My Taboo Disease

The Next Step

When the day came that I was finally released from the hospital, I walked out with a huge smile on my face. It was monsoon season in Arizona, and the fresh fallen rain mixed with the creosote bushes of the desert created the most pleasant smell I have ever encountered. Shane and I talked non stop, and I cried when I got home and my dogs came running to greet me. I had found a new respect for life, and it was glorious.

Weeks later, I was in with a psychiatrist answering the same questions. "Are you suicidal?" No. "Homicidal?" No. "Do you hear voices?" No. "Do you have sudden mood swings?" No. "Are you impulsive?" I giggled a little at that one. "Well..." He said, looking at my ever increasing list of medications, "Wow. I guess I can put you on Cymbalta..." He took a pen out and scribbled on a prescription pad. "This is the best one I believe for you, because it also has a pain inhibiting component, so maybe it will help with your treatment. Come back and see me in a month, and we'll go from there."

Along with my psychiatrist, I was also back with Dr. Graf who raised his eyebrows at me when I walked into his office. "I heard about your little adventure." He said with a quick smile, I smiled and rolled my eyes. We had a kind of sparing relationship, always poking each other, constantly cracking stupid jokes. "The torture finally became too much huh?"

"Yeah I kinda lost it..." I said, not knowing really what else to say.

"Well, don't feel too bad, you're not the first nor the last to loose it." He said, putting his glasses on, his pen poised over paper ready to take notes. "Tell me about it."

As the weeks progressed and I found more comfort in myself, I started tapering off Dr. Graff until I was no longer seeing him. This is a regret of mine, because I know I could sure use the therapy sometimes, but things became incredibly busy. A few months after my breakdown, I felt sturdy enough to go back to Dr. Brooks and ask for the next step, my mother and Shane in tow.

Dr. Brooks was of course, quite concerned that in this year I hadn't made any progress. "Well," he said with a sign, "I've done what I can, I don't think I'm your answer right now." I started to cry, "I'm going to refer you to a doctor in San Diego."

"San Diego?!" My mom and I chorused together.

"Is there nobody left here in Arizona?"

"Well, there is a second doctor here who you had the option of over me, but I don't think you want to see him, do you?" Dr. Brooks asked. We shook our heads, the only other doctor in the state who treated this type of condition had horrible reviews from patients and colleagues of my mother. So, reluctantly, we took the referral to Dr. Goldstein in San Diego, and took our next step.