Karen and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

It's time to talk about March 28.

On March 28 I had an appointment for 9:15 with my G.P. The plan was for me to go in there and describe my symptoms of depression. I would tell him that I was ready for the "happy pretty me pill," as my friend Chris describes it. My doctor told me last summer that anti-depressants might become something to consider. I'd reacted strongly to that suggestion then, but my life was spiraling out of my grasp. I was overwhelmed with all my cares and too listless to do anything about them. My friends were growing more and more concerned and finally one told me to just go to the doctor before she killed me!

I arrived at my appointment and found they did not have me on the schedule. I stood there in stunned disbelief. The receptionist could obviously see that I was more sad than angry and she listened as I said, "Is there anything at all you can do to get me in?"

She searched around and could find nothing. "What are you coming in for?" she asked.

"Depression and lack of sleep," I replied.

And then the receptionist, a scheduler and my doctor's concierge stepped into action. After some consultation, the found a spot where I could be worked in. At 2:30 that afternoon.

I went home and washed windows. In great detail. With lots of loud music.

On the way to the new appointment I talked on the phone with a friend. I told her about the appointment and my hopes that I would get some answers, or at least a plan. And the conversation morphed into a brief discussion of our relationship. In the process of trying to explain that I felt stupid a lot of the time, she interpreted what I said to be "you make me feel stupid sometimes." This is something I've never thought about her, and I still to this day can't believe I ever said that, but she took it that way and our relationship snapped right in two at that very moment. (Since then there has been distance, hurt, and a step toward repair. But the relationship has been changed and will probably never go back to what it was before.)

As I was apologizing to her and trying to explain what I had meant, I got out of the car.

And locked my keys inside.

I walked into the office and checked in for my appointment. Then I called my husband and told him about the keys. He said he would get them out for me while I was at the appointment. Of course he and his staff were overwhelmed with a deadline at the time...these things never happen when it's convenient. And he works across the city from where I was. A staff member ended up coming to the doctor's office, retrieving them and leaving them with the concierge for me to get when I came out.

I listed my symptoms for my doctor and he asked me several questions about how I was. Things I had not thought of before. Loss of appetite (yes), not looking forward to future events (yes...not), etc.

And so he suggested Celexa. He gave me assurances that it was a very low dose. I would probably not take it the rest of my life. Maybe for just a year or more. And he encouraged me to take the sleep medication (still Ambien) every night for 2 weeks. The hope was that, as the depression lifted, my sleeping would get better and I wouldn't need chemical assistance.

He warned me about the side effects and at one point he held his hand over his head and waggled the fingers. "You may get some 'washing' feelings in your head," he said. He told me I might feel weird for a few days.

And then we made an appointment for a 6 week follow up.

I went home feeling better already. I had a plan! And I had given my trouble to someone else. I would stop analyzing myself and just turn everything over to this doctor that I trusted very much.

I took the first dose of Celexa that afternoon when I got home. I didn't want to take it and go straight to bed that night. A medication that messes with the chemicals in your brain just seemed scary to me. I wanted to be awake the first few hours.

And it definitely was weird. Within an hour I could feel electricity-like sensations in my skull.

By the next day I was already noticing a subsiding in the circular, obsessive thinking.

By day three, a Friday, I was sick as sick could be. And I ended up virtually homebound for the 10 days.

I had contracted the flu.