So, my blood pressure has been astronomically high since…honestly, I can’t pinpoint the exact moment, but back in February, my dentist pointed out how dangerously high it was. I take nothing seriously, so at the time I said “ok. I’ll look into it.” A few weeks later when I went back to get a few broken fillings replaced (nighttime Sam has spent over 3 decades sabotaging her smile with grinding), the dentist informed me that my blood pressure was so high, she would only do work on me if I got nitrous. Which was strangely like being drunk at the dentist (honestly, I slept through my dental work). She once again asked me to please see my doctor.
Meh.
Well, here we are, 4 months later. It’s still high in the sky, and I still rarely take these things seriously. Until my doctor last week (during a completely unrelated appointment) said, “I want you to stop taking your antidepressants.”
Umexcusemewhat??
Deer in headlights.
“How long have you been on the Effexor?”
“Um…4 years?”
“And how long has your blood pressure been high?”
“Um…”
“4 years?”
After coming out of the haze of the initial shock, I agreed that I have felt lately like it wasn’t working. But I had mostly chalked that up to other issues: my husband is on the other side of the Earth, I am a year into the full time working mom gig, 9 months into my single working mom stint. I’m a serious introvert, with a lack of a local support system. I am terrible at multi-tasking. And I inherited my Mom’s overactive tear glands.
But really, I get too overwhelmed. And if I cry any more, I might dry out and turn to dust.
I guess. I don’t know. Just when I start thinking, “maybe this week I won’t cry at work,” I have a nervous breakdown in a parking lot over a dented bumper.
So, in order to address my super-high-for-unknown-reasons blood pressure, I have to be unmedicated. For the first time since…shortly after Xander was born. That, to me, is scarier than any blood pressure, heart issue, scare.
I have dealt with/suffered from depression since I was……9? 5? Always? It’s hard to say. Meds have come and gone, and none will ever make me “normal,” but they sure do keep me from shattering plates on the floor because Justin paused too long before telling me what he wanted to drink with dinner (can we talk about the hero of this story for a minute? Because the partners of us mentally unstable squirrels are by far the most under-appreciated at times. And mine has put up with a lot in 13 years, and still sticks around to help keep me sane).
Also, the unmedicated, barely-functioning depression I suffered through while pregnant with Shea (while Justin was deployed), springs to mind. I could be a non-functioning blob before kids–that is not really a state I can enter into while having to be responsible for tiny humans.
I am officially one week into the process of slowly cutting back (so as not to be launched into the head pounding, nightmare-inducing, vertigo causing, withdrawal that this particular medication is known to cause…in me…after one missed dose). I’m still overwhelmed. I still cried today at work (literally because I was told I had to call the help-desk to sort out an employee’s timecard. And then I couldn’t find the number. And then my phone cut out. And then…tears). My blood pressure is still high.
Deep. Breath.
Stay positive.
You can do this.
