Light

My head feels heavy, it’s time for my anti-depressant dose. My head has felt heavy for much of my life so this does not bother me and I shall continue to write. Last night my elder son (he feels like the elder, I don’t actually know how old any of my muffins are), Light, experienced an episode of epistaxis. I was reading, it was about 10, when I saw blood stains on the sheet. Although I have not practised medicine, I have been highly trained in one of the best medical schools of the country and the sight of blood does not bother me. I have also noticed over time that I become somewhat detached in moments where I have witnessed other people getting very anxious and stressed. Had I not been sober, I would have been fast asleep by this time and not noticed my son’s distress. But I have been sober for some time now, and I carefully observed the amount and type of blood that was oozing. It was not much, fresh blood, some clots, however it was not stopping. After trying a few things myself ,I woke up my parents, who are both doctors. My dad and I went to the chemist in search of a haemostatic drug, which we managed to acquire. It occurred to me as I was driving that had I not been sober I would never have trusted myself to drive to the chemist with my dad sitting next to me, I would surely have driven badly and been reprimanded, I would have instead had him drive me. My dad is not young, he is a heart patient and although he has not been the best father he is still my father and I am very duty bound, or rather, I used to be before the substance abuse got out of hand. I am slowly relearning things but from a completely different perspective, the learning is honest now and without self doubt.

My son is better today.

After that slightly weighty account let me tell you a little bit about the book I am reading, ‘Shopgirl’ by Steve Martin. I find the central character extremely relatable even when she is paralysed by stupidity.

“She slides into bed at exactly midnight, after amusing herself by feeding her cats with a bowl that says ‘good dog.’ She closes her eyes and taps her finger on the lamp switch. A few moments later as she lies quiescent in her bed, she feels something terrible enter her brain, stay for a fleeting second, then disappear. She does not know what it is, only that she doesn’t like it.”

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