Tuesday, July 23, 2013

When I pay someone to do something for me, I am normally the one who calls the shots. But not so with doctors. I just got back from my doctor's office and although I was able to convince him not to compress my breasts with concrete bookends (at least that's how a mammogram feels like) and stick some hose up my rear, I left his office second guessing myself: What if? But I am of the mindset that one can't live longer than what God has determined for one to have. We can live healthier but not longer, I'm saying.

I went to see my doctor to get him to prescribe me another round of anti-depressants. Yes. This time I will try to stay on it because I am sick of just coasting through life; I want to be able to look at the sun and describe it better than just saying it's a round thing the color of crème brulee'.
My doctor doesn't believe that I should take this meds for life but he told me that it takes 6-9 months for the brain to make a change, so "you need to discipline yourself and not quit it after a month or two. Then maybe, you'll be able to write again."  Well, just thinking that I am about to alter the chemical composition of my brain, makes me feel better already. Maybe I don't need to go buy the meds at all.

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