I started my day off with a visit to my doctor to discuss the ‘weaning’ process of my anti-depressant. I am now on the lowest possible dose, alternating ½ pill with a full pill. It seems to be working, except when I was having a fit the other day and told myself to chill. So I went into my bedroom and did the “legs-up-the-wall” deep-breathing yoga pose. It worked, until I got up and felt dizzy. You have to get up slowly. I know that now.
The nurse greets me and I never have met this particular one, but she’s funky and fun and I liked her immediately. I started telling her that I want to get off my meds and get on some sort of weight loss med and the only reason I’m ever depressed is because I need to drop some baggage. Weight baggage. Emotionally, I think I’m fine. Happy marriage. Good kids. A nice freelance work-from-home gig. School’s back in session. I am just not good with the back fat and having to wear black t-shirts.
So, I tell the nurse all of this and she tells me she was in the EXACT same place, but she weighed over 200 lbs and she knew she had to fix her head before she could fix her bod, and I’m like, “Yes! Exactly!” And then I tell her about the bag of chips I ate the other day without even breathing, and how just the act of crunching was calming me down, and that when I looked down and discovered all the chips were gone, I immediately felt an “Ahhhh” feeling, followed by the feeling of, “Why the hell did I just devour all of those?”
Like when you eat McDonald French fries. You know that feeling? You chow down on ‘em, and then reach into the bag and you’re like WTF? What happened to my fries??? Where is the salty goodness of my fries! I need more fries!”
So, the nurse was all about my decision of getting of the anti-depressants and getting on the appetite suppressants and I’m all psyched and my blood pressure is good and my pulse is good, and my neighbor brought me over a venti mocha this a.m. out of the blue, so I was feeling pretty darn good. Oh, and I had showered and put on makeup. That helps.
Then my doctor comes in. I love my doctor. Really do. But when she came in, the first thing she says to me is: “You sure you want to go off Effexor?”
Which totally makes me second-guess my decision! Yikes! She just reminded me of how depressed I was last winter. Then I reminded her that it wasn’t LAST winter, but the winter previously and I’ve rectified that depression and will just go to the tanning bed a couple times during the blah season of winter. So she was OK with that. Long story short, we discussed my weaning process, what to expect, and she prescribed me a weight loss drug.
I’m happy. I’m thinking it’s going to give me the jumpstart I need. And yes, I have done Weight Watchers and I totally know it works, and I do love the program, but I need a quick fix to get me motivated. I want some fast results, and I feel this is the way to get it. Oh, I did explain to my doctor that I do exercise 3-6 times a week (will be more now that school’s back in session), and that I’m happy with every aspect of my life except for my weight.
I take my prescription to the grocery store, do a little shopping and go back to the pharmacy in the store to pick up my new get-thin-quick-start-being-happy pills.
“I didn’t fill that one prescription -- that medication isn’t covered by your insurance,” my pharmacist tells me. “It costs $125.”
“WHAT!? Good God!” I yell. In the store. Loudly.
“It’s considered cosmetic,” she tells me.
I look at it this way. It’s emotional, I’m giving up the Effexor to try something new to combat my depression. And I know it totally sounds superficial, and I hope you don’t think I am, but I’m just putting it out there. If I can lose a little weight, I will be happier. Bottom line. And it’s not like I’m not trying to eat better or that I’m not exercising. I AM! But I need a jolt.
So she tells me again that it’s not covered and I ask how can I get it covered, and she doesn’t really have an answer for me, and that it’ll cost $125 if I want it.
“I might as well go get gastric bypass! It’s cheaper than this drug!” I yell.
(Sidenote: I am shaking my head as I write this, fully aware that I’m sounding like a complete idiot. Whatever.)
So, I go home and try to call the insurance company to tell them that it’s not COSMETIC! It’s emotional well-being and for my health! I get nowhere.
Anyway, enough of that story. I’m tired of it. I think I’ll go have some of Tukey’s chocolate chip cookie cake (yes, my baby has turned SIX!) that’s drenched in blue icing… which I purchased at ANOTHER grocery store. And when I went to the other grocery store, I got some helium balloons for Tukey, and as I was waiting for someone to come blow them up, the hottest general manager of a grocery store I’ve EVER seen walked by, gave me a look, and said, “Can I help you?”
Can you help me? HELLOOOOO, CAN YOU HELP ME! Yum! Where do I start! I was thinking all these dirty thoughts in my head, and even considered that I might want to start frequenting THIS grocery store more often if the general manager is THIS hot! Sadly, pathetically, some other dude came to blow my balloons, and I ended up checking every aisle later on in the hopes of getting another glimpse of this supermarket hottie.
And THEN, some woman banging on a watermelon was looking at me, and she’s like, “Hi! How are you!?” Like she totally knew me. I remember everyone I meet. I remember their names, I remember what we talked about, what we ate when we met, how many appletinis we had together. I didn’t KNOW this woman.
And I’m not one for letting a mystery slide by, so I go, “I’m fine, how are you?” And then I paused and said, “How do we know each other??!?”
“Steeple Run.” (Which is a neighboring school.)
“My kids don’t go to Steeple Run.”
“Oh! Well, then you have a twin!”
And the bakery lady says, “Everyone has a twin out there!”
And I’m like, “Wow! I want to see this twin of mine!”
And then I tell the girl, “Well, you look like someone I would want to be friends with!”
WHAT? Am I a freaking idiot? What kind of things come out of my mouth? Sometimes, I just amaze myself with the weirdness that I possess.