I’ve been on a medication, quetiapine, an antipsychotic for about 9 years. It’s a magic complex of chemicals that serve to quieten my errant mind. It works to some extent, especially in that it increases my chances of a good night’s sleep – without which, I can go quite bananas rather quickly.
9 years though. Over that time, I’ve looked the other way as the weight gain, indicated in the shopping list of side effects of the drug, has quietly enveloped my body.
‘Would you rather be fat or mad?’ I ask anyone who feels comfortable (turns out that’s quite a lot of folk) commenting on my now clinically obese state.
Fat or mad….?
All the time I’ve been aware that, because of this weight gain, other insidious nasties could have been lurking in the background.
However, without my attention, my blood pressure was both high and low, and I both had and didn’t have type 2 diabetes.
Denial is rather fabulous, isn’t it?
Today, I cracked open that box to behold what lay inside.
Like me, you may be glad to know the cat isn’t dead – but it is ailing – a blood pressure of 140 over 100 has ‘YIKES!!’ written all over it…
At least now the cat’s out of the bag (yes, I know I’m mixing my metaphors – it’s my blog, I can do what I want!) I know what I’m dealing with.
What to do though…?
To be honest, even with my meds, I still dissociate roughly a third of the time.
For ‘fat or mad’, read, ‘fat AND mad’
I’ve got some blood tests coming up soon…turns out there were several cats in that particular box.
It looks like I’ve got some decisions to make over the next few months.
I’ll keep you posted
Walk a mile