Going to the ER on Monday after my little "drum solos" was actually good for me. Nothing was wrong, yada yada. I got through without dying and without getting bulldozed. John and I repeated "NO BETA BLOCKERS" so much that finally a nurse said, "OK! We got it! No beta blockers!" I got my new MedicAlert bracelet listing "no beta blockers" today too, so I feel a lot better about my chances under unfamiliar care now. Plus also it's two tone gold and silver titanium! ooooh!
At therapy last night we talked about why I came back from the dead--why, if I was happy being dead, and I was, I came back, and how did I feel about that. "I imagine you feel meaningless," she said. I initially said no, not at all, but when I thought about it further--yeah! I did, and I didn't really even know it. Why DID I come back? I mean, I have all kinds of reasons to live; my husband loves me deeply, I have two little girls who need me, I haven't buried my parents yet (not that I'm looking forward to that) and I'd never put them through burying me before them if I could. But people in the exact same circumstances die all the time. That's not all it takes to stay alive.
So why did I come back? I don't know. I imagine it'll become clear as time goes on, and in the meantime, there are my children, my parents and my husband, and my readers. And myself.
My therapist got me to commit to one daily physical self-care thing for the week; when I'm depressed I forget to eat, I don't shower, I wear the same clothes for days, etc. All of which I'm having trouble with at the moment. I committed to walking around the block. Did it first thing this morning after I took a shower.
Technorati Tags: Chronic Illness Support
I can't guarantee I'll do all that tomorrow, but today I did.
