botanical keyboard

“Have you decided to let your medication poison you to death?” People often ask me this question, and my answer is always the same. When I’m dead, no one will care how many milligrams of quetiapine I was taking. I want people to remember the image of a loving father, not that of someone who managed to get by on the fewest possible pills. I hope they remember a committed doctor and a devoted husband. An imperfect man, who often got things wrong, but did his best. The illness stole my first chance; quetiapine is giving me another one. I was ill without treatment, then stable with side effects. If I have to choose — and the choice is forced on me — I’ll take the side effects every time, without a second’s hesitation. That price is acceptable to me.