Anniversary

Today is one of those odd days that aren't that meaningful yet you never forget. Four years ago today I was finally firmly diagnosed with bipolar disorder. I'd had a probably diagnosis for several months, and had been on lithium even longer than that, but on Sept. 9 I had the appointment where there was no more doubt.

I had contacted a mood disorders clinic at a major university hospital near me (something I highly recommend if you are not getting better from depression or bipolar) a week before. When they first offered me an appointment it wasn't until the end of October. I cried because I knew I couldn't last that long and I was not having any luck finding anyone to treat me and I knew that I was on the verge of needing hospitalization. (I probably really did need it, but I had no doctor to place me there). The woman felt sorry for me and found me an appointment just a few days later. I had to bring someone who could verify my behaviors (something that was terribly hard for me to ask anyone to do and which was hard to experience as it hurt to see her confirm symptoms I didn't realize I had), and prepare to be there for several hours.

When we arrived the receptionist claimed I was not on her list and sent us to another area where there was no receptionist or anyone else. We waited almost an hour before someone appeared and when I explained she checked and it turned out we had gone to the right place but now had missed my appointment. I again began crying and pointing out that both of us had missed work, traveled a long way, etc and it wasn't fair to deny the doctor's visit when the receptionist was wrong, not me. The doctor himself agreed with that and so he saw me anyway. The receptionist was reprimanded and she was never nice to me after that.

The evaluation itself was exhausting. That's mainly what I remember, how tired my brain was at the end. He asked questions about everything in my entire life and how I did things, reacted to things, approached projects, etc. He walked back through my life year by year to find when I truly first had symptoms. He started predicting the patterns that identified the variations of bipolar that I had. That amazed me; he could ask "do you do this?" and then tell me that I also did this and this but not this.

At the end he did something that I have remembered a million times when I have been most frustrated. He asked me how I had done so well for so long. I had gone far beyond when I statistically should have been clearly diagnosable, and I had avoided pitfalls I was statistically extremely likely to land in. At that point it was amazing I had maintained a job for 2 years. What he didn't know was that I hadn't even missed a day of work due to bipolar symptoms yet and I wouldn't for another 5 months. That made me feel so good, like at least if I had to have this at least I wasn't totally handling it horribly.

Then he told me about the specifics of my diagnosis, about the program the clinic ran, about the research studies he was recommending me for and the chances that they'd help. He was very honest that at that/this time there was nothing that was likely to give me a total recovery, but what he described is more or less what I have now. He explained the educational part of their program, which I now believe was probably the most valuable thing I got from that program. (the med combination didn't work out so well for me in the long run). Then I met the research assistant I'd work with to go through more paperwork and explanations of the medical requirements for the study and I was given a lot of information. Finally I was sent home to sleep for about a week.

And so, 4 years and 12 hours from now, I became an official bipolar patient.