Daily Medicine

Five doses to the arms and shoulders daily. That's what the doctor says. Daily. Weekly. Monthly. From here until -- well I don't know when. What I do know is if I miss a day, I bonk.

Bonk, did I say? More like testy. Tyrannical. Hungry. Humorless. Angry. Edgy. Impatient. Exhausted. If I miss even a day.

Hormone balance is a magical thing. When it goes out, you don't know what hit you. When it comes back, the sky clears and the birds start singing. If I do what they tell me, the birds still sing.

This would have happened eventually. The surgeries brought it on earlier than otherwise, but it would have come anyway. And when it came, I would have slowed down. I would have lost my humor. I would have become impatient. I would have become a grumpy old man.

So I tell myself this. Perhaps the dose still isn't quite right. Perhaps the grumpy old man in me derives from some residual imbalance at work.

I tell myself this when I hear politicians speak. I tell myself this when I read the mainstream media. I tell myself this when I turn on top-40 radio. I tell myself this when the happy stories push out the other stuff on the news. Or when helicopter scenes of police chases are beamed across the nation on cable TV. I tell myself this when I look at the lines of cars backed up to go shopping at the mall.

It's a question of balance, I tell myself. And I just need to take my medicine.

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