There have been so many times, in sessions with my psychiatrist, that I've wondered, "Hey, why not throw in a twist of lime; I'm on every other possible medication in the pharmacy - - or for that matter - - on the entire planet."
And that little dark green sliver of lime does pay homage to the fact that most psychiatrists (and psychiatric patients) refer to their combinations of medications (or 'meds' for short) - - whether they be anti-depressants, anti-psychotics or mood stabilizers - - as 'cocktails'. It’s common terminology, albeit a bit cynical and disparaging to the field of psychopharmacology. However, I don’t know anyone who doesn’t know anyone who doesn’t call their 'medication regime' by the term 'cocktail'.
I was at a cocktail party (there’s that annoying word again) in Los Angeles when I first moved here, talking about what seems to be the illness of the decade, bipolar disorder, which also happens to be mine. Someone came right up to me and asked, "So, what 'cocktail' are you on?" This brings up an entirely different issue about the appropriateness of asking complete strangers at a social function about their medication, but let’s put that point aside for the time being.
I made the decision to confront the question directly, responding openly and honestly by telling the questioner (a dead ringer for Johnny Depp) that I was on the 'Hollywood Cocktail'. The Johnny Depp look-alike looked surprised.
"What’s in the Hollywood Cocktail?" he asked, with an extremely curious look.
"It’s Depakote, Topamax, Geodon, Klonopin and Ambien," I responded, sputtering off a long list of 'meds'.
He looked at me like I was ingesting enough pills and capsules to sedate all of Tinseltown. Little did he know that over the years I had tried more than forty-five different medications to control my manic depression and side effects, and that during some periods I took more than twelve medications at once - - sometimes totaling more than thirty pills and capsules throughout the day. Yes, I was a human guinea pig. My own doctor didn’t even know exactly what drug was doing what for me and what wasn’t. So I was right - - it was all guess work after all. But the cocktail was working, and wasn’t that all that mattered anyhow?
And that’s why psychopharmacology really is - - guess work. It’s one of those weird sciences (I don’t really even consider it a science. It’s more like a hobby, like stamp collecting or knitting, except you need a degree and a license to practice it.) where I imagine doctors wearing white lab coats, white caps and protective booties while mixing pills and potions. You’re in a huge laboratory and there’s steam coming out of all kinds of glass flasks and the doctors are feeding these concoctions to innocent rats and rabbits. Teams of scientists are observing their behavior and taking copious notes while the animals spin around their treadmills. Psychopharmacology is not an exact science at all. Sometimes I fantasize it’s much like Italian cooking - - some extra spices thrown in here, a splash of wine there. Let’s just see how the rats and rabbits like that. It’s embarrassing to say, but I got my own doctor to admit that psychopharmacology is a tiny bit like decorating and a lot like bartending.
