Posted by Ilene on May 5, 2004, at 22:27:51
In reply to Dear diary May 4, posted by Ilene on May 4, 2004, at 22:49:46
Blazing bladders, Batman, I got another icky infection. My nice internist called Cipro into the pharmacy. He's not making me go into the office to pee in a cup. He said the bug that was behind my last bout was sensitive to every known antibiotic, even penicillin. I said I thought that was because I get my meat and poultry from Whole Foods because I don't want antibiotic resistance. Must've worked.
The inflammation could be the cause of the disgusting thing that happened last night. I'm going to keep Kegeling anyway. Can't hurt.
I went to the Textile Museum today and had them give me some information about two Chinese ethnic minority textiles I bought last summer in San Francisco. They do consultations the first Wednesday of every month for--get this--$5. I found out what group made these items (a Zhuang or Miao baby carrier, and a Miao collar, just so you'll know) and approximately when (about 50 or 60 years ago), and how to display and care for them. Now that I'm finally feeling up to getting out and doing things like this, and taking advantage of what Washington has to offer, I'm about to move.
I saw my pdoc this afternoon. We talked about whether the Cytomel would work by itself (probably not). I asked her why we hadn't done this two years ago. She actually took the question seriously after I half-apologized for expecting perfection. She said it was a good question, but she didn't exactly answer it.
She lent me a book called "Women Who Think Too Much", which sounds like women just like me--just think ourselves down into the ground.
She still wants me to get a psychopharm consult. We went over the drugs I took and how I responded. Her impressions were somewhat more positive than mine. I told her that, and she said she would put that in the file. I like the way she pays attention to what I think.
This week's diary installment was funny, too. She's just easily amused, I guess. She highlighted the part of my diary where I said that non-depressed people think about what they're doing, not how they're feeling.
Belatedly realized I didn't have a card for my son to send to his grandma (my MIL--my own mother is dead), so we took a nice little walk to the drugstore. It was fun teasing and joking with him, but not-fun too. It's hard to explain. I feel better, but not *better enough*. I was conscious of myself, as I had written. It was like being undepressed was always going to be an asymptote. I am never going to reach it.
Someone--Plato, maybe--wrote, "The good is the enemy of the best". I used to read that as meaning that being satisfied with the merely "good" prevents us from doing better, but now I read it to mean that striving for "best" prevents us from being satisfied with "good enough", which is usually what we've got right in front of us, AKA "the grass is always greener on the other side". If I were satisfied, I'd be satisfied. Sometimes I think that the experience of profound depression for a long time is as bad as the depression itself. It's like if you're very sick or injured physically, and have time to think about mortality, you experience more than the pain of being sick.
poster:Ilene
thread:325511
URL: http://www.dr-bob.org/babble/social/20040430/msgs/343847.html