Sweet, sweet meds

I am so hooked up.

You know you are having a bad time of it when the doctor, whom you have never met, hears about your year (as an answer to the question "why are you seeking SSRIs?) and prescribes you giant doses of it and some Xanax thrown in without you asking and then says "Jesus. You know, R, things will turn around. Wow. That is the worst story I have heard all day".

This from a man who probably treated someone earlier who had a steak knife coming out of their eye.

So my blood pressure is elevated. Pulse rate, elevated. Migraines need some loving from the neurologist though the GPs initial "touch your nose and then my finger" neurological exam for children showed no massive embolism about to burst forth in my brain, no matter how much it feels that way.

And tonight I take a dose of Celexa and a Xanax.

The best part about my visits to my primary care is I treat it like a 20 questions game. I have so many seemingly unrelated data needs I just fire away questions at him because hell, I am there, and chances are in the 2 years between visits I have stored up lots to ask.

Examples from today:
- "Why do I have a migraine every day?"
- "Does a birthmom who is 39 have THAT big of a chance of down's syndrome babies?"
- "What types of prenatal tests should we think about if we match with said birthmom?" (related question)
- "How dangerous is angioplasty? Cause my dad is getting one Friday" (at which point the DR said looked at me with what could only be pity and amazement and said "are you kidding me?"
- "Do I need to go on malaria meds if I am going to Argentina?"

I left, two prescriptions heavier, with a spring in my step knowing that the cold, dark place my mind has become is about to get lighter. In two weeks. Or in two hours, when I take lovely, lovely Xanax. Lovely Xanax. Sing to me.