Thursday, April 28, 2011
I've been thinking a lot about "transitions" lately -- mostly because of posting to this blog an old journal entry about my thunderstorm anxiety reappearing (back in 1995) and my comment about how my therapist from "way back when" suggested that my anxiety resurfaced during periods of transition.
I've gone through a lot of transitions over the past few years. I moved from my home town on Long Island to Brooklyn, got engaged (then married!) and have had a few jobs since moving. However, none of that seemed to trigger my anxiety the way my father's health problems did.
Is my anxiety really because of Dad's health issues? Or was that transition just the last straw? The proverbial straw that broke the camels back.
Transition is really "change" and no one likes change. Although President Obama ran a campaign based on "change", he just called it "hope"
I spoke to my therapist this week about transition and the fact that I feel, on some level, that I'm in a perpetual state of transition as I wait to see what happens with my Dad. But the fact of the matter is I know, or at least I feel like I "know" he won't ever leave the rehab facility and return home. The place he is in is really an assisted living facility.. Except I have this fantasy idea that a real assisted living facility is more like a nice hotel with nurses or something. A place where you actually live and do stuff.. but where Dad is living is more like a hospital than a hotel. And I guess I want to feel like that transition for Dad is over -- either he is home again or he is in a place where everyone - including Dad - know that he will be for whatever life he has left.
I feel like, when I see or speak to my Dad on the phone, that I am being disingenuous by asking him about his progress with rehab, and asking about dates when he might be able to get home. I know he won't ever leave -- there are two many variables. The reoccurring c-diff infection that prevent him from doing PT. The apparent lack of motivation on his part to do simple exercises while in the wheel chair or his bed. But apparently he still talks to Mom like he will be home one day. But I think the charade needs to stop.
And speaking of transitions -- although a bit of topic from this post -- I need to find a new psychiatrist. My company changed health insurance and my old psychiatrist isn't on my new plan (Oxford). When I told her about the new health insurance she suggested I find a new doctor. Its sort of like being dumped! I wish my current therapist could prescribe me meds. Oh well.