I Have A New Domain!

Thanks to the hard work of Erica and her generous, sweet, geekily brilliant friend Stephen, we're moving! The new domain is set up, looking fantastic and ready to go. We'll still be tweaking (read: Stephen will be html'ing all of Erica design changes while I check in on their progress) but for all intents and purposes, it's on!

All future posts, as well as imported past posts from this site, can be found at www.SouthernDiscomforts.com.

The Season for Giving

"You have a great vein for platelets."

She says this to me after I've told her about my horrible fear of needles and how hard it is for me to even walk into the Blood Donor Center without getting nauseous.

I hate the Blood Donor Center. Everywhere you look there is a poster with a cartoony drop of blood character who tells you all about donating blood, platelets or plasma! Every wall, every desk, every surface is covered with them. They even have "Droppy the Blood" (not his real name) featured on place mats in the post-donation snack area. Droppy reveals each intimate detail of the process in cute bubble letters and ends every step with an exclamation point.

Instead of donating a pint of whole blood, you can donate a particular component like platelets, plasma or red blood cells!

At all times during the platelet collection process, your blood is contained within a sterile tubing system!

Your blood 'takes a spin' in a centrifuge and is then returned to your body!

Obviously, we all now know why they have to beg for people to give blood. Who needs these gross details? Sit me in a chair, don't talk to me, let me look at a blank wall and tell me when I'm done. You may remember my last blood donation adventure when I got so sick that I almost passed out and had to spend an hour waiting in a reclined chair with a wet rag on my head. I warned the nurse this time and she did really well with me until the platelet comment.

"You know, you can give platelets as soon as three days from now."

God. Dammit. Are you kidding me?

As I mentioned in my last post about blood donation, I am blood type O Negative. Me and about 6% of the United State's population. (Thanks Droppy!) O Negative is the super blood. I'm a "Universal Donor" meaning my blood can save anyone's life and is the most sought after. So I have to donate. It kills me, I hate it, it completely freaks me out. It's been almost three hours since I finished up this morning and I'm still sick to my stomach. But. I have to do it. How could I not? And now thanks to that fucking nurse, I get to do it again.

And the weather doesn't help ...

I've been getting some comments like, "I miss the funny Susan." "Where are the happy posts?" "Why is everything so serious lately?"

My answer? It is what it is. I'm in a funk. So it's either not write, or fake some happy shit that will just come out, well, fake. I'm ignoring phone calls. I'm avoiding people. I'm stressing out almost to the point of panic attacks. I have the Klonopin, but I try to take it only when I start feeling the pain from clenching my jaw. You know, I know I need to feel the feelings I'm going through. It's the first holiday season without my family. No call on Thanksgiving. No call on my birthday.

Although I ultimately feel this is best thing for me, it sucks. And it makes me really sad. So lately, I'm just not in the mood. For anything.

Don't think I've become pessimistic, or that I've lost my belief that everything works out and all that new age hippie shit. I am still The Secret's biggest fan. But, the fact is, sometimes things suck. They just do.

That's where I am right now. And, I'm okay with it. It will pass, I will learn, all will work out. But until then ... leave a message and I'll get back to you later.

Axed. Day 47.

This is what I wrote on Day 42:

Good feeling's gone. I have been laid off, I'm back to bartending, I'm house poor and I can't afford weed. And of course, it's that time of year when every case of depression is exacerbated by the holiday season. Not to mention, I have run out of refills on my Zoloft and haven't had my man-made serotonin in over two weeks. (Note to self: Call Dr. Auerbach.)

People, let me tell you, unemployment is exhausting. What with all the fighting and screaming and crying ... where do you find the time to search for a job?

Arrgh. I want to write a post. It's been so long and I really love this blog but my head is such a mess right now. Yes, I'm out of Zoloft. Yes, I spent three days over Thanksgiving fighting and screaming with Erica. Yes, I am a bartender who is also picking up odd jobs just to keep the cash rolling in. (Sorting a dead Life Magazine photographer's old prints for his widow for $15 an hour, for one.)

It's now Day 47 and I still haven't posted. I have some good updates. Number one being, I'm back on Zoloft. Oh. Wait. That's a good story.

After writing that half-assed post that I didn't post (except I did now), I called Dr. Auerbach's office for an appointment. She was booked until January 15. I asked if I could just have her renew my prescriptions over the phone. The receptionist answered, "No, but let me see if the interns can write prescriptions." Turns out they could and I got an appointment.

I went to Beth Israel the next morning and met Dr. Feng, my GP's, partner's intern. She was a young Chinese woman who was very diligent and proficient at her job but hadn't come quite so far with her English. After asking me a barrage of medical history questions, she retrieved my file. A file which, incidentally, contained the answers to all of her previous questions. I suppose she was just practicing. Anyway, she finally gets around to asking why I've come in for the appointment.

"My prescriptions have run out. I need to get more Zoloft and Klonopin."

"Okay. I can give you Zoloft. But Klonopin is control drug. I don't think he give you Klonopin." He being Dr. Lau, my GP's partner.

"That's fine. I'll get an appointment with Dr. Auerbach. The most important one is the Zoloft."

I expected her to write the prescription for the Zoloft and send me on my way. But then she changed her mind. For reasons I don't quite understand, she decided that she didn't want to give me the Zoloft either.

Dr. Feng: Do you see a therapist?

Me: I used to but I don't anymore.

DF: Why not?

Me: I can't afford it.

DF: You have insurance.

Me: I know but they don't pay for therapy.

DF: Yes they do.

ME: Um. No. They don't. They pay after a $3000 deductible. So, at $150 per session, by the time you get to $3000, it's practically a new year and you have to start all over.

She was not satisfied with this answer. She went on about my being able to afford therapy for about five minutes. "You should have medicaid." "Your insurance is crap." "Are you sure you're reading the policy correctly?" (Read the policy? Seriously?) She just couldn't believe that someone in my obvious state of distress, could not get the proper mental healthcare she so desperately needed. (And this is before the breakdown.) She finally gave up with a succinct, "America ... ugh."

DF: Listen. Dr. Auerbach give you Klonopin before or after psychiatrist?

Me: I didn't get Klonopin from a psychiatrist.

DF: No. When you get Klonopin you were seeing psychiatrist?

Me: No. My therapist was a psychologist. She didn't give me Klonopin. Dr. Auerbach did.

She resorted to drawing a schematic showing that she wanted to know whether I was seeing my therapist when Dr. Auerbach wrote the prescription. This is when I started crying.

Dr. Feng had turned back to her computer screen to make some comments on my inappropriateness in getting my psych meds from my GP and not a psychiatrist, so she didn't know I was starting to break down. When she looked back up she was shocked. "Why you cry?"

"I don't know. I just cry sometimes. It isn't you. I'm just ... I don't know. Crying."

She nodded and said, "Yes. I cry sometimes too."

That's when the silent stream of tears upgraded into full-fledged sobs. I was crying like I was watching Steele Magnolias and it was the scene where M'Lynn started screaming, "I'm FINE. I can jog all the way to Texas and back, but my daughter can't! She never could!" Dr. Feng stood up and announced that she was going to get Dr. Lau.

Great. Now I can have my breakdown in front of two strangers. I tried in vain to pull it together before they got back. As I was reaching for another tissue, Dr. Lau sashayed in with a distinctly lavender aura. I loved him immediately. He plopped himself down in the chair at the desk and rolled over to face me directly. "So. What's going on?" he asked sweetly while visibly restraining the, "honey" that would have surely followed had we been at at bar in the West Village.

Me: [no longer holding back with my sobbing and gasping for air in order to whine my words out] I lost my job and I've been out of Zoloft for two weeks, it's the holidays, I'm estranged from my family, I can't sleep

... and the bawling took back over.

Dr. Lau: Ok. Don't worry (slight pause where, "honey" or "sweetie" or "sugar" should have been). We're going to give you the Klonopin. I'll write your prescription for Zoloft. You said you couldn't sleep, so I can offer you some Ambien.

Me: [instantly feeling my stability returning] I can accept that Ambien.

Dr. Lau: We're also going to refer you to a psychiatrist. I think you should get back into therapy.

Me: [looking over the tissue was still holding over my face after blowing my nose] Ya think?.

So, that was last Wednesday. I've been back on the Zoloft and have been throwing in a half Klonopin a day to keep it cool until the Zoloft levels off my system. Today I was clenching my jaw so much that I took a whole one. The sleeping isn't going so well. I took an Ambien the first night and slept super well. But the past three nights I've worked at the bar which means I was drinking and I don't want to mix the two. (Yes. I realize that I could just not drink at the bar, but really ...)

So that's my story. It ain't great, it's not sucking as much as it was. And, the fact that I'm posting this is a sign that things are looking up.

Best Funny or Die Ever!

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