I had not eaten grapefruit for more than twenty years when I make a radical decision. At the end of summer, I decide to stop taking a contraindicated medication. I do not consult a medical professional.

Here is my story I’m calling: The Grapefruits of Wrath.

*

I have wondered, out loud, why anyone with serious medical conditions such as Bi-Polar or Schizophrenia would ever refuse to take their oh-so-necessary drugs when it might eff up their life to do so?

Then I, yes I–the self-same person–decide, on a whim, to quit taking a mood stabilizer I am on just so I can eat mounds of the giant, sweetly-sour, forbidden fruit.

I have no defense, your honor. I am guilty. Guilty of hubris. Guilty of poor judgement. Guilty of self-indulgence and short-sightedness. Guilty of an inordinate love of big, round juicy, tangy, mouth-watering, illicit deliciousness…

Where was I? Oh right, on the brink of mild madness.

I stop taking my dose and wait long enough, I think, for it to be out of my system. Maybe. [Googles it now…after the fact.] Eh, close enough.

…24-hours later…

I buy five grapefruits and suck them down ridiculously fast. Every time I go to the store, I replenish my hoard. I buy however many I can carry. All in all, I think I buy about thirty to forty grapefruit and I ate at least one a day.

The first week brings paroxysms of mouth joy. [Grapefruit-gasms?]

I do not see much difference in my mood other than being utterly giddy while scarfing down the calamitous citrus. The medication I stopped taking is a low-level anti-anxiety drug. I typically had one pill a day. Going off of it doesn’t seem to bother me at all. Yay! I win.

Then, my mother falls in her kitchen. She does not pop right back up like a daisy from an avalanche.

Anyone else out there a Mulan fan?

My mom calls to tell me that she’s in pain. She can’t drive. Shoot, she can’t really walk that well. Guess who is the only child who lives near her?

I agree to help her whenever she needs–my only caveat is it must be a time when I am able to. (Not during bus pick up or drop off. Not during my Tuesday and Wednesday writing session at the library.)

Our first disagreement revolves around her haircut appointment set at the time my son gets off the bus. We disagree on the importance of this outing. I try to calmly express why this isn’t an emergency to me!

“Mom, I’ve already taken you to an appointment this week, grocery shopping with my son, and you have another doctor’s appointment Friday. Reschedule the hair appointment or find somebody else.“

She finds a neighbor who will take her.

Mom continues to walk around for a little over a week before a neighbor takes her for an Xray and it turns out she actually has a broken knee cap. Going to another doctor appointment for a second Xray, she’s knocked over by the building door. A nice man from the parking lot helps her up.

This Xray is to determine the source of her back pain; it reveals she also has a broken vertebrae. One of the important ones.

Despite my steady dosage of grapefruit, I begin to feel the strain of my new responsibilities.

I am already a guardian for my son, but after the fall, I become my mother’s keeper. In between help from a kindly neighbor, I take my mother to several other appointments, blood draws, medication pick up and her ridiculously difficult shopping list which includes her caveats for low-salt, date specific and ‘Gluten Free’ items. The latter is the hardest to find. Gluten Free must translate to store layout designers as “Easter Eggs that must be deliberately hidden for the joy of actually finding them.” Always on the top shelf.

(We won’t mention my mom’s mental health depends on a Racine Kringle pastry (only pecan, never almond) that costs almost $9.00 and which my petite mother has eaten her weight in since she fell.)

After a few weeks, we are getting on each other’s nerves. Her insistence on shopping for herself, is understandable, if a drain on my energy and time. We argue about driving routes and additional tasks that pop up with every visit and outing. There isn’t enough grapefruit in the world to counteract this level of stress.

As it turns out, not taking the anti-citrus medication does bother me enough to leave the grapefruit on the shelf. Perhaps, someday in the future, when my mother and my son are no longer dependent upon my need to keep a cool head, I will once more partake of the bittersweet pleasure. Until then, I will hang onto my sanity as best I can.

And eat dragon fruit instead!