(no subject)
Norman's hands shake as he goes over the results again, and he bites his tongue as he tries, without success, to steady them.
Lithium carbonate and carbamazepine. Li2CO3, C15H12N2O.
Concomitant administration of lithium and carbamazepine may increase the risk of neurotoxic side effects. If you experience loss of coordination, sluggishness, muscle weakness, or tremors, contact your doctor...
Contact your doctor, unless your doctor doesn't know a fraction as much about biochemistry as you do. Unless your doctor wouldn't give you what you need to fix it, anyway (you know he wouldn't, you know, he'd tell you to live it it, but you can't, you can't stand to weaken yourself more, after everything you've already given away), too afraid of some imaginary risk. Unless that one perfect solution is just an injection away, something you've been working with for years.
The substance in the vial is a blessedly familiar green, even with the so very slight alterations he's had to make to (he hopes, and God help him if it doesn't) keep it from showing up so obviously in the weekly blood tests. And though his hands shake, still, as he fills the syringe and as he tries to pierce the vein (he eventually has to slide the needle slowly up along the inside of his elbow, to keep it steady), by the time he's finished cleaning up, by the time he's climbing back upstairs to wish Hermes goodnight... there's no trembling, no shaking.
Just a high, sharp cackle, smothered behind one perfectly steady hand.
Lithium carbonate and carbamazepine. Li2CO3, C15H12N2O.
Concomitant administration of lithium and carbamazepine may increase the risk of neurotoxic side effects. If you experience loss of coordination, sluggishness, muscle weakness, or tremors, contact your doctor...
Contact your doctor, unless your doctor doesn't know a fraction as much about biochemistry as you do. Unless your doctor wouldn't give you what you need to fix it, anyway (you know he wouldn't, you know, he'd tell you to live it it, but you can't, you can't stand to weaken yourself more, after everything you've already given away), too afraid of some imaginary risk. Unless that one perfect solution is just an injection away, something you've been working with for years.
The substance in the vial is a blessedly familiar green, even with the so very slight alterations he's had to make to (he hopes, and God help him if it doesn't) keep it from showing up so obviously in the weekly blood tests. And though his hands shake, still, as he fills the syringe and as he tries to pierce the vein (he eventually has to slide the needle slowly up along the inside of his elbow, to keep it steady), by the time he's finished cleaning up, by the time he's climbing back upstairs to wish Hermes goodnight... there's no trembling, no shaking.
Just a high, sharp cackle, smothered behind one perfectly steady hand.