Sir, Step Away From the Orange (How Drugs Cured My Breakfast Ritual)

Day 32

It's been a few days, World, so here's the stuff. I saw Coach yesterday and he is pleased with the medications that Dr. Thurman prescribed last Friday. I can report that I no longer eat an orange for breakfast. I don't eat cereal most mornings either as I feel nauseous when I first wake up. The sick feeling usually wears off around lunch time and I manage to hold down something light. By evening, I actually feel like eating, then I take the meds, go to sleep, and start all over again. I'm down 2 pounds from last Friday. So it's not the way I wanted to lose weight, but at this point, I'm willing to consider the loss a benefit to weigh against the sickness. Also, the 3 pm crash (I have always had an energy low between 3 and 5 pm) is worse now, but that probably has more to do with how little I'm eating, than the meds. However you look at it, the meds have stopped my 3 am checking rituals because I don't wake up and my breakfast rituals because I can't eat. Oh, the miracles of modern medicine!

Coach and I also talked about deep breathing to make it through the freak outs. This is where being a musician (and especially a wind player) comes in handy. I learned how to deep breathe in my earliest trumpet lessons as a kid and I just trained myself to do it all the time. The trick I learned yesterday was to exhale twice as long as I inhale and to concentrate on a word or phrase that is calming to me. Also if I turn the corners of my mouth up slightly in a half smile while I exhale through pursed lips, it stimulates cranial nerve 7 in my parasympathetic nervous system causing my body to release endorphins (which apparently are like Prozac mixed with crack). Let me see, deep breathing, pursed lips, turned up corners, yeah sounds kind of like an embouchure doesn't it? This explains why trumpet playing was my preferred method for dealing with the "crazy" when I was younger and also, why I suffer more with it now. I need to play more often, but then, I knew that without the copay.

Now, I need to head for work. I'm looking forward to this weekend. Leslie and I are going away. Just the two of us. She's informed me that I'm not allowed to worry about the cost and assured me that we need to do this. I know we have the money, but then I also know that the doors are locked at 3 am. The bottom line is that she's right, like so many other times before. World, I wish I could truly explain to you how strong and amazing she really is. She'll be what pulls me through this. I'm a fortunate man. God only made one and only he knows why she picked me - probably because he knew I was going to be a handful. Regardless, when it comes to having a hand to hold, I'm so glad I have hers.

The First Pills of the Rest of My Life

Day 29

Last night I took the first pills of the rest of my life. After I took them (and didn't faint, explode, or melt into goo) I said to my loving wife in a melancholy tone, "Well, I just took the first pills of the rest of my life." Unphased by overblown sense of personal drama, she simply replied, "We don't know that it will be for the rest of your life." So I sat on the couch to watch TV with her, because she was right. I don't know if this will be for the rest of my life, but I do know that it is for right now.

As for the sleep, all things went well. Xanax can be a worthy opponent when navigating to the bathroom at 2 am, but, all things considered, I awoke around 6:30 ready for the day. Today I will work on the taxes, take the kids to a pizza party at 1, and try to relax a bit. I may even cook today, my chives are coming up in the garden outside and their just begging to be used. I love chives, because winter can't kill them. They just keep coming back year after year. I hope to be like that.

First Doctor's Day

Day 28

I saw my doctor today. Her first name is Uma, so she will be referred to in this blog as Dr. Thurman. I choose to protect the identities of those mentioned here in case they ever desire not to be associated with me or my "crazy." Besides, a certain degree of anonymity is just smart sometimes.

Anyway, she checked me out and listened to my story. I've got it down pretty well by now. It goes something like this: "I have something to tell you - I'm crazy. You see, I have Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. I've had it all my life. I've hidden it from everyone I know for 36 years and now I'm teetering on the brink of insanity. I have the prerequisite people, publications, and prescriptions; and I'm ready to get better."

"I see," she says, "How do your symptoms manifest themselves?" "Usually with counting, checking, perfectionism, ordering, straightening, and cleaning," I say. "Things need to be done in even numbers. Steps have to alternate over lines or planes of any kind. Chewing needs to be equal on both sides of the mouth. I touch things, tap things, repeat things, research and memorize things ad nauseum." "Uh huh," she answers as she ponders asking me for specifics.

I decide to give her one just for fun. "Like the fact that I spent less than 10 minutes in your waiting room. I haven't been there in almost 2 years. You have 39 openings behind your receptionist - 30 of them are drawers and nine are doors organized in groups of three, two on top of the drawers and one below. There are four pictures hanging on the left wall and one on the right wall. The one on the right is larger and crooked - it leans to the left. The second photo from the left on the opposite wall is crooked inside the frame (also leaning to the left) so I was unable to fix it. you have six white chairs and four orange ones; two windows; and one cubbyhole with an angel statue in it. There is one ink pen that is nearly dry, one bottle of hand sanitizer that needs to be refilled, two magazines and one children's book with an free book bag offer on the cover. Shall I continue?" She assures me that won't be necessary.

After a listen to the lungs and a short discussion about sleep deprivation and the side effects of SSRI medications, I left with two prescriptions: one for Xanax to relax me and help me sleep and one for Zoloft to fix the chemicals in my brain. I dropped them off at the Walgreen's near where I work. I'll pick them up on the way to cash my check and start taking them tonight at bedtime.

So that's the plan for now. I have no idea how I'm going to feel or what this stuff will do for the "crazy," not to mention any side effects, but I'll keep you informed as I go. Here's to sleepier nights and happier days, World. May they come quickly and stick around for a long, long time.

First Doctor's Eve

Day 27

I called this post, "First Doctor's Eve," but this is certainly not the first time I've seen my doctor. She is a good doctor. She listens. She doesn't rush through appointments. She doesn't push medications unnecessarily. Most of all, she genuinely cares about her patients. This is especially fresh in my mind as I received a lesson in customer service from a disgruntled customer of my own this evening.

The purpose of my visit tomorrow is to bring my doctor into the loop about my "crazy" and to get her recommendation on medications. I also want her to weigh in on the best sleep solution, especially if it's not the "Blue Death." I go at noon so I'll let you know what she says tomorrow.

On a separate note, I've been reading in the book I purchased a while back (remember that?) and I definitely have some questions for Coach on Monday about cognitive therapy. More about all that later. Goodnight, World, we'll go at it again tomorrow.

Thank God for the "Blue Death"

Day 26

I discovered Tylenol PM in college. I have never been one to sleep much, but back then it was especially bad. All night study sessions, late night gigs, fraternity life, and other extracurricular events made for a sleep schedule that was erratic at best and often times down right chaotic. My roommate and I heard about this little over-the-counter wonder and decided to give it a try. The adult dose was two tablets, so each of us downed a couple tiny blue dream-makers and headed for bed. I awoke 8 1/2 hours later refreshed and ready for the day. He didn't stir for another 4 hours and when he did he was foggy for another hour or so. I love him, but he's kind of a medicinal light-weight.

After this, we affectionately named this product the "Blue Death." When either of said we were going to take the "Blue Death" the other one had to abstain and play "Town Cryer" to make sure we made it to class the next day. (As a side note, Nyquil often accomplishes the same result, but if you don't have sniffling, sneezing, coughing, aching, stuffy head, or fever why overdo it right?).

As the years have come and gone, I have occasionally had cause to dance with the "Blue Death." The last few weeks have brought me to one of those occasions. I am happy to report that for the past two nights, I have slept much more soundly thanks to Tylenol PM (which, incidently, is just extra strength Tylenol with Benedryl added to it). However, in a constant effort to limit my dealings with the "Small Blue One," I will be seeing my primary care physician tomorrow. She was the one who told me to use it until I could get into the office. I have complete confidence in her knowledge of medications and I know that she will help me craft a more permanent sleep solution.

As for the "crazy," I have to admit that it is much easier to deal with when I can sleep at night. So fear not, World, things are looking up. I see the doctor tomorrow, the Coach on Monday, and the shrink in May. And just think, less than a month ago I was just some poor schlep touching, counting, and checking his way to insanity. Now, I have people, publications, and prescriptions. Looks like the sky's the limit. Or is it? You know, I haven't checked that lately...

The Night of the Pillows

You Guessed It, Day 24

OK, so I'm feeling saucy about the whole writing thing today. Actually, I find that writing helps lessen the anxiety. This is why I'm on my fourth post of the day and ready to tell you about the "Night of the Pillows".

Leslie and I have had trouble sleeping in recent months. This is probably due to the hand-me-down mattress in our room that is older than we are combined. The trick about sleeping on our mattress is that you have to lay in one spot until the spring that's poking you wakes you up, but not long enough for said spring to actually bruise a rib. Then you reposition, rinse, and repeat over and over until morning. If your lucky you will only wake up 2 or 3 times and you won't sustain any lasting contusions.

Back around Christmas, we finally decided, while watching the bionic woman commercial, to give the sleep number bed some thought. After all, bionic people have to sleep too, right? We took a trip to our nearest sleep number store and fell in love with the bed. However, we were in the final throws of a grueling 3-year effort to get out of debt. We decided that when we could pay cash, we would return and purchase the bed of our dreams (no pun intended). As an intermediate step, though, we decided to purchase contoured pillows - expensive contoured pillows. They're not cheap, World, but they are amazing! They cradle your head in perfect support almost causing you to forget that your being poked in the ribs my a recalcitrant steel coil.

We brought our pillows home and unboxed them. I slept on mine for a few nights and then it was time to change the sheets and cases. Leslie stripped the old bedding and set our naked pillows aside. When it came time to make the bed, I helped. We had all of the sheets on in perfect teamwork when she picked up the pillows. Without their outer coverings, they were identical. They had the same contoured shape. They weighed the same. They were the same color. They were exactly alike except for one extremely important thing - I didn't know which one was mine! All my life I have been very picky about my pillows making sure that no one else slept on them and that I used mine and only mine in complete fidelity until down do us part.

When she handed me my pillow, she noticed the terror on my face. She was concerned because this was before "The Morning of the Orange" and she still didn't know about the "crazy". "What's wrong?" she said. "I...I...don't know if it's mine," I choked. "They're identical," she replied. She didn't understand and I was still hiding so I couldn't explain. I unboxed that pillow! I and I alone had slept upon it. Now something that belonged to me may have been lost! That's really the fear - losing my stuff. I don't lose my stuff. Everything goes in the same place every time according to years of time-tested ritual and practice. I wasn't appalled at the idea of sleeping on a pillow my wife had used or anything like that. This wasn't about wife cooties. This was about lost stuff and that, my friends, is a big, big, deal to a person with my brand of "crazy".

I couldn't sleep on it. I just laid it aside and rolled over eventually falling asleep in silence on my auxiliary pillow. I awoke, for the usual checking of the house (more later), around 3 am. After staring out the window, deep breathing for 45 minutes, and performing half a dozen decontamination rituals, I was finally able to sleep on the pillow. Leslie now assures me that the two pillows are separate at all times and I shall never again be parted from the one on my side of the bed. Someday, I hope to be free of this junk. Then I may just mix them up myself employing ridiculous things like odd numbers, asymmetrical patterns, and all manor of normal person whimsicality. For now, I'll keep saving for the bed. At this point I would give anything for the ability to get some sleep.