No, this is nothing to do with a variation on The Matrix! The title comes from a debate over the colour of the pills I want to write about. My daughter says - they are red. I say that they are a kind of purplish-red; and that therefore, I can write about them as The Purple Pills, for the sake of alliteration. She urges accuracy. You take your pick!
In any case, they feature prominently in my day, after I discovered them last night, in the bottom of my hospital overnight bag.
Wednesday, I did my interferon jab in the morning, and went off to the hospital for a minor operation, expecting to be home that evening. But the last time I had day surgery, there were slight complications afterwards, and they ended up keeping me in overnight. Of course,then, I didn't have any personal items with me, and it was a bit annoying. So, via the perverse laws of Sod, I figured that if I did have an overnight bag with me this time, then all would go well, and of course, I wouldn't need it. This worked - ha! Sod was foiled! I came home, was hellish to be around for about an hour, apparently, and then settled down back on the sofa again, to rest up and recover. Spare toiletries, pajamas, etc, have remained in the bag, unpacked for the last few days. Shocking, isn't it?! You would be appalled at how shoddy I am being just now.
Yesterday evening (Saturday) after being miserable and at odds with myself and the world for much of the day, while my daughter zoned out on mobile phone games, I was sprawling pathetically on the sofa feeling thouroughly sorry for myself. I finally decided to rally and set a few small goals, to arrive at some sense of achievement and to haul myself out of the pits of a foul mood. A little bit of pottering and clearing up was a start; whatever could be done one-handed, as left hand is in splint and sling.
Time to put away bits and pieces that were still in the hospital bag, which was dumped on top of a pile of un-sorted laundry. Emptying the bag, I found, at the bottom, a packet of pills. They are called Lofepramine, and are a sort of reddish-purple colour, as mother and daughter discussed. They are my anti-depressants. I took them down to the kitchen, to put away with the rest of my extensive pharmacy stock. Realising it wass nearly time to take my evening medications anyway - only 20 minutes off regular time - I decided to have a banana and a bit of toast, and take them early.
So I grabbed my pill box (all very well organised) and noticed that in each compartment, marked for the days of the week, am and pm, there were the familiar assortment; tiny, white tablets, fat, round yellow ones, small green capsules, and the very important oval pinkish coloured Ribavirin tablets. It all looks a bit like a pick 'n' mix. No reddish-purple ones, though. Moment of realisation! It seems I hadn't loaded my anti-depressants in, along with the others, on Weds morning before doing my injection and going off for my op. The normal routine for me is to do my jab and Wednesday mornings, and re-stock my pill box. But clearly, something had gone pear-shaped with my well-executed (or so I thought) preparations before going to hospital. I had taken some extra meds in my bag just in case - but I hadn't re-stocked the pill box properly. So, of course, though unaware of this, I hadn't been taking my anti-depressants for the last few days. Ok, I think, bloody typical; if I was going to omit a pill - it had to be the damned AD's, didn't it? (Blood pressure, anti-histamines, all the various supplements, they are all there.) Then I think; well, thank god it wasn't the riba; fortuntely I am right on track with them.
I had, before that, found myself wondering about the fact that I had been feeling fogged, weepy, angry; and curiously, both full of self-pity yet strangely determined to put on a cheerful head - tell myself and everyone that "I am fine, absolutely fine." Surely not still the anaesthetic, after a few days? And this is more intense, I am sure, than my usual post-jab response. Perhaps it's also because I am missing my husband, who is abroad for a couple of weeks? And now I am also thinking; well there is another key ingredient also; I haven't been taking my anti-depressants for the last few days.
On a practical level, apart from missing his presence, I recognise that had my husband been here, he would have done most (ok - all!) of the basic chores, and I would have concentrated, and sorted my pills properly, instead of wondering around in pointless circles, thinking I was being efficient.
The morals of the story are: a pill box is a wonderful thing, if (like any system) you actually use it properly. A good husband is worth his weight in tablets as well as gold. And some of us on treatment are beyond all sense, without our anti-depressants.
May all your tablets be taken, your capsules consumed and your pills be popped!
I missed a couple of days ADs once before, by mistake. Either we live and learn, or we repeat the same mistakes, again. And sometimes - again! A lot depends on circumstances. And brain fog, of course.
xx eva
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