Today I headed out to Doc’s for a very unusual Sunday appointment because of yesterday’s events. I could hardly speak when I arrived, and I thought he just started the neurofeedback right away. Later, I learned that we actually had a bit of a session before neurofeedback, but I don’t recall it.
After the neurofeedback session was done he said this to me, “We need to talk about getting you on some meds.”
My brain just shut down when he said this as this is a rare psychiatrist who is very cautious about meds, and his eternal preference is to try a number of alternatives before turning to meds. In fact, when I originally came to him over a year ago I was on a mega dose of Lexapro, 40mg, with Xanax .25 as a PRN. There had been attempts by other clinicians to add Seroquel, Abilify, and Minipress, but those attempts were met with side effects that made all of those ventures short-lived. With Doc, I eventually got off of Lexapro, and I only have the Xanax as a PRN. I’ve considered this a victory, especially since I attribute part of my weight gain to this massive dose of Lexapro that I was on for 4 years.
But there we were with real talk of meds that I needed to consider. He prescribed Inderal for management of my PTSD symptoms and panic. I didn’t argue since he does not prescribe meds lightly. He also asked me to start taking the homeopathic stuff he recommended to me months ago.
At the end of the session he said this to me, “Honestly, I was frightened for you last night because it was Belle that was speaking to me on the phone. She’s never called me, and that really had me concerned for you.”
I became acutely aware that Doc’s actions yesterday and today kept me out of the hospital. Not only that, but they were far more helpful than any acute psychiatric hospital stay would be for me. The proof is in the pudding in that I was able to go grocery shopping after breakfast for the Thanksgiving pie I have to make on Wednesday night. I was even able to clean out my pantry, and make a simple dinner this evening. It was ass expensive to see him today, and I see my savings dwindling with neurofeedback sessions that insurance does not cover, but I am not complaining. No, sirreee, I am not. I may wind up broke after all of this, but it’s better than dead, and it’s better than completely undone.
Doc asked me to go eat something before I drove the 27 miles back home. He recommended a lovely restaurant in town, and they had this unique dish on the menu called shakshuka, basically baked eggs in a spicy tomato sauce.
That dish was just what the soul needed. There was also a chocolate croissant at the end of the meal that was unnecessary, but I let myself be indulgent with Letty. She likes sweets, and I still wanted to linger. Last night, I never would have guessed that I would be happily eating baked eggs with english breakfast tea and challah bread a mere 12 hours after I felt like the bottom of my world fell out from under me.
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