Tag: medicine

Re: Pill

The pills in my medicine cabinet give me a sense of control even when I don’t use them. Everybody has pain in their lives and sometimes a pill makes it better. Like it or not I belong to a culture that finds it acceptable for people to modify their brains. You can choose tobacco, coffee, alcohol prescription or illicit drugs depending on your situation. Whatever method you choose, the common goal is the same: To feel better.

My mom would often have mood swings. When she was exasperated with me or my sister she would snarl, “You’re such a pill!” When we got older she would lose patience with us if we were doing typical adolescent things causing her to say, “Take a pill, why don’t you!” Such was the nature of her language use that the word Pill could be so haphazardly used to show feelings or give abstract advice. In truth she had a substance abuse problem herself, that varied according to economics and availability.

News headlines often refer to a ‘war on drugs’ as overdose deaths rise or police report drug den discoveries. Law abiding folks wring their hands saying they fear to walk on downtown streets. Statistics regarding substance abuse should make us scared. Any population must raise an alarm when death by overdose/poisoning becomes the main cause of death. In Victoria, BC a university student died in Jan.2024 of fentanyl poisoning. She was one of 200 in the province who died that month! For six years BC has been in a state of declared emergency over this dilemma.

I don’t take street drugs, but I have been prescribed medication that has helped me through tough times, both physical and mental. I try not to judge others; looking down my nose at other people’s choices is not helpful especially when it comes to the topic of addiction, which should be a health concern, not a criminal offence. I am a car driver. I expect my government to help me if I get into an accident. I expect there to be government regulations that will keep the car and the roads I drive on as safe as possible. I will continue to drive my car even though I’m aware that my car can be an instrument of death; accidental or intentional. Drugs and cars are a fact of life in my culture. The risks and rewards are great when using either. Maybe someday I will see the wisdom of not owning/operating a car but in the meantime I want systems in place that will mitigate any harm I may cause to myself or others. The same goes for drugs.

It’s a given that people may choose to take a pill, or any substance that helps to relieve the pain of life. The student I mentioned was given pills laced with fentanyl by a ‘trusted source’. Her mother is grieving. Harm reduction is advocated by groups like Mothers Stop The Harm.  Our drug supplies must be regulated. No one deserves to suffer. No one needs to die.

Re: Panic

I have a panic room in my head and it works the opposite of a safe haven. I’ve never seen a film style panic room; where actors portraying people victimized by home invaders find sanctuary. My panic room is a room in my mind. My panic room must have doors and windows to let fresh air in. I’m only there because I have been stifled by repeating thoughts that whirl me into a panic response. My panic room door must not be locked for then a key may be lost, the key to understanding how I got there in the first place, even if the key is found the latch may be corroded, the knob broken, a sealed room of past hurts will continue to mildew with dark mold teeming with disease. No confidence can be regained whilst in the panic room of my mind.

I once helped a student take the moment necessary to come out of his panic room. Something triggered him to rise beside his desk. I called his name. He had the posture of a cornered animal. He started towards the door, tripping and falling to the floor. Students quieted as he lay there, eyes darting. It was not a seizure but some strange force had seized him. Taking advantage of his stillness I moved beside him and placed my palm lightly over his heart. His breathing calmed and his classmates remained breathless. He looked at me. He sat up. I asked his friend to accompany him to the office so the secretary could call his parents. He left for the day. It wasn’t until year’s end that he mentioned the incident and thanked me. I told him I would always remember what happened as though I had been guided: The right person, in the right place, at the right time.

I most feel panic when things seem out of order. My way seems barred. Access is being denied. I feel trapped, painted into corner, claustrophobic, breathless, suffocated. In the midst of this anxiety attack I feel there is no way out, yet why I enter there in the first place is always a mystery to me. I don’t know the why of panic’s approach, yet I’m getting better at the how of waving it goodbye.

A Yoga instructor once advised me to see disagreeable thoughts as flowing through and not lingering. Deep breathing helps. Calm may be the opposite of panic. I like the way some pronounce calm with a noticeable ‘l’. When stressed I will linger with the middle section of the word repeatedly sounding it out as ‘c-ah-m’. I’ve developed strategies as I’ve aged to minimize the risk of entering into a panic response. I have medicine that brings comfort when needed. Just knowing it’s there in the cabinet is often enough for relief. I’ve learned to visualize safe places; like a verandah with a swing. Peace is found there, sitting for a spell with a cooling lemonade, taking time to gather my thoughts, settling me into a fresh perspective.