Well, depression finally has joined my 5 thousand other diagnoses. If it wasn’t bad enough that Parkinson’s makes me feel like I’m drowning in quicksand, depression has just about immobilized me. My most recent fall did more than just break my toe and bruise my elbows, it smashed my ego. In 30 seconds, I went from feeling great on my steroids to feeling 100 years old.
Yep, I’m limping, and my body hurts everywhere. I’m used to pain having coexisted with it for years, but the added immobility associated with the damage from the fall has been too much. Renee had been managing my depression by keeping me busy. She’s transitioned from lover to caregiver and lover. Unfortunately, she’s broken as well. Her back is now as bad as mine. Getting rear ended didn’t help.
I had been managing my depression by driving around North Carolina’s country roads with the top down; but, unfortunately, someone rear-ended Renee and the car has been in the shop for months. Damn Covid has put everything on back order and there’s no telling when I’ll get my car back.
Yesterday, Renee and I saw our family doc and I finally agreed to go on an antidepressant. I’m on a ton of medications and hate the idea of taking yet another pill but it’s time. The hardest part of transitioning from doctor to patient is the realization that “do as I say, not as I do” is a fool’s errand. I spent 35 years tending to others, dolling out wisdom and secretly believing that because I was a doctor, I could ignore the rules. What a fool I was.
If you’re depressed, get help! No one likes to admit to having depression. Depression is a normal human response to a multitude of things and we really need to get out of the Dark Ages and remove its stigma. If your doctor wants you on an antidepressant, take it. If your doctor wants you to see a counselor, see one; and, if you are a doctor, realize you have to play by the same rule book your patients have. (Unfortunately, some state medical boards will suspend a doctor’s license if he/she has a diagnosis of depression).
By the way, I’m on a new type of “See Food Diet,” and its successful. When I “See Food,” I run away. I’m down 10 pounds. I’m still as big as Jabba the Hut, who I’ll be for Halloween.
Here’s your joke for the day:
The IRS suspected a fishing boat owner wasn’t paying proper wages to his deckhand and sent an agent to investigate him.
IRS AUDITOR: “I need a list of your employees and how much you pay them”.
Boat Owner: “Well, there’s Clarence, my Deckhand. He’s been with me for 3 years. I pay him $1,000 a week plus free room and board. Then there’s the mentally challenged guy. He works about 18 hours every day and does about 90% of the work around here. He makes about $10 per week, pays his own room and board, and I buy him a bottle of Bacardi Rum and a dozen Budweisers every Saturday night so he can cope with life. He also gets to sleep with my wife occasionally.”
IRS AUDITOR: “That’s the guy I want to talk to – “The Mentally Challenged One”.
Boat Owner: “That would be me. What would you like to know”?