Last night my anxiety increased as Dave said to me that we needed to go to my mom’s house to pick up his anti-depressant medication (he mails it to our old address). Alarmed I asked him if he was still taking it. He said he stopped two days ago. Shoot.
Just the previous day, Friday when he picked me up after work, I had an irritated tone when I called him to ask when he was going to pick me up. It was already quarter to five, and he told me in the morning he would come at 4. I was meeting up with friends at 5:30 and we still needed to pick up Beth and go home.
When he picked me up–he was upset. Silently he brooded, tailed other cars. And impatiently nearly drove through a stop sign.
Moments ago, I spoke with him. He asked, “Why are you up so early?” I said, “I need to write up the study sheet for our Sunday school.” He came to look at the computer and saw me on the wordpress blog. He laughed. I said, “I really am working on the lesson.” He looked down, with a defeated look. I must have had some tone in my voice. I asked him if he took his medication. No he had not.
He still has some left, he told me last night. I am concerned because his previous two attempts occurred when he stopped taking his meds. During our therapy sessions following the attempts, our therapist inquired and explored why he had stopped. I know that it is critical that he keeps taking it, yet he stops when “he is running low.” I told him last night to take it even if he is running low and if his medication doesn’t come in via mail order (required by the health insurance plan) I’m sure he can get an emergency supply through a local pharmacy.
I don’t like being in this watchful role and hopefully he doesn’t perceive it as nagging, but to me–taking or not taking his meds is a matter of life or death.