Just Get in the Water

April 11, 2022 | Cold but sunny

Today at the lake it was cold. My buoy thermometer said 50 F, but I checked online, and it said 46 F.

I also returned the thermal wetsuit I’ve been testing, so I was back in my 3:2 suit. I could really tell the difference. The other suit was much warmer and fit me better around the neck, so no leaks there. 

It’s windy and in the high 30s F all this week, with highs in the 50s. Sucks. I haven’t done any exercise for several days because I’ve been tired and feeling sorry for myself. I started a new depression treatment last Wednesday, and despite the initial placebo whirl of hope and feeling up, I’m back to feeling angry and confused. 

Finally, A Treatment, A Plan

The treatment is TMS, transcranial magnetic stimulation. The idea is to send impulse into the brain to disrupt whatever is going on so that new connections get made. I’m in for 36 treatments, every day M-F for six weeks. 

Last week it was all new and sort of amusing. I get to wear a “treatment beanie!” They have measured my head and left markings on the beanie to show the tech where to put the wand that zaps me. I also get my own personal pair of earplugs (the machine makes noise, nothing as loud as an MRI machine, but it’s irritating) and a mouthguard. My tech is nice, and seems to know what she’s doing. But today there was a new gal, and I didn’t like that. I’m weird that way. If I’m gonna commit, then I want the same person and the same treatment room every time. Yes, I’m neurotic. Superstitious, whatever. 

At the beginning of treatment, they had me fill out a depression questionnaire and another one for anxiety. I’ve done many of them over the past two years. Until I found out that they weren’t linked to anything. I would get a flashing sign, warning me of suicide and telling me to talk to my doctor asap. Like, “whoa, bad scores, you are REALLY a mess and might just end it, better get in touch with your doctor asap.” But nothing would happen. The doctors and my therapist didn’t get a flashing sign to urgently help me. Everything stayed the same, and moved at the pace of a sloth on sleeping pills. I told my therapist I wasn’t going to f-ing waste my time filling out the forms if it wasn’t going to get me better or more urgent care. 

I’m a lot more assertive about medical care than most people I know. I’ve been doing it for so long, and at this point I know one thing. They work for me. I often have to train new docs and new techs. I am there to purchase care, in all its forms. Now that I have all my docs in the same medical system, it is nicer that they all get the same info about me, but it’s a huge medical system with lots of rules that get in my way. More on that later. 

So, I haven’t filled one out in awhile, even though my weekly appointment reminders ask me to fill out the questionnaires. No, f-ing thank you. I’ll let you know if anything changes. I did fill it out last week since it’s a new clinic, but I can’t stop wondering why they don’t want qualitative data from me during this six-week dealio. This is part of what’s wrong with medicine. They want to get some quantitative data to determine if the treatment works, but they don’t want to know how I feel, the questions that are coming up for me, the weird spacey and emo feelings I experience immediately after a treatment, the anger that’s come back because I don’t think I can trust anyone. And I’m so tired, and I’d like that to be someone’s fault. 

Scanners Flashback

At first the zapping was interesting. I could imagine a sewing machine or staple gun laying down stitches along various lines on my head while electric volts rattled in my forehead and eye. I wondered I looked like the people in Scanners when they’re scanning or getting scanned. Do my eyes bulge? Do I get bumps on my forehead? Now they are trying to get to the treatment dose, and it hurts. Not so much on the right side but on the left side. I hate it. I try to breathe and sit still, but it’s really hard when I know the zapping is coming. And it goes more places — down the side of my head, into my eye, above my eye, towards the middle of my forehead. This can’t be good for me, but they have assured me that the treatment cannot hurt me or my brain. I believe them. Last week I was so excited because I felt like I was finally getting help, like they cared, like I had a chance to get out of this pit I’ve been in for so many years. Now I just feel tired and confused.

The Swim

Back to the lake. It was cold outside, but the water wasn’t too choppy. The wind was pushing the surface of the water south, but it wasn’t hard to swim. I was cold for a bit, but I didn’t mind because I want the benefits of cold water swimming. 

I have a high pain threshold, but this is my brain and my face. I know it will get better with time, but it’s gonna be a long week. So far, I feel exhausted afterward. Slightly traumatized, exposed, empty. I lie down as soon as I get home, but it’s hard to rest when the sun is out. I would zone out in front of the tv, but my internet and cable connection SUCKS. I have been putting off calling Comcast because I’m afraid I’ll be really mean to them. Also, I don’t have an hour to be on the phoned. AND, I know they won’t give me the broadband discount they never attached to my account ($350 worth) from the COVID lockdown days. I hate them so much that I can’t call them. Ugh…..

The Lake

Swim. Gotta swim. This is still the only thing that reliably makes me feel better on some level every time. I love you, lake.