Roger had been taking the anti-depressant for two months now. The doctor had warned him that they were starting with a small dose and would raise it slowly as needed. He said he would monitor closely, and that it often took some time to find the correct drug and dosage for each person.
“Covering his rear end,” Roger muttered to himself as he left the office. He’d come because his daughter had almost insisted, and he wanted to get her off his case. Deep down, he admitted to no one that he felt horrible, that everything was an effort, and he was willing to give it a try in order to feel better.
Still, no one was more surprised than him when he did begin to feel a tiny bit more human. That morning when the sun shone and he went outside and turned his face to it. The day he went to get groceries and didn’t feel like crawling under the covers when he got home. His most radical decision came when he decided to join his friends for cards for the first time in months.
When he went back to the doctor, he opened up a bit more. As they talked, his GP asked him if he would consider talking to a counsellor. He suggested only a few visits to help him work through some of the issues that had brought him to this place. A few months ago, he would have dug in his heels at this suggestion, but he had more faith in his doctor now, so he took the referral. It took him a full month to call, but on one of his rougher days, he decided to do it before he thought about it too much. It surprised and scared him when he got an appointment so quickly. He thought it would take months. He cancelled the first one. But when they rescheduled, he thought he’d better get it over with, and went. To his amazement, he liked the young doctor, who could have been his son, if not his grandson.
Many of the doctor’s practical suggestions were both easy and difficult. He’d known since his wife, Mabel, died, that he’d let his diet slide. Mabel had been a fanatic about eating well. He knew it mattered, but he found it so much work. The doctor gave him some suggestions for prepared foods which were also healthy. After a few months, he began to have an appetite again. He also encouraged exercise, which didn’t excite Roger at all. Especially in winter. But he promised to try.
Then one of the guys he played cards with told him about a mall walking group he participated in. His friend invited him to join, and Roger said he would try it–once. Although he was out of breath when they finished, he chatted with a few people, including his card playing friend, and they encouraged him to come back. Maybe he would.
Both the doctor and his daughter were thrilled when he started to go
regularly. The exercise improved both his mood and his health, but more than that, he’d made a few friends. “Social isolation is a killer. You need other people,” the doctor had said, and he was probably right. He looked forward to his Tuesday mall walking and his Saturday night card games. He hadn’t told a soul, but he’d looked into something which had been a secret interest of his for years. In the new year, he would sign up for a painting class!
It took several months and the help of medication and people who cared about him, but Roger slowly emerged from the funk of depression. Life felt good. Most days, anyway.