A (kind) Frying Pan to the Head

This week I was down south in my hometown a couple days. Tuesday I helped Mom host a something-something party where people buy stuff and taste stuff and yakkity yak. It was a pretty good time and a group of other teachers, Mom, and I hung out chatting for hours after the party ended. 

The next morning I had coffee at my surrogate-grandma's house. I guess that statement warrants some explanation, or at least a little story...

Growing up an Army brat, I didn't get to see my grandparents that often. Once we did settle down in Western Washington, I still didn't see my grandparents and didn't know them very well. Not to mention that my maternal grandmother died when I was four, my biological maternal grandfather lived in Missouri, and my maternal step-grandfather lived in the woods and I only recall one visit to him when I was very young. My paternal grandparents traveled and we saw them for Christmas on some other holidays but my paternal grandfather died when I was in middle school and my paternal grandmother lived part of the year in Arizona and died a couple years ago. 

Basically-I wasn't too close to my grandparents. Enter the "surrogates." 

Once my dad retired from the Army, we settled into our family home in the South Puget Sound. When my parents had bought the house two years before, they had met a family across the street about their own ages and that family happened to live right next to the wife's parents. That grandparent-aged couple turned into my surrogate grandparents while their daughter and son-in-law became our closest neighborhood/family friends.

Over the years it has been a cherished tradition to "go for coffee" at my surrogate grandparents' house and I enjoyed another a morning coffee on Wednesday before visiting one of my mother's friends.

My mom asked this friend, we'll call her Wanda, if she would talk to me about depression and coping and life and treatment and everything since she had personal experience. Of course, being in a depressive slump, I was a little anxious about the idea. I hadn't seen Wanda in years and I didn't recall knowing her all that well years ago, but within five seconds of walking into Wanda's dining room the discussion was on and the anxiety was gone. We just talked. And talked, and TALKED.

I think I arrived at Wanda's around 10:00 am, we called Mom to come by shortly after 4:00 pm and didn't leave until close to 5:00 pm! Talk about covering some ground! 

It's something different to talk to someone with a personal point of view and experience with depression as opposed to a therapist or a doctor or a friend who hasn't had depression. It was awesome. There were tears but also lots of laughs and by the end of the "chat" I was ready to get help and get help soon. 

Going into the discussion I was prepared to have another terrible episode and wait another three weeks in pain for someone to call me back and accept me for an appointment. I told Wanda, "I feel like I want help NOW and if I don't get an appointment by the end of the week I'll just walk into an ER, but then I feel melodramatic. I think if I can't get into a doctor right away I'll just wait until next week, have another breakdown, become suicidal, wake up achy and sore, recover over the next few days, and just wait some more." 

Wanda pointed out, "You realize what you just did? You normalized the behavior! This is bad enough to want treatment now, you're minimizing the severity of the situation. It's not melodramatic, you're not being a drama queen teen-you're brain is saying 'HELP!'"

A large part of our conversation was about my parents and how I can help them help me. It was nice to hear a parent's perspective on coping with depression in a child (we even talked about coping with my depression and raising my own children later on). 

I realized just how worried my parents must be about me and how important it is to pick up when my mom calls and text her back within a reasonable amount of time. I also realized that it's okay to ask for help, even if that help is cash for meds or therapy. I've been reluctant to reach out to my parents, but after our conversation I realized there is no one who wants to help me more than my parents and that getting me healthy is most important.

Before I headed north that night I worked with my folks to fill out a registration packet for a low-cost clinic in Seattle (it's called Qliance-check it out!). I called this morning to get an appointment for Friday, but it was booked. I remembered the conversation from the day before and ended up getting an appointment for 10:00 am this morning. 

The fiance emailed work to take the morning off and drove me to the appointment (good riddance, I was an anxious mess!). The parking garage was frustrating, but the clinic was nice and neat, and the ARNP that helped us was lovely. 

I was very vulnerable and scared and she asked all the right questions and offered supportive and caring service-even included the fiance in the conversation. I couldn't have asked for a better experience and I didn't have to worry about cost!

She prescribed me Paxil and also Xanax (emergency use only to prevent major anxiety attacks). I also did a questionnaire that rated my mood so we have a baseline to compare my mood to in a couple of weeks to see if the antidepressants are working. 

Also awesome-she made sure that I could get generic medications to keep my financial anxiety down. SWEET.

I'm still worn out and know that the path to wellness is still a long one, but today was a huge step in the right direction. It's been a tiring week, but a good, productive week as well.