It was probably a step in the making of a cowhand when he learned that what would pass as heroics in a softer world was only chores here. Can't remember what Wallace Stegner novel that came from. It's the middle of the night and I can't sleep. Last Tuesday, I went to see my doc for my diabetus. He had asked to see all my medications so I brought a sackful. I guess I had never seen them in one place; some are usually in a drawer, others in cabinets. Including my herbal supplements, I had thirteen bottles, seven related to treating depression. The sight of all those bottles made me feel intolerably sad. Dear Lord, when did I turn into a walking pharmacy? The brutal truth is the meds, the maintaining of them, the exquisite monitoring of my moods which I do daily, the timely calls to my shrink when intervention is necessary, dealing with med changes and side effects -- all of it could pass as a heroics in a softer world. For all of us who do it.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment