In spite of husband struggling with his start-up, more dash than
cash and an unsettling sense that life as we know it hangs on the brink, I don’t
think I’ve ever been happier. I am sure it’s because of my connection with
what’s real and important now that all the superfluous has been cleared for me. When I relay this sentiment to NY Girlfriend
she says, “really…how’s that Zoloft workin’ for ya’?” I respond haughtily that "my Low-Dose Zoloft is working just fine!”
As the years have ticked by, circumstances beyond my control
have taken over my hormonal mood
swings. If I am not enjoying my “one
good week a month”, as my husband likes to call it, I am likely to do or say things that startle even myself. To combat this entirely blameless physical limitation, I am now on a Low-Prescription Dose of Zoloft.
Low-Dose Zoloft has worked wonders for me. In fact, it seems to have worked wonders for
most of the women in Pacific
Heights…and beyond. At a recent birthday party for one of our
children, the calm nurturing mother of a friend of Youngest whispered to me she
had forgotten to take her Low-Dose Zoloft that morning and did I have any
extra. I did and was happy to
share. When Barb heard the prescription
bottle rattling she rushed over and said (with her hand out) had it missed
anyone’s attention that she was the
one going through the divorce?? Wendy
called from New York
later that week and excitedly informed me she had just filled her first
prescription. She wondered aloud if she
should take it right then or save it until that evening, as she had a party to
attend and didn’t want to “waste” it. I
patiently explained Low-Dose Zoloft is not like doing Ecstasy and it would not
make the party any better (actually, I’ll have to check that…always worth
knowing). Beloved likes to remind me
though it may make me feel better to call it “Low-Dose Zoloft,” Zoloft is Zoloft no matter the dosage. How do I know what constitutes “low” anyway? “Low” for whom? A linebacker?
A logger? A freight-handler? Beloved really does not give himself enough
credit for his droll sense of humor.
I absolutely do not think medication should be taken lightly or as a solution for every problem
(though frankly…). We happy and sensible
women of Pacific Heights take many holistic and prudent
measures to help us through our demanding days.
Micky swears going off gluten has substantially diminished her mood swings. Angelica is religious about her Evening
Primrose Oil and Barb has a regular and vigorous exercise routine. I
decided I would see a therapist to talk about my trigger-fire anger problem
that occasionally occurs. On our first
appointment I told the therapist I was very happy and immediately burst into
tears. He requested I tell him about
this “happy life” of mine (quotation marks were his) and when I did he promptly
fell asleep. I was uncomfortable
because I wasn’t 100% sure it wasn’t a hidden camera type-situation, and I
wanted to make sure my behavior was becoming.
I settled a shrewd, “okay…I’ll play your little game” look on my face
and felt relieved I had applied lipstick before the appointment. However, the joke seemed to be going on for a
long time with little to no
action. And the therapist was drooling. I started to wonder if he might really be
asleep. Then I became depressed that my
life was so boring even someone paid to listen couldn't get through it all without a respite.
When my hour was up, I was frozen in indecision. On one hand, I didn’t want to wake him and
have to confront our mutual embarrassment in his quiet little office. On the other hand, it seemed rude to just get
up and leave without saying goodbye or making future arrangements. So I decided to write him a thank you note. I’m from the south and when in doubt… Very quietly and with my heart racing I took a
piece of paper from his desk and found a pen.
I told him what a pleasure it was to meet him and thanked him for all
the time and trouble he had taken to
help me. I felt SO much better after meeting
him but I JUST realized Youngest gets out of school at the EXACT time of our
appointment so SADLY I would not be able to make it the following week. I would, however, DEFINITELY try to figure
out another time that would work and get back to him. Feeling better, I carefully placed the note on
his desk. I quietly gathered my things
and prepared to take the harrowing three steps out of the office to
safety. I was so intent on watching the
sleeping doctor I wasn’t looking where I was going and tripped over the little
table holding the prominently displayed clock and box of tissues. It made a deafening crash, as I heard the
doctor’s ergonomically correct chair snapping back up into sitting
position. I never looked back.
When my accommodating and straightforward female ob/gyn
suggested Zoloft, I jumped at the suggestion.
Now when in the throes of hormonal ups and downs, I don’t burst into
tears because I’ve suddenly realized I’ve never taken
the boys to Opera in the Park or snarl with bared teeth at the person who
stands too close to me in the Peets coffee line. I just sit back and enjoooooy the ride…
