Ain’t No Sunshine When You’re Gone

So the other day I noticed that one of my medications was running low.  Time to call in for a renewal.  It was one of those automated phone lines and I was expecting to hear the voice tell me when I could pick up my refill.  Instead I heard the words, “This prescription can not be refilled until March 17.”    What?

I looked at the pill container and realized, to my consternation, that I had been taking two pills per day, instead of the prescribed one pill per day.  Yikes!  When did that happen?  I knew that I had been taking one a day because I remembered the conversation with my doctor about switching the time of day to take the pill from breakfast time to suppertime.  But I also vaguely remembered loading up my weekly pill organizer with one pill for breakfast and one at dinner.

Luckily the pill in question was an anti-anxiety pill that I had started taking way back when my son had decided to become a missionary and go live in slums around the world.   It was about that time that I’d started having anxiety attacks and bouts of weeping, sometimes at the same time.  I mean, his dad and I had figured that he was going to be a mathematics teacher, for goodness sakes.  He’d thrown us a real curve ball  and since I’m not the calmest person on the planet, it had hit me particularly hard.

I was diagnosed with “General Anxiety Disorder” – who knew?  I thought everybody worried as much as I did about everything.  But with the help of medication, I discovered what it was like to live a fairly normal life — at least one that didn’t involve constantly imagining doom and gloom.  I wouldn’t want to live a totally normal life.  How terribly boring!  But back to my story.

Here I was, puttering along, feeling great and every so often, wondering why I wasn’t crying my eyes out at the thought of our son, daughter-in-law, and grandbaby leaving soon, only to discover that it was probably because I was on a double dose of “happy pills.”   I called up my doctor.

“You see, I think it started when my allergist said to cut back to one Allegra-D a day and that pill is a white pill just like the other medication,” I explained.  “I’m used to seeing a white pill in the organizer for morning and evening.”

“Dee,” she said.  “Usually we just have this problem with our elderly patients.”

“I know, I know,” I chuckled. “I guess I’m going to be a holy terror when I really get old.  But will it kill me to suddenly halve my intake until I can get a new prescription?”

She assured me that I’d survive although I might be a little more emotional than usual.  Oh boy, just in time to say “goodbye” to the kids.

OK, kidlets…listen up!  I’m giving you fair warning.  Momma might need some extra help with this pill organizing when she’s old and gray but for now, I’m doing just fine, thank you very much.  Could you pass me a kleenex?


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