Mother’s Little Helper

Anxiety has been running rampant lately.  I was warned. Dr H (psychiatrist) and Dr R (gynecologist) both warned me about mid-40’s perimenopausal nonsense and THERE IT IS.

Really for the last couple of years, but I thought I had stuff to blame it on, so didn’t take it seriously as a Disorderly Thing.  However, since…oh…April or so it has been on the increase and with NOTHING to blame it on! I hate that! I need something to point fingers at and go YOUR FAULT YOU ASSHOLE! (yes, that’s exactly how I’d say it too. I confess to something of a potty mouth.) BUT THERE’S NOTHING WRONG!  how’s that for gratitude…whining about nothing being wrong. BAH.

Anyway…I finally did something about it.  After waiting for months for it to clear up on it’s own, like some sort of existential rash that hovered just under the surface, making an itch but not making anything…y’know…REALLY VISIBLE…I emailed my doctor, The Good Dr. H.

“Halpme!” I said. “I’m unhappy and anxious like a virgin bride 2 days before her wedding to a well hung hairy Irish guy! And it’s an arranged wedding! What were they thinking?!”

actually no. that isn’t what I said at all. What I did was list my symptoms and possible remedies based on past experience and reading the internets.

What he did was email me back within 10 minutes and ask for my pharmacy phone number.

Then I breathed a sigh of relief because to be frank, I am weary of relying on benzodiazepines and alcohol for relaxation. It was making me feel like a Stepford Wife. Mother’s Little Helpers and a martini after 5. How very…ugh. I was starting to feel like I needed to actually wear makeup and fix #4’s lunches in that fancy bento way good Japanese mothers do.

I can only imagine the harassment #4 would get from his 8th grade peers, but at least I’d fee like a Good Mother for once.

So anyway, I am getting a lovely prescription (around here it’s actually pronounced per-scrip-shun) for a lovely antidepressant that I’ve been on before and worked beautifully, so just knowing I’ll be feeling better is making me feel better.




About rootietoot

I do what I can.
This entry was posted in *whinge*, Dewicate feewings, Disease and infirmity, Doctors! and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

4 Responses to Mother’s Little Helper

  1. I wouldn’t be able to eat that. It’s looking at me ( I can’t eat anything looking at me) and it’s too pretty.

    As far as making it goes, HAHAHAHAHAHAHAA. I can cook relatively well, but it bores me. This would be far too tedious to even attempt.

    • rootietoot says:

      Terry says ugly food tastes better. The thought of putting that much effort, not to mention THE WASTED FOOD from all those teeny flowers makes me tired. I asked #4 what he’d think if I did that for him, and it was as expected. “Mom, I’d be humiliated. Don’t ever do that.” Fortunately they were all really young before that became the way to prove you were a good mother.

  2. You lucked with boys. My daughter saw that and squealed ooooooooooo sooo cute! awwwww!

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