As mentioned in another post, today has been a little bit better than yesterday. I am feeling heavy, emotionally, but less so. I was in Starbucks, when my phone rang. It was the Coumadin Clinic. The people who monitor my blood thickness. I have to have thin blood because of my heart valves. I checked it myself last night. It was way too thick, so I took a double dose, and gave myself a shot of another blood thinner (which I do every 12 hours) to tide me over until I’m in a safer range with the Coumadin. On the phone they asked me to come in this morning to have them check again. I headed home, jumped in the shower, and headed downtown on the… Kennedy!

Once I got to the parking lot of Northwestern, the feelings of dread settled in. Too much familiarity. Too many memories here. I hate that parking lot on the best of days. Too many centenarians driving at 7 mph looking for spaces on the lowest floor possible where there are none. I suppose at that age they’ve earned the right to do what they like, but that doesn’t make it any the less frustrating for the rest of us. Oh. They’re always White, from the suburbs, or Wisconsin or Indiana.

On my trek from the lot to the cardiac floor, floor 19, I became exhausted mentally and physically. I’m not sure why. Well I am. It’s the depression again, but I tried to act like I didn’t know, because I don’t want to think that it’s going to be another shitty day. How about just one day that’s not terrible? It doesn’t even have to be good. Just okay. I was called back pretty quickly. I know all the nurses in the clinic fairly well. I see them regularly. Today’s nurse asked me how I was, and rather than the usual fake smile and ‘good thanks’, and just shrugged my shoulders and said ‘you know’. Today fuck faking it. Neither of us were exactly sure what to do with my blood thinners. I’ve been on them for 12 years, so we often decide together what my dosing will be. My reaction to the meds is a mystery however.

I left the hospital to head for brunch – favorite meal you might have gathered. I was pretty much properly down by this stage. Pondering on the fairness of wanting to kill myself. Who was I being unfair to. Firstly my kids. Parents. Husband. Siblings. Friends. Doctor. Etc. etc. etc. Then I thought about cardiac surgeon. Why did he bother wasting his time on me, if I was going to check out a few years later? What a waste. Just at that moment an employee exit opened, and what I assume to be a doctor walked out. He didn’t look like my surgeon at all, but he reminded me of him, further pressing home the point. Then my left knee went. It’s the worse one, because it is significantly more bowed than the right. Yippee. Another reminder of my limitation. Or limpitations. Haha. See what I did there? So funny – right? I said funny! Fucking laugh! I finished walking past the hospital and was waiting to cross the street. Who did I see across the street? My two social workers from my last psych stay. Yay. More reminders of shit things. This is the problem with having all your care at one hospital. It is great, because the coordination of care is so much easier. Everyone just pages each other to decide what to do with you. However, I bump into providers all over the place whether I like to or not. I’ve had lovely little chats with my psych several times in SBs in and near the hospital. Now that’s fine if I’m in a good mood, or if I’m seeing him that day anyway, but if I’m near breaking point, I’d rather not.

So here I am eating brunch. I can’t avoid the hospital. The car is parked in the centenarian’s lot attached to it. Hopefully no one I know will pop into view before I can zoom away. And hopefully today will improve again, or at least not get worse. I’m off to meet my Amy Schumer psych fat friend (sorry fellow fatty) – oh – we should so start a club with an awesome name – for fat psych chicks. Oh – if we got two more – Four Fat Psych Chicks! I love it! See I’m cured. Better already. Who needs psych meds. That was so easy. Everyone was right. Depression is so made up.

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