Happiness is not achieved by the conscious pursuit of happiness; it is generally the by-product of other activities.
- Aldous Huxley

Google “IUD Depression”

So Joy told me, and so I did. And damn. Just…DAMN. I screwed up, folks. When da Man told me that the Mirena is low dose ONLY delivered locally, I believed it. I didn’t do my due dilligence. Again…I fucked up.

What?

Oh, right. May 19th — I had a Mirena IUD fitted. I loved the idea of short or no periods — and since the hormones stay “local,” I wasn’t concerned about the side effects that I know MY body gives me from hormonal B/C. Within one week, I started having weird, dark thoughts and anxiety. 11 days after getting the Mirena, I had a full-blown anxiety episode. Yes, what I found were primarily anecdotes, but they sounded exactly like what I was experiencing. I read all weekend, and finally found one document from the Canadian division of Bayer that suggested that Mirena might be a bad idea for people who’ve experienced “psychiatric episodes, especially those of a depressive nature” — to a point where the Mirena may need to be removed.

Well, well, well. Document from Bayer in hand, I went to my 2-week check-up, and requested (okay, insisted) that the thing be removed. My NP had never experienced this side effect before, and was glad I’d brought documentation. She said she’d bring this up at the next staff meeting — so that even if my side effects were rare (I was the first she’d seen), at least they’d know they’re in the universe of possibility.

Within a few days I started to feel better. At about a week, I darned near felt normal again, I thought. At 10 days, I wanted to shoot myself.

I’d been warned. Along with all the anecdotal hoo-hah about Mirena side effects were horror stories of the “Mirena Crash” — this low, low point that could occur 1-1/2 to 2 weeks post removal, in the time between the loss of the synthetic progesterone’s loss and the body’s notice to start producing on its own. Yet, still, I had (have) no idea how long this crash might last. And what if this isn’t a crash, but the hormonal changes started an avalanche of symptoms that now can’t be stopped? What if I spent a year hating mornings and wanting to strange my 3-year-old? Or ready to punch a wall when the baby just. wouldn’t. sleep?

I broached it to Mike. In reality, I wept and sobbed to Mike, making a sad, sad case that “I know I’ll be fine. I know what it is, so I can push through it.” Somehow, hearing that along with the idea that I thought my kids deserved more (and that was the brightest, sunniest of my dark thoughts), didn’t convince him. “Please,” he said. “Please go see the doctor tomorrow. Go before I leave for D.C.”

And I did. And I wonder why I waited so long. You have no idea how bad you feel until you just don’t feel bad anymore. Heck, I might even say, I FEEL GOOD.

Effexor is a real bitch to discontinue. But she’s MY bitch again. And I’m glad. At least this time, when the time comes, I know what to expect: that it will take months of slowly ramping down and a switch to other drugs before Ms. E lets me be.

But you know what? It’s still worth it. Already, I’m more myself. Cliches and all.

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

One of today’s quote’s from iGoogle:

Happiness is always a by-product. It is probably a matter of temperament, and for anything I know it may be glandular. But it is not something that can be demanded from life, and if you are not happy you had better stop worrying about it and see what treasures you can pluck from your own brand of unhappiness.
- Robertson Davies

Treasures from unhappiness. It makes an odd sort of sense to me, especially considering how my last several weeks have gone. On the 26th of May, I began to show symptoms of anxiety and/or postpartum depression (PPD). On the 27th, I had such a difficult time concentrating, that I decided to push off the grad program from my planned June 2 start date. I mean, if I couldn’t concentrate enough to write my entrance essay, how the &^%$ did I think I’d do grad work? On the 30th, I had a full-blown panic/anxiety attack, complete with fears I’d end up rocking in a corner somewhere in an institution.

Thankfully, I have a good friend who stepped in to my cry of “HELP!” and talked me back into reality, made me promise to go see a doctor about meds for PPD, and generally helped me step away from the cliff’s edge. After we got off the phone, I was simply exhausted — but at least back into my own skin.

Within half an hour, she called back with a command. “Google ‘IUD Depression’.”

to be continued…

Earlier today, I received an email invitation to a session regarding financial aid/loans for an online University where I am considering working on a Masters. The date is a couple of weeks out, at a time I can manage, with some planning (Maya would need to stay later at preschool/childcare). I clicked the link to register.

You have been registered for blah-blah-blah session on June 12th at 1pm EDT.

I glance at the clock. It’s June 12th, 12:50pm EDT — as in, nearly 2 hours after the session’s start. First of all, this isn’t the session I responded to. Second, even if it were, why the fuck would they register me for something that’s already nearly over?

I emailed my contact at the online U:

The email to which I responded was for a session on Wednesday, June 25th. The information I received is for a session today — one that has already started and ended. When you have a chance, please help me get correctly registered. Thanks!

He responded:

Hello Allison,

You are not the first candidate to miss a web forum due to the time difference. Please review the two Web Forums below.

(details for sessions)

Please let me know which you will be registering for and if you require any further assistance in the registration process.

Have a great day!

My initial reaction: prideful annoyance. Dude. I did NOT miss a session for which I’d registered. Do you think I’m an idiot?

Second reaction: Questioning their competence. Do I really want to do grad work here?

Final reaction (I think): Eh, let it ride. I’ll re-register sometime via the website rather than an email link (for more control, I hope). The contact’s opinion of me isn’t THAT important.

See this? This is what my gorgeous view looks like, with and without window film. Window film is today’s project, and who knew it could be such a total PITA to install? Let’s just say that this is as far as we’ll likely get today.

The color is gray. It makes my New Mexico sky darker and less blue. The bright greens that cover the mountains are subdued. I hate it. The lighting coming into the house is less of a warm color. Everything looks…dull.

On the left side the sofa measures 85 degrees. On the right? 100+. Guess if window film will help my un-air-conditioned house to be in the 70s instead of 80s this time of day, I can deal.

Thump, thump, thump, thump…You’ve got to MOVE IT!

Two girls dance together, sandwiching the unsuspecting poor sob between them. They laugh and give each other knowing looks. The world is theirs.

Then, we had cosmos in hand (and didn’t even spill them!). The girl was my cousin, and we were hotties who (likely insufferably) knew it. The guy was likely an Air Force Academy cadet, pleased with how “cool” he was to dance with hot older women.

Today, years later, it’s the credits to Madagascar. We have Luna bars in hand (and don’t even smudge chocolate all over). The girl is my Maya, and we’re sandwiching Gavin, who is resisting going back to his nap. We laugh together, and I wouldn’t go back to the nightclub even if you paid me.

Often, growing up sucks. Today, it doesn’t.

Gavin is teething. He’s not even 3 months old…and this has been going on, I believe, for at least 2 weeks.

Yikes.

From Real Clear Politics: Is Obama Using Bush’s Playbook?

In late 2006, before this presidential election cycle picked up speed, conventional wisdom dictated that the winning campaign had to follow the model that then-Governor George W. Bush had used in 2000 and the Bush campaign perfected during his re-election bid in 2004. On the Republican side that assumption was clearly incorrect. On the Democratic side, the campaign of Senator Barack Obama has embraced the Bush-Rove construct and added its own unique features to it.

What?

Reading on, I discover how they’re similar: they both happen to run successful campaigns. Yeah, that means they’re soul brothers. Really, truly, it does. What.ever. It’s beyond annoying that this is what passes for political analysis in the press.

More thoughts on it, but unlikely I’ll blog it. Something about having two kids at home seems to preclude much blogging anymore other than short burst. And I’m considering grad school…am I insane?

Happy Mothers’ Day to all!