Wednesday, February 28, 2007

it really is the empty nest syndrome...

Today was the day. I took all 14 of my still-inside mynahs to their new home. All of them have homes within this man's immediate family. Apparently there has been great debate over who gets, and how many.

The house seems so quiet without them in the clinic room, having their loud and raucous discussions. Not that it's empty - I have 3 doves, 3 pigeons, 1 sparrow, 1 thrush, 3 finches, 1 mousebird and a nestling of unknown parentage. I think it is a hadeda ibis, but not completely convinced of that. It would get the same food whatever it is, so not too critical tonight.

But I hand-raised almost all of them, and they are so sweet and funny. I know they have gone to excellent homes - they will all be handled enough so that they become completely tame, and new-dad firmly believes in not caging them or clipping wings. He says they will stay inside for a week to be fussed over, then have one small wing clip so that they can explore outside safely - after that they won't be restrained at all, and will hopefully all stay because they want to.

I don't take any money for them, although one can apparently sell them quite easily. I want my babies to go to the right kind of homes, rather than just to someone who has money and won't love them they way they deserve. And this way, I keep the final say on each home.

P-doc tomorrow. I am scared of seeing him, because I still don't know whether I want to try another round of ECT. 50/50 odds on it working, based on prior experiences. But I'm clutching at straws now, just need something to work. I am even beginning to feel that I just can't wait till p-doc comes up with something that works. At 6 weeks a pop for each tryout, it's just too many miserable weeks. And I am just too tired to keep on doing it. Current med hoard is 320 good psych drugs, including 171 TCAs, 50 SSRIs and a nice mix of anti-psychotics, ritalin, and other stuff. There are also 4 serious anti-nausea tabs, and 82 good sleeping pills. I wish I could give them to p-doc, or turf them, but whenever I think of doing that, the little shoulder-devil reminds me that if I give these up, it will be a long cold spell before p-doc ever gives me enough extra to make it as guaranteed as any attempt can be. It's not that I am not trying to be positive and I do believe that he will find a solution. Someday. Maybe this week. Maybe next week. Maybe next year. If it gets down to the over and out, I have to succeed, and until I stop waking up every morning feeling like this, I need my backstop bottle.

Last time I felt good, in May '06 for 4 days, I immediately gave him my 111 Parnate back. Ha bloody ha - that was the 3rd day, and 24 hours later I hit the wall face first. In some strange way though, knowing that I have the way out in my cupboard seems to help with trying to hang on. Guess I am part alien, as p-doc reckons. Meds don't work, my body works backwards, and so does my mind....

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