Since you all took the bait, I'll keep on the drinking theme. There's more to the conversation that usually occurs. I'll spell it all out.
someone nice and generous (snag): "Want something to drink? We have wine, beer, tequila?"
sweet me (sm): "No thanks."
snag: "You sure? Just a glass? We've got Oberon!"
sm: "Um, no thanks... I'll have water?"
snag: "You driving?"
sm: "No. Well, yes. And meds. I'm trying to avoid liver toxicity."
snag: "Oh! That's too bad!"
sm: "It's fine. I'll be done in X months/weeks/days."
snag: "And then you can drink!" (raises glass into air) "In time for summer!"
I haven't figured out what to say at this point that accurately communicates my feelings. I usually just say, "Well, I'll wait awhile and let my liver recover from the meds first." That's true. The feeling, though, is about the resistance to drinking just because I can. I can't figure it out. But what I want to say is:
sm: "Multiple family members are/were alcoholics/addicts. So, I'm not a big drinker to begin with. It's the last thing I'm thinking about. The first thing I'm thinking about is how glad I will be to not have to take a freaking antibiotic everyday for a condition that presents no symptoms. And I can also stop worrying about my mood swings being a result of the medications, and I can start believing that it's all in my head instead. Going back to multiple family members being alcoholics - maybe that's why I'm moody. Or maybe everyone's moody and some people just hide it better. What do you think?"
I'm way too nice and inhibited for my own good most of the time. Minnesota nice is doing a real number on me. I'm breaking through, I am, I am.
Showing posts with label drinking. Show all posts
Showing posts with label drinking. Show all posts
Thursday, May 8, 2008
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
10 days left
At first glance, what I'm about to tell you has nothing to do with Minnesota or about being crazy. However, I've learned a few things over the last six months and have made some connections that I wasn't expecting.
Four years ago I had to have a TB test because I was working in the Oakland public school system and it was required. It was positive. Multiple subsequent tests were positive as well after a second false negative test. Chest results were negative: I had latent TB, not the active, quarantine kind.
I didn't have health insurance and I'd just returned from three years of one health problem after another (aka Peace Corps) so I was way put out by the whole diagnosis. I heard from multiple public health nurses that I was supposed to take 6-9 months of antibiotics to decrease my chances of developing active TB. The side effects sounded atrocious. I chose not to take the meds.
Six months ago, I decided to start the meds. I don't know why. I just knew that if I was going to do it, I should do it before I got too much older and my liver was less tolerant.
Every day for the last 6 months minus 10 days, I've taken an antibiotic.
Side effects were supposed to be: fatigue, depression, jaundice, weight gain, nausea, gastrointestinal distress, and, possibly - though less likely - delusions. I was counseled that if any of these side effects actually occurred that I was to plow through and continue to take the meds. I dreaded my first winter in Minnesota even more because of this news.
I'll count down the days until I'm done. Today is 10.
The biggest, strangest observation I've made is that people offer me alcohol. I decline. People sometimes persist. I decline more. Then I say, "I am taking a medication that prevents me from drinking." It feels like a weird violation of privacy, but it shuts them up. If I just say, "no, thank you," believe it or not, some people will not let it rest or they look disappointed that I will not be drinking their home brew or joining them in their drinking habits.
What if I was pregnant and didn't want to tell them? Even more, what if I was a recovering alcoholic? This experience has made me have a TON of compassion for recovering alcoholics. Oh God. What they have to go through is just awful. Denial after denial after denial.
Funny thing, too, is that this is a cultural thing. An American thing. Some people who aren't pushers have told me after awhile that they just thought I wasn't a drinker. They noticed I didn't drink but had the thoughtfulness to not be an ass about it, and just assumed I had *reasons.* I just can't say that I've ever really noticed that someone doesn't drink.
I had way more to say about that than I thought I did.
I'll save the rest for the last 9 days.
Four years ago I had to have a TB test because I was working in the Oakland public school system and it was required. It was positive. Multiple subsequent tests were positive as well after a second false negative test. Chest results were negative: I had latent TB, not the active, quarantine kind.
I didn't have health insurance and I'd just returned from three years of one health problem after another (aka Peace Corps) so I was way put out by the whole diagnosis. I heard from multiple public health nurses that I was supposed to take 6-9 months of antibiotics to decrease my chances of developing active TB. The side effects sounded atrocious. I chose not to take the meds.
Six months ago, I decided to start the meds. I don't know why. I just knew that if I was going to do it, I should do it before I got too much older and my liver was less tolerant.
Every day for the last 6 months minus 10 days, I've taken an antibiotic.
Side effects were supposed to be: fatigue, depression, jaundice, weight gain, nausea, gastrointestinal distress, and, possibly - though less likely - delusions. I was counseled that if any of these side effects actually occurred that I was to plow through and continue to take the meds. I dreaded my first winter in Minnesota even more because of this news.
I'll count down the days until I'm done. Today is 10.
The biggest, strangest observation I've made is that people offer me alcohol. I decline. People sometimes persist. I decline more. Then I say, "I am taking a medication that prevents me from drinking." It feels like a weird violation of privacy, but it shuts them up. If I just say, "no, thank you," believe it or not, some people will not let it rest or they look disappointed that I will not be drinking their home brew or joining them in their drinking habits.
What if I was pregnant and didn't want to tell them? Even more, what if I was a recovering alcoholic? This experience has made me have a TON of compassion for recovering alcoholics. Oh God. What they have to go through is just awful. Denial after denial after denial.
Funny thing, too, is that this is a cultural thing. An American thing. Some people who aren't pushers have told me after awhile that they just thought I wasn't a drinker. They noticed I didn't drink but had the thoughtfulness to not be an ass about it, and just assumed I had *reasons.* I just can't say that I've ever really noticed that someone doesn't drink.
I had way more to say about that than I thought I did.
I'll save the rest for the last 9 days.
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