She Lives!

So I had the doctor appointment this morning. I have to say I really like my doctor. She's new but I have a lot of confidence in her. And the whole staff is so friendly and they actually seem to enjoy their work - from the doctors to the receptionists. For those in the Conejo Valley - they are the Arroyo Oaks Medical Associates. (There's my first plug!)

Anyway, blood tests, and x-rays, and EKG and lab work later, it appears I am going to see tomorrow. I do have another appointment for an ultrasound in a couple of weeks but I am reasonably assured. And beyond that: she gave me another prescription for Celexa!!!

Now I am going to tell you why I am harping on my health for the second day in a row and then I'll walk away from the subject - but I do think it is important because I know many people who suffer from depression or anxiety.

There are a gazillion reasons why people get depressed or feel anxious (and anxiety is a form of depression) and some of them are completely legitimate. But when it takes you over, as it has done with me in the past, as it was threatening to do again recently, and it interferes with your living and your behavior changes and you struggle to get through a day, attention must be paid.

I started having depression as a teenager and it took all sorts of different forms. Initially, it was paranoia and I spent a crazy amount of time worrying about being followed or watched. Or doomed. (????) I knew it was nuts but I felt it none the less. Later, I just had a general black cloud thing happening and I could sort of get stuck there. With kids, this depression turned into irrational anger (I could go from laughing to yelling in a New York minute). I had counseling for - EVER - spent a load of bucks and nothing really changed for me. My faith helped me more than I can say as I began to practice it more and more and "listen" to what I felt God was telling me. But I could not altogether shake the dark pit.

Eight years ago, at a routine appointment, my doctor found a small lump in my left breast. A mammogram and ultrasound later I was assured that this was not a cancer but I wanted it OUT! I insisted on surgery and they removed a small mass of "fatty tissue" (a bit of humiliation but it was worth it). However, all my anxiety, all my depression, all my anger (well most), was redirected to my health and I became something I had never been in my life. A full blown hypochondriac. For years and years I was certain I had breast cancer. After my dad had colon cancer, that became my focus and for the last year, it has been ovarian cancer. In addition to MS or other degenerative illnesses. Again, I know its is nuts - but when you are a hypochondriac you can know that you are fine but the grip of sheer panic (and that is the word that best describes it) never leaves you.

Doctor appointments are a horror. You are so terrified to get test results. And if they tell you you are fine, you believe they missed something.

The truth is, hypochondria is a mental illness.

I won't write a book about my experience here but I will say that I lived in fear that I was dying each day and whatever strength I had was set upon acting as normal as possible. It was exhausting. And it was worse during the times when I was alone. It is a cancer of the mind. That is the best way to describe it. And it is painful and it took its toll. There was literally nothing that happened - a little twitch, a tiny pinch or pain - that that I didn't turn into stage 4 cancer or heart failure or some sort of degenerative disease. It was all consuming and eventually I didn't have the energy to find happiness. So I would go to work and routinely come home, go to my room, shut the door and shut down. For days and days on end. I cannot remember this but my family tells me I missed an entire Thanksgiving one year - never coming to the table at all. Over the years, I tried many medications but none of them worked for long or at all. And the side effects could be intense.

Finally, in 2007, my dear friend Candace gave me a miracle - a referral to a top psychiatrist at UCLA who could not take me on but, as a favor to her whom he knew professionally, agreed to meet me for two or three visits. The first time I was in his office he spent two hours asking me questions and making notes. I did not fill out any questionnaires, which is all I ever did with previous doctors for them to determine what to prescribe. His questions were led by my answers. After a very revealing first visit, he told me what he thought and told me he would give me a prescription for Celexa - something I had not tried. He was a good doctor who knew his business. It changed my life.

I thank God for it - I really do. If my story sounds familiar - get a good doctor and get better. For real.

Consider this a public service announcement.