Potential Pill Popping Problem

 

POPPING FOIL IS AN END TO SPONTENAITY

Over the past few weeks I've been playing about, at my GP's suggestion, with the dosage of one of my medications.  The one that helps my heart to function reasonably efficiently despite the misfire it has developed.  This resulted in me now taking a lower dosage, which feels like a mildly positive result, but It's still going to be one of three pills I'm taking daily for the foreseeable future.  Getting older can be a bit of a bugger sometimes.

A few years ago I wrote this post about the time I was in Aberdeen, and thought how easy it would have been to pull out my credit card and vanish for a week.  Which I didn't do of course, because I'm not that actually adventurous in reality.  But it has occurred to me that even the option has now been removed.  Not without some level of foresight.  Of carrying a week's worth of pills with me.  I'm not sure what would happen to me if I didn't, but I'd prefer not to find out.  Experimenting with differing doses of bisoprolol in recent weeks has demonstrated just how much I'm affected when the levels of drugs in my system change.  

It's not as if this was something I actually wanted to do.  Yet it still saddens me to realise that I've lost even the possibility of becoming the person that I was never ever going to be anyway!  Crazy, eh?

When you just don't know what's good for you

WHOOSH!  CAFFEINE ATTACK!

One of the greatest joys of being retired is knowing that you don't HAVE to get up in the morning, it's an entirely voluntary act, a provision we regularly take advantage of.  The only downside to this is when it really is necessary to get up sharp, but the old reflexes kick in when required. Well they do when the time to be met is still of the relatively civilised variety i.e. not before 7am.

So this morning's plan to be up at 4 to be out just after 5 was never going to be anything other than a battle against the forces of nature, especially after I woke about 2.30 and struggled to get off again....  But we did it, and were at the airport by 6.15.  A proud moment in an old fogey's struggles with life.  Not without some downsides though.

I was looking forward to the flight providing three hours of uninterrupted reading time.  Twas not to be.  The interuptees being my eyelids, which refused to cooperate with my desires and kept shutting down.  This makes reading difficult I find.  So I took a drastic step.

Me and caffeine don't have much of an intimate history.  Tea has always given me the boak.  Cola is an abomination, an evil plot to rot the bodily organs.  And coffee?  I quite like coffee, but it's taken to disliking me.  I was never a regular consumer anyway, but in the past couple of years I've found that one cup of coffee, even if taken mid morning, leads to me lying awake at two, three, four am....

But I wanted to read.  And coffee looked to be the answer.  One cup just before 9 was all it took.  I could read comfortably for the rest of the trip.  I was sharp and with it when it came to getting our stuff together, and moving from one pace to another.  I could walk for hours taking photos and absorbing the atmosphere.  But a strange feeling came upon me.  My mind felt awake, active, interested, but my body was developing other ideas.  Once again I have tired eyelids, but now paired with a brain that refuses to stop looking.

I'm writing this as 9.30pm approaches, intending to have lights out by 10.  By 10.30 I'll know if that one coffee was a big mistake or not.