Suddenly, I am grieving to the point that I am dizzy. There is joy and there is sorrow. I guess the reason for joy was all fantasy on my part.
There are things that I keep secret. Life happens so quickly when you live on the edge. I wish I had the energy to write everything down as it happens.
I turned on my computer this morning. I turn on my computer every morning. I weighed myself this morning. I weigh myself just about every morning. I made coffee this morning. Now that is a treat. Sometimes I have coffee and sometimes I don’t. Today, I am truly savoring it. I have very little left in this world but I must say this cup of coffee tastes excellent right now.
I need a shower. I take a shower every morning. Yesterday, of course, I was taken out by ambulance by fools, and kept at the emergency room, where, in the long run, the emergency room staff treated me for the opposite complaint of the one I reported to them. This “treatment” consisted of leaving me in the room for two and a half hours unattended and allowing me to drift in and out of sleep. I was hooked up to all kinds of gizmos. I am surprised that I slept with the automatic blood pressure cuff squeezing my arm every now and then. They did not offer me water or juice during this time or ask me how I was feeling, or even enter the room. I would have jerked awake. I woke up twice when the housekeeping person came in to replace the latex gloves and other necessities. My mouth was dry. I was cold. I needed water and more blankets. I also wanted to know what the heck was causing the delay, and what the results of the tests had been.
When I first arrived, the attending nurse, who apparently hadn’t heard the report from the EMT’s, asked me about the reasons why I had called 911, and what my symptoms were. I told her. She then asked, “So you aren’t hungry. Is that the problem?”
What a freaking idiot.
I replied, “No. That is not the why I am here. Not feeling hunger is not a reason to call 911!” I add an exclamation point here, but the truth is, I was rather out of it.
This was the night nurse. Thankfully, she was quickly replaced by another nurse. I saw her twice while I was there. The first time I saw her, she inserted the IV. The second time I saw her, she removed it. I was never actually given fluids. When I pressed the call bell (once to ask what the heck was going on, and the second time to ask someone to pass me my belongings, as I couldn’t reach them, being hooked up) a guy came who was not a nurse, but some kind of other ER person lower on the totem pole. I also asked for water.
They said all my lab tests and EKG (heart test) results, etc were fine. In the same breath, my nurse mumbled something about dehydration, and told me to drink more water and that this was why I was experiencing the symptom that I hadn’t reported to them.
At this very moment, I removed my ER papers from my knapsack. I was given a “psychiatric discharge.” My diagnosis: generalized anxiety disorder, or GAD. My instructions: “Take it easy.”
I looked over the symptoms that people who have GAD experience, according to the sheet they gave me. With the exception of feeling like you are going to pass out, I did not have any of the symptoms.
They noted that my heart rate was a bit elevated. They told me that this was a symptom of anxiety. This was when the nurse told me that dehydration can also raise one’s heartbeat, and told me to drink more.
Actually, my elevated heart rate is a side effect of the antidepressant, Imipramine, that I started taking last month. Since I started the medication, my pulse has run about 94 beats per minute. There is nothing dangerous about this. It is simply something to take note of.
For the past couple of weeks, it has dropped into the 60’s. There is a reason for this and I know the reason. Normal heart rate for a woman is 70 to 80, and a heart rate in the 60’s is perfectly fine.
I reported to the doctor that for three nights this week, it got so low that it was scary. Yesterday morning when I woke up, it was even scarier.
On Tuesday, that is, Tuesday of this week, I got it into my head this fantasy, and I guess I had hung onto this fallacy enough to want to go on with it all. Yesterday, when I felt that I would pass out, I drank a bit of juice, and some water, and lived.
I feel really, really shitty right now. My coffee is finished. I have a bit of water left in my cup which I will finish in a bit. A shower will surely help. I do a lot of constructive thinking in the shower. I will get dressed. I will give Puzzle a terrific walk. It is cold out, but otherwise is a lovely day. Tonight I will go to church.
I have a sad life. The past year has been the worst of it. There is no reason for this.