Monday, July 27, 2009


Um, yeah, forget that last post; the whole medication "thing," the resolute "I START MOTHERFUCKING PAXIL ON SUNDAY, BITCHES!" um, never happened. You see, in an ongoing effort to infuriate my pharmacist (and to avoid being killed by generic medication), I demanded brand name Paxil. Something that is, apparently, very hard to get. So hard to get, in fact, that to obtain such a rare and magical, little pill, one must possess special powers; such as the ability to pick up a fucking phone and order it. An ability my pharmacist has yet to master.

So in the two-week period that it took for him to secure a bottle of those magical, little, brand name pills, I started to think. I started to think (a) I really need to find a competent pharmacist; and (b) WTF?

How the hell did I walk out of that doctor's office with a prescription for Paxil? I went there for a rash, and—if we're being completely honest—the false belief that my throat was closing, but nonetheless! Taking drugs (prescribed ones, at least) has been something I've mulled over for years. Something I've resisted for years. And now, all of a sudden, I'm popping pills, because some arrogant quack told me I NEED to after a casual five-minute exam of the rash on my abdomen.

There was no discussion. No exploration of options. No mention of a psychiatrist. No nothing. Just an apathetic scribble on a little pad of paper.

I think Paxil would have been a dream come true for me three years ago. Today, I think I'm better suited for something like Valium; something I can pop in the heat of an attack (heart, or otherwise). My doctor may have known that, if he'd taken the time to ask.

Bottom line is this: I'm in the market for a new doctor. Oh and a pharmacist. But what else is new?