Using her two measly index fingers to type, Hayley flies across the keyboard quickly and accurately.
Hayley is fresh meat to the medical world. Thick wavy brown hair pulled back, her eyebrows perfectly shaped and framing her kind chocolate coloured eyes.
The most remarkable things about this woman has to be her smile. It’s hypnotic and the most genuine warm smile that I have ever seen. It’s a smile that clings onto the lips like breadcrumbs.
“If my plane goes down I’m fucked,” I said this more to myself. Instantly the thrashing of the keys stopped and she turned to analyse me. Her gaze fixated on my mouth as though this would help her to understand the foreign language I was seemingly speaking in.
Her eyebrows unfurl as she plays it cool and asks me what I mean.
“I’m in a plane and the engine shits itself and we dive straight into an island. Like Lost. Say I lose my glasses and medication I am truly fucked.”
“Yeah, you would be”
I take a colourful cocktail of 14 pills a day, One does this, another does that. I often would find that getting two scripts filled at the same time always meant a concerned pharmacist coming up to you, patting you on the arm and speaking slowly. “I don’t think your doctor has prescribed the correct medicine.”
Every. Single. Time. I used to take my psychiatrists scripts in but it got to the point where nobody could read his writing so I get my GP to do them all in one big shot.
I know my medication schedule well. I know why I take things, when I take them and what it means to not take them.
Earlier this year I moved to employing a pharmacy to manage my medication. I was finding that I was leaving it too late and then realising at some stupid time that I didn’t have another script and I’d completely run out.
One of the things I am reminded of constantly is that the absence of even one of these will make me both severely physically and mentally ill.
The pharmacy fucked up. I did a whole week without a pill. When you take as many as I do you don’t notice that it’s missing.
I had a constant jackhammer in my head, I felt like I was going to pass out, I was shaking and thinking some insane shit.
I was convinced that bludgeoning seven people to death and then setting their house on fire to make sure they were dead was a good idea. I knew how to do it and I’d even come up with a plan to lay-low by covering my car with a protector. They’d be looking for a green Mazda 2 not a covered car that doesn’t reveal its identity.
I couldn’t make it to Mildura to sort my sister out so I’d just take her precious mummy and daddy and leave her with nothing.
When I’m unwell I think this type of stuff is the greatest fucking idea I’ve ever had. I think about the good in the world I’d be doing in taking these people out.
I am very scared of ever missing a med. It’s dangerous and I feel really sick. It’s what I’d imagine coming off heroin would be like.
Imagine how exciting a character like me without glasses and meds would be on Lost. Tantalising drama at its best.