingly 1950's cliche of a doctor's wife ever.
Yet--it was scary. And comes at a time when we can least afford additional medical bills. And once I started crying--progressing quite rapidly to sobbing and then wailing--it was impossible to stop even as I was ashamed of myself and trying to stop so the kids needn't see me so completely lose control.
It's been a tough six months or so--two new jobs, all four of us at new schools, and moving to a different state where the skies are frequently grey, not to mention all the other doofus antics we've been up to. But more than the every day stressors, I can't explain how consumed I've been by the Newtown shootings and the New Delhi rape. Every time the kids aren't around, this is what I end up talking to A or friends about. And I took this international by calling my sister at work and my mom first thing in the morning to worry even about things as quotidian as taking my kids to school. And I know it's unhealthy--in the sense that it isn't good for me. But not being able to stop thinking about eleven bullets in a five-year-old's body or wondering how someone can be raped so violently that it requires that their small intestines be surgically removed is probably mentally unhygienic as well.
And that's just where I am.
_
2 comments:
I love you for this post.
For one, because I have been there and I get it and you know what? Benzodiazapenes have made the last three years possible for me, and I don't even pretend to care about the stigma anymore.
Also, quotidian. I used it in the novel I just finished and have been waffling on whether to leave it in or take it out. I'm leaving it in.
Hugs from where the skies are also gray. The first winter is the worst. Get a light and take Vitamin D (honestly, it really helps).
Thanks, AAL. I do take Vit D, I will get a light and I see my PCP next week, so we'll see where it goes from there.
Thanks for being an ally, a friend and for the love.
Hugs and love, M
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