Last week, I spotted. I don't keep a calendar, per se, so before heading to the ReproEndo guy, I always take a peek at this blog, which appears neglected, but to be honest, there's not much to report in the "down time" between visits. Unless of course, readers (what few there are to this blog) want to read and revel in my grief and depression, and how both are affecting one another. Or how I hate my job, and at times, hate myself.
Anyway, I had a conversation via email w/ReproEndo Guy this week. He's a peach. I don't expect him to reply quick, but he does; and I'd much rather zap an email he can reply to in-between patients or better yet, at his leisure.
The conversation had to do with how I just cannot reconcile continuing to PAY FOR and TAKE the Metformin XR tablets, if all I am going to do is expel them, seemingly undigested, in my 10:30 a.m. bowel movement.
Literally, it looks like a PayDay candy bar. And though I'm not one for PayDays (I'm more of a Snickers or Baby Ruth gal myself, iff'n when I indulge), but now I just can't bring myself to even THINK about putting a PayDay in my mouth.
He zapped back, "I hope you'll reconsider Riomet."
"Riomet? What's that?" I replied.
I don't take notes from office visit to office visit, but I'd remember if a medication was recommended!
Turns out for folks who have difficulties swallowing the big ol' horse tablets, Riomet is a liquid form of Metformin.
Of course, as fate would have it, this email conversation took place AFTER I had just gotten my Metformin XR refilled, so now I have a month's worth of tablets that I cannot return to the pharmacy.
I just could not justify the expense (granted my co-pays are $20, but STILL), but more importantly taking medication such as this (at such a high dosage), God only knows what it'll ultimately do to my liver, and NOT get benefit from it because it hasn't been in my system long enough.
We're still on board for either gastric bypass or banding for 2010. My dad's death really has thrown me for a loop, and I cannot do anything drastic this year.
I do not know if my persistent depression (clinical? bipolar? who gives a shit) is feeding my grief over the loss of dad (the alienation, the inability to communicate verbally is killing me a little each day); or is the grief fueling the depression, like a locomotive, pushing it forward.
In addition to this, I hate my job with a white, hot passion. I hate what it has done to me. And I live every day hoping to get fired (so I can at least collect unemployment) or have some type of attack or meltdown (so I can go on disability).
On top of this, I am married to a man who is not outwardly demonstrative, and is only affectionate when he wants sex. And let's face it, after everything I have just pecked out... why would I want to have sex?
Furthermore, despite his declaration today (only after I sat in a fog and was sobbing), "You know I love you, right? 10 years, 20 years, 30 years from now, I'll still love you..." I worry sometimes that these types of declarations, which are not INITIATED by his own wont, but is a reaction to me, or what he thinks I want to hear... I worry it may be too late for it to render me human again.
From August 2008 until October when dad ultimately passed, he had only gone with me on that long drive twice (once was after I got in a car accident due to grief and worry and sleep deprivation; and the other was that dad was DYING). And due to the husband's interview at INS landing on the unfortunate date of dad's Memorial Service, nearly every aspect of dad's final hospitalization and passing... I went through ALONE. I'm blessed my sister, brother, and mother all were able to be there more daily; but for me, I had to go through what I had to go through without the physical support of my spouse. He went with me the morning dad passed, so I could lay eyes on him one final time in repose (no formal viewing; direct cremation after we left).
I feel like a husk of what a human should be.
And if you see me on the street or at work or at my weekly knit night, and I'm smiling and laughing to the point of tears, or just plain FUNCTIONING, it's all a coping mechanism.
I just want to die in my sleep.
