Grinning [Like an Idiot]

Grinning [Like an Idiot]

Though the inexorable march of time has never failed to materialize,  it would appear to be traveling in baby steps these days, because it has been five days now since Annie had her kidney removed, and I am no closer to knowing how she is doing, than I was five days ago.

I have received the one phone call from San Francisco, last Monday, as Lito told me that the operation had been successfully completed and that Annie was in the recovery room.  Now this is Friday, and I know nothing more.  The original edict which came from Annie, said simply that she had to focus on getting well, and that I needed to give her that space before we got back together and assessed the damage.

As difficult as that is to do I have had no choice.  After experiencing three weeks of debilitating depression, which annoyed Annie no end, I am in the midst of a manic stretch, which began the minute she left ten days ago, that rivals the earlier depression very effectively.  Instead of sleeping twelve to fifteen hours a day, I sleep less than two.  Of course the amount of cleaning and the number of projects being addressed is truly impressive. If I survive the separation, I will certainly dazzle Annie with my industry during her absence.

What does a mood spectrum sufferer do, in order to try and retain some sense of normalcy, or rather, the sense of normalcy that would impress Annie, and make her think that I may actually have an idea of how to get a handle, once and for all, on my illness?

To begin I have respected Annie’s wish not to contact her, even though just to hear her voice would mean the world to me at this point in time.  Somehow, I do not think Annie would be impressed with that sentiment, so I’ll skip it.  Along with that, I have not attempted to deal with the frustration that was exhibited towards me, by those who had a peripheral role in relocating Annie.  As I mentioned the other day, for some people, others’ mental issues evoke annoyance and anger, rather than compassion and care.  It is what it is.

I have tried my hardest to get the required sleep, even if it has meant just lying, awake, for hours at a time, thoughts racing around my head, like the Indy 5000.  I know it’s supposed to be the Indy 500, but I have extended it for this occasion.

I have continued to walk the dogs, trying to do so both in the morning and the evening to keep up a regimen of vigorous exercise.  I have overcome my non-existent appetite, and returned to a routine that guarantees that I am eating adequately.  Proper nutrition, along with sleep and exercise, is one of the big three.  Annie just might even be impressed that I actually bought a steak at Geiger’s the other day, and made three meals out of it.  I am an avowed opponent to red meat, for the simple reason that I have difficulty digesting it, and that’s the point.  In an effort to eat properly, I am willing to undergo the discomfort of that choice. 

 I take my daily vitamin, my fish oil, and I drink vast, unlimited amounts of water.  I have eliminated all caffeine, except for that one morning mug of coffee, and I have eliminated all of the beverages that contain all sorts of mean and nasty components.  I drink only fruit juice, laced with water.  I avoid all alcohol, and take the Lorazepam only when there is a sleep issue.

I do so to show Annie that even though she is not here to observe and coach me, I am trying to assume this mantle on my own, so that she no longer has to worry about me-just herself.  Additionally, going down to Ukiah yesterday, by myself, to see Dr. Mark, is another indicator, that I understand what has to happen in the future, at least for a while, so that Annie can devote all of her attention to getting better.

I have vast, unlimited opportunities to demonstrate to Ann that I am ready to take the next step in my recovery, and I am beginning to think that means adjusting my stance on medication for MSD.  I have steadfastly (with Ann’s support) refused to consider taking either the atypical, antipsychotic meds, that Dr. Garratt originally prescribed, or the mood stabilizer, that seemed to be the best fit, except for that pesky, skin rash, that can kill you if you do not catch it quickly enough.

Now, however, in light of recent hard times, I am capitulating.  When I visit the Veterans Administration doctor, one week from today, I have decided to ask him to write a prescription for me for Lamictel (SP?), the mood stabilizer that may allow me an element of normalcy in my life.  

Normalcy, whatever that is destined to look like, has got to be better than what I’ve got going now, which is hideous.  I’d rather be a drooling idiot, than just an idiot, which is how I feel at this point in time, sitting around wondering whether my bridges are burnt and destroyed, or whether they still have enough infrastructure left, to incorporate a change in the program.

I have never been an advocate for change; therefore bring on the meds.  I will probably never even notice the old Mark as he white-waters his way into the cosmos, leaving me, the new Mark, floating, effortlessly in the middle of a still pond, grinning like-well-an idiot.