A couple years ago, my doctor put me on Effexor XR to combat the mood swings I'd been having since being 'menopausal'. My family told me prior to taking the medication that I could be a real b*tch. Imagine that. I took the Effexor and to be honest, I personally could not tell any difference in my 'behavior' or in my general outlook. I'd always thought I had an easy going personality. I found out something about myself recently that has me questioning that. About a month ago, my refill on the med was up and I needed a new prescription. I called the dr.'s office and got voice mail, so I left the required information with a message to please call the prescription in. I was down to about 5 pills. The dr. NEVER calls the prescription in the same day it's asked for, so I waited a few days and then called the pharmacy to make sure it was called in. I learned from experience to do this, as several times I'd run down to find a presc. refill hadn't been called in. Nope, not this time either. Called the dr. office once more, went through the same rigamaroll. I'm out of pills now. They still weren't called in and now the pharmacy is calling the dr. office for me. Nada. This is very frustrating and I don't know whether the voice mail isn't working properly or I'm being ignored but now I'm getting royally ticked off and said the heck with it, I just won't take them anymore. Well, I've been off the pills for a month now. I don't feel any different. I'm still as pleasant as I ever was. A few days ago the cancelled checks for May came in the mail and I sit down to balance our checkbook. I'm usually very good at this and very rarely do I not balance. This time I have $200 more than what the bank says I have. Okay, must be a mathematical error on my part or maybe I forgot to add a written check for deducting. I go through it all again, and add up the checks that haven't cleared yet since they are still +'s in the book and as always I add them up a second time to make sure the addition is correct. I use a calculator for this, as I've never been good at doing math 'in my head'. The second time gave me a different answer than the first. Let's give it a third try. Another different answer. DAMN CALCULATOR. Of course. It's faulty. Let's get out the spare one and try that. Same routine, same answers. Now I'm really mad. I ball my right hand into a fist and pound the hell out of the first calculator. I've got not only a sore hand now, but also a headache so I set it all aside, go to bed and tell myself I'll tackle it in the morning. Next day after my morning coffee to clear the cobwebs I once again try to balance my checkbook. Cannot find that $200 error. I get out the calculators once more, and I'm really astonished to learn that the one I pounded to hell isn't broken. Maybe it 'fixed' it. No. Too much to wish for. The buttons are sticking now and I'm still getting weird answers. POUND POUND POUND. After the third pound I sit back and I'm surprised at my anger. That's not like me. I might get mad sometimes but I don't attack things. I was really taken aback. I put the checkbook aside once more and I need to walk away from it and try again later. I meant that literally, later, that night, after the grandkids went home, after dinner, after dishes, after I'd calmed down. But Tom had come home at lunch time as he always does, and while he's fixing a cup of tea, calmly asks me if the check book is balanced. I was irritated and said that no, it wasn't but I would get to it later. He replied that he thought I balanced it two nights ago, what's the problem? I grit my teeth and tell him the bank statement shows that we have $200 less than what my checkbook shows we have. Tom doesn't know when to let well enough alone, it's obvious, even to me that I ( or perhaps it was Mrs. hyde ) was getting all fired up and that's never a good thing. He does his little rant thing that he does so irritatingly well and says that he 'hopes' checks don't start to bounce ( which has never happened, but he's certain will happen now ) and I told him straight out to stop harrassing me.
He almost dropped his cup of tea on the floor and his jaw dropped. What did you say? You heard me, stop harrassing me, I'll get the damned book balanced, but I can't do it now, I will do it later when I've calmed down and have a fresh go at it.
He doesn't say a word but turns and goes downstairs, leaves the house out the basement door and I hear his work vehicle start up. He always says goodbye and this time he didn't so I know I ticked him off. It didn't seem to bother me.
When he returned home after punching off work, he was incredulous. You told me to stop harrassing you. Yes, I did. He actually started to laugh. I didn't think it was so funny. When our oldest daughter came to pick up her kids, he said 'Deana, your mother told me to stop harrassing her this afternoon' and she laughed and looked at me questioningly. Yeah, I told him to stop harrassing me.
After this little episode with the calculator poundings and my outburst at Tom. . . I think maybe I do need the Effexor after all. That doesn't sound much like an easy going personality.
Did the checkbook ever balance? Yes and no. No, I couldn't find the $200 error, so I 'made' it balance. Now we are $150 short for June. Guess I'd better buy a new calculator.