Zappy Brain

art credit: The Everlasting Ash

I breathe in deeply. Opening my eyes I smile and stretch my back, reaching out to my fluffy cat Chippy and ZAP. The first one is always jarring. My head shakes on its own like a dog shivering off water from a nice swim. But this isn’t nice. It’s disorienting.

I sit up and slide my feet of the bed. My eyes feel askew and I’m disappointed. Another day of brain zaps. I have been off the zoloft for two weeks now. When is it going to stop? The doctor said these mini seizures will go away eventually. I guess I just have to trust that.

I stand up. ZAP zappy numbness casts a wave across my face. Whoa. That was a strong one. Confusion. What was I doing? Start with observations, this always helps. I’m standing in my bedroom, it’s morning, the air is cold. Oh yeah, its morning routine time: pee, brush teeth, stretch out on the yoga mat, 15 minutes mediation, go downstairs . . .

Zaps always happen on the stairs. Not bad ones though. Little shocks. zap step zap step zap step. It’s a rhythm and one I’m used to. I focus on the coffee I am about to have. Mmmmmm coooffffffeeeee. But first, I have to get my son up.

“Ellis, good morning sweet boy,” I nudge him with my nose. Nose to nose, “Wake up monkey!” I hug his shoulders and sniff sniff sniff in his ear like a puppy. He laughs and stretches his arms out to hug me. “I love you. You’re the best mom in the world,” he says sleepily. These are my favorite words. We have a tight bond.

Breakfast is always the same. For Ellis, its scrambled eggs, chicken and apple sausage, 2 slices of good seed bread with butter, and an apple cored and sliced evenly. For me its scrambled eggs, spinach, plain yogurt, and salsa. I have coffee with half and half and Ellis has water. I don’t notice any zaps while cooking or eating. Only a little tremor while carrying our food from the kitchen to the dining table, a cute little rectangle with tall bench-style chairs.

We usually watch a BrainPop during breakfast. These are great vignettes about important topics hosted by a cartoon duo named Tim (a teenage boy) and Moby (his AI robot). This morning we watched an episode about Parliament and how it’s different from American democracy. I find myself wishing to live in a Parliamentary society. Seems like a better version of democracy than what we have.

After breakfast I head back upstairs, the zaps are bad going up. One long ZZZZAAAAAAAPPPPPPPP. It trails off into numbness in my face and tongue at the top of the stairs. I hate those. I think maybe the brain shocks will never go away. But I have to trust that they will. This will stop. My brain will be normal again, well, I quickly self-correct. It’s never been normal, per se, but eventually I won’t suffer the indignity of once having taken antidepressant medicine. I will be fine. Eventually.

I think back to when my oncologist prescribed zoloft to me, I worried about taking medication for depression. “I am not depressed”, I told her. “I am sad and annoyed about having cancer. I am frustrated that chemo sterilized me at 37 and forced my body into early menopause,” I stated flatly.

“I understand,” she said. “What you’re gonig through is difficult. The SSRI, that’s the class of antidepressant I am prescribing, will help decrease the intesity of the hot flashes and night sweats.”

“Oh, well, in that case. Hell yeah. Sign me up,” I acquisced without another question. The medicine did moderate the menopause symptoms, which were molding me into a crazy person. Years down the road though, I’m not sure I would make the same choice. Or, given another chance, that I would at least ask more questions.

There are things that help modify the zaps, namely lifting weights, yoga, taking Amino acid supplements, orgasms, and positive self talk. The zaps will go away. My brain will stop doing this to me. Nothing lasts forever. Anicca. Anicca. Anicca.