Slouching Toward Normalcy, and Lessons Learned

Now then.

I write from a fresh perspective, both because I'm just out of a nice long jacuzzi bath with my sweetie, to warm up from the frozen tundra of Sand Creek Stadium (It ain't no Lambeau, but it was damn cold nonetheless) and Stephanie's game... And because things around here are starting to look like they're settling down. But we learned a few things over the past few days. To wit, and in summary:

1) One *can* experience withdrawal symptoms from medicines that are delivered for therapeutic purposes, in therapeutic doses, in therapeutic environments, for time-frames as short as two days.

2) The effects of said withdrawal are decidedly non-therapeutic, for the bearer as well as those who love them. Imagine a version of hell where you're seeing things, dizzy and nauseated, swinging from content to despondent to giddy to crying to furious and back literally in the span of minutes, feeling all manner of strange pains and nerve janglings and afraid you're losing your own mind...but none of those things manifest themselves outwardly, so the people who love you and want only to get you feeling better are left at a total loss as to why they can't do anything right, whether you're just lobbying for attention, whether they're losing their minds, and why the world has come unhinged.
(Honey, I love you, and I'm so sorry you were locked in that shitty place with me not "getting it." I'm glad you're feeling better.)

3) There is tremendous benefit to having an established relationship with a wonderful primary care physician, one who is willing to override the office gatekeepers (and promise to chastise one for calling me Honey oh-so-smarmily) and squeeze in an extra appointment...and who knows a patient well enough to confirm that "yes, that is exactly Ativan withdrawal, and yes that is possible in the doses you were getting," and "that is also withdrawal from and side effect of IV solu-medrol" which we had never even considered. Dr. Clothier, that's why we adore you and think you're a rockstar among chumps in the medical world. (Now if Donna-the-triage-nurse only had a clue, or a foot in her ass.)

4) Intangible things like support, love, well-wishes, and visitors really do help the healing process. Thank you so much to all our wonderful friends and family who sent wishes our way and came to visit while Scott was in the hospital - thank you all for not minding when he nodded off mid-conversation... It's wonderful to know there are so many people who care. And a humongous thank you to Brandy and Andrew who came all the way from Frederick on Sunday to make a wonderful dinner for us when I was too frazzled to be domestic, and whose adorable boys entertained our crew, and whose "Bermuda Triangle: Sinister Cloud" old-school board game entertained us all. We appreciated all you did for us, and I hadn't realized how not-up-to-cooking I would feel after it all. I'm so glad you anticipated that. :-)

5) Marble and granite for countertops is crazy expensive. Corian is less so, and Formica makes a very respectable acrylic polymer that's similar. And I'm so smitten with the idea of maybe knocking down the breakfast bar to counter-height.

6) Sometimes, the best answer the world has for you is "7-10 days."

Since I'm now also slouching toward randomness, I'll close this post and go find something productive to do. Slightly easier to do since I finally found a to-do-list app that syncs between my iPhone and my MacBook. If only I could find the app that *does* the shit for me.