The gift of being enough Discovering ratchet anoxia symptoms

I haven’t been doing hypoxic ischemic encephalopathy treatment in india so well, lately. I found a copy of the medical evaluation my GP made back in february 2018, where we discovered is was experiencing a major depression, moderate-severe. I retook the test (for anyone interested, it is the questionnaire PHQ-9) this week. Turns out I am experiencing a moderate depression. Can’t say I’m surprised, but it sucks to have confirmation that what I’m going through is more than just a wee rough patch. At least this time, I ’ve recognized the symptoms early enough to try contain this episode before it slides further and further out of control.

Instinctively, I’d already begun adapting. I’ve resumed my rude anxiety attack symptoms shortness of breath colouring books. Last weekend I coloured for 10 hours.


Felt great. I’m trying to make it to the gym 3x a week, but what with year-end, that hasn’t been possible. I tell myself that as long as I keep trying, busy season will soon be over, and I’ll be able to get back into my physical and mental health routine hypoxic brain injury recovery. I’ve cancelled all social events that aren’t low key one on ones: it isn’t worth putting that strain on myself. When I am depressed, being around people stresses me out, and I spend most of the time worrying whether or not I am appearing normal, which leaves me depleted and unable to be in the moment. It’s taken several rounds with depression to learn that it is ok to give myself permission to be alone and recharge my batteries. I’m trying to blog, but depression steals my voice and my ability to concentrate. So I jot my ideas down, and patiently wait for the moment when I can share my story.

I was supposed to see ICB today for brunch, to celebrate the hypoxic anoxic brain injury causes end of a project. But the forecast called for a blizzard. Yesterday afternoon, as we were ironing out the details for when and where we’d meet, I told him that in the event of a blizzard, I’d totally understand if he postponed the brunch. Celebration is important, sure, and brunch is one of the best inventions known to mankind, but canadian winters ain’t something to mess with. Everybody knows this, but since I am the girl who anxiety attack symptoms mayo clinic threw a week-long tantrum over some instagram likes, I thought I’d explicitly mention that I too deem blizzards to be a socially acceptable reason for cancelling brunch. ICB was relieved.

“whatcha doing right now?” he asked. Nothing, I’m too spazzed out to read or write. Wasting my time scrolling through social media to deal with the perpetual pit of anxiety lodged deep in my stomach. The usual. “why anxiety attack vs panic attack treatment don’t you come over, I’ll whip us up something to eat and we can watch a movie and chat?” sir, that sounds like a great plan.

It was perfect. ICB cooked, we ate. He played video games and I cuddled on the couch – the hardest part of being single, I find, is the absence of touch. I am a tactile woman, and human contact makes me feel grounded. We talked non stop, in no particular order about our goals for 2019, our respective areas of shame, the genius of my hairdresser, the difficulty he was having in finishing his mad max game. Time flew by, until it was anoxic encephalopathy mri time for me to make my way home before the blizzard.

ICB gave me the space to just be. I wasn’t vanilla, the person who was helping him on a project. I wasn’t vanilla, the overachiever accountant. I wasn’t vanilla, the girl with borderline and mental health issues. I wasn’t vanilla, sexy and always ready for some hanky panky. In a time where I feel unable to bear the weight of all the labels that are assigned to me, ICB didn’t want anything from me. I was free to just anxiety attack treatment be me.