“You have insomnia and obstructed sleep apnea.”
“You have sleep deprived pseudo-dementia.”
“How are you feeling? On a scale of one to five; one being not at all depressed and five being extremely depressed, where are you?”
“Let’s keep you on X anti-depressant as well as the Y anti-depressant you’ve been taking. You seem to be doing much better!”
The last four weeks have been a blur of doctor’s visits—a visit to my new general physician got the ball rolling on some ongoing issues that I have been dealing with for years. I’m sleep deprived, sometimes so brain fogged that I can’t remember where I am or what day it is. I’m in chronic pain, and I’ve been diagnosed with Type 2 diabetes. But please understand, I’m not whining. This is just the foundation for why I have to be healthy, the basis for my Being Healthy Manifesto.
I could sit back and say, “Damn my genetics!” and enjoy a life long (however shortened due to my various health problems) pity party. Or I can get off my ass and get healthy. The beginning was finding two new doctors.
First, I had to get a new psychiatrist to help me with my depression and anxiety medication management. I suggest to anyone who has ever been prescribed anti-depressants or anti-anxiety medication by his or her general physician to seek both psychological (behavioral therapy) and psychiatric help. General physicians aren’t trained to truly understand the depth of depression or anxiety, and you need someone who can listen and help you cope with your illness(es).
My former psychiatrist was also a problem for me. But the proverbial poop hit the fan when he told me that diabetes wasn’t genetic (my family has a long history of diabetics), but more viral. He knew plenty of fat people that worked out two hours a week and didn’t have diabetes. 1) Thanks for calling me fat. 2) It’s true, there are some overweight people who do not have diabetes and there are some healthy weight people who do have diabetes, hence the genetics part, dumbass! He also wanted to treat my sleep problem with medication that would wake me up. Uppers. A medication that would conflict with my asthma medication and cause anxiety and jitters. Instead of treating the sleep disorder by sending me to sleep specialists, he just threw medication at me. Luckily, my pharmacist pulled me aside and suggested that I not take the uppers the psychiatrist prescribed.
