The neurologist

I returned to the sleep doctor about a month and half ago, and when I told him that I was occasionally losing control of my bowels during these nightmares, he suggested I go and see a neurologist so I made an appointment to see one in one months time.  The night before I went to see him, I had a horrific night, one of my worst in ages so I was not even vaguely on function mode when I got to him.  I tried hard to give him the history of all the tests I'd had but I was so exhausted, physically from the night before and emotionally from how many times I had told this story before. He looked at my EEG and said whilst he saw an abnormality on one of the brain waves, it was not definately epileptic so he suggested an overnight 24 EEG with video monitoring.  I was very distressed about having this again as I found the 24 sleep study extremely traumatic.  I just decided to do what I had to do thought and booked the EEG for two days ahead. 

On the Friday I booked myself into the hospital and went to get wired up.  Whilst they were glueing the electrodes to my head I just cried and cried.  I had no idea why I was being such a baby but the tears would not stop coming.  Once I had all the wires on, which pulled horribly on my skin and itched like crazy, I just lay on my bed and starred into space for hours, wishing time away and wishing I could be anywhere but in that hospital.  I eventually went to sleep around midnight but at 5:30am I was woken by a tea lady who wanted to know what my order was for breakfast.  I was so angry, as I was in the middle of a nightmare when this moron of a woman came and woke me up that I was too mad to go back to sleep.  I then lost it.  I hid under my blanket and just sobbed and sobbed and sobbed.  I knew what was going to happen now, all that would happen was that the doctor would call me in two days time and tell me I'm fine and there is nothing wrong with me.  And I would be back to square one and still living with this horror every single night.  And that is exactually what happened.  I got the call on the Tuesday and he said there was no evidence whatsoever of any abnormalities in my brain.  I remained calm when I got the phone call but when I went home all hell broke lose.  I just wept and threw things around my flat.  I opened my drawer with all my medication in it and stared at it for about 2 hours.  I wanted to die.  I had no desire whatsoever to continue to live like this any longer.  These suicidal thoughts continued to the next day and I realised that I had to options, re-admit myself to the clinic or get the hell away from Cape Town and my pills to keep myself out of danger of doing something stupid.  So I booked myself flights to Johannesburg. Something I really could I'll afford but I didn't feel like I had much option.  

Once I got to Joburg, I landed only to find out that 2 of my staff had resigned and a guest had taken it upon himself to shoot up heroin in our bathroom and pass out, leading my manager to walk in on him not knowing if he was alive or dead.  Things calmed down after that and I have now relaxed and am recovering a bit from everything that was last week, but I'm worried about next week and what will happen.  Whether I will come home, take one look at my bed and have my nightly breakdown or whether this trip will have rejuvenated me a bit.  Every test or treatment that I try feels like such a huge deal at the time and I keep making the mistake of allowing it to suck everything out of my physically, mentally and emotionally. When each test or treatment is actually such a small drop in the ocean of the bigger picture of everything that I have gone through. 

So where to from here?  I really don't know.  But I will just keep on taking it one step at a time as that's all that I know how to do.