Doctor’s visit on Monday


Yeah, I’m a little slow reporting back. So sue me. No, on second thought, don’t. I have high-powered attorneys. Seriously, though, I’ve been a little too busy to update. Life happened. Nothing I care to talk about. Suffice it to say I made a fool of myself, and got hurt in the process. No, it’s not anyone you have ever heard me speak of.

As for the doctor, I did get my increase in Cymbalta. He diagnosed situational depression, which is more accurately called adjustment disorder.

Unlike major depression, however, an adjustment disorder is triggered by an outside stress and generally goes away once the person has adapted to the situation.

That said, it’s also true that, left untreated, adjustment disorder can develop into major depression.

I’ve had a couple of days of the increased dose now, and that, along with some general stress relief overall, seems to be helping. I know that the initial build up to therapuetic levels is several weeks, but since I have been on it for months now, the dosage change seems to have had a nearly immediate effect. And no, it’s not placebo effect. Today, before I knew it was a common side effect, I experienced two or three episodes of orthostatic hypotension.

My appetite isn’t back yet. It’s a little early for that effect, but Kris and Rebeccah are reminding me to eat fairly regularly, and that helps a lot. If I were alone, I probably wouldn’t eat with any degree of regularity. The whole process is more trouble than it is worth for just me. I cook for other people to enjoy, not for myself. And grocery shopping alone? I abhor it. So it’s good to have someone around to push a little on that issue.

The insomnia is also still full blown, as you can no doubt guess from the time stamp on this post. Sleep is something I do when exhaustion overwhelms my body. I know, not very healthy. But it is what it is, and I’m finding no good way to combat that. Barbara was an insomniac, and before she became so ill, I would often fall asleep long before she did. Maybe that’s the legacy she left me. That, and a few thousand books.

Fibro is still flaring, but that is likely directly related to the stress and depression from her passing.When (if?) I adjust completely to this new way of life, I have hopes that the fibro will settle back down to prior levels. Supposedly, Cymbalta should help that as well, as I continue with the higher dosage. We’ll see.

And as for the support group? Well, they never called back. They were supposed to verify my insurance coverage Monday, and call to schedule an initial appointment with the therapist. I’m guessing that the HMO said no to coverage. I suppose I should contact them at some point to confirm that assumption. You would think that a group providing grief counseling would realize that grieving people are unlikely to take the initiative to follow up when they aren’t contacted.

It’s a shame too, because that group just felt right to me. Barbara was 1/8 Cherokee and 1/8 Osage. The counseling center is named the Red Bird Center, after a Cherokee story of the return of a lost loved one as a redbird. I thought the appearance of that group, suggested by an online friend, was my redbird telling me she was still around. I guess not. It’s extremely rare to see an actual redbird around here, so I’m not holding out a lot of hope for that event.

That’s it for now I guess. I’ll try to write more often, as I know you are all so terribly interested in my exciting life. </sarcasm>

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About Janet Logan

Well educated woman, transgender / transsexual, lesbian, Reiki practitioner, LGBT activist, polyamorous, and eclectic Pagan.
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