Baby Brain Dump

One source of anxiety I didn't have when I was in college is the fact that my husband and I have been together for over a decade, we both want to be parents, but we're not.

It's not like we've been trying for years and haven't succeeded. Quite the opposite, actually. We've spent so much of our relationship living paycheck-to-paycheck that we never really felt it was appropriate to bring a child into the mix. And now he's in his late 30s and I'm approaching my mid 30s, and while the money situation still sucks, we're feeling the "now or never" pull. And of course since we very much would like it to be now as opposed to never, it appears as though I've stopped ovulating within the past couple of years. A recent biopsy confirmed it, and I have recently gotten a referral to the local university's fertility clinic. And while my husband understood why I wanted him there for the biopsy, he wasn't without a comment here and there about whether he actually needed to be there. You need to be here because I need you here. I can't give you a better reason that that. Is there a better reason than that? And when he was still making comments about it, I said something to the effect of "I'm scared. I don't know what this is going to be like. I'm going through this so we can have a baby, the least you could do is be there for me without editorializing." He got pissed, told me that it wasn't fair of me to say that, and asked me not to play that card again, to not "emotionally crowbar" him with "passive-agressive bullshit." And when I told him when the fertility clinic appointment is, he said "oh, do I need to be there? You know how I am with Monday mornings."

As as aside: Gentlemen. If you want - more than anything - a biological child, and your Bride is potentially facing infertility issues and worrying about whether her body will allow her to give you That Which You Most Want in This World, no matter your feelings on the situation, the proper response to "We have an appointment at the fertility clinic on such-and-such date at such-and-such time," is "alrighty, I'll make sure I'm up and ready to go with you," NOT "oh, do I need to be there? You know how I am with Monday mornings." Yes, you're scared. Yes, you're nervous. But no matter how many times you assure your Bride that you're in this together and she has your support and that's not really what you meant, the sting of those words being The First Out of Your Mouth will linger for a while and could potentially lead her to wonder, if ever so slightly in the back of her mind, if you really want to be at any future appointments you attend with her. Hopefully that won't be the case, but be prepared for the fact that she may wind up feeling lonelier than she's ever felt.

I'm guessing you're not as enthusiastic about it because you're scared and nervous. And maybe that comment slipped out as a manifestation of that fear and nervousness. And if you are scared and nervous, I'm guessing you haven't talked to me about it because I've been in a downward spiral for a few months now and you don't want to burden me with that. But please... please believe me, I understand that you're nervous. Yes, I understand you're scared. I AM TOO. But I don't GET the luxury of being too nervous or scared to go to these appointments. According to you, I DO have the luxury of not going. But if I don't go, we don't have a baby. And then I get the "luxury" of wondering when the other shoe's going to drop and suddenly you're going to decide that you resent me because I wasn't able to give you a child. And I KNOW how important it is to you to have a biological child. I need your support. We need each other's support.

Please don't make me feel like I'm your mother telling you to do something. I'd hope that you wouldn't be viewing it as an obligation, rather as an opportunity for us to be available to support each other.

Further Complicating my Holiday Blues

It's especially hard for me to fight the blues at this time of year. I live far away from where I grew up. I've been back for Christmas twice since I left over a decade ago, and the first time was the day after Christmas. Of the last 12 Christmases, I've spent ONE actual Christmas Day with my family.

Part of the problem is that we don't always have the money for me to go. Another part is that my husband's an only child, so I'd feel guilty taking him away from his mom on Christmas (even though we never do Christmas on Christmas Day, and I know she understands), and yet another part is that my husband doesn't like to fly, so we'd need enough vacation time to make it worth driving.

But what kills me around this time of year is that my husband gets upset when I say I want to "go home" for a holiday. I can truly and honestly say that I now consider where I am to be my home. But where I came from will always be "home" as well. And just because I refer to the place I grew up as home, doesn't mean here is any less home. They're both home.

I think the thing that bugs him the most about it is that invariably, when I say I want to go home, I follow it up with "I haven't spent X holiday" with my family in a long time. It's the family thing that gets him. We should have been a family by now. We are, but it's the two of us and our four-legged furkids. No kids yet. And he's an only child, so for holiday functions it's just the two of us and his parents. Where I grew up, I have my immediate family, plus aunts, uncles and cousins. Fifteen of us versus four of us.

I have a very hard time with this because I feel like it's all my fault that he's upset. Like,he's upset because he feels like I don't think I'm home (which isn't true). Like we're not a family yet because we don't have kids (more on that in another post). Like his parents and his home state and just being us in our little world of cozy isn't enough for me. Like because we love each other so much and even though things are rough sometimes they could be much, much worse, that I shouldn't get melancholy around the holidays. Like I shouldn't miss what I grew up with. And it hurts that sometimes I feel like I can't be sad around him, can't express how much I miss my family's traditions, because we haven't really done a bang-up job at starting our own.

Sometimes, I just want someone to understand, and hug me, and just be there for me, without making me feel guilty for having the feelings I do.

And most of the time, I just want that someone to be my husband.

Flashbacks

I called in sick to work on Monday. In the morning, I had really bad heartburn that wasn't helped by anything I had on hand, and I honestly felt like I was going to vomit. About 10 minutes after I called in, I found some saltines. I ate a whole sleeve of them, and felt about 75% better within about half an hour.

I probably could have gone to work.

But I couldn't. So I didn't.

And I made another connection. Part of what my depression/anxiety did to me in college was render me quite the absentee student. I frequently skipped class - sometimes it was all about apathy, other times because I just couldn't bring myself to just get up and go. It was as though my weight had quadrupled overnight and no matter how I tried, I couldn't bear the heaviness of taking a shower, getting dressed, warming up my car, doing my hair, finding a godforsaken parking space, etc. And some days where everything went swimmingly right up until it was time for class, I'd freeze, or start shaking and spend the class period hiding in my office. Sometimes it hit me right away when I woke up, sometimes not until I was on campus, occasionally not at all.

Which is exactly how I've felt many mornings in the last few months. Many days, all I want to do is crawl back into bed and check out for a few more hours. Unfortunately, supervisors are not the same as bursars. While one of the most unpleasant consequences of my college-age depression/anxiety was having $30K in debt with no degree to show for it, the consequence I could be dealing with here is loss of livelihood. Unemployment. Corporate America isn't like college, where you can withdraw from a class, but so long as your bill is paid they welcome you back next semester with open arms and an open cash drawer, ready for your next deposit. You don't show up for work, and the attendance policy ushers you out the door and gives you a bad reference to boot.

Unemployment is exactly the LAST thing I need right now. I've done the unemployment thing in the past (not depression/anxiety-related), and I turned into the biggest of the Debbie Downer schlubs for 6 months, to the point where when my husband saw me dressed up for interviews again, it was a shock. We're talking the same tshirt and yoga pants for weeks on end. Not a pretty sight.

And now if you'll excuse me, the alarm goes off in six hours and I don't plan on gaining any weight while I sleep.

Coincidence?

Right around the same time as my original depression diagnosis in college, I was also diagnosed with GERD. I took Prilosec for a while and gradually stopped (I don't remember why - it was probably my infinite wisdom telling me I was "all better," which, I believe is the same reason I stopped taking the Zoloft and Wellbutrin I was prescribed that year as well).

Over the years, it hadn't really bothered me all that much again, other than the general desire for a couple of Tums generic chewable acid reducers here and there until lately. Lately, I've had heartburn so bad in the middle of the night that I've sprinted, half-asleep, to the bathroom to cough and almost-vomit. So bad that a middle of the night bathroom sprint was all but guaranteed if I didn't take a couple of Tums generic chewable acid reducers before bed. A big ol' swig of Pepto is even better.

I finally made the connection a couple of days ago. "Hey, wait. Last time I had really bad acid was right around the same time I was depressed."

I looked it up and sure as shit, while stress and depression don't necessarily cause GERD, tension, anxiety and depression can definitely make it worse.

The Thing About Cats

I am constantly tired.

I am constantly on the verge of tears.

I am constantly desiring my bed, to curl up with my pillows, my blankets, my kitties.

Their only expectations of me are food and water in their bowls, a clean box of litter, a running faucet and a warm place to curl up and rest. And snuggles. Don't forget the snuggles.

That I can do.

They don't care if I get up at a certain time, log into a computer at a certain time, sell anything, remember eight million things to do on every call. They don't care if the Christmas tree has lights, if there's something for dinner other than kibble. They don't get mad at me when I say I will do something, but remain unmoved from my position in front of the glowing box half an hour later. They don't understand that I'm having a moment where I. Just. Can't., but they don't have to understand. All they need to understand is that I'm Mom, and Mom is the keeper of the kibble, the wizardess of water, the sorceress of snuggles. Nothing more, nothing less.

I have good days and bad. Good moments and bad. At this particular moment, even something so simple, so wonderfully festive as putting the lights on the tree is causing me to weep uncontrollably and want to throw my covers over my head and feel my cats arrange themselves and settle in against my blanketed legs as I fall into a fitful sleep, dwelling on the fact that I have to do it all again tomorrow.

Healing seems so far away right now.

December Seventeenth

That's the day. 9:00 AM. Before work (I'm going in late). I'm meeting with an actual psychiatrist, to determine whether there's a need for any sort of medication, and to have him recommend a psychologist behavioral health clinician.

The literature I've received tells me the visit may be up to two hours long, to help the psychiatrist get a feel for the kind of medication and/or talk therapy I'll need. I just hope I don't get to work looking like a wreck - I'm not a pretty crier.

Something I Didn't Have Before

I've mentioned previously my familiarity with the blogging world, and some of those who are famous within it. I only vaguely knew of Anissa Mayhew prior to her current crisis, but with the number of popular bloggers I follow, it's no surprise that I heard about it right away. You'd not be amiss in wondering what Anissa's plight has to do with mine. As it turns out, not too terribly much, but something her husband wrote regarding the support he's received over the last couple of weeks really hit home for me. He posted this quote from one of his (and my husband's) favorite shows, Firefly:

"When you can’t run, you crawl. And when you can’t crawl, when you can’t do that…you find someone to carry you."

Since I came clean to my husband a few weeks ago about the fact that I've been feeling downright terrible for a while, he's really stepped up to the plate. Sure, he's had a few insensitive moments*, but hey - I've been dealing with this on and off for years. He's NEVER experienced me this bad, and he's only known how bad I've been feeling for a week or two. He's a lot more understanding of my mopeyness, my lack of basic housekeeping, my desire to do nothing more than lay on the couch and watch TV (or sit on the computer and lose myself in Twitter and Facebook for hours on end)

What makes this so incredible to me is that when I'd gotten this bad in the past, I'd never asked for help from anyone close to me. When I had low points, I kept people in the loop, but never really felt it was my place to burden them by asking them to help, or to ask for understanding, or to let them know that there might be times where I'll be a mess, but if they were able to bear with me that they might catch a glimpse of "normal" me from time to time.

Not that I want to say that he's obligated, but after an almost twelve-year relationship and seven years of marriage, the whole "love/honor/cherish, sickness/health" thing finally tripped a fuse in my strange little head, and I spoke up. And he's been great so far. I still suffer from bouts of intense loneliness, but even though he's not perfect, I know he's there and he's trying to understand and help. And that's so much more than I've ever had before.

And man, am I gonna owe him a lot when we make it out the other side - quite possibly my life.

*(Yes dear, I really do need the multiple strands of lights on the tree to match each other. Yes dear, I understand that in a perfect world, to a normal person, the store running out of the lights I bought this year probably wouldn't be cause for tears. Yes dear, I realize that having a nice Christmas is more important than matching lights. No dear, my Christmas will not be ruined if the lights are mismatched, but I like them to match and unmatched lights will be a source of anxiety for me. And yes dear, I will feel like I'm being judged for not having matching lights, which will make the anxiety worse)

Maybe Not as Easy as I Thought?

Hopefully I'm overreacting to a letter I got in the mail from the behavioral health (new word for Psychiatric?) facility I'll be visiting. It states, in part:

On behalf of ABC Insurance Company, the Local University Behavioral Health Department determines whether a requested service is medically necessary and covered under your health benefit plan. We have received a request for coverage of Behavioral Health Services with FirstNameLastName, MD.

Your request for behavioral health services has been approved. You are approved for one visit from 11.20.09 to 1.31.10. Please schedule the approved number of visits within this period of time.

LIMITED BENEFIT: Services for behavioral health and alcohol and/or other drug abuse services is a limited benefit; per your schedule of benefit sand Medical Certificate of Coverage, your policy covers the following medically indicated services, up to the limits of the policy outlined below, when services are provided by a participating provider and prior authorized.

It then goes on to list the limitations of my current coverage.

I have a few questions about this...

First, how can they determine whether my requested service is medically necessary before they have me meet with a licensed professional? The person they had me speak with in order to make my appointment asked me maybe 4 or 5 questions. Maybe they thought they had enough information based on my answers, I don't know. {shrug} If it was enough, I can probably pinpoint the answer that did it, but still.

Second, my coverage doesn't require prior authorization to see specialists (members are permitted to self-refer), and nowhere on my Schedule of Benefits does it say that I have to obtain prior authorization to receive behavioral health benefits.

Third, how can it say that I am only approved for one visit between 11/20 and 1/31, when recent amendments to the Mental Health Parity Act go into affect as of 1/1? I suppose as long as my visits/medication are covered, I shouldn't worry too much about it, but the letter gave me a severe case of raised eyebrow.

Oh. And for anyone wondering, this is strictly about behavioral health. I do not abuse drugs or alcohol.

Why I Love The Internet, Reason #24,378

While I am a relative Internet Goddess compared to some, it wasn't always so.

The first time I ever realized I might need help, I was in college. Or, as this blog might imply, it was probably 14th or 15th grade. Before my parents ever got our first computer (let's just say I don't come from a long line of early adopters - my Grandma had a microwave before we did), before I had ever heard of anything resembling "online."

While some of my now-friends were enjoying the explosion of IRC, I was, through no fault of my own, Lily Luddite. All I had were a handful of friends who had no idea how to cope with my moodiness (which was likely chalked up to being stressed at school), my increasing lethargy (a sure effect of my increasing waistline) and my growing anti-socialism and absenteeism (maybe I "just needed a break"). It was a time when I needed real friends and genuine understanding. And while I did have a few friends who were blessedly patient with me, for the most part, I was severely lacking what I truly needed - people who knew what I was going through. One of my professors noticed I wasn't quite myself, or, well, the "self" I'd been, anyway, and pulled me aside one day to recommend I talk to someone.

aside: Dr. Auner, if you ever come across this, I am forever in your debt.

And now? Years later, we have this:

People who KNOW. People who UNDERSTAND. People who are well-known in the blogging community and perhaps the internet as a whole, who are willing to put it all out there for public consumption. Whether their willingness stems from an increased societal understanding, or from the desire to increase societal understanding, they're out there. I know they're there, and it is a great comfort.

Better Late Than Never. I Hope.

At 33 years of age, I still haven't managed to shake the ghosts of my childhood and adolescence. I'm typically able to will myself into denial, but every once in a while - quite often at the worst possible time - they show up to haunt me.

I've been medicated for depression and anxiety, yet have never had proper therapy - but medication can only go so far when one is actively avoiding the issues necessitating said medication.

I've never had insurance that covers more than twenty mental health visits per year. I've been putting off going to therapy because I can't afford to pay out of pocket (and really, who can?).

I've been afraid that I'd start therapy and find it incredibly helpful, only to have it cruelly yanked out from underneath me after visit number twenty.

Thank god for the Paul Wellstone and Pete Domenici Mental Health Parity and Addiction Equity Act of 2008 - as of January 1st, 2010, I can have all the therapy I want.

The search for peace starts here. Starts now.

Let's hope it's not too late - for me, for my health, for my marriage, for my career, for my ability to have children. Please let it not be too late.