L, K, my mum and I are off to Sorrento for four days. This is a birthday trip from her to the three of us, all August babies. L is very excited and plans outfits and activities. We even go shopping the morning of departure for a last minute outfit. As we are ready to leave, L’s excitement veers into anxiety. She queries whether she has forgotten anything and I give my usual last minute checklist of passport and clean knickers. Except, I should have said, passport and meds. Because clean knickers are easier to buy. So, as we arrive at the airport, dropped off by C, L realises she has left her Fluoxetine behind.
Four days of an unmedicated L. She has forgotten meds before for a day or so and we have seen the difference. But we are away and she is so, so happy. I remember going to San Francisco in the midst of a marriage-breakdown-induced breakdown and consistently forgetting to take my Citalopram. But I was fine, somehow. Perhaps in another country, it felt as if my depression was behind me, a dark cloud, hovering around Terminal 4, as eager to embrace me on my return as C was. Because, that’s exactly what happened. I wonder if the constant stimuli of a new country distracts the brain, causing it to pump out more serotonin, with a consequent lapse once the familiar and everyday surroundings return. I wonder if you can buy fluoxetine in Italy, and rack my brains about EU laws. Hopefully, it will be ok. Hopefully.