If you read the previous blog, I thankfully did what I said I would do. I phoned Sandi at emergency in the Smithers hospital. She told me to come in. I detoured to the Reitsma's and asked Dorothy to drive me. I was admitted for depression and administred Ativan and an anti-depressant to help stop the crying. It helped, but I'm still at the bottom of the barrel, which I am told its a serotonin imbalance. The anti-depressant will take almost 2 weeks to work. They will keep me in hospital until Barry is off work on Friday and can come pick me up.
It's good to know there is help on the horizon. I should have asked for it much earlier. Homer, the bear, can only do so much. He is exhausted and sits up in the hospital bed by himself at the moment, while I sit and stare out the window at nothing. I have scared myself into a deep silence, my brain possibly worried about flaming the still- smoldering meltdown I had survived.
I feel very tired, embarrassed and lower than I can ever remember. They say this is "normal" for all I've been though. The psychiatrist I was assigned to says I had hit the top five crisis alerts: cancer, suicide in the family, high speed motor vehicle accident, loss of a parent, loss of a friend.
When I get home, I will be taking a break from the cancer book. I will take the dresser pictures of my brother and mother and put them elsewhere for a bit. I will take the new meds, meet with a counsellor and get myself back on track. I have too much ahead of me to quit now. I never stopped believing that. There was only a brief moment there when it wasn't worth the weight of the effort, but I have the help I need now and can see what to do to make sure that moment never returns.