I hate going to the doctor. For many years I went without ever stepping foot in a doctor's office, I was indestructible. And then I turned thirty eight. That was the year I was diagnosed with cancer. I saw enough doctors that year to make up for every year I never saw one, and then another hundred years. Luckily for me my cancer went into remission and by the time I reached my late forties I was once again rarely seeing doctors. Enter the fifties, and then the sixties. Doctors and I have once again started seeing each other. It is that dreaded time in life when the body starts breaking down. Slowly at first and then picking up speed so that at some point you have to go see a doctor for an ailment before the last one has cleared up. I am now at the point in my life where the ailments are layered and I need to keep a concise schedule so that I don't mistakenly make two appointments for the same day. This is not what I wanted, making small talk with other old people comparing maladies. Anyway, that's not what is bothering me about doctors and medications today. It's not what I have going on that is terrifying me. It's Mark, he went to the doctor the other day and the doctor gave him a new drug to take every day. At first I was glad for him, that there was something new out there that might help what ails him. Then I read the drug information sheet, the possible side effects.
Depression. Suicidal ideation. Mild liver impairment. Monitor for insomnia, anxiety, depression, suicidal ideation, other mood changes; reevaluate if occurs. Monitor weight regularly; consider discontinuing if unexplained or significant weight loss occurs. Diarrhea, weight decrease, nausea, headache, back pain, influenza, dizziness, decreased appetite; psychiatric effects (eg, aggressive behavior, insomnia, anxiety, depression).
I will assume that Mark won't experience any of these side effects, I hope he doesn't. It would be such a pain in the ass to have to hide all the knives in the house.