I looked at my pill bottle the other day.
Every morning I take some vitamins, birth control, and another pill that hasn’t been around on my medicine rotation for as long.
After Lucy was born, my doctor asked if I’d had any problems with postpartum depression.
I had never been diagnosed, but after Max was born I quit my job and went back to school, and after Ava I got a divorce, so I’d say maybe there were some underlying issues.
So I told the doctor I might be a little at risk, and she gave me a prescription for sertraline (Zoloft), just in case.
We filled the script the day we left the hospital.
After some initial adjustments, that medication changed my life.
Seriously. I embellish none.
I had perspective on things I’d exploded about in the past. I was able to slow down, pace myself, and while there were a few times I wanted to run and hide from everyone and everything, they were manageable. Obviously I didn’t get too far.
So life has gone on for the past year. My meds incorporated themselves into my routine and the fireworks and fanfare have been minimal after that.
Until I looked at my pill bottle.
My prescription runs out in a couple of months.
Not only do we have no insurance (want me to start in on universal healthcare? Yeah, I didn’t think so), but I’m totally lost as to the mechanics of this.
“Hi, yeah, I think I may have had postpartum depression and just the thought of not taking my medication makes me want to kill pandas, can I please keep taking it?”
I’m pretty sure the fact that I can form that sentence in all seriousness means that I should never stop taking those pills. Ever.
I mean, I know that my OB-GYN isn’t necessarily the person to depend on for my mood altering medications, but what happens when I want to stay on those meds?
Do I go to a shrink? Do I talk about my childhood and my mom and my birth order?
Do I just go to my family doctor and say, “Look, this works, please just continue to give it to me until I die or become immune,” will that get me on the drug seeker list?
I’ll readily admit that I don’t really like that I’ve become so dependent on chemicals. I don’t like that the first thing Josh says when I get upset about something is, “Have you taken your medicine?”
It’s not that it isn’t a valid question, but sometimes I find myself on the outside, thinking, “Am I crazy? If I were normal would this still bother me? Pills or not, am I inventing problems? Am I crazy?”
But then I think about not taking the pills and I realize that if I didn’t, I WOULD be inventing problems. I’d be tearing up and pulling out my hair because there was fuzz on my shirt.
No, I’m not kidding.
For now, I’ve got some time. I guess we’ll cross that bridge later.