The Eternal Quest for a Prescription

Ah, executive dysfunction. My old friend, my arch-nemesis! You are the reason!

This morning, I had a plan. Well, I had a vague idea. Okay, I had a tiny thought. A gentle, floaty notion that I would, at some point, collect Jody’s prescription like the responsible adult I pretend to be. But then—a day off. No obligations. No responsibilities. Nothing to do, nowhere to be.?

So, I did what any burnt-out, overwhelmed, exhausted ADHD brain would do.?

I twiddled my thumbs.?

I stared into space.?

I had a bath.?

I had a nap.?

I rearranged my bedroom slightly, just enough to feel like I’d done something productive but not enough to make a noticeable difference.?

Then, with the grace and poise of a woman who has her life together, I set off to collect my children from school. A brisk walk. Fresh air. Look at me, being a functional human being! What a nice day.?

And then—BOOM.?

I FORGOT THE FUCKING PRESCRIPTION.

The prescription was meant to be picked up this morning. The one I tried to get my husband to take ownership to ease the “mental load”, but it became too complex, and I had to regain control. The prescription that, by some cruel twist of fate (also known as "me not writing it down or setting a reminder"), had vacated my brain entirely until this exact moment. Jody has no injections left. None. Zilch. Nada.?

Initiate Panic Mode.?

“Children—into the car! Seatbelts on! Quick!” Brains barely keeping up. Off we go, tearing towards the GP surgery like a stressed-out homing pigeon.

I get to the GP. There is a queue. A long queue. Seven people stand between me and the small, vital piece of paper I require. Time slows. My heart rate speeds up. I spend an eternity in line contemplating all my life choices, including why I ever thought I could be responsible for other living beings and how I have managed to stay alive for 39 years without accidentally dying.?

Finally, with the prescription in hand, I race to the pharmacy. Of course, they don’t have it because nothing would ever be THAT simple.?

So, I got back in the car and called around. Another pharmacy has the medication but in a syringe format. No 'pre-filled' pen. Which means Jody would sooner let me inject myself in the eyeball than let that needle anywhere near her. Another pharmacy. They have it! Victory!?

Except now, there’s all the after-school traffic.

And Jody is calling. And calling. And calling. I eventually answer, exasperated with her persistence: “Mum, where are you?” “Mum, when will you be home?”?

Meanwhile, Max asks me why we don’t feel like we’re spinning at an alarming rate when the Earth is spinning so fast while Lewis updates me on the number of students in his class, a statistic I did not ask for but now must acknowledge.?

I am sitting in my car, gripping the steering wheel, my left shoulder seizing up from stress, my brain melting out of my ears.?

Executive dysfunction is not just “being a bit forgetful.” It is mentally holding a thousand tasks at once, like a fucking frantic juggler on a unicycle, only to drop all of them at the worst possible moment. It is spending all day resting because my brain and body need it, only to find myself racing against time at the eleventh hour. It is exhausting.?

Finally, I get to the pharmacy. I retrieve the precious prescription. I slump against the counter in relief. The pharmacist looked at me concerned, probably debating whether to offer me a sedative. I live in hope.

?I smile weakly and leave, knowing that I will do this all over again next month.

I have learned absolutely nothing.