In Control?

     Recent tweaking of my anti-tremor medication brings one word to mind--control.  Control?  Yes, control.
     Oxford Dictionaries defines "control" as "[mass noun] the power to influence or direct people's behavior or course of events."
     Control.  Chemical.  Neural.  Human.  Control.
     Control.  Seizures.  Neurologists.  Control.  Me--a 52-year-old adult.  Control.
Control of seizures seems straightforward.  The neurologist identifies an anticonvulsant to control seizures.  Based on my weight, among other factors, the neurologist prescribes a specific dosage.  Simple.  Periodically, blood is drawn.  Lab technicians measure the amount of medication in my bloodstream.  Simple.
   Well...not so fast.
     For years, I thought that my neurologist had the final say in the anticonvulsants I took, and in the amount.  I respect the training, and clinical experience of neurologists.  Yet, prescription of an anticonvulsant that caused me to vomit incessantly for several months was a test of my strength, and an unforgettable lesson.
     I am the final arbiter of the medication--the final arbiter of the way I live.
      Underdosage had a clear--unmistakable--effect--a convulsion.  Underdosage had an incentive to correct--the consequence was too strong to tolerate.  The only option I understood was to accept the pronouncements of my neurologist.
     Control.  Tremors.  Neurologist.  Me--a 52-year-old adult.  Control.
     Tremors in my left hand started at least five years ago.  Fearful of what it might be, and without the strength to confront it, I denied it.  I knew people who loved me noticed--were deeply concerned--about the tremors.  But, I could not confront the tremors.  I needed control.  I needed to control what the diagnosis might be--I needed to control how I confronted it.  I needed to steel myself to confront it.
     Control.  The diagnosis.  Intentional tremors--essential-tremors.  Control.
     In my fearful--prediagnosis--days, the only way I knew to confront my tremors was to intend to be steady in my movement of my left hand, most notably my handwriting.  My thinking was that my hand would be steadier--my handwriting would be more legible, if only I concentrated my full attention on being steady.  It seemed simple.  It makes sense.  Well....the harder I tried, the shakier my hand became.  The harder I tried the more illegible my writing became.  The shakier I became, the more out of control I felt--emotionally.
     Control.  Intentional tremors.  Anti-tremor medication.  Control.
     Prescription of a medication to eradicate my tremors--to take away my lifelong fear--seemed irresistible. My lifelong fear?  Simple.  My left hand would be compromised temporarily, or permanently, such that my mental, emotional, and spiritual resources would be trapped in my body.
     Control.  Take prescribed medication.  Control.
     Taking one 20 mg. minuscule blue tablet three times a day seemed a benign price to pay.  I feel guilty in saying that that pill combined with the anticonvulsants I take left me feeling emotionally overwhelmed--out of control.
     Control.  Mind.  Body. Spirit.  Control.
     Though an adult of 52 years, I have relinquished control to medical professionals, who know better, or so I have submitted myself to believe.  Yet, slowly, ever so slowly, I am learning that I am the final arbiter of how I--how my body--shall live.
     Control.  Mind.  Body.  Spirit.  Control.
     My emotional response to my antitremor medication could not be measured clinically.  Thank God, my doctor believed me--honored my response.  A different dosage synchronized with my anticonvulsants seemed a reasonable alternative.  Somehow, I was overwhelmed by having to ingest medication more times during the day than at the beginning and end of it.  Yet, that was how I felt.  Interceding events between then and now have not changed how I feel.
     Control.  Mind.  Body.  Spirit.  Control.
     Honoring me--my response--involved an educated--well-informed--tweaking of my dosages.  With full-knowledge of adverse effects that might follow, I opted to try a higher dosage of my medication.  I did not think my tremors were as well controlled as they could be.  I was so overwhelmed emotionally, and lost perspective such that I agreed to try a higher dosage.  I confused tremors with loss of stamina.  I wanted my tremors eradicated and I wanted my indomitable left hand returned to me.  Tremors can be controlled, but I do not have the right to abuse my left hand by stretching it beyond its limits, if I have any desire to live fully engaged.
     Control.  Mind.  Body.  Spirit.  Control.
      I am not without control.  Overdosage of my medication.  Many people, when faced with medication overdosage issues throw up their hands--they submit to their doctor without proclaiming the limits by which they are willing to live.
    Choices between the lesser of two evils are troublesome at best.  Such choices should not be "entertained."  Such choices should be contemplated with due care.
    Control.  Mind.  Body.  Spirit.  Control.
     My choices?
     Have my tremors fully controlled, and live with clouded thoughts, and thoroughly exhausting depression, or make necessary accommodations to what medications cannot control.  I am still learning what that control--what that balance--implies on my life.  Those are the extremes.  I do not live in extremes.  I live a full life.  Most people I know live fully-engaged lives.  Several people I know concern me.
     Control.  Mind.  Body.  Spirit.  Control.
     My tremors are controlled through deliberate means.  Medication.  Accommodation--reasonable accommodation.  Engagement--mental, emotional, and spiritual engagement.
     Control.  Mind.  Body.  Spirit.  Control.
  Some refer to "Minnesota nice."  Though I live in Minnesota, I do not engage in "Minnesota nice,"  I do commit myself fully to passionate, optimistic living.  To the degree possible, I surround myself with individuals committed to live so.
     Control.  Mind. Body.  Spirit.  Control.