By late June/early July, I had been back at home for several weeks and still felt unstable, though I had seen a lot of improvement in my ability to function. I was on an "as needed" basis with my therapist, and was trying to improve my health in every way possible. I started running again, was seeing my chiropractor regularly and kept taking my meds. But something was still out of balance and the Lexapro didn't really seem to be "working." I tried to stay positive, but couldn't help how I was feeling. One afternoon, It all caught up to me really badly and I hit a desperate low and needed help right away. Up to this point, I had not been to a "Psychiatrist," but that day I was not going back home until I saw one, even if it meant checking in to the "Ward" at the hospital first. (Sometimes it takes up to 2 months to get in with a Psychiatrist by appointment.) I went to my parents' house, and fell apart on their kitchen floor. I remember talking to someone on the PSI (Postpartum Support International) hotline that day, too. My husband called a couple of places to try and get me in (Mental Health Centers, etc) and there were not a lot of options unless I was "a threat to myself or others." (I'm thinking,"If somebody doesn't let me in I might become a threat!") We ended up going to a place called the Peace River Center. A friend accompanied my husband and I, and I sat down with a staff member trying to explain my situation. She took me seriously, and though I didn't threaten to kill myself, she put me on the list for immediate help. She gave us a few minutes to decide if I wanted to stay there (most likely for the night) until a doctor could see me (or until they could take me to the hospital) or we could go to the hospital on our own, with their reference. (Basically, I was getting "Baker Acted") I had packed a bag just in case. Izzy was with my parents, waiting. My husband was with me, heart-broken and stressed out at the thought of all of this, and I just walked outside for a minute to make a phone call for prayer. Meanwhile, God knew that this was a last resort and that I needed a way out. Within moments, Ian got a phone call from a Psychiatrist's office in Safety Harbor, Florida, and they had a last-minute opening due to a cancellation that day. Unbelievable. God showed up just in time. Early that evening, I met with Doctor Mariana Delgado for the first time, and saw her for several months following. She changed my medications, and I began to wean off of the Lexapro and work my way up to using Paxil and Risperdal instead. She began to keep a record of my visits and progress in her notepad. She asked me questions like, "On a scale from 1-10, what number would you give your anxiety right now?" To which I answered, "Eleven."
Still, God's timing was perfect that day. That would be one of many times He would prove his faithfulness to us. He even put a Starbucks right down the road from my new doctor! God loves to show up in the details of our lives.
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