everything you own in a box to the left
Why Undark was bad for you. Does put my fetish for glow-in-the-dark things into perspective...on the other hand, I've never eaten glow-in-the-dark paint.
And this describes so many of us...
Speaking of which. Had an appointment with a very charming fellow at the psych center. He's one of their medical intake officers, he's basically the deciding line on whether or not anyone will be prescribed medication to help with therapy. I told myself I had to be honest with him.
I admit, I nearly backed out on that when he mentioned hospitalization. Damn it, the hallucinations are not that bad, stop scaring me like that!
"Psychosis". BAH.
...anyway...
He's getting me started on a round of amitryptaline again--yay!--so in a few days, that should be delivered to my door (not working? No problem, they have 'scholarships' for necessary meds. Oh, joy.)
He says, over the course of asking me questions and getting answers for an hour, that I seem 'guarded'--gosh, really?--and that I seem less depressed, than I seem anxious. Well, that also fits my assessment of things, I suppose.
I did correct one thing my psych had gotten wrong. She'd written down that I was diabetic. "No no no," I said, "Insulin resistant."
"Yes," he said, "insulin-resistant diabetes."
I shook my head. "Insulin resistance is separate from diabetes, and it's a side effect of PCOS. It can lead to diabetes, and also pancreatitis, but to date, I'm not diabetic. Though there is a precursor condition--"
I broke off because he was staring at me.
"What?"
"Precursor condition?"
"Meralgia parasthetica, it's a neurological impairment of the upper thigh--"
I broke off because he was staring at me again.
"What?"
"I...I'm just not used to having patients as smart as you are."
It was my turn to blink at him. This is smart? This is just knowing what I have...
Anyway, two days from now, I see the wee psychologist, and then two weeks from today, I see him again for fifteen minutes or so, while he follows up with how I'm settling in with the meds. He's a bit nervous, he says, because amitryptaline can be lethal, it can be used to seek one's own death.
"So you have to tell me if you're feeling suicidal," he said, his expression worried.
Phhht. I'd go through all this if I were suicidal? I wouldn't be in therapy if I were suicidal...
[Late insertion:
"I'm still trying to decide if this fellow is brilliant or idiotic." BWAHAHAHAHA...
And lookit! An LED menorah!
And I tracked down A Softer World again.
Also...we might have to talk about this before the wedding.]
And this describes so many of us...
Speaking of which. Had an appointment with a very charming fellow at the psych center. He's one of their medical intake officers, he's basically the deciding line on whether or not anyone will be prescribed medication to help with therapy. I told myself I had to be honest with him.
I admit, I nearly backed out on that when he mentioned hospitalization. Damn it, the hallucinations are not that bad, stop scaring me like that!
"Psychosis". BAH.
...anyway...
He's getting me started on a round of amitryptaline again--yay!--so in a few days, that should be delivered to my door (not working? No problem, they have 'scholarships' for necessary meds. Oh, joy.)
He says, over the course of asking me questions and getting answers for an hour, that I seem 'guarded'--gosh, really?--and that I seem less depressed, than I seem anxious. Well, that also fits my assessment of things, I suppose.
I did correct one thing my psych had gotten wrong. She'd written down that I was diabetic. "No no no," I said, "Insulin resistant."
"Yes," he said, "insulin-resistant diabetes."
I shook my head. "Insulin resistance is separate from diabetes, and it's a side effect of PCOS. It can lead to diabetes, and also pancreatitis, but to date, I'm not diabetic. Though there is a precursor condition--"
I broke off because he was staring at me.
"What?"
"Precursor condition?"
"Meralgia parasthetica, it's a neurological impairment of the upper thigh--"
I broke off because he was staring at me again.
"What?"
"I...I'm just not used to having patients as smart as you are."
It was my turn to blink at him. This is smart? This is just knowing what I have...
Anyway, two days from now, I see the wee psychologist, and then two weeks from today, I see him again for fifteen minutes or so, while he follows up with how I'm settling in with the meds. He's a bit nervous, he says, because amitryptaline can be lethal, it can be used to seek one's own death.
"So you have to tell me if you're feeling suicidal," he said, his expression worried.
Phhht. I'd go through all this if I were suicidal? I wouldn't be in therapy if I were suicidal...
[Late insertion:
"I'm still trying to decide if this fellow is brilliant or idiotic." BWAHAHAHAHA...
And lookit! An LED menorah!
And I tracked down A Softer World again.
Also...we might have to talk about this before the wedding.]