I got shrunk yesterday—brain wise. I had my second meeting with my psychologist. To be perfectly honest, at our first meeting I was somewhat dubious about his ability to be able to help me. He’s so young—early thirties, gay and quite foreign—not that there’s anything wrong with any of that. He just was so very different than the therapist I had before—a female heterosexual, Anglo, baby boomer, much like myself. As it turns out, I shouldn’t have been concerned.
I settled down yesterday and started to talk. It’s been almost six months now since my mom died. According Evelyn, that’s about the time the loss of a parent really hits home. The shrink, Andy, agreed. I still feel like I had my mom put down since I signed the papers at the hospital to stop the meds keeping her pressure up and for the extra morphine to ease her passing. (She had had a DNR in place for years). Logically I know she didn’t want to continue in that condition; but we didn’t discuss it with her that very day. I just wish I knew how much longer this guilt was going to remain. It sucks.
On the bright note, Andy told me that overall, he thought I was handling things very well. “I’ve seen many people who’ve had to deal with far less who’ve had nervous breakdowns” he said. I took it as a compliment. I also told him that over the weekend a little birdie told me that certain members of my family were planning an intervention for me. Not to get me off drugs or alcohol mind you; not for sex, gambling or even food. This would be an intervention so I would get a “regular” job. (I think someone’s been watching too much A&E).
Since Doug has joined corporate America, so to speak, he’s been on my very large posterior to do the same. I told him that right now I’m just not up to it. I think if they took an X-ray of my brain right now it would look like a chunk of Swiss cheese. New info goes in, then falls out again through one of the many holes. I absolutely cannot seem to hold onto any new information; not to mention, not being able to find the right word at the right time in a conversation. Please. Right now I often sound challenged, grasping to find the correct words when talking to someone. Some days, I can look at a copier (or anything else for that matter) and for the life of me, not remember what it’s called. I had a little of that before when I got my Menobrain. (Now, on my best day, I wish I had my Menobrain back).
Andy actually said that starting a structured position, a.k.a. a new job, right now would be counter-productive for me and a bad idea. He said I should concentrate on getting the house together and trying to de-stress. Some of my cognitive abilities should return over time I’m told. I hope he’s right. He said abundant stress and chronic pain can have a big impact on how well your brain works.
I told Doug all this at dinner last night. Actually he took the news better than I thought he would. We actually sat and had dinner and just talked with no rancor. It was nice. I just wish I’d thought to get a note from my shrink explaining it all and validating what I had explained to him earlier.
Tomorrow Evelyn is coming over. We’re going to rent a U-Haul and then go to the Home Depot to get a couple of Mexicans so I can get some of our stuff at least, from the storage. Home Depot doesn’t actually stock Mexicans of course. However, there is always a large contingent of undocumented workers standing across from the store, looking for work. (I don’t know how else to explain it). I just hope I can habla the Spanish well enough to get my point across.
Right now, I’m supposed to drive to San Antonio, then work Thursday night for an event all by my lonesome, stay over and then work all day Saturday with Doug. Hell, right now, I just hope I can find San Antonio.