Mommy’s Little Helper

7 Aug

Last week, right before the Auburn Road Rally of 2009, I finally had an appointment with a doctor to discuss my craziness anxiety issues.

After having the ass camera procedure and analyzing (and over-analyzing) my symptoms, I became 99% certain that I have some sort of general anxiety disorder that has been YEARS in the making.

The first time I remember having stomach issues was (surprise!) my first semester of law school. Things gradually got worse and worse until this summer when my stress and anxiety peaked and the stomach issues got so bad that I turned in to a hermit.

When I found out that I’d have to wait two weeks between my colonoscopy and my doctor’s appointment, my anxiety got so bad that I thought I’d have to stay in the confines of my house until the appointment. When the appointment finally arrived, I was convinced of my ailment and what I needed for it: pills.

Going in to the appointment, I was certain that I was going to come off as some addict that was begging for drugs. How do I tell him what’s wrong without it sounding like, “Give me Valium! Nom nom nom!!”?

When I sat down with the doctor, he quickly put me at ease. I mean, he wasn’t hard to look at either…


Sorry, Mr. Bee. You know that smart, nerdy white dudes do it for me.

I was even offered an “annual exam” since I am behind in my womanly maintenance (otherwise known as “Yippee! I get to have my cervix scraped off today!”), but I quickly made a new rule that men, especially cute nice men, who aren’t my husband are not allowed in my vaginal region.

Okay, so that’s not exactly a NEW rule, but I have never really thought to apply it to doctors until recently. Is it weird that if the doctor had been some mean troll of a guy, I probably wouldn’t have had a problem with it?

Anywho, so Dr. McDreamy progressed to a dialog about my symptoms, every couple of minutes suggesting another physical ailment that could be the cause. Every time, I countered with, “yeah, but it really seems to happen when I’m stressed and/or anxious about something…”

He thinks I’m a druggie. He TOTALLY thinks I’m a druggie.

Off he would go with another medical rationale to explain my symptoms. “But it’s way more sporadic that that…I really think it might be anxiety related…”

Fuck, why did I have to dress up today. He totally thinks I’m some Housewives of South King County needing her fix…

Eventually, he came up with three options, the first of which was “You know that you don’t have something like cancer that is going to kill you so you could just learn to deal with it and not take anything for it.”

Uh, yeah. SO not an option.

Oh my god. He totally thinks I’m a druggie now. Am I acting like I’m begging for drugs? I feel like I’m begging for drugs. Shit. He’s probably going to call security now…

The next option is taking something on a need-to-take basis for anxiety.

Hmmm…well, yeah, I guess that could work…

Haha. Sucker. I totally don’t sound like a druggie now.

Shit, unless I’m a totally bad actress and that’s what druggie’s would say when they are trying to get their next fix.

Well, you get the idea. Basically I felt like some weirdo pleading for drugs, but hell, in the end I got some Xanax, so I guess I actually legitimately need it. Who knew?

So I am officially lumping myself in to that category of people. You know, the Pill Poppers. But you know what is really interesting?

During this whole process, I was really fighting against having to take medication for a problem that seems to be mentally associated. I didn’t want to be one of those people that have to take medication because that would mean that something was WRONG with me.

And you know what I discovered? When I started talking openly to people about my issues, practically everyone I know has taken some sort of anxiety medication or anti-depressant in their lives (and/or still does). This complex we give ourselves about how taking an anti-depressant must mean we’re broken or all alone with our problems is totally false!

Not only am I happier and less stressed now that I have something I can take when I need to, I realized that women I have known for years have needed to do to the same thing!

Not only am I helping myself, but I hope I’m helping those women, too, by being open about what I’m going through and saying, you know what? It’s okay that we need a little help.

And it’s REALLY okay to ask for help when you need it.

Song title: Mommy’s Little Helper by The Rolling Stones

4 Responses to “Mommy’s Little Helper”

  1. Aunt Becky August 7, 2009 at 4:31 pm #

    Asking for help is awesome. I’m so proud of you.

  2. Jennie August 7, 2009 at 7:24 pm #

    “practically everyone I know has taken some sort of anxiety medication or anti-depressant in their lives (and/or still does)”

    Too true. I’ve been on and off sertraline (Zoloft) for years, most recently for PPD. Nothing wrong with it. Who knows how many people lived in misery before anti-depressants became available.

  3. CoreyAnn August 7, 2009 at 8:52 pm #

    It is really OKAY to ask for help when you need it. I learned that after my spinal surgery since I couldn’t take care of my little ‘B’ without assistance. When people offer, take them up on it.

    Take it from someone who’s been popping pills on and off for over 15 years (yet now its less ptsd/anxiety issues and more pain associated). And if it makes you feel any better, the local dr is always willing to help medicate medical issues. In fact, I’ve got a cupboard full of help from him!

    Call me up if you ever want to compare symptoms/meds!

  4. Midori August 9, 2009 at 12:46 pm #

    Hey – I want to thank you for sharing – REALLY. Your whole colonoscopy episode really helped me overcome my own anxieties about the procedure. Now with the antidepressants…I’ve been having pretty much the same issues lately (pooping, worrying, pooping, ow, my stomach hurts, fret, fret). You need to know how helpful you’ve been to me, giving me the courage to go to my doctor to deal with these things. You make me laugh, you give me courage. Thanks for what you do.

Leave a Reply