The New Me Blues

I'm off for another round of "Shirts Off" Follies today, over to Kingsport to see Dr. H and his merry minions in the bizarre world of plastic surgery. Lord, I am so tired of this.

I know. Whaah, whaah, whaah. "Does she ever stop with the moaning and groaning? Be GRATEFUL, [deleted expletive]!"

I try to be peacefully thankful each and every day, and yet, it is still such a chore. It requires constant effort and unremitting denial of a life's habit of complaining. I'm bored with my own negativity, but I'm also monumentally bored with trying to be cheerfully plucky about everything that's happened. Yes, I'm grateful, and yes, it still sucks.

The fact is that I'm just slogging through the days, waiting for things to "get better," whatever that means. I woke up this morning (at 3, at 4, at 5, etc.) thinking about how it took a full three years to recover from my neck surgery in 2001. I am a little more than six months out from the mastectomy, and impatient as all get out, just for this to be over. I think I've finally hit the far end of the grief cycle, depression. Big sighs, all around.

So this is progress, right? Having battled my way through Denial, Anger, & Bargaining, I'm left at the end of our program, holding the proverbial dead fish. (Okay, I can see that there's still a fair amount of Anger left hanging around for the big finale).

Dr. DaSilva, my oncologist, tried pushing Effexor (an anti-depressant) on me three months ago and I initially balked. "Depression? We don't have no stinking Depression!" was my first thought. Now, I'm not so sure. After checking out this drug on www.rxlist.com , I found myself even more convinced that I didn't want to get involved in the cycle of taking one drug (Effexor) to counter the side-effects of the first drug (Tamoxifen), then another, and then another. The Road to Perdition. I would also have to stop drinking any alcohol and taking any ibuprofen, and that seemed like a major deal-breaker, what with my fondness for the fermented grape products and my pretty constant back pain. (Another disturbing thought: Does my reluctance to give up wine and NSAIDs mean I need to start attending meetings)?

But the night sweats and daytime hot flashes are really kicking me around and messing with my biggest real pleasure in life, sleep (at least for half of each month), and I'm not liking my regular daily internal dialogue with myself lately. Perhaps the idea of anti-depressants needs to be revisited. Wouldn't it be great if there was an anti-depressant you didn't have to take all the time, you could just pop one when you were feeling a little blue? Instant happiness? (Boy, does this ever sound like a good-bad idea)!

I think we have to acquire the ability to give ourselves the metaphorical "happy-pill," when we need it. I distrust the chemical route instinctively, and truly don't want to be on another long-term medication. I only take the tamoxifen out of fear and statistical fact--you just can't argue with a 41% decrease in cancer recurrence. So, I've talked myself out of it, once again.

In the meantime, my only defense against the Depression-monster will have to be busy-ness. More physical activity. More mental stimulation. Less dwelling. Less whining. Maybe by continuing to act as if I am learning to accept this, I will in fact eventually accept it. Objective reality. What is, IS. Get over it, already.