Brunched, dropped museumfreak off, got back home, settled in to nap. *Just* when I got to sleep - phone rings.
"Hi! I'm a nurse in Doctor P's office, calling about a study you might be interested in..."
"...did I wake you up?"
"Is okay. Go 'head."
She describes the study, which actually sounds interesting - they've developed an IV formulation of Lamictal, and are looking to see how long it takes to metabolize. 24-hour hospital stay, plus daily blood draws for a week. Would probably pay like gangbusters. But...
"Actually - I'm not on Lamictal anymore."
"Oh! You're not?"
"Nope. Trileptal. And Zonegran. Not Lamictal. So you probably couldn't use me." And I'm actually not even Dr. P's patient anymore. She transferred me to Dr. L. Both doctors suck, but L was at least willing to try me on more than two medications.
And no, they couldn't use me. Not that I'd be willing to switch back to Lamictal if I had to do it for longer than a week anyway; that's the drug that caused me to drop the first 30 pounds, in the span of two months.
So. Yeah. Awake now. Again.
Side note: I find it amusing that it is assumed that epileptics don't work, since the meds make it so difficult to do so. Amusing and reassuring, actually - I feel less like a slacker when reminded that, by continuing to work, I was in the minority.
Note to self for tomorrow: Write post about porn.