Well, my drug trials begin soon. Not the kind that involve a criminal court and an angry mob, I’m talking about the needle-in-the-vein, guinea-pig-experimentation kind. And I’m the guinea pig.
I’m not sure how I’m going to go, as the new drugs I have had to go onto in the last few months to ensure no contraindications on the trials have turned what would have been a mere mood swing beforehand into something out of a Bram Stoker novel. My husband has taken to having his hand on the front doorknob after I get up in the morning just in case he has to go down to the shop for something he has ‘forgotten’ for a few hours until my medications settle down.
The upside of the whole thing is that even the local nutters are keeping away from me. I think they figure I’m one of them now so their scare tactics will be better served on somebody a little more gullible and a little less likely to take a swing at them. The greenies and their sympathisers are also giving me a wide berth. Gossip gets around fast here and apart from the few that are privy to what is really going on, it is taken as a given that I may end up on the 6 o’clock news in the near future and they don’t want to end up on there with me.
I’m hoping that the new drug I will be given next month will balance me out or at least make me feel a little less likely to want to put my hands around the neck of that woman down the road who keeps telling me that it’s all in my head and I need to snap out of it. I know what I’d like to snap and it’s not anything in my personal vicinity.
With any luck the real problem in my head, the remaining tumour, won’t grow and I will be feeling like a new person. In the meantime, expect sarcastic comments, acid degradation of fools and zero tolerance for the masses for a few months more, at least.