The other day I had a patient ask me if we had a device in which she could place her head that would squeeze her brain to make her thoughts more balanced. Instead of considering the psychotic workings of her mind I could only think, "What a great idea!" It was right up there with the idea of the medicated cigarettes a doctor once told me about. Schizophrenics hate to take meds, but they love to smoke. If we had Haldol 100's or Zyprexa Lights, we could solve both problems with one fell swoop. But no such luck, for either case. Maybe one day psychiatry will look to external methods of control rather than loading a patient down with drugs, but not today. Not now.

My doctor has me on a new medication: Adderall. It is a stimulant. I've seen some Bipolar patients on this before to handle the depressive side of the illness and in most cases it didn't cause a manic episode. And it hasn't with me, at least not during the month I've been on it. What it does do is give me energy, which I desperately need. I missed taking it for one day and slept for 23 hours. But I'm being very carefully monitored. My doctor suggested I tell someone I'm close to at work to look out for manic symptoms. I told Nancy. She asked me what happens to me when I start to get manic and I said, "I get loud. I start telling jokes. Laugh all the time." And she said, "Oh, so you're not so quiet and introverted like you are now." This really shocked me. This is like the third time someone at work has said this about me. I can't blame everything on the shock treatments, but I do believe it changed my personality a little bit. At least, I was never quiet and introverted before. The research out says there are no lasting effects of ECT, but I don't believe that...and of course, I can only speak for myself, but I am changed. Ask anyone who knew me BST (Before Shock Treatments) and they would have never used the word "quiet" to describe me. Was I just manic all the damn time? Are the meds responsible for keeping me on the low-down, keeping me laid-back and quiet? What would happen if I just went off all the meds? If shock treatments have nothing to do with my personality now, would being off meds just throw me into a wild manic episode?

I don't want to find out. My doctor told me yesterday that I'm in "remission." I was very happy about this. I'm not feeling any side-effects of the medication anymore, except the occasional stuttering that Geodon causes. I'm good. I'm doing well. I'm quiet. It's kind of sad, though, in a way. The other day at work I was working in the back with Michael and he said something that made me throw my head back and laugh. Hard. I was aware at that moment that it had been a long time since I've done that. Still, I was capable of doing it. That's good stuff.

So, I'm in remission. This is good...even if probably everyone I work with thinks I'm a big, fat bore. I'll take that over swinging over the alligator pit any day.

Last night at work we had 12 admissions. 12. On my shift alone. They were coming in left and right, spilling onto the unit dazed and disoriented. I was up to my eyeballs in crockadiles by 9pm, needing admission orders, writing progress notes, filling out treatment plans and giving meds all at the same time. I had a patient that was just demanding all of my time, wanting any and all meds ordered for him, and generally wearing me down to the bone. By 11:30 I was still knee-deep in paperwork until finally I just handed it all over to the night-shift nurse taking over my patients and limped pathetically to the timeclock to punch out. Fridays are always bad. This Friday was horrific in surround sound.

I only work part-time. I don't know how anyone does it for longer than that. It is just too fucking draining. I can barely spare one minute more that 24 hours a week. Seriously, that's all I can give. And yet, I work with an 80 year old nurse pulling down 3 twelves back to back every week. What the fuck? It's just absolutely amazing.

I survived...that's all I can say. We'll see what Monday brings. It honestly can't be as bad as last night. I mean, really.

I'm 46 today. I don't feel 46, however that's supposed to feel. My Mom is 68 and she doesn't feel 68, so maybe we're just all playing catch up. I remember nursing school like it was yesterday, and that was 15 years ago. A patient told me recently that though he was 70, it was only yesterday that he was 50. Where is all this time going? When you're a kid it just crawls by. The whole year is just spent waiting for Christmas...and it takes forever. For me, Christmas will be here tomorrow and I won't be ready for it. So, I'm 46. Middle-aged. Over the hill? Not quite, I guess, because it still feels like I'm crawling up it.

So, I'm going to enjoy the day...every minute of it.

March 1st. It seems like only yesterday that it was Christmas. And here it is, March. I think time passes so quickly when we get older is that we rush through our work days, we wish we were anywhere else but work, and those minutes just fly by, whether it seems that way or not. I can't tell you how many times I hear a co-worker say, "I can't wait for this day to be over." And if we say that every day, we rush through 40 hours of our lives, week after week after week, until it is nearly Christmas again and we wonder where it all went. I was admitting a patient last week who said, "I'll be 63 next week and it seems like only yesterday that I was celebrating my 40th birthday." Why does time go by so quickly when we're older? Can it be that we're not living in the moment? I've been very conscious of this lately, and I've been playing that statement again and again in my mind that my therapist used to say to me, "Tracy, keep your head where your body is." I have not been doing that. When I'm at work I am watching that clock, baby, and it does fly by. If I stopped myself from doing that, would time suddenly slow down and let me appreciate every moment? Instead of saying, "I can't wait for Saturday!" should I instead be appreciating Thursday for what it is?

It's a personal experiment I'll be trying this week. Instead of rushing to work, I'm going to appreciate the drive. Instead of watching that clock, I'm going to gaze in the wonder that is that very minute. If not for anything else, it will at least be a slow, steady practice of keeping my head where my body is. It will at least be that.