Happy Pills

The pandemic, isolation, old age, and fear overtook me for awhile.  My daughter and family were embarking, at long distance, on a new adventure, but I was being blamed for not being informed about it.  In the midst of that, I was having kidney problems that were only revealed through blood tests.  Long story short, I was grieving with no way to express it.  Still am, but who cares?  It was getting deep and helpless.

The last time I visited my Primary Care Physician--maybe a month ago--I talked to her about my depression.  She decided to put me on the generic version of Zoloft, low dose, for a trial.  I'd been on Zoloft once before in the early 90s, just after my divorce, but didn't think it really helped that much.  I believe that I was thinking that the medicine would make me happy, but I wasn't.  Still, this time, I noticed a difference.  My mood leveled out.  When bad things happened, I was more mellow and less anxious.  Success!  I will continue to take the drug because it helps me.  There was a time when I was proud of not having to take meds.  That was then; this is now.  Thankfully, nothing I take will kill me if I don't get it down my gullet once a day.  

For all of my years of not doctoring, I'm pretty happy with my team right now.  Dr. Rebecca Dunn is my PCP.  Dr. William Gill is my cardiologist.  Dr. Anthony Rose is my pulmonologist.  They are all MUCH more attentive than any previous doctor I've had.  Attentive and kind.  I'm quite pleased with them.  That feels really good!

So here I am, taking my happy pills and enduring old age, with help.  I can't ask for more!