Stress leave

Hail,

And if that title was an incantation, instead of just an indication, things would be a whole lot better.

But anyway. What goes on?

Well, I potter. I write the Novel. I read - currently medieval history. I feed the birds of the air and the beasts of the field.

I have a list of things I try to do each day - prepare dinner, clean house, feed cats, kick-box. I have a pine post, standing, set in concrete out the back, and I have wrapped it in some of that stuff they use to make camper's bed-rolls, and each day I kick and punch and elbow it into submission.

And presumably, time does its work.

I have had three phone calls from work. The first was from the manager, a "hope you are well" call that went straight to voice-mail. The second was from my boss - not the same as the manager - who said the same, and detailed the several things that were being done as we speak to ensure that when I returned things would be measurably better. The last was from the admin person at work, details to follow.

Plus two nurses invited me and Sarah out to a Greek restaurant, and another has found me on Facebook.

All of this is a bit worrying.

For those who came in late, about two and a half years ago I took an overdose. I have bipolar disorder, and I have some expertise in what and how much to take, and although or perhaps because I was quite unwell at the time, it was a near-run thing. I ended up in the Royal, our largest hospital, unconscious and intubated. There were what I believe to be three days of hallucinations, several weeks of hospitalisations, months of ongoing therapy.

This was at a public hospital, and I work in a fairly small field, and Sarah did have to contact people and tell them I would not be in for work for some time. And it is on the hospital record system - now accessible throughout all the hospitals in the city - and the registrar who wrote it up did me the professional courtesy of including my title in the discharge summary. "Dr Bronze presented having taken an intentional overdose of amitriptyline exceeding... and so on."

Why bring this up?

Because I suspect that this is why I am being treated so well. I think that one of the benefits of having a fairly spectacular psychiatric history is people tend to take what you say seriously when you talk about your mood. I emailed my boss and told him I was taking two weeks minimum off, doctor's recommendation, and it was as if I had sounded a siren, or a code had been called. Not a code blue (someone dying, move towards) or a code black (someone dangerous, move away), but a code sparkly swirly, or a code bronze. Code bronze means "John's looking and sounding a bit odd." The appropriate action seems to be neither move away nor move towards, but "move about in a reassuring manner".

Which is good and bad. I feel a bit guilt-ridden, because I know that this is not how others are treated. I have had friends and family, kith and kin, who have been treated much worse than I have. Who have burned down further and needed more care and received less or none. I feel I am getting treated better than I deserve.

Anyhow. I have things to do. Write novel. Feed birds of air and beasts of field. Kick and punch and elbow defenceless pole.

Thanks for listening,

John