Had a major birthday a couple months back. Here is what I got: a cardiologist, an orthopedist and a million pills.
I will not go into gory details; after all, this is not a medical column. I have had knee issues for years, and as I departed from the office of my primary care physician (PCP), clutching a referral for a knee doctor, I stepped off the curb funny and mangled my “good” knee.
All these specialists have been furiously writing scripts for me. They go to the catalog and look up the newest, most overpriced medications and phone them into the CVS. I will need to see an ophthalmologist because my eyes keep popping out of my head when I see how much these lifesaving pills are costing me.
I am grateful that we have an extra-large medicine cabinet. Unfortunately, I haven’t got that much territory carved out in there, so I keep my pills in a desk drawer in the office. Once a week, I put the thousands of pills into one of those old geezer pill holders: seven AMs and seven PMs. It takes a bit of strength to close the little plastic lids. A few more scripts and I will have outgrown it.
I sometimes wonder what would happen if I just flushed them all down the commode. No law says I have to go see these doctors. They mostly shake their heads with superiority and suggest I do everything differently. I wouldn’t be bound by the constraints of my morning and evening doses.
As I type this at work (during a scheduled break, of course), I realize that I forgot to transfer my PM doses into a smaller travel case to take when my reminder went off 45 minutes ago. I will take the pills when I stumble into the house much later tonight.
I realize, of course, that most of my ailments are of my own making, and had I been going to the gym regularly and eschewing the bacon and not smoked for decades, or washing it all down with martinis, I would probably not be in such dire straits at my advanced age.
According to Google, the life expectancy of an American male in 1900 was 46.3 years old, so I am grateful to be on this side of the grass all these many years later.
I guess with all these pills, I’m gonna live forever.
But I rattle like a maraca!