TheBanyanTree: The Diaries, 051204

[Monique]

I got Krispy Kremes last night. Delivered straight from the Krispy Kreme
store, a gift just for me from Andrew.

It's the little things, isn't it?

And Stew went back on his anti-depressants yesterday, so the two of us
celebrated by having dinner out. Much cause for celebration -- after several
days of no Effexor, the poor guy was transparently psychotic, even though he
still had anti-psychotics. He'd reduced the dosage of those, in an attempt
to make them last longer. And the Effexor ran out altogether. And the other
pills weren't picking up the slack. 

Whew. Interesting few days there. These things always happen before a
weekend, when it's even more difficult to get scrips. His psychiatrist did
call them in to Costco Friday, but Costco lost them. When he still didn't
have any on Monday and couldn't reach anyone he called me, and I called his
psychiatrist and had her paged. She had fired him recently, told him he
needs ongoing care, so he feels rejected once again. He also tried calling
his primary care doctor, NP actually, on Monday -- she's apparently retired,
so there's no one there. This did not help the rejection theme. The health
care facility his psychiatrist is referring him to for ongoing care is
unsure they can help him since he is not yet on Social Security and has only
private disability right now -- and no money. That's the problem. No money. 

I was working a charity auction Saturday night, something I had not been
looking forward to because of organizational conflicts and the board being
unprepared for said auction -- any failures would come back to haunt me, as
the person in charge of collecting the money. Anyway. So Stew called. He'd
been to the store, and was certain people were after him. 

Paranoid schizophrenia.

I told him they weren't. I made jokes. I asked him what he had to eat at his
place. He looked at his cupboard and started laughing at the mac and cheese
boxes because there were, he said, so many . . . . laughing is good, and I'd
rather be around a psychotic who laughs than one who's contemplating
homicide, but when he's like that the laughing is scary too, it doesn't
stop, it has an intensity of hysteria in it that hints at deeper darker
motivations. I hung in there and we eventually got it stopped. 

And I reassured him he was safe inside his apartment, that no one would get
him there, and that I would stop by on my way home with some dessert for
him.

Someone usually gives me some dessert to take home. I don't have time, while
I'm there with 100 people lined up waiting to see just me and no one else
but me, to eat my dessert. 

When I stopped by later that night, around 11 pm, he was okay, though
visibly shaken and unsteady. Okay is a relative term around here. He had on
his hooded robe, the one that makes him look like one of those little hooded
guys in Star Wars who run around frantically, except bigger. 

It's a good look for him some days. I gave him my half of a chocolate cream
pie and quarter of lemon meringue I'd been given -- he doesn't like lemon
meringue, but that's okay. I made sure he was settled, and doing okay, and
would be fine for the rest of the night. "No one is after you," I told him.
Which then made him feel unwanted.

Sigh.

We do what we can.

And then I returned to my home, tired, late, just wanting to rest, Andrew
waiting for me, to hold me and laugh with me. 

Stew came over to my place on Sunday. I told him to come over and we'd go to
the store. He showed up in his hooded robe, a first. He thought it was a
good idea at the time. I told him it was okay to leave the robe, that we
could go out with him wearing his shorts and t-shirt. 

Anyway. He crashed several times over the weekend. And I shored him up, a
temporary retaining wall strong enough to keep him from collapsing
altogether. And Tuesday, finally, he got his meds. Now he can get back on
track, continue with trying to put together a life centered around him and
not his disability, which should be just a glitch and not the sun his life
revolves around. 

Day by day, that's how it's done, right? 

Monique