I saw my psychiatrist this morning. In my 30 minutes in the waiting room, I overhear four phone calls that his receptionist answered, apologetically, along the lines of “I’m afraid we can’t accept new patients at this time… yes, it’s awful, I’m sorry… no, unfortunately I don’t know of another practice that does.” She sounds genuinely sorry, I feel for her having to have this conversation so many times each day. I’ve been seeing this doctor for two years now and the staff there are among the kindest I’ve ever met.
My psychiatrist prescribes a new medication for me. He issues the prescription in such a way that I may not have to pay for it out of pocket. He didn’t have to do that. I’m so grateful, my medical expenses are piling up and this will save me a good 50 Euros. He looks more tired than usual, and he sounds pretty exhausted.
I hope they all do okay.
I’m exceptionally exhausted. My muscles are screaming in pain, I can barely sit, let alone walk, I find it difficult to speak, and my throat is in so much pain.
Today was my second work day this week. In my one-hour break at 1pm, after my doctor’s visit and one client meeting, I doze off on the couch at least five times. I have to drag myself into an office-worthy, albeit comfier, chair for my meeting at 2pm. When I start the video call, I’m legitimately concerned that I’ll fall asleep during it. I don’t, but by 5:07pm, once all my calls are done, I feel like I am falling apart right there, ready to hit the floor in the office and not care for the consequences.
I spend a few more hours on the couch, eat a bunch of unhealthy food (crackers! Crisps! Rhubarb crumble!), which I tend to crave a lot when I’m really unwell, and fall into bed at 8pm. My ears are ringing.
I should’ve stayed off work for another week, this was way too much, way too soon. I’ll probably pay for it tomorrow. I haven’t even taken my new prescriptions to the pharmacy yet.