Milieu of Me

So this weekend was probably one of the most interesting that we have had for a while. We had my mom and dad come up so we could go to the Downpour conference that was being held in our area. So that meant Friday night and Saturday day we were at the Target Center with my friend Melissa at the conference.

It seriously was one of the most moving things I have ever been too, and it’s changed my perspective considerably.

But things haven’t been going all that great, as you can tell from my postings.

Thursday morning I got into a regular doctor because I woke up with hives. (Note: Still have them and it’s SO strange. I haven’t ever had hives.) I mentioned to him what was going on, and he had me take a quiz. After looking at it he said I needed to be evaluated NOW. He told me to call the place where I had the appointment for this coming Friday and tell them that HE said that I need evaluation. He said if they don’t listen to call me back, but I cannot wait until next Friday. SO long story short Thursday all day, and Friday until we went to the conference my husband and I were again desperately searching out a psychiatrist to see me.

I was losing it again, and I could tell because I couldn’t handle anything. Everything was hopelessly aggravating, and the hope drifted away with every phone call we made, because no one could see me. The doctor’s office that was supposed to help, just made me tell them all over again what was going on and that I was lucky to get the appointment I had and just to wait AFTER the doctor had told me differently. I knew the doctor saw something though and I could feel more bad things were going to happen.

After a day of calling Thursday the boy finally got someone to see me, and told me to come get him because he found someone to see you.

So off I nervously went, and this oh so kind woman stayed late to see me. I went in, filled out my paperwork at the top of the worksheet was her name and the initials MA behind it. I advised my husband that this was NOT a psychiatrist but a psychologist. The people told him wrong on the phone, and he KNEW the difference but I don’t think they thought that he did. Anyway I went and talked to her and LOVED her so she’s my new therapist.

After talking though everything, I realized yet again the crap I’ve done in my life is no small undertaking, and went I walked out and looked at little Grant I patted myself on the back.

He’s small enough that he will never know that his Mommy was crazy, and it’s because I will never let him be affected to the point that he knows better than I do. I patted myself on the back, for AT LEAST THAT. ☺

Anyway I was hopeful, but ANXIOUS. My new shrink could tell, and told me that I was really agitated and needed meds for that. Then my husband was devastated when I walked out the same me. So he spent all Friday leaving messages and finally Friday night on the way to the conference he got a call back. The psychologist on call at the Hennepin County hospital called back. She’s a specialist in the area of post partum depression, and said to come in that night. The boy explained that we couldn’t come until after the conference, and she said fine. Just come in, and if we could leave the baby somewhere we should do that.

Well the conference got over, and we took Melissa home that night and headed back to our apartment. We decided to take the baby anyway, because I didn’t want to tell my parents. They would just tell me a million reasons why I was just fine and didn’t need to go. So we took Grant and I nervously headed down to HCMC, the COUNTY hospital to get treatment.

Now, if there’s one thing I know it’s that county hospitals aren’t the greatest. (Broadlawns anyone?) I always make fun of HCMC, and make the boy routinely promise if I’m half dead that he won’t make me go there. Now at 11:00 on a Friday night we’re going there in DOWTOWN MINNEAPOLIS to get me evaluated. I was terrified in more ways than one.

I would like to welcome you all to the lowest moment of my entire life. I’m not being dramatic, I’m totally serious. I went to the county hospital, to the mental ward, to get help. In my mind, you don’t get lower than that.

We park, and walk in it’s late but you’re at a hospital so no one glares at us about the baby. I was worried about that.

We have to go in through the emergency room, and let me tell you it’s busy on Friday night because of all the drunkies who have ended up there. They send us to psych services, and we walk in. I check in with a total DOOFUS, who was rude to us (Ummmm…hello cute baby dweeboid?) and then we wait. With the stinky homeless man, a man who was there so he didn’t have to deal with his failed relationship (he told his friends on the phone that), and the TV blaring Seinfield so loud I can still hear it in Eden Prairie two days later. I’m holding sleeping Grant…probably clinging to him so nothing bad gets him. I keep looking at him and then at Greg and then the homeless man starts flapping his arms and yelling nonsensical things. I look at Greg and he’s just looking at me like, “Oh, no. Not a yelling homeless man AND a crazy wife.”

I was completely obliterated in that moment. I felt like I wanted to RUN, far, far, far, away, and I was trying to talk myself into staying. I kept thinking they were going to take my baby, and lock me up, and I was going to have to stay there, completely alone with the things I think I heard and saw. I made the boy promise me that they said I didn’t have to stay, but when I was sitting there being scared, I didn’t believe him anymore. Then they called my name, and we RAN back to the room. Once I got there we gave the nurse the info, and after they asked me if I wanted to kill the boy, the wee, or myself one for the five hundredth time we finally were left alone in the little room. We laid down the baby on the couch and I curled up behind him. I looked at the boy desperately, saying I can’t believe I have my little baby in the psych ward, and I closed my eyes to cry.

Something made me open them though…I felt movement across the room. My precious, precious husband looks at me and smiles from the chair across the room. He holds up his fingers to make a picture frame and says something to the effect of what a perfect little picture we make. I have never been so speechless in my life. It’s almost one in the morning at this point. We had to sit in the waiting room and smell the stench of crazy homeless man, and now have to wait for God only knows how long to see what’s wrong with me, and we have to get up at 7:00 tomorrow morning. He’s been up every night with the baby, and doing all the housework, and still assuring ME that everything is okay. He still looks at me and his little baby and is SO in love with us both. I just still can’t even believe it.

The thing about depression for the person that lives with you is they don’t choose. They don’t choose when the anger comes out, what chores will or won’t get done. They come home to a surprise and a sleepless night every day. My boy…he just smiles at me in the psych ward. I will never forget that, and there’s nothing better for someone who’s sick with this.

Anyway long story short I got some serious drugs. They think my loopy crazy stuff has to do with lack of sleep. She said the reason my sleep is so disorienting is because I’m so tired that I fall straight into and out of REM sleep. They gave me anti-psychotics to sleep, which sounds weird but it’s really because of the chemistry of the drug in your body, and it makes you TIRED. Then they gave me a new SSRI, to hopefully help in the depression area, and told me that it’ll take three weeks to be okay again.

So we have renewed hope. We got home at three and were back up at 7:15 to go back to the conference on Saturday. Then family time, where my Dad made fun of going to church the ENTIRE time. The boy got really angry, and honestly so did I. I asked him to just deal for me, because I can’t go there right now. I’m dealing with a lot, and then he just really HURT me with all that. In his defense they don’t know anything about what’s really going on with all this depression stuff.

Plus then when we took my sisters to church they were terrified about what was going to happen there. My family needs it’s face kicked in, and it’s awful. You think you’d be proud of your kids for growing up, moving away, and then picking to live a Christian life. Not mine, because I did all that I am getting kicked out of my family in a sense. I feel very ostracized, and it’s frustrating.