It all started when I went to the doctor a week or so ago. All I did was complain that I was ballooning like a crazed clown. (If you are literal-minded, the imagery is probably lost on you.) I thought he'd prescribe a magic bullet, but instead he noted that the culprit was probably a little medication I've been taking for maybe 40 years. The condition for which I take it is annoying, but still requires respect. So I do need the medication, but the doctor prescribed a smaller, less-likely-to-enfatten dose which he felt would suffice.
But while in the office, I forgot to clarify how he envisioned incrementally lowering the dose, so I went from 90 mph to 10 in one step. I considered periodically calling the doctor to find out what the plan really was, but I kept thinking maybe I'd beaten the worst of the beast and might as well continue on with the status quo. Plus, waiting for his response somehow seemed intolerable at the time. Also I think I forgot how to use a phone. I was indeed wrong but that was then.
A week out, I still feel like the walking wounded, but it's becoming more tolerable these days. The first three days, however, were awful.
I bore you with this for two purposes. One is to at least get some sympathy out of this. The other is to alert anyone who might care, to the fact that there's nothing particularly romantic or worth it about coming down on the wrong side of drugs. If this is a taste of what it's all about, I have a big, new sympathy for those who are really taking on the whole load of problems. Rebellion has its place. Taking charge of your own person is important in growing up. But going this route isn't the smart way to manifest it.
It might be easier just to jump out of a moving car. I did consider it.
3 comments:
Went through a similar experience once. You have my sympathy.
Thanks, carol. I thought maybe I was a jerk for posting this
My daughter is trying to quite smoking....thanks for this info...it's a good reminder to us old folks.
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