Disintegration

I celebrated my 46th birthday by helping Seth move into a room in a basement. I paid his friends’ parents a nominal two months’ rent out of my last Smith check. They were already accustomed to the amped up distorted guitar their son played, so they assured me Seth’s drum kit wouldn’t bother them. They ran a breeding program for French Bulldogs, and I thought the gremlins would be a comfort to Seth as he tried to convince himself he was grown.

With my Smith house emptied and cleaned, boxes in storage, and books shipped to Nigeria, I moved into a spare room in my actress-friend Jeannine’s apartment. She laid a slab of foam on the floor for me to sleep on during my last three weeks in Northampton. I swallowed my first Larium, and within twenty-four hours I was so dizzy I could hardly navigate a walk from the foam pallet to the toilet. I told myself this must be anxiety. I sat cross-legged in meditation and observed the room revolving. On the fourth day nausea kicked in, and on the fifth day I started vomiting. On the sixth day I broke out in hives. Thinking it must all be my body responding to the stress of the unknowns in my life, I took a second Larium on the seventh day, and after I staggered down the hall to the toilet and vomited for an hour, I called my physician. He wanted to see me immediately, and Jeannine drove me to his office. Soon after that I made another phone call.

“USIS, how can I help you?” I identified myself and went on,

“My physician just said I have to stop taking Larium immediately. I’m allergic to it.”

“You’re certain about that?”

“Yes. Dizziness, vomiting, hives.”

“Hmmmm.” A long pause. “Then you won’t be going to Nigeria.” 

“Can’t I take some other kind of preventive? My doctor said....”

“Nope. You’re not the first. Some people can’t tolerate Larium, but we have a policy in place.”

“A policy?”

“We have to reassign anyone with a Larium reaction to someplace where there’s no cerebral malaria.” 

“Like where?”

“I’ll have to get back to you. This is going to take some time. Are you sure you want to be in Africa? I have a post in Bolivia.”

“Well, all my preparation is for Africa, and I’m not fluent in Spanish.”

“I’ll look for something else in Africa, but I can’t promise anything. I may have to release you to the world.”

I sat on that foam slab on the floor, so dizzy I had to steady my back against the wall, itching with hives, swallowing nausea, jobless, houseless, single again and childless, astonished at what my life had come to. Release you to the world. 

As horrible revelations have come to light about the various dangers of Larium, I have thanked my body for its wisdom. In that moment, however, I crashed into a brick wall. In my brain, a huge chorus sang “O Fortuna!” from Carmina Burana.