Give me some sugar, doctor

My dad got some really great medical news today. The treatment really seems to be working well against his prostate cancer. I am always a little conflicted when I hear good medical news. Of course, I am thrilled that dad is doing well. But when, I wonder, will be my good medical news?

Probably about 15 years ago, I saw a neurologist who told me that FA was the hot disease and that there would be a cure in five years. Oops.

My mom remembers this, too. She also remembers doctors telling her parents the same thing in the 1950s when her sister had leukemia. My aunt died, and they still can't cure leukemia even though it apparently was the "hot disease."

This is what passes for good medical news for me: I had my physical this week, and my doctor told me I was in pretty good shape all things considering. Saying someone with a big-ass systemic failure is in good shape, though, seems like when my sister told my parents she liked everything about the hot dog she was eating except the taste. Not minor things, FA and taste.

My doctor also said I might want to try a new antidepressant, because it might give me a little more energy.

I had never heard of Cymbalta so I looked it up. I found a site called crazymeds.org that is just folks collecting experiences about mental health drugs. They had a mixed review of Cymbalta, but then I read about my current drug of choice: Effexor.

They call Effexor one of "two last resorts among the modern meds to cure the deepest, blackest depression ..." I didn't know I was that bad.

They follow that up with this: "Effexor (venlafaxine hydrochloride) is a medication people utterly loathe to have taken. It is not uncommon for someone to fire doctors during or immediately after they quit taking Effexor (venlafaxine hydrochloride)." Neat.

They could at least give me a placebo.