Yesterday was full of hard things. Chiefly, I had a follow-up appointment with my primary doctor in which we discussed my hatred of Xanax (just too groggifying for this already brain-fogged princess) and she prescribed Lexapro.
I’m at a point in my anxiety work that I think I can take a new medicine without it necessarily triggering a panic attack. I mean, it may still lead to one, but it’s not a given. Panic attacks don’t last as long anymore anyway, and I feel like the benefits of an assist in this mental health challenge outweigh any trigger risks.
Plus, it’s entirely unreasonable for me to avoid taking new meds when I have cancer. Got to jump back in at some point. Might as well be now.
With each new day, I am discovering just how physical panic and anxiety are. Everything—down to my PEM, buzzing sensations, and the feeling I am being choked out—improves when the anxiety and panic attacks subside. My blood pressure is down.
I’m still at a point where the improvements are for the most not outwardly noticeable. But I feel the difference. (Like when I’d exercise but no one noticed because my weight didn’t change.)
I know things are different, and that’s enough.
The one exception might be that IBS symptoms are much better. I’ve been reclusive, trying not to get the flu and various other germs, so Dan might be the only one who sees this change. And he may only be aware because when he brought up how slowly we’re going through toilet paper, I mentioned that’s probably got something to do with IBS flares being fewer and farther between.
I still worry too much what other people go through because of me, but I’m a work in progress. That’ll ease up too.
In the meantime, I will remember to commend myself for taking this on with all the doubt I have internalized over the years. I thought brain cancer was going to be the hard thing. Ha!