For once …. I’m speechless! (Although, apparently, not typeless …).
I received the letter I’ve been waiting for today from my local Community Therapies Team. I was actually excited when I saw it in the mailbox.
Finally! After waiting soooo patiently for two whole weeks since weaning myself completely off a truckload of Fluoxetine (Prozac), I’m going to be given some medication that actually works.
Finally! After 25 years of various misdiagnoses and inappropriate medication, I’m going to be prescribed treatment that will sweep me up and transport me back to the grand old world of Normalville!
Finally! I’ll be able to look my son in the eye and confidently tell him that life will be getting on track, the screaming arguments are going to stop, the irrational behaviour is going to be tempered, and he won’t have to walk on eggshells around me for much longer.
Finally! I can look forward to returning to work without worrying about whether some petty, twatty comment is going to send me reeling into hysteria.
Finally! I can look forward to a decent night’s sleep!
I opened the letter with almost giddy anticipation, expecting a prescription to fall out, and checking the time to make sure it wasn’t too late for the chemist. The letter read:
“After discussing your care needs with Dr —, Consultant psychiatrist … he feels it is too soon after stopping Fluoxetine to consider other pharmological (sic) options. He feels what would be of benefit is a period of assessment of mood, medication free, and has requested that you continue to keep a mood diary for the next three months until your next review.”
THREE MONTHS!!?? Please tell me this is some kind of saddo joke.
So let me get this straight. This psych, who is not the same psych as the psych who earlier diagnosed me, who was not the same person who assessed me, who was not the same person who referred me, who was not the same person who suggested that my treatment should start with Abilify …. has now decided (in his infinite, never-met-me, wouldn’t-know-me-if-I bit-him-on-the-leg, never-asked-my-son-if-he-minds-living-with-a-shrieking-harpie-for-another-three-months, wisdom) that I should just suck it up, “medication free” until the next review in June.
If this was just about me, I wouldn’t really care. But this latest snowball began rolling because I recognise my son shouldn’t have to worry about which mood Mummy is going to be in from one hour to the next. My child shouldn’t have to be asking me if I’m about to cry. This beautiful boy shouldn’t have to stifle his own emotions just because he is worried about triggering me into some kind of irrational response. He should be able to be a cheeky, lively, happy-go-lucky boy, whose only concerns are which mates he’s going to play with on an evening.
Granted, I did have a week or two of seemingly “normal” mood recently, but as I wrote a few days ago, the mood swinging has started again. I was down for three days, and yesterday the irritation and temper reared their ugly heads again – I lost my rag with my son, swearing, slamming a book down, and throwing a t-shirt at him, all because he pulled a face when I said no to something. Today, I couldn’t sit still, agitated, antsy, head full of noise, irritated with the world, close to tears, had to go into town, thoughts racing, had to shop, and had to constantly talk myself out of sliding down various shop windows and sitting on the pavement (as seems to be my latest hobby).
So now what?
Well – at least they were thoughtful enough to add a little afterthought at the end of the letter:
In the event of a crisis (their emphasis) in your mental health please contact your General Practitioner.
Is there a DOCTOR in the house?
© Alice through the Macro Lens