Playing with Myself

A volunteer who was cleaning dog kennels last night at Pet Refuge noticed an odd smell in the back room. She called the dog coordinator, who came out and together they looked for the source. They couldn't find it, but it smelled electrical to the coordinator, so she called another volunteer who is also an electrician. He checked all of the fuse boxes and the ceiling fans, and couldn't find anything. A few minutes later, his wife looked up and saw smoke pouring out of one of the light fixtures.

I can't imagine what would have happened if they hadn't still been onsite, or if the cleaner hadn't called the coordinator to begin with. Jeebus.

Pet Refuge needs a new facility so badly. It breaks my heart.

My friendly neighborhood human resources professional tried to have me committed today.

Well, not really. But I had fun saying that. And it hasn't been a fun day.

So I've been having the usual round of frustration with my primary care physician, hereafter referred to as Dr. Do No Harm. Dr DNH had decided several months ago, in her infinite wisdom, that Prozac was Not Good and that I would be much better off with Wellbutrin. I asked her, after she started fiddling with my meds, why she was easing me off of Prozac. She cited (vaguely) a study that said Prozac can have long-term effects. Okay.

In late October, my prescription for Prozac ran out. She didn't renew it. She had, in the meantime, also started me on 150mg of Wellbutrin. Just before Thanksgiving, after I had been off of Prozac for about three weeks, she upped the Wellbutrin to 300mg a day.

Three days later I was contemplating killing myself.

I'm not a complete idiot. I knew that wasn't good. I've never been suicidal before (at least not since high school, that hotbed of misery). But after the "episode" I was fine. It seemed so unreal. I shrugged it off. But it kept bothering me, so about four days later I called Dr DNH and reported the incident. Her nurse got back to me the next day, and said to keep taking the Wellbutrin.

A little later, I had another episode. Afterwards, I realized that I had been artificially "high" earlier in the day. After Thanksgiving, the same thing happened. With Thanksgiving, there was about 24 hours between up and down. With this, there was an eight hour window.

Last night, there was a three or four hour window. Danakate did something very nice for me yesterday afternoon. I was happy. Way too happy, really. Later at home, I reacted entirely out of proportion to a minor issue, went into a crying jag, and was trying to decide how many pills I could take to make this go away.

Mr G and some nebulous sense of guilt got me through it. I called Dr DNH last night and left a message, telling her that there was something REALLY WRONG with this dosage.

This morning, Dr DNH called me at work. Her words: "Your mood swings are beyond my ability to treat." She cut me off when I tried to describe what was going on. She suggested I call a suicide hotline (she didn't give me the number of said hotline).

I stared at the phone for a while. I walked over to our HR director's office and told her that I needed to avail myself of the company's mental health program. I explained the situation to her. She offered to take me over to the mental health facility right then. I thought it was a good idea. So did she.

So I spent about five hours at the mental "emergency room" being handed around. I was told I could not get a medical review by a doctor until January. Hospitalization was suggested. I was cajoled into joining a daily therapy group, which I was willing to do until they told me the damn thing met from 9 am to 2 pm. Why not just fire me from my position at work now and get it over with? I was threatened with hospitalization. Apparently the part where I started beating my head on the table convinced the so-called counselor to actually go find a psychiatrist. Bless her heart, one of the psychiatrists worked me in to her schedule.

She went over my case history and confirmed that I'm bipolar, which I have suspected for about a year.

She encouraged me to think of this as an allergic reaction -- Wellbutrin put me into a period of ultra rapid cycling. She is tapering me off Wellbutrin and putting me back on Prozac. Once I am off the Wellbutrin, she may add a mood stabilizer. She did not have kind things to say about Dr DNH.

She was totally no-nonsense and I think she may have saved my life because she didn't make me feel like a lying, drug-addicted hypochondriac. I see her again in about five days.

So I guess I'll be looking for a new primary care physician. At the moment, I feel fine. Apart from the sense that I'm going to vomit.

I guess I'll leave comments open on this, but if anybody says I should have done anything differently, I may scream.

I really need to write my yuletide story. Which may not be a problem, as one side effect of the mania has apparently been sitting down and writing (in half an hour each) Lost and Stargate SG-1 stories that I actually like.

It should not bother me to see one of the cookies I made and brought to work in the trashcan, with one bite taken out of it. Should not, but does. C'est la vie.

Thanks to every one of you, all jewels beyond measure. I'm doing quite well, all things considered.

We have decided, perhaps foolishly, to drive from SB to Champaign on Christmas Eve, then from Champaign to St. Louis on Christmas Day, then back to Champaign on the 26th, from whence I will continue on home because I don't have nearly as much holiday vacation time as Mr G and have to work on Monday. Them highways, they will be a burnin'.

Holiday round-up (aka "In which my sister has an engagement ring and I have food") My sister got engaged. Having finally met the guy, I can say he's splendid. I have reservations about the engagement itself, but it's none of my business. It's a gorgeous ring, and I admit I'm a wee bit jealous as we were too poor for an engagement ring.

This was the year in which people gifted me with food, which is terribly ironic given that part of my bipolar treatment regimen is avoiding caffeine and excessive sweets. So if anybody wants some cookies, turtles with pecans, turtles with almonds, truffles, chocolate bars, more cookies, mini M&Ms, mini 3 Musketeers/Snickers etc, stop by. You can't have the pie, though. My dad made three kinds of pie and I adore him.

Mr G got three DVD box sets off his wish list. I got a full-screen copy of something I wanted in widescreen (I'll trade it, I have no shame) and my parents bought me stuff from my wish list for the first time... ever. Bless their techno-phobe hearts. I got a Darth Maul from my sweetie, a lovely cross stitch from graygirl, a Tim Burton book from danakate, two postcards and three donations to Pet Refuge, disappointing news about a friend, anger at myself, and when somebody said "bipolar much?" in reference to something else I burst into tears.

The dogs enjoyed seeing their grandparents too much. Emily is a shit when she wants to be -- she bit Mr G when he tried to stop her from chewing on something she shouldn't. In general she is not object possessive, but when she goes to either of the grandparents houses she gets spoiled and thinks she can do whatever she wants. I've got Mr G's wedding ring on my necklace, because his finger was so swollen. *sigh* Zoe is with Mr G in Champaign, basking in only-dogdom. The rest of the gang didn't sleep well last night because Daddy wasn't home.

Mr G did all of the driving from South Bend to Champaign to St. Louis to Champaign. Bless him. My drive back from Champaign was fine, except for a whiteout somewhere between miles 11 and 30 of the Toll Road. That was the only place it was snowing, too. Weird.

I was so glad to get home. I wish I were there now.

I can't decide whether to join Weight Watchers online again, or muddle through on my own. I hate to pay the cash since money is a bit tight, but actually paying for it makes me more disciplined. Stupid brain.

Tonight, I am going to pick up Waggs and see if he can cohabitate peacefully with the mutts.

I need a cell phone. We're considering going the Virgin pay-as-you-go phone route, but suggestions on alternatives would be nice.

And in a question from the "am I a grown-up? obviously not" department, we are going to have our taxes professionally done for the first time. What should I look for in choosing someone, and what do I need to provide to said person?

I have fic from butterflykiki to read. Yay!