PTSD Journal: What really happened yesterday

Taking avoidance to a new high

I did start this journal yesterday. That is not all that happened, though. Not by a long shot.

Yesterday was my monthly Doc day: I go to my pain doc monthly. It's always hell, but yesterday was incredibly so. And it started so well.

As I leave the house so very often (HAH!) I have rituals I must do before going. Ensure the cell is charged, cigs in purse, keys, credit cards. Shake the cat hair off my jeans LOL! Then sit for ten minutes and breathe, try to calm the shaking which started the minute I began to gather things.

I get to her office with no problems, but once I'm there, the panic hits. They know me well. I don't usually sit in the waiting room. There's a small room with a bed, and they even bring a blanket because along with head-to-foot shaking I get cold as ice. 

I see the doc, learn I've LOST another damn pound, to my horror. My normal 115 is a thing of the past. Wound up hospitalized several times in the last couple of months for what I call 'runaway gut' syndrome: you run like hell! I am down to 92 pounds in the process. Oh no, not true: 91 now.

She writes my prescriptions, I head to the pharmacy upstairs - and the fun begins. For some reason neither of my credit cards work. I call my banker. Do you have a check on you, he asks? In complete panic, I say no.

There's been some idiocy with my cc, and I have to find an actual bank he tells me. He fully knows about me, and he's sorry as hell, but what can he do? I get lucky and learn there happens to be a bank less than a mile away.

Ette gets DOWN at the bank

The panic is so bad I'm one-eyeing it (if you've done that, you know JUST what I mean.) For those of you who haven't, it simply means that everything is spinning so badly that you must clamp one eye shut in order to see. One needs to see to drive: it's one of those things.

I somehow made it to the bank, only to discover it was packed. People were waiting in one of those long, serpentine lines that wind around low posts with plastic bubbles on top. Behind me was a family of Spanish folks, including two small children. Mama was chattering away happily. I hung on to that for a bit, but then as usual, I couldn't.

So, again as usual, down I go onto my haunches. People stare. I grin. "Panic attack, sorry." They mostly grunt and look away, although often I'll get "Breathe. Deeply."

A lot of people have panic, as I have discovered. Otherwise, how is it that so many complete strangers have come to my aid? And known what to do? The kindness of these strangers has truly been wondrous.

I made it to the window, did my thing and - hit the floor again. I chatted with the teller from there, in fact. Finally I got out of there, back to the pharmacy and to my utter delight: HOME. In the door, up the stairs, and boom. Onto the bed. Shake, rock and roll! But I made it.

Today I'm considering making a trip to the store. In six months, this would be Trip #3. We won't discuss 1 or 2, or else 3 won't happen.

Good news for a change: one of my cats is breaking out of his PTSD

Only humans got PTSD, you thought? Think again! Animals get abused as well. (Was I cognizant of this? Hell no. Hell no, or this would have ended the moment I learned.) It is what it is: it's up to me to fix this. I did find an energy worker for animals, and she worked miracles on two out of three of my Siamese.

Yang and Sakkie were fine the very night Sally left, some three months ago. Yin? Not so much. He's been living under my bed. I see him rarely, although I call him all the time. Yin and Yang are identical twins, BTW. Impossible to tell apart until they speak. Yin has a rough, nasal yowl whilst Yang has a sweet voice. (Sakki has a very high voice for a Siamese: a friend of mine cracked that when I had him fixed, his voice went up!)

I digress. Two days ago, Yang came to me in the bathroom, as usual. I patted him, and he spoke. It wasn't Yang! Finally, oh lord finally -- it was Yin. He spoke frantically, as if he'd been holding it back for all these months. (Crying as I type, but for once tears of joy. He's on the road to recovery!) Since, he's been on my bed twice. Unheard of!

As always, funny news: Ette strokes out!

Normally that wouldn't be in the "Lord, that's hilarious" category but there is nothing normal about me! I awoke two days ago with, of all things, a partially-numb lower lip. Instantly I thought I'd had a stroke. I hit Skype, and my Irish best friend Mike (who lives in Hong Kong) was about to go to bed. Until he heard my news, that is. 

It sent the booger into a non-stop laughing jag that came so clearly over Skype that the cats leaped off the bed! "That's one more specific stroke," he finally managed to get out. Yes, I finally saw the humor too. (I'll say this: it's always funnier when it ain't you!)

And that is the news for yesterday.