Fried Okra, Covered Wagons and Lexapro

Today I was at my doctor's office because last month I had two migraines within a week of each other. While I was fine with just moaning on the floor, my husband was all, "You know, I am a global supply chain manager. I cannot fix this. Perhaps you should see a doctor." But he was wrong, so wrong; he suggested that when I felt like eating we should go get some fried okra. That was pretty much the best idea EVER. No amount of medical training could come up with a solution so brilliant. Yet he still made me promise to go see a doctor.

There I was with said doctor discussing my head and the pain therein and thereon and how if four Advil and a Starbucks can't cure a headache then fried okra will. Bet they didn't teach that at his fancy-schmancy medical college.

Then he started asking me all these questions. Am I snoring at night? Another thing they didn't teach him at his fancy-schmancy medical college is that the women who come to the office wearing cardigans and pearls do not snore. Duh. Am I having trouble sleeping? Well, my husband is very competitive and he likes to end up with all the covers at the end of every night, but I didn't think that was the issue. Am I anxious?

I just didn't know what do to with the question, "Are you anxious?"

So I started to cry. And I couldn't stop. I kept pulling Kleenexes from the box and trying to talk but nothing would come out and I was bawling and shaking my head and waiving Kleenex.

But he was so good. He really wanted to know what was going on. He sat there and listened. And then when I stopped, he would ask more questions. Like, this guy was gooooood. It may have all been a dream because I cannot believe the comforting, proactive discussion I had with the man.

Then he said he wanted me to try Lexapro, which also might help with the headaches (the daily ones, not the migraine ones). At first I was against it because my family is a firm believer that all depression and anxiety can be cured with bucking up, going shopping and/or Scotch. Furthermore, if you take anxiety medication it means that you are anxious and we are not anxious people. We are hearty Canadian people whose forefathers travelled across Canada in covered wagons, joyous and pleasant and mellow the whole time. But me? Not so much. The doctor was just so good that I trusted him completely. We agreed for me to try it. So here we go.