I can physically feel my stress levels plummet since Thursday. I loved the Internal Medicine doctor! Wow, talk about thorough! I spent quite a bit of time with him and then another twenty minutes with his nurse. She even took the time to recommend some doctors for me, you know, since my Gyne up and died the end of October. He ordered a lot more blood work to be done. He’s having my DHEA levels check again and they’re checking my liver and kidney functions, total blood count, urinalysis and quite a few others — they’re even testing me for pregnancy. I could’ve told them that one! They needn’t have bothered wasting their time doing that!
I really have to say though, I was impressed by how in-depth he got with my medical history. I casually mentioned I had had a colonoscopy and endoscopy about six-and-a-half/seven years ago and he filled out the paperwork to request those records too. He was impressed with my list and we spoke about each symptom individually. He checked my hairline, noted the hair loss, reassured me it was scattered and imagines my hair will be regrown in 6 months. I really hope so.
But, I’m no longer worrying about as much. I will admit, I don’t like washing and styling my hair like I used to, but when he told me he doesn’t think I have Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome (PCOS), I breathed a sigh of relief. He concluded my fertility had been kick started in September of 2003 and how I hadn’t struggled getting pregnant with Cameron. It’s also clear it’s not PCOS because my glucose and insulin levels are normal. He wants to hold off sending me to the Endocrinologist to see what kind of outcome we get with the further blood tests. This much we know for sure from the last series of tests: It’s definitely not my thyroid.
From what I told him with my history of depression with Ian, he said everything I am experiencing could be a mild form of depression, owing to the fact that I can still function, whereas before, functioning with even an option. It was then he talked about referring me to a Psychiatrist for a consultation. That’s a first. Then again, it almost seems the quintessential American thing to do, and you really haven’t lived until you’ve sat in ‘the comfy chair’, have you?
One thing he did tell me about that does concern me though is when someone is first put on anti-depressants they’re on for a short period of time and weaned off. The second time, his recommendation is 12-15 months and the third time? They’re on for life. That is depressing in and of itself! I don’t feel at this point like I would depend on the medication to function, I do fine all by myself. I do have those niggling (or nagging) feelings that float past every-so-often, but for the most part, I can deal with it and I move on. It makes sense that that is what it is, I should have realised before now. If that’s what it is, of course.
So what now? I just sit and wait for the results and move on from there.
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On a side note, I invited friends over for an impromptu visit last night. They have three girls, one of which is just a few months older than Cameron. I knew it would be great company for the boys and to be quite honest, we don’t invite friends over quite as much as we’d like (or should).
So anyway, I was checking the bathroom for toilet paper (as you do), and as I was coming out, Ian ran at me full blast gasping to get his words out:
“Mummy, the paper got on the fire and it floated off and got on the carpet and it’s STILL ON FIRE!”
After the nanosecond it took for what he’d just squawk at me sunk in, I ran to the kitchen/dining area where the floor changes from laminate tile to carpet and saw burning embers smoldering my carpet. At least it wasn’t engulfed like my imagination thought! I grabbed some paper and wafted off the offending charred paper and viewed the damage. Not AS bad as it could have been, but enough to raise my stress level. t. There’s nothing like the smell of burning carpet to say “welcome, come put your feet up and relax.”
A friend had bought me a vanilla and caramel Yankee Candle for my birthday and I took the liberty of lighting it. It could have been worse, a lot worse and I suppose I should be grateful for that, but good grief, you teach your boys not to touch a gas stove and you assume that same thinking would be applied to an open flame. If I am the poster child mother for these types of shenanigans and tomfoolery, so be it.