Another week has passed since I blogged, it’s been an unremarkable week I suppose. Calvin’s recovery has continued well and you’d never believe he had back surgery less than two weeks ago. We’re inevitably, I suppose, mainly back to that functional communication I talked about last time with the odd “watch your back” and “be careful” thrown in. He did, in an act of extreme trust, ask me to cut the mop of hair he’s been lovingly nurturing for some time, in an attempt to make it easier to keep clean whilst bathing is still disallowed and leaning over the bath is forbidden.
I don’t do haircuts, preferring to leave such things to skilled professionals but armed with some clippers from Argos I set about his head with shakier than usual hands and the kind of fake optimism I usually save for trips to casualty with the youngest child. “Yeah it’s looking great!” I said as he took on the appearance of a dog with sarcoptic mange. The haircut was naturally a family affair with the other two children looking on- a steely glare toward the middle child ensured she said nothing to alert Calvin to the possible catastrophe that his head was becoming; the youngest child could not be kept from pointing out how funny his brother looked. I got to the end of the haircut, sweating and trembling and it looked ok, ok enough that none of us are embarrassed to be seen with Cal- especially since he always wears a hat.
I spoke to my lovely boss this week, nothing major, just a friendly exchange but I did tell her I’d been signed off for another 12 weeks I didn’t have the guts to tell her that I’ll probably get signed off again when that ends. I often wonder what my lovely boss understands about how well or otherwise I am. I submit sick lines- all they say is “bipolar affective disorder” (though curiously my recent one says “acute bipolar affective disorder”) what does this actually tell someone about my condition?
Today for example, and all this past week, this has meant that for the most part I am ok, I am stable. But this week I have suffered the most agonising agitation and restlessness. I’m not talking about needing something to do to keep me occupied; I’m talking about a skin-crawling, muscle aching, stomach churning need for something I can’t identify. This has me pacing round the house most of the time, needing something but unable to focus on anything. I usually resort to Lorazepam to help, which it does for a bit but then I need to sleep off the effects of the Lorazepam. I have no idea what’s causing this recent development, maybe it’s just another of the little in-between episodes joys that bi-polar brings? I’m hoping the fantastic CPN can shed some light tomorrow- or at least persuade the wonderful GP to be less stingy with the Lorazepam prescription.
I’m sure the wonderful GP has good reasons for only ever giving me 14 Lorazepam at a time; in fact I know she does. But this means I have to keep going back to get more and I hate having to ask for such things, in fact contrary to what the staff at my GP practice must believe- I don’t like going to the doctor at all, for anything. I spend far too much time with my wonderful GP; I would quite like to go back to that rarely seen patient I was before all this happened.