I love it when life orchestrates itself in such a way that there is nothing distracting you from the harmonies and melodies that sweep through and around you. No matter how loud and chaotic your life may be, there are those special times when you feel like you are inside this bubble; this place where nothing can touch you or harm you. And that, my friends, is where I am at tonight as I peacefully type away, my sister-friend gently dreaming beside me.
She is visiting from Edmonton. They say having house guests is exhausting, that it is a strain on your resources and bills and time. But actually, having her here is like scooping up the freshest, coldest, most delicious drink of water from a clean and quiet stream on the hottest day of summer. She is pouring into me, loving me, building me up. And I am so thankful. Last night she cut my hair (trust me, if she lived in BC her clientele would be all of you guys, because I can’t say enough about her gift of making people look and feel like movie stars). So there we were in the kitchen, me in a hard wooden chair, and her behind me, loving me with her gift. Since the moment she arrived, there was this hovering little conversation that so badly needed to be had and yet so clearly needed to be brought up at the right time. The topic was anti-depressants. She reads the blog, but was in Washington at the time that particular post went out, so while she knew something was up that I wasn’t saying, she didn’t know what it was. So I took a deep breath and told her everything, right there in that kitchen chair as she snipped and measured and snipped some more. Needless to say, the news didn’t come as a shock, and she took it for what it was: her best friend needed help and was getting it. She was supportive and empathetic and encouraging. She knew that I needed to be looked right in the eyes and told everything is going to be okay. I love her for that.
So there I was, back at the good old doctors office (albeit 15 minutes late), my heart pounding once again, my friend waiting patiently for me. I had called ahead to find out if there was something special that I needed to do or bring in order to get a prescription for this filled, but the receptionist said no. I’m not a huge fan of my doctor’s bedside manner, which is fairly business-like and sometimes abrasive, so I was prepared to break her down a bit today and try to get her to see eye-to-eye with me. Surprisingly, it didn’t take much. My ‘all-business, all-the-time’ doctor actually sat down across from me and displayed what seemed to be genuine empathy and concern. I filled out a questionnaire and scored myself a ‘mild’ on the depression scale. That didn’t shock me; I don’t feel depressed...I feel tired and unmotivated. I thought after scoring mild that she would tell me no, that she wouldn’t prescribe me anything. But she didn’t say that. Instead, she ordered yet another round of blood work (um, I seem to remember having a full blood count done like 2 months ago, but what can you do?) and she gave me a 1 week sample of Welbutrin, the baby of all anti-depressants. Now, I am fully aware that 1 week isn’t nearly enough time to find out if this is going to be good for me or not, but she said it was just to test the side effects. If I don’t have any, she will give me a real prescription, but if the side effects are bad, she has other mild options. Simple as that. I have another appointment for the same day, same time next week.
Tonight my sister-friend and I were watching Corrina, Corrina, and I completely teared up at the end when Molly and her Grandma are sitting outside on the steps together. Grandma is grief-stricken after losing her husband, and Molly is gently encouraging her to sing This Little Light of Mine. Grandma just doesn’t have it in her, so Molly puts her little arms around her and says, “Come on. I’ll sing it with you.”
You have all, in some way or another, sang it with me. If life is a song, you are my melody. You are my harmony. You are my percussion. You are my song.
You’ve all listened faithfully to my story, and I am so thankful for that.
I am writing this late at night, my girl sleeping beside me, my eyes drowsy. I know that in a few short hours I will be taking that first pill to my lips. I will be hearing the sounds of you singing beside me. It’s a baby step, but it’s a step.
~C~
