So I finally managed to get a telephone appointment with the doctor. This was not the same patronising bitch who insisted that I was an alcoholic, who I spoke two about eighteen months ago. Although the surgery made their best attempt at trying to get me to have an appointment with her again. No. After taking advice from another doctor I had an appointment with the senior partner of the surgery.

This was Doctor Young. His opening gambit was not, ‘you drink too much’. A good start. Actually he did something very unusual, he listened. He did ask about my relationship with alcohol, but never once did he accuse me of being an alcoholic or having a dependence. If anything, he thought that my alcohol consumption was actually well under control, if somewhat high, but was happy that I was fully aware of this. We discussed all the usual things, CBTi, and sleep hygiene and all that crap. He was, actually, very nice. They don’t like prescribing ‘Zopiclone’ for more than a couple of weeks, it can be addictive and it can become tolerable, to the point it has zero effectiveness. But, I took took it for around four years, and it worked every time. I took it last Tuesday, it still worked within thirty minutes.

We then kind of hit the end of the conversation, the ‘Where do we go from here moment’. Oddly, we were both on the same page, the exact same internet page. Both looking at ‘Daridorexant’. I couldn’t pronounce it, he didn’t’t have a bloody clue what it did. He corrected my pronunciation, I filled him in on its use and effects. We agreed to give it a blast. I think he was interested in it effectiveness and what side effects, if any, it had. I was willing to give feedback and was quite eager to try.

I had the prescription on the Tuesday, popped in to pharmacy, ‘It’ll be here tomorrow’. It wasn’t. ‘It’ll be here tomorrow’. Almost gave up at this point, went to just collect the prescription and they actually had it.

So now I have the magic drug. Will it work? I don’t know. The problem is the anticipation may outweigh its effectiveness. You build yourself up so much for the ‘wonder drug’, and then only to be disappointed.

Tomorrow I will know. Roll on tomorrow.