Today, March 7, 2022, is the 10th anniversary of my bipolar diagnosis. In some ways it seems like it was only yesterday that I heard the words proclaiming the nature of my �nonconformity�, but in others I feel like...
Today, March 7, 2022, is the 10th anniversary of my bipolar diagnosis. In some ways it seems like it was only yesterday that I heard the words proclaiming the nature of my �nonconformity�, but in others I feel like I�ve lived the longer part of my life with it. As indeed I have; I was bipolar long before I ever got the label, and I suspected it a full decade before I sought help.
Well, I didn�t exactly seek help, I had it thrust upon me by my internist, who got tired of prescribing various antidepressants for a patient who had problems with all of them. He said I had something too serious for him to handle, so he insisted I visit someone who knew more about these things than he did. Of course, I was furious and almost refused to go once I realized he was sending me to an actual psychiatrist, not a therapist or counselor. But I did, and almost immediately formed a bond with the great Dr. Awesomesauce, who treated the whole patient and not just his or her illness.
I�ve been very lucky with psychiatrists over this past decade, too. I saw a psych nurse practitioner for a few months in between doctors, and she was kind and compassionate. I�d just lost my husband and she was a relatively new widow herself, so a lot of our time together was spent in grief work. Then there was Dr. Goodenough, who gave me a very firm bipolar 1 diagnosis which has since followed me like a lost dog. Now I have Dr. Young, who is a nerd like me who likes to research and analyze everything; we get along great and I feel she�s really invested in my care. I never thought I would want a female psychiatrist, but this gal is tops!
In other news, I finally got the chance to see the neuropsychologist last month, and the good news is, I DON�T have dementia. What I have is called mild neurocognitive impairment disorder, which is a fancy way of saying I�m not quite all there but able to manage in average, not fast-paced, situations. The main problem is my executive function, which doesn�t function very well, and that�s why I can�t multitask or pay attention to what I�m doing when I�m under stress.
But the real shocker was the recommendation that I should stop driving. Evidently I failed miserably on a test that strongly correlates with driving ability, and given my difficulties with depth perception and how I park a car all cattywampus in the stall, I can see why it might be a good idea. I�m not ready for this, though, because on top of it I recently broke my right ankle and am in a cast and using a front- wheeled walker to get around. And as much as I hate the prospect, I have also begun to think about making walker use a permanent thing.
I can�t believe how much safer I am with it. My balance is so poor that it takes only a few feet of uneven ground or getting up off the sofa when I�m sleepy to spin me off course. I�ve had more near-falls than I can count. This thing stabilizes me and gives me something to lean on when I�m standing, which is what I�ve been needing for awhile now. I did almost kill myself yesterday by going out to the garage with the walker and fetching a carton of buttermilk; I forgot about how heavy the door is when you come back in the house�how high the step up is�how awkward it is to carry something and hang onto the walker. Since I wasn�t using the equipment properly, I lost my balance and almost fell backwards, which would have been disastrous on a concrete floor. So I vowed never to do anything so reckless and foolish again.
Of course, all this makes me feel older than I already am. I�m not even 65 yet, but time is marching on and it�s marching right across my bad back. Everything hurts now, and the undignified process in which I fractured my ankle made my hips and knees ache ferociously for days afterwards. In fact, the knee and hip on the broken side hurt so bad the ER staff did X-rays on them too. Good Lord, what if it had been the knee or hip? So I promised myself and my nearest and dearest that I would never again put myself in a situation where that could happen another time.
But in spite of everything, I try to maintain my sense of humor and an attitude of gratitude. After all, I�ve survived a whole decade of full-blown bipolar disorder in all its flavors, and winter�s almost over. 
