‘The Good Doctor’
I awoke rested and feeling great. No anxiety, no intrusive thoughts, nothing at all. It was like being back to normal.
There’d been other times I’d woken up feeling like this. Sometimes (but not often), it lasted. Other times, I’d deteriorate throughout the day. For now, though, as I had breakfast and prepared to see Dr Victor with my mum and John – John to interpret in case my mum didn’t understand anything Dr Victor had to say – I couldn’t imagine feeling again as I had the previous day.
When we got to PANCH, we met Dr Victor in a plush consulting room – it wasn’t like a closet, like the room I saw him in for my appointments; nor was it a cubicle, like the other consulting rooms. This was big and had cushy chairs and windows overlooking the gardens – going off the deep end had its benefits.
Dr Victor was his usual pleasant-self and talked about our options, again suggesting hospitalisation. Already, my mindset had changed back. The way I was feeling today, I didn’t need full-time hospital care. I could take this on alone, even if I hadn’t really done the greatest job so far.
Again, I’d brought the medication I was on – the Ducene and Thioridazine. Dr Victor scoffed that Ducene was about the weakest stuff I could be on. He didn’t mention the Thioridazine, instead jumping to a whole lot of other goodies he had for me – three sets of them.
There was Sinequan, a long-term antidepressant that would take two-to-four weeks to get into my system and work. I had to take them at night, every night, for God knew how long. Probably forever. There was also Ativan, a sedative – like the Ducene – but heavier-hitting. That was to be taken twice daily, and would provide immediate relief for a few hours. Lastly was the Rohypnol, a sleeping-tablet; I had to take one every night for a period of a week.
It was lots of meds, but I didn’t question it. Dr Victor was a doctor, so he knew what he was doing. I’m sure that was also my mum’s thought process – she’d been taking stuff for years, and knew what miracles medication could work, and would probably work for me. If there was another way through this (other than hospitalisation), I’m sure Dr Victor would’ve presented it. He was a doctor. Right?
When we got home, I retreated to my bedroom and looked over my goodies. The Sinequan were a capsule, one half beige, the other maroon. It reminded me of the capsule I’d pilfered from my mum’s stash so many years ago. The Ativan looked like an aspirin – circular, white, thin; the Rohypnol was the same, but thicker, like a Panadol.
On some level, the thought of taking these things excited me – not in a mind-altering, recreational way. But I’d gone through a lot in the last few months. The Euhypnos and Ducene had given me relief.
Maybe these meds could do the same.