Off My Meds

Dearest Rachel –

I don’t remember exactly how long ago it was; I’m think it’s been seven years since Mohinder browbeat me into going for an annual physical. I rarely saw the value in them, as I basically knew what I would hear from my doctor, and I felt I either didn’t need (because I already knew I was overweight; I’d been categorized as ‘husky’ since childhood, and didn’t expect that to change from year to year after more than forty of them) or want (because I had no desire – or inclination – to alter my lifestyle to attempt to address the situation; it’s amazing what the threat of no female companionship for the rest of one’s life will do to one’s motivation) to hear it again, especially since I was, apart from this obvious flaw, quite a healthy specimen, from all outward and inward appearances. But the various managers had been inveigled into a contest by HR to get as many of their personnel examined, and I was the last holdout in the finance department, so he put the screws to me in order to win this departmental competition – yay, him.

It was then that it was discovered that I was dealing with high blood pressure, and would need to take medication to ameliorate it going forward. It was another reminder of why I really didn’t want to go to see a doctor about things; it was like taking your car in for an oil change, only for them to point out that your alternator, transmission, brakes, and several other parts whose names you wouldn’t recognize, and might wonder if they weren’t just making up on the spot, needed either repairs or replacement. Theoretically, they’re the experts, and they know better, but you find yourself wondering if they’re just looking for something to be even slightly off, in order to upsell you.

At the same time, I didn’t actually find the diagnosis all that surprising, as my conflicts with Mohinder had been taking a toll; I hardly need to remind you, as you probably remember having to be your encouraging self whenever I’d come home from one of those days. I have to admit, I makes me wonder about Ellen dealing with her boss; some of her stories weren’t all that different from mine, and she didn’t have anyone to come home to who would support her like you could. Then again, maybe she would claim that her cats were sufficient in that role.

But it was still a dismaying sign of the aging process. I’d seen my grandparents, and later my parents, trapped in a regimen of taking this or that medication (and of course, there’s Dad’s feeding tube), and coming to the realization that this was how it was going to be for the rest of my life, just like them. It wasn’t something I wanted to have to accept, but there wasn’t anything I could do about it, especially since I was still trapped in that job, which I assumed to be a major contributor to my condition.

And then, of course, four years ago (wow, has it been that long? I guess so, as it’s been over two years since you had to leave), you granted me the ability to leave that job and retire. Sure, I kept busy doing the kind of work I used to get paid for at church (and later, the camp), as well as trying to learn other skills for the sake of my dream career (which has been relegated back to being nothing more than a dream yet again, but no matter), but it was at my own pace, with none of the fire and vitriol I’d been having to deal with in the work farce. Maybe I wouldn’t have to deal with having to keep taking all those pills after all (although, at Lars’ recommendation, I was now also taking vitamins C and D3 as well as lisinopril and low-dose aspirin) – especially since, in order to maintain that regimen, I now had to see my doctor on a regular basis in order to keep the prescriptions up.

But despite the lack of stress from my job, my blood pressure was still on the higher side of normal, prompting my doctor to insist I stay on the medication indefinitely. By now, it was more of a nuisance than actually being discouraging – I’d gotten accustomed to the routine of taking the pills every morning after brushing my teeth, even when we would travel – but it was disappointing to realize that the reduced stress wasn’t enough to bring me back to a healthy level. All I could do was to keep authorizing the refills when I would get a text from our pharmacy, keep picking them up, and keep taking the pills in order to stay on an even keel.

Things were compounded when, after you left, I had that episode last April that I mistook for a mild heart attack. After an emergency room visit and a stress test revealing nothing in particular, I was prescribed more medication, this time for preventing heartburn and other gastric distress. So now I was up to five pills a day (well, four and a half, as the lisinopril was meant to be half the dosage in the pills from the pharmacy). And so it has gone for well over a year.

Now, Lars has intimated that, once I get down to a more desirable weight, I should be able to wean myself off of the prescriptions. The thing is, that’s still thirty pounds away – I may have made it halfway down from my peak, but I still have quite a way to go before I reach that goal.

But somehow along the way, I’ve stopped getting renewal notices from the pharmacy. The last one showed up while Daniel and I were in Japan, with a warning that it would expire within five days of authorizing it. Granted, since we were a day or two away from leaving for home at that point, I affirmed the renewal request; however, it turned out to be only for a collection of Covid tests (which could be obtained for free up until either the beginning or end of May, for whatever reason, and I’d brought one in order to check both our Covid status prior to boarding the ship before discovering that they weren’t necessary, and the ship would test us prior to boarding). I haven’t gotten a renewal for the lisinopril or omeprazole since.

While I have found some over-the-counter doses of the latter (and just as well, since I really don’t want to go through that experience again, if I can help it), I just ran out of the former yesterday morning. So whether I’m at the right weight or not, I am officially off that medication; I’m hoping desperately that I’m not going to be in need of it going forward.

With that in mind, honey, keep an eye on me, and wish me luck. I’m going to need it.