As I was on my way across town this morning, I got a call from p-doc's rooms offering me his last appt of the day.
So I delivered 3 mynahs and 6 pigeons to their new daddy, ended up getting another baby pigeon, and then went to see t-doc. Guess it's a total waste of her time, because there's not much she can tell me, or get me to think about. I just about don't even cry, am just too lost and sunken in pain. All she can do for me is a bit of psychological hand-holding, and I wish I could tell her how very important that is to me.
Hey, and as per Shrink Raps recent posts 'your doctor is making jokes about you' and 'laughter is a drug', we still manage to make jokes. Except they're mostly about suicide, and she doesn't really find them funny. Very black humour.
And then a few kms up the road to p-doc. Went and ate lunch. Twice. Had a nap in the car. And then went and wasted his time too. Although he thought nearly being arrested for the bike helmet was funny. He can't do much on meds, he's already increasing the Nardil and the trimipramine as fast as possible, especially when he knows that I am being so non-compliant about everything else. Because I just don't give a damn. He offered me hospital three times - which in his terms means he thinks it would be a very good idea. I can't. The only person who I trust with my cats and dogs is Joyce, my maid, and she is going home to Zimbabwe for two weeks on Weds.
Dogs. I have to get used to saying dog. At the moment, I can't get another dog, because it would be just one more animal to make arrangements for.