November 2004, wow. Where did the year go? It flew by, as years are wont to do when you get older. I'm only 31, but sometimes I feel really old. This was one of "those years" for us. It didn't really start in January of this year, more like January of 2003. The stress of school and taking care of the kids' numerous psychological and medical issues, not to mention James' difficulty in finding work...it was beyond rough. For me, I knew from learning about Breanna's illnesses that I had OCD, and depression was royally kicking my butt. I finally broke down and sought a psychiatrist in June of 2003. He was a complete idiot. I had the misfortune of seeing him in a satellite office, and he did not bother to bring my records for each visit. There was no continuity of care between visits. He used a small legal pad to keep notes, apparently for the patient files he never used, and he didn't do any sort of major history of anything. His idea of treatment was to throw antidepressants at everything. Needless to say, it didn't work. A bit over five months later, in December, I landed in the psychiatric hospital for what proved to be a nasty bipolar mixed episode. Everyone was floored. Suddenly this woman who was granite-strong had crumbled like last week's breadcrumbs. It was humiliating, to say the least. Somewhere in this jumble, I sought a new psychiatrist, and the confusion saw me back in the hospital two weeks after discharge. Before I could get stable, James lost his job and I was once again without insurance. Thus began the hell known as "community mental health services". Under their <cough, cough>  expert care, I completely collapsed into the shell of who I had been. I was barely, if even, functional, and it's a seriously good thing that James was out of work, otherwise this household would have come to a grinding halt. As it was, I would classify the time between June of 2004 through October 2004 as some of the darkest moments our family has ever suffered through. Backing up a bit, let's not forget the kids. Poor Breanna couldn't deal with the turmoil of mommy's suddenly emerging Bipolar disorder (Type 1, rapid cycling), and was hospitalized for A MONTH in February. Brennalyn and Liam just tried to make due. (Bren had been diagnosed bipolar as well sometime around Oct. '03.) In June, my OB/gyn got the brilliant idea to put me on hormones for female problems...heh. That led directly to yet another hospitalization for me. This was getting old. What was worse, is that the state hospital I was sent to didn't do a d*mned thing. I came out just as sick as I was when I went in. Three weeks later, Breanna's emotional state was out of control, and SHE was back in the hospital. All the while, my psychologist (Dr. Doug), was the only medical voice of reason in our lives. He was the one that got us through the shoddy psychiatric care. With his help, we developed an emergency plan to deal with my ever-increasing depression. He wanted me to drop out of school, but I was too stubborn to listen. By October, I was seriously suicidal, and on Halloween, I ended up BACK in the hospital. Thankfully, due to Dr. Doug's advice, I ended up getting referred to an excellent facility, Tulane Medical Center. Now THOSE doctors know their stuff. It took 8 days, but they got my medications right (for the first time since I've been diagnosed, I might add.). Not to mention, their intensive group therapies on the mood disorders unit were very helpful in getting my head rearranged. It's been almost three weeks, and I feel awake and ALIVE for the first time in as long as I can remember. I still find myself waiting for the other shoe to drop and for my life to come crashing down around my ears again, but for now I am hopeful that I might just make it this time. I've got an appointment with a new psychiatrist next month, and the kids are all doing stellar. James has steady work. I couldn't ask for more. I won't start school again until next fall, and that's only if I continue to do well. I'm not discouraged, though. I've finally learned my limits and learned how to accept that I'm not Superwoman. I have high hopes for 2005.

@>~~