Friday 6 February 2009

Dr Compassion.

I had an appointment with Dr Compassion this afternoon. How am I? Tears. Oh dammit I wish I wouldn't do that every time I see him. It's just that he looks so concerned that I feel I must perform. He gives me that raised eyebrows, head tilted to one side and tipped forward, puppy dog look and my lip starts to tremble. I told him that I have ups and downs and at the moment I feel as if I'm in limbo, waiting for things to happen. I'm not sleeping because I can't always switch my head off when I need to. I've never slept well and always coped but I need sleep more these days.

I'm not sleeping? A few sleeping pills, only a few, don't want to become dependant. I don't want I'm not ready to go back to work? Another sick note. My heel is still hurting? Prodding of said heel covered in sock fluff. Ow!

I have, he thinks, plantar fasciitis (which my spell check wants to correct to fascism) and now have another, physical reason to stay away from the toxic workplace. Woo hoo. Lots of rest, padding in the heel, no barefootedness (boo).

My doctor is concerned that I'm slipping into depression. I think I let him think this because it keeps me from having to go back to work, the thought of which really does depress me. But the mere mentioning of depression has me wondering... Am I? I honestly truly don't think that's it. I am grieving. But it seems there is a fine line between grief and depression and the measurement of that line differs wildly depending on who you ask. I feel ok most of the time, I can get up in the morning with only a little trouble, I can talk about George with those who will listen and I laugh a lot and not inappropriately in the middle of the street. I don't hate myself for what happened, I don't blame myself, I don't think I killed my son by somehow not knowing or doing something. I can differentiate between blaming a part of my body and blaming me. Evilbloodyfuckingstupidbabykillingfibroids! See?

I must say, I feel a bit of a fraud for letting Dr Compassion worry about my state of mind. Or maybe he's right? Am I depressed? I know you readers out there don't know the real every day me but do I sound depressed when you read? Or do I sound like someone going through a process of miserably healthy grief? Do tell.

Incidentally, I spoke to my Mum this morning and when I mentioned that Ray had been out building his friend's computer until 2am and we were then both awake until 4am this morning, she told me off for staying up late! And then asked, "what on earth were you doing?!" Well really Mum, we might have been having wild first time in 7 months sex. So perhaps there are some questions you really shouldn't ask your adult daughter! Aaah mothers.

On a much more disturbing note, our friendly neighbourhood serial killer has been dangling bird feeding thingies in the trees outside his building today in between cleaning the blood from his car. Does he think this apparently compassionate gesture will fool anyone?


  1. As it happens, Alan has plantar's fascitis (sp?) Foot taping makes a world of difference. There is also a big foam bootie you can wear at night, but since there's enough interfering with your enjoyment of bedtime these days, you might not want to rush out and get that one.

    As to the depression question- I can walk you through the symptoms of clinical depression at some point if you'd like (sleep and appetite disturbance, low energy, lack of interest in doing things, hopelessness or guilt, suicidality... oops. I'm walking you through them now!) But some things that help for depression also help for grief.

    So my opinion is that he can write whatever he wants on his form if that'll get you off of work. But do make sure that you are using every resource at your disposal to help with the grief including (at the risk of sounding too much like dear old mum) counseling if it's available to you to help keep you pointed in a healthy and hopeful direction.

    Regardless of what you call it, you always brighten my day- so do take advantage of anything, big or small, that will help brighten yours.

  2. You don't sound depressed to me. I don't think a depressed mind think towards nor has energy for humor (like you stalking your serial killer-neighbor. Maybe the guy is unemployed and bored? Just my non-expert opinion, but I don't think depression leaves room for sarcasm.

    Basically, I have taken a year off. Not able to make plans nor follow thru, not dreaming. Just getting through each day, recognizing and feeling the emotions as they come. My disposition is sunny each day, because on the gray days I deal with it, and try not to shove it down.

  3. If it gets you off work, get him to write anything on that form! I worked as a HR manager and used to get the most hilarious sick certificates.

    But look after you and if you are feeling like you are finding it harder to cope with things, do see

  4. I guess no one but you can know for sure, but I would wager you are NOT depressed. You seem in control, balanced and like you are dealing with this very well. Don't let anyone talk you into depression, but be careful to monitor yourself too and ask for help if you feel like you need it!

  5. I hope you get some rest. What's up with your local serial killer? My husband has plantar fasciitis. There are good resources online to learn more. There is a difference between grieving and depression, even though they share many of the same symptoms. ((Hugs))

  6. doctors are very keen to throw around that depression tag and offer drugs to people. you are grieving. i believe it is different. it is still very new and raw and fresh. if in a year or two, things have not changed, then maybe.... but i have too much hope for you barbara.

  7. No, you don't sound depressed. But if you want to milk it for medical reasons, I won't tell anybody.

    Glad you're getting some lovin', girl. Keep up the good work :)

  8. You are a grieving Mother.

    A beautifully heart broken longing for her son mother.

    Sending you love Barbara.


    P.s and No he isn't fooling anyone.



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