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| La Jolla, CA 1996 |
The work of the mature person is to carry grief in one hand and gratitude in the other and to be stretched large by them.
from The Geography of Sorrow: Francis Weller on Navigating Our Losses.*
I finally picked up Sophie's emergency medication from the drugstore today, almost five days after I requested the prescription. I was going to complain to The Earnest Pharmacist about the colossal communication breakdown but decided that I didn't have the energy for it. I'm generally a dog with a bone in these matters, but I also pick my fights with exquisite precision. The drugstore is within walking distance, and the convenience of it weighs more than perpetuating the conflict. I noticed -- with rue -- that my co-pay was only $15 and wondered if I was getting the $.99 Store version. I recalled a time nearly a decade ago when I'd had to purchase it on a weekend, couldn't get insurance approval (back in the days when I stockpiled rectal valium for crazy parties I threw), and paid $1400 for two doses. Apparently, Diastat is a relative bargain these days, so any of you Rectal Valium Party Lovers should stock up. I'll put it on the top shelf of the medicine cabinet in the bathroom where it'll hopefully sit for a few years before expiring.
Sophie appears to have come out the other side of this drastic cut in Vimpat. She's been smiling again, her palms are dry (they get clammy and cold when she has multiple seizures) and aside from some weakness in her right leg (attributed to seizures as well and perhaps Todd's Paresis), we might take another bit away this weekend.
I can say today, though, that since beginning CBD in December of 2013, she has about 90% fewer tonic seizures, 100% fewer myoclonic clusters, takes 65% less Onfi (the benzo) and nearly 75% less Vimpat.
My grief is in the blurring of the boundary between past and present, as is my gratitude. I am stretched large.
*Thanks to my friend Kari for posting this quote on Facebook and inspiring me.
