Last Tuesday I went out to do my Christmas shopping at the perpetually crowded SM North Edsa (my friends and I keep going back there because there's a Pancake House in the Block and we die for the Panchicken and the bacon waffle). While I was in line for the cash register I got a message from my mother saying that the doctor for whom I spent at least three months acting like a lovesick teenager, is married and already has a kid. Now close your eyes and imagine a hole opening up in the floor under you, and your body free-falling into a cold, deep pit. That was how I took the news. I handed the cashier my credit card and proceeded to fall through the floor.
But only for ten minutes. I was already laughing to myself when the cashier handed me the charge slip for me to sign. I gathered up my shopping bag, stopped next to the hair accessories department, and sent a message to my girl friends telling them the news. Renny, Nikki and Effie (fresh from a migraine, god bless her) showed up one by one that afternoon, and we ended up at Pancake House to give Dr. Dockers a 10-minute postmortem; after which he faded immediately into the background, more important news was brought to the table, and I attacked my bacon waffle with relish.
The relative ease attending my relinquishment of everything at all to do with the doc, and the complete absence of my usual urge to chainsmoke, go on a shopping spree and mentally kick myself until I'm convinced I'm a poor loser, I owe to Varenicline, known as Champix to smokers wishing to quit tobacco for good. I recently completed the initial six-day doses at 0.5mg, and am starting on 1mg tomorrow and taking it twice a day for the next 84 days. This early in the running, I'm already feeling like a different person. Not only has it begun to blur my need for cigarettes; somehow it has made me less prone to lose my head over the smallest dilemmas. Sure, I feel fuzzy for thirty minutes after I take a tablet, and it makes my tummy rumble too, but what is that if I no longer want to kill everyone around me when I can't find my keys at the bottom of my bag?
Sammy, my wonderfully resilient cat, had his monthly blood exam last week and except for slight anemia, he's back to normal. He now weighs 4.5 pounds (from a low of 2.9 when he first got out of the vet hospital), has a very shiny coat, and is back to his old handsome self. As for me, my days of cleaning up cat-sick from the floor and force-feeding a sharp-toothed feline a battery of drugs, are over at last. Sammy comes to greet me at the door whenever I come home at night, and it always makes me happy when he goes to sleep in my lap after dinner.
One crush lost, peace of mind and one animal friend regained. Looks like it's going to be a good Christmas this year.
***A great big thank you, mwah! to my brother, for my brand new Apple keyboard!!!***
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