lately, I've been identifying more and more with fictional characters

[baratron]

"Little man" - Harra's voice in the dark was as sweet and deadly as maple mead - "my mother killed my daughter. And was judged for it in front of all of Silvy Vale. You think I don't know what public shame is? Or waste?"

"Why d'you think I'm telling all this to you?"

Harra was silent for long enough for Lem to pass around the stone jug one last time, in the dim moonlight and shadows. Then she said, "You go on. You just go on. There's nothing more to it, and there's no trick to make it easier. You just go on."

"What do you find on the other side? When you go on?"

She shrugged. "Your life again. What else?"

"Is that a promise?"

She picked up a pebble, fingered it, and tossed it into the water. The moon-lines bloomed and danced. "It's an inevitability. No trick. No choice. You just go on."

Lois McMaster Bujold, Memory

Doctor's appointment today was a waste of everyone's time and effort. We have to wait for the inflammation to go away and Wait and see. I wouldn't have been surprised had he come out with Emperor Gregor's "Let's see what happens". Another tedious hurdle to have to jump over. Can't give me any anti-inflammatories, and I was too tired to push. I have, at least, gained more dihydrocodeine on prescription. w00t.

My mum will probably say that I should have demanded to see $named_other_GP, who is apparently good at convincing her patients that she's speeding up their cases, but I'm not sure it's that simple. I think whatever happens, there are a certain number of hoops to jump through, and you can't easily short-cut to the last hoop without jumping through all the intermediate ones. This is one more of them. As it is, someone has to find the result of my latex allergy test - and if it's negative, re-run it. Because either latex or the accompanying plasticisers or both in contact with my skin for a few minutes brings it up in reaction, and even keyhole surgery will require more intimate contact than that. And I don't want to die, damnit.

Walked to the doctor's and the pharmacy - it's 10 minutes down the same road I live in to the pharmacy, and not much further to the doctor's - but on the way back I stopped, so nauseous I was retching. Staggered home, and continued to retch and burp for 20 minutes while Richard hovered, worriedly.

I think I need to emphasise how much this is affecting my mental health. I talked today mainly about my physical health, the effect this is having on my hyperventilation and asthma. Mindful of the stigma that is still attached to "mental problems", unwilling to compromise the line of communication between myself & the GP that started with my comment about pain on a scale of 1 to 10 "linear, or exponential?" and continued when I was talking about allergies to salicylates. Unwilling to take the advantage that I have of having a scientific background with a reasonable knowledge of biochemistry (not great, but I understand enough basics to be able to read up) to possibly throw it away over a doctor's misunderstanding of what drives depression. Perhaps that makes me suck as a mental health advocate, but right now, I don't care.

Unfit for duty indeed, any duty.

Comments

[redbird]

Your duty right now is to take care of yourself. If being a mental health advocate would help that, it would be part of your job. If it will hinder it, it decidedly is not your duty. Not here, not now.

[baratron.livejournal.com]

You are, of course, correct. But it's a fine line between "talking about my depression loudly enough for me to get the best treatment for the underlying cause" and "talking about my depression loudly enough for the medical so-called professional to write me off as a hysterical attention-seeker".

The problem is that many people who are otherwise competent doctors have this big hole in their heads where "mental health stuff" is concerned. The same is true with other doctors and "women's problems", or with therapists and any sexual orientation apart from vanilla heterosexual monogamy. When depression is not my main problem, but merely a symptom of another illness - how far can I go with using it as a reason why I need help above and beyond the normal waiting time?

Normally, it would be easy to treat reactive depression caused by a physical illness - a short-term course of Prozac or whatever. (Probably less useful than a short-term course of some kind of talk therapy, but the waiting list for decent psychotherapists is longer than the waiting list for gall bladder operations). But I'm already on antidepressants and can't safely increase the dose. And like, on top of everything else, I want to deal with the emotional turmoil of trying to switch antidepressants right now!

It's all very meh, with no end in sight despite me having this provisional date in the future when it "should" all be fixed. 2 months is a long time, when you're tired and in pain.

[jinian.livejournal.com]

I wish I could fix it for you. *hug* Classes are over, so you have a decent chance of catching me home and talkable if you wanted to call sometime.

[ludy]

meep, hugs if you would like them - i just wish there was somethng i could do.