Venlafaxine

“You may hafta take that pill the rest of your life.”
So said my counselor the other day.
“Really?” I exclaimed.
“Your hormones aren’t what they were when you were young, and your wife died,” she said.
Some time ago I started seeing a counselor regarding my wife dying, that I was devastated.
She was recommended by a friend who lost her husband.
Not too long ago my primary-care doctor prescribed an antidepressant, Venlafaxine, trade name Effexor®.
37.5 mg per tablet, the lowest dose. A full tablet per day at first, now only half.
“It may help you,” he said.
My wife died four years ago. I still miss her, but guess I’m over it.
I saw my doctor again recently, and we discussed -a) ending my counseling, and -b) dropping the pills altogether.
“Do you think she’s helping you?” he asked.
“She’s someone to talk to,” I said. “That’s what it’s come to.”
“You should probably stay with her, but I think you can try dropping the pills.”
So I did.
After two days, heavy crying. Not over the death of my wife, but the fact I can no longer give my spunky dog the life promised.
“This is silly,” I thought to myself through tears; “but I guess I gotta go back.”
So back to Venlafaxine. “You may hafta stay on that the rest of your life.”