Wednesday, November 7, 2018

Doctor | Patient Conversation (Trigger Warning - Having a plan)

Psych: So, how have you's been two months since I last saw you?

Me: I'll be brutally honest with you if you promise not to lock me up.

He stares into my eyes and his face blanks out followed by a single nod.

Me: I don't want to breathe anymore.

Psych: Do you have a ....?

Me: Yes. I have a plan.

Psych: What's the plan?

Me: A few weeks ago as I was leaving home to come to work, I grabbed all of my pills and an unopened bottle of vodka. Lots of pills and lots of alcohol.

He sat back and let out a breath of air. His eyes had anger behind them. He was disappointed in himself for not seeing me for so long. It wasn't his fault.

Psych: What stopped you from carrying this out?

Me: I called my husband and he talked me down. I also talked to a friend who did the same. This doesn't mean shit, by the way. I think about this everyday. When I'm in my living room sitting on my couch and look to my right, the cabinets holding the contents I need are right in my view. I want to take them and go for a walk. Would I look at them? Would I swallow them? I'm not sure. What I'm sure of is that it's been a year of severe depression and I'm over it.

He got real serious now...

Psych: One of three things have to happen. Seroquel (which I've been fighting as I've been on it before), intensive outpatient therapy or, once again, ECT.

Me: You've really have to stop saying those letters, are they your favorite or something?

I had done ECT in the past, twice, and the only thing it left behind was my memory. It never got better, never came back. I have PTSD from the first time it was done and the second was amazingly better, only so repetitive that it kicked up my PTSD and I had to stop halfway through. If I could be put under before going into "the room", I might have been better off. Seeing the equipment, all the medical staff involved at the top of my bed, the mouth guard, hearing the doctor discuss my case before going under, the smell, the sounds....It's all very traumatic. To this day, if I hear this specific jingle on anyone's computer, I freeze and begin to cry. It's always the little things.

Me: Let's just take the fucking Seroquel. I mean, you're not taking it because in all honestly, you probably couldn't handle it. I'll take the fucking Seroquel. Send it in and I'll start tomorrow.

Psych: I'll need to see you in a week and a half. At that appointment you'll tell me if you're continuing with Seroquel, starting intensive outpatient therapy or ECT.

My blood pressure was high (and has been lately) coming in. Was it my nerves, the existing health problems my doctors are trying to figure out, or the cuff as my doctor suggested...

I asked for an SSRI because my PCP thought it could help my serotonin imbalance. My doctor turned me down because the stomach is lined with serotonin and adding more on top of that would be reckless and cause my current issues to get much worse, because it has yet to be diagnosed.

On the way home, my phone chimed. The pharmacy texted to say my new prescription was ready. It was already 8pm by the time I got home (work, chores, late psych appointment). I cut my first pill in half and swallowed it. Within the hour I became dizzy and very tired. I went to bed waking once to use the bathroom. I stumbled and couldn't keep my eyes open. When my alarm went off my eyes wouldn't stay open and I felt intoxicated. I was finally able to get ready but my words were slurring and my limbs were heavy.

I hate this drug but I hate ECT more. And who has time for intensive outpatient care when you work full time and care for your family when the 9-5 is over? I get that this is about saving my life but it all seems so annoying.

It's my life so I'm allowed to say that...


  1. Seroquel is a jerk. But it can be super helpful. I was on it a couple years. Did he give you anything to counteract the fatigue? Like adderall? Some docs will. The outpatient stuff worked well for me, but I get the time factor. I am so sad the ECT didn't work for you. I remember when you first had it there was a short time frame that it helped a lot. I hate how the treatments do that--give this window of hope and then crush you.


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