If you are old - which is not recommended by those of us who are - you are somewhat familiar with medications. TV ads, especially in the mornings, are full of the newest, latest medication that will all but solve life’s little maladies.
Old people, yes, I am old, are immediately alerted to the fresh TV ads with the usually unpronounceable names that surely you must be suffering from.
"Hey, Wife Patti, did you see this latest prescription medication commercial on the morning show? Do I need it, am I already taking it?" I queried.
"Yes, you are already taking it. It’s the square pink one," she shouted from the kitchen.
"Oh, yeah, the one that tastes really bad if you don’t swallow quickly," I recalled.
The taste of mouth/tongue delayed swallows irritating taste buds can leave a very bad, bad memory. Sometimes I pick that particular pill out of the pile and down it separately from the rest to ensure its straight pathway past the tongue.
Every morning Wife Patti makes sure the daily doses of numerous pills makes its way to my gullet. If, by some chance I miss the daily handful of medications, she is usually reminded of the error as I complain about this and that during the day.
Two days of misguided meds and she throttles me, opens my mouth and shoves them down my throat in a quasi-violent manner.
Then there are the shots. If you have never given yourself a self-administered needle of life-altering fluids, you haven’t really lived. To be honest, the shots don’t hurt, but just the thought of administering a needle into my thigh, stomach, arm, whatever, gives me a great deal of hesitation.
Often, very often, I put off the shots as long as possible, very often forgetting about them until..."Did you remember to take your shot," clamored Wife Patti?
Then there are the night pills. We have developed a method of putting those prescription medications on the side table of my recliner.
We have repeated this procedure with the bedside bottles of various reliefs before the lights go out.
Yes, one, no two times Wife Patti screwed up and put the wrong, or two capsules of the same meds into the pills reminder with devastating effects.
"I don’t feel so well, I’m kinda dizzy, unsteady...I...."
It is at this point Wife Patti surmises she screwed up the pill counts."Oops, my bad," she shyly admits.
This is one of the main reasons I no longer trust her with a DNR (Do Not Resuscitate) permission slip. I discovered years ago that I have double the life insurance than she does. (Not recommended).
Back to the names of these prescriptions. I see some guy in an office in a tall skyscraper. His title is ‘Prescription Naming Executive’ and he is all but worshipped by upper management.
"Hey, ‘Phil the Pill’, we got a cure for what ails ya. It almost relaxes the ailments, without actually curing them. It is perfect with very few side effects. Oh, sure it could cause irritated bowels, loss of taste, hair and skin cells, but it is what the market is clammering for. It is a billion dollar sell. We also have a problem that many takers may be allergic to it, or some of its ingredients. Yeah, that is definitely a side effect, but we can sell billions before someone figures out that they are allergic. What should we name it?", said the 12th floor executive?
Phil ponders. "Concurablest", he states without hesitation.
"The man is a genius," whispered the exec.
Back at home..."Hey Wife Patti, am I taking that Concurablest yet?
No, she replied with a smile. Unfortunately it cost more that we can afford to pay unless you are dirt poor. Then the company will subsidize the prescription."
Alas, I am at the throws of total annihilation. I watch the TV commercials with envy and a bit of consternation. Concurablest, the one and only medication that can cure all ills is beyond my reach.
It sucks to be old.