A few weeks back I went to see my dr. because I was having chest pains that were happening on and off. Some days I would have none and other days I might have a few episodes of pain. The dr. listened to my symptoms and asked me if I thought it was stress related. I quickly dismissed the notion, I do get stressed from time to time but I never feel the same sort of stress as I did when I was riding the infertility train. Now that was stress.
So the dr. sent me with orders to have a stress test, echocardiogram and just about every box was checked on the bloodwork paper. I completed those tests and was pretty certain he would find some reason for the mysterious chest pains. I had my follow-up this morning and was told everything was absolutely normal. Hmmm, not that I wanted to be sick but I really didn’t want to buy into the stress induced chest pain theory either. Enter in the prescription for an antidepressant.
WTF. I didn’t see this coming. I am not a minimalist by any sense of the term but I’m anything but a pill popper. I HATE pills. I can’t even swallow pills! It’s no joke. I have to chew all my pills like a little kid. My throat closes up and I choke on them if I try to swallow them whole. I even chew my BC pill and that as small as a grain of sand. I had a nose job and didn’t even take the pain meds because I didn’t want the hassle of chewing them up. Can you imagine how painful a freakin nose job is after the numbing meds wear off? Swallowing pills aside, I don’t need antidepressants….do I? I don’t know, now I’m more confused than ever. I don’t think I’m depressed, how can I depressed with so much joy and love in my heart for my bubbies?
I do feel isolated and like I am out of touch from being cooped up in the house all the time but I don’t know if I’m ready for Paxil. Never in a million years could you convince me I might one day be taking an antidepressant. Not that I am a scientologist or anything but I thought I was mentally organized. So I reluctantly took the script and hid it. I don’t have any intentions of filling it but I can’t bring myself to throw it away either. I have to hide it because I’m afraid if family or friends were to see it they might think less of me or better yet might be afraid of my possible fragile mental status. Good God, I didn’t need this thrown into the mix today.
