The Gabber Newspaper | Gulfport Florida

Talk to Your Doctor

I am probably the poster child for the pharmaceutical ads on TV. At least my doctor seems to think so. She’s a doll. I only see her every six months to get refills on my prescriptions, still she knows enough about my personal life to show some interest in a kinda old-fashioned caring sort of way. She always makes a point of asking me “So how are things going?”. It’s my fault, really, because I told her EXACTLY how things were going. And then we had this conversation:

Her: Anne, do you think you could you be depressed?

Me: Hell, no! Why would you even think that?

Her: You seem irritable, for one.

Me: I am NOT irritable! I am justifiably outraged and incensed when things don’t run as smoothly as I know they should.

Her: Well, like what for example?

Me: Why should I have to make a special trip to my new Publix which used to be an Albertsons because my new and improved in-the-process-of-being-remodeled-to-eerily-resemble-a-Publix Winn-Dixie was out of a simple staple such as hamburger meat? Why is that my lawn guy to whom I pay hard-earned money should show up just before code enforcement did?

Her: You mentioned you’re having trouble sleeping?

Me: Yeah, me and 50 million other Americans, most of whom are not depressed either. Besides, sleep is overrated. Everyone knows that high achievers get less than six hours of sleep, and all my close friends and family know how driven I am. General McChrystal reportedly only slept for four.

Her: Yeah, and look what happened to him.

Me: Rolling Stone, who’d’ve thunk it? Look. I’m sure I just need a new mattress. And it would be helpful if I could get through the nights when I do sleep without dreaming that I’m desperately searching for a bathroom while wearing my favorite jeans. Thank goodness I usually wake up!

Her: So you’re having BCI?

Me: What’s that? (I hate when she throws that technical lingo at me. Is the whole world one big acronym?)

Her: Bladder Control Issues.

Me: No, my bladder works just fine. Really, really fine, thank you very much. In fact, some might say I have an overachieving bladder. It’s really just my dreams...

Her: You mentioned you dropped the ball this month in terms of your paperwork and bill due dates and such. That sounds to me like you might be experiencing a difficulty in concentrating. What do you think?

Me: I think that paying bills is not fun. And just because I was a little less diligent than usual this month only means that I was a tad disorganized, kinda like those tropical systems out in the gulf this time of year. Besides, it’s not as though there’d be a county-wide blackout if I don’t pay my electric bill on time.

Her: You mentioned tropical systems. Going with your weather analogy, are you aware that meteorologists sometimes refer to those as depressions, so...

Me: Oh, for Godssakes, would you get off that?!

Her: Fair enough. I see you’ve gained weight. Do you know that dramatic changes in weight, in either direction, can be a sign of...

Me: And you wonder why I’m irritable? Look! You yourself told me last fall that my weight gain was due to my age and metabolism and my total lack of physical activity of any kind. Whatsoever. Besides, did it ever occur to you that maybe I garner immense pleasure from Mr. Good Bars, Nestle Crunches, Snickers, ice cream, (oh, who am I kidding?) all things chocolate, salty and fried. Huh?

Her: OK. Have it your way. Speaking of diet, any problems with digestion?

Me: Well, sometimes when I drink beer I get heartburn.

Her: Have you ever thought about not drinking beer?

Me: No, coz it happens when I eat hot sauce or green peppers, too.

Her: I see. Any problems with your joints? I see you have a family history of osteoporosis and arthritis.

Me: Well, my knees aren’t what they used to be, meaning that I can no longer watch the Rays play baseball without feeling agony for the catcher behind home plate. But in terms of family history, that’s only on my mother’s side and only when she was post-menapausal.
Her: When was your last period?
Me: Six years ago.
Her: Hmm. Well, Anne, our allotted three minutes are up. As your doctor, I can assure you that there are medications that can improve the quality of your life. Medicine has come a long way in recent years. I can give you some prescriptions.
Me: Write away, doctor, write away.
She gave me scripts for Cymbalta for depression, and the accompanying Abilify just to make sure, Ambien for sleep, VesiCare for bladder control, Prilosec for heartburn, and Boniva for my joints, all to the tune of about $3,000 a month.
I pride myself on being a savvy consumer and my research found that the side effects of Cymbalta and Abilify included suicidal thoughts which seemed a whole lot worse than how I’m feeling now, even on an irritable day, so I ripped those up. The instructions for Ambien said to only take it when I can devote a full eight hours to sleep and since I can’t sleep, that seemed pointless. One of the side effects of VesiCare is constipation and I don’t want to trade one problem down there for another. Prilosec is made by the company who downsized my sister so I don’t want to patronize them. I’m old enough to remember Sally Field as The Flying Nun but the label said that when taking once-monthly Boniva you have to be able to stand for an hour. And I just don’t think with my level of physical inactivity that I can do that, even on a once-monthly basis.
So, I threw them all away. And the only thing I’m popping tonight is a Bon-Bon!