Under doctor’s orders

I have to admit to being surprised at how well I’ve coped with going back to work. Of course, that was okay while I was only working shift (effectively a few days a week) but going back to days this week was a little difficult. This week, I seem to have lost my shit. Well, today really. I went to work – well I didn’t want to go to work (but when do I ever?) – and didn’t get there.

I freaked out while waiting for the bus.

I’d caught the train as far as Hoddle St and was waiting for the bus that takes me the rest of the way to work and I just got so sad about my dad that when the bus appeared, I got up and walked away from the stop and got back on the train and went home again. I called in sick. And then felt guilty about it. But I was in no condition to go to work. I do not know what came over me, I was just so, so sad about my father. And I was so relieved to get home again.

Late in the afternoon I went to the doctor, and she listened.

I had trouble getting myself out the door and driving was an effort. She asked if I felt that what I was feeling was abnormal – no, I don’t. I’m just surprised it’s hit me a month after his death like this. She told me to go home and take a long weekend, and offered me more sleeping tablets (I did take a few before the funeral, but I think I’ve been pretty good about it since then) and valium if I felt I needed it. Both of which I refused, but despite thinking that taking another day off work was a bit self-indulgent, I have decided to listen to her about that. But she says I should go out and do something today. The only problem with that is it really conflicts with my protestant work ethic. I’m off sick. I should be sitting at home being sick. And going out (or going shopping which is what I want to do) seems to be a little immoral. However, I am under orders. The reason being, she said, I’m at risk of becoming a shut-in because I had two freak-outs yesterday.

So what to do? Does anyone feel as I do? That shopping is inappropriate?

August Horriblis

Apart from the appalling hung parliament that was thrown up by the recent federal election, and my absolute horror at the prospect of having Tony Abbott as Prime Minister for the next three years, August has been a bad month for me.

I’ve been miserable this Winter here in Melbourne. I feel like there’s been no sunlight at all. Just relentless grey cloud, hanging over all of us, but not favouring us with much rain.

I discovered I was pregnant (a combination of huzzah! and OMFG! feelings followed).

Then I miscarried.

Then, when I was miserable and being comforted by Darren, my mother phoned to tell me that my father had died.

I had to fly to Perth to sort out his affairs and organise the funeral. At least the weather was sunny and mild for the most part.

It was very sudden, apparently his heart just stopped. He didn’t tell anyone he was ill.

He did not leave a will or any instructions. We’ve been forced to just make arrangements and hope that he would have approved. The memory of him in his coffin is going to haunt me for months, perhaps my whole life. He looked so small because of their stupid shroud, which I ended up pushing aside. He was not a small man. And he looked so well – they’d put makeup on him – he looked like he was about to sit up and say “haha, suckers!”

It’s now September, the start of Spring. And thank the gods. Though the weather’s as bleak and miserable today as the winter has been, it’s at least not as cold.

I am going to disable comments as I recognise that all my f-list will feel the appropriate sympathies. Best wishes to you all. x

I love you Dad.

August Horriblis

Apart from the appalling hung parliament that was thrown up by the recent federal election, and my absolute horror at the prospect of having Tony Abbott as Prime Minister for the next three years, August has been a bad month for me.

I’ve been miserable this Winter here in Melbourne. I feel like there’s been no sunlight at all. Just relentless grey cloud, hanging over all of us, but not favouring us with much rain.

I discovered I was pregnant (a combination of huzzah! and OMFG! feelings followed).

Then I miscarried.

Then, when I was miserable and being comforted by Darren, my mother phoned to tell me that my father had died.

I had to fly to Perth to sort out his affairs and organise the funeral. At least the weather was sunny and mild for the most part.

It was very sudden, apparently his heart just stopped. He didn’t tell anyone he was ill.

He did not leave a will or any instructions. We’ve been forced to just make arrangements and hope that he would have approved. The memory of him in his coffin is going to haunt me for months, perhaps my whole life. He looked so small because of their stupid shroud, which I ended up pushing aside. He was not a small man. And he looked so well – they’d put makeup on him – he looked like he was about to sit up and say “haha, suckers!” 

It’s now September, the start of Spring. And thank the gods. Though the weather’s as bleak and miserable today as the winter has been, it’s at least not as cold.

I am going to disable comments as I recognise that all my f-list will feel the appropriate sympathies. Best wishes to you all. x

I love you Dad.