My Mom dealt with severe anxiety for as long as I can remember. She was on medication her entire adult life, and to her, running out simply wasn’t an option.
Navigating that anxiety became a constant thread throughout our lives.
When I was around 40, I had to take my Mom to the emergency room, and we already knew she’d be admitted into the ICU overnight.
My Mom was absolutely spiraling at the thought of going without her anxiety medication, Ativan.
So she asked me to bring some.
Once she got admitted, the two of us suddenly became part of an undercover operation trying to sneak the Ativan past the nurses.
(Please do not do this 😄)
That’s how serious her anxiety was.
Which is why it became a full-blown crisis the day her longtime psychiatrist retired when I was about 14 years old.
She found a brand-new psychiatrist and booked an appointment, even though she was incredibly nervous about it.
While she sat across from him, the doctor reviewed her chart, and then suddenly looked up at her with complete confusion.
“So, uh… what medication are you currently taking?" he asked flipping to another page.
Mom told him.
He blinked.
Then looked back at her again.
“Ma’am… that medication is for bedwetting.”
Without missing a beat, my mother looked him dead in the eye and shrugged.
“Well… it worked.”
To her, it was a perfectly reasonable answer.
Honestly, it still cracks me up—and I wonder if he tells this story, too.
In her mind, the important thing was simple:
The medication helped her.
End of discussion.
That was my Mom—completely unintentionally hilarious.
The doctor probably never recovered from this 😄
