No one noticed it in the beginning. They came in such minuscule amounts that no one paid any attention at all. Without any fanfare, it took over. Before you knew it, it seeped completely in. Every inch, every corner. There was no hiding.
Everything became shrouded in a veil one could not lift.
Life became harder. Much harder.
Getting up was difficult. Just walking around was tough. You could forget about aerobic activity of any sort; running, swimming, cycling, they were out of the question. One had to ration energy while eating, carefully spooning in mouthful after mouthful of rice. Things didn’t taste like they used to. Food didn’t bring joy any more.
Because doing stuff in general was just a chore. It was simply easier to lie in bed the entire day.
That is, until the haze lifted.
In other news, I amused my psychiatrist earlier this morning and made him laugh. He was adjusting my cocktail of medication yet again and I commented how I am always on a cocktail of different medication.
Tongue in cheek, I commented, “You’re like my bartender.”
He looked up and smiled in genuine delight.
“But don’t customers request a drink and then they make it for them?”
“Oh that’s true. But sometimes you can ask for a ‘Surprise Me?'”
Hahahaha. Laughter from both sides.
After I left, I thought I should have said that some customers also discuss their preferences with their bartender before coming to a decision.
“Want something sweet? Perhaps a lychee martini would be good.”
“You’d prefer something a little more refreshing? How about a mojito then?”
I suppose that’s a more accurate reflection of my relationship with my doctor really. The reason why I came up with the bartender analogy was precisely because he was adjusting my medication and giving me Trittico in place of Atarax that had ceased to be effective.
I love my personal bartender.