Y’see, this is what happens when your bite becomes worse than your bark

Look at all this—words fail me.  Up until the age of 53 or so, the medicines in my house consisted of a dusty roll of Tums in my cookie jar, a hardened bottle of Pepto-Bismol in my kitchen cupboard and a box of Band-Aids in my bathroom cabinet. 

That doesn’t mean I didn’t get sick, I just had no use for drugs and prided myself for it.  If I was in the office with my head on my desk & groaning, the women in my group would gather round.  “What is it?  Cold?  Flu?  Constipation?  Rita, give Doug some of your migraine medication.  You want Cotylenol or Doan’s back pills?  Gwen says she has Sine-Aid capsules…”

It was appreciated.  Women are caregivers.

Still, I always refused and gave them my little Native American speech (while a couple of ‘em looked at me like I was crazy and my friend Danielle rolled her eyes).  “You white people and your capsules and pills!  When the early tribes of Indians who galloped across our country felt poorly, they toughed it out or chewed on willow tree bark, nature’s aspirin!”

Then I’d email my sister to let her know she wouldn’t be hearing from me for the rest of the day as I was heading home sick and she’d reply “You should stop at the drugstore and get some Nytol, Jim swears by it, he says it really helps him to—“

Shawn, do you not know me by now?   I’d sooner drink snake-oil!

Anyway, that was then & this is now.  And this is what 4 bouts of kidney stones, aching joints, an intestinal blockage and an ongoing case of TMJ in the last 2-3 years gets you—lots & lots of medicines. 

(BTW, I have high hopes for that big blue bottle of glucosamine sulfate; it’s supposed to relieve arthritic –and- TMJ pain without the adverse effects of ibuprofen.  Just take it twice daily for 6-8 weeks.  Wait, what…)

Those 3 prescription bottles atop my refrigerator are 500 mg Naproxen (scary stuff), muscle relaxants for my rigormortic (is that even a word?  It should be) jaw and Tamsulosin for a… cough… enlarged prostate.

“Doug that junk is Amateur Hour!  Don’t you have any of the good stuff?”

Welcome to my bathroom—and Opioid Den, home of 2 year’s worth of Oxycodone, Hydrocodone & other crazy-ass pills.  I’m afraid to use them, but every time my doctor wrote a prescription, I got it filled just in case

When I told my pharmacist about my narcotics collection, I thought she’d report me to the cops or something but all she said was “Don’t tell your neighbors, people will break into your house for that stuff.”   Um, thanks!

I can’t help but think of my grandmother when I get up in the morning, head to the kitchen & take my first dose of the day.  I remember one time when I was 12 or 13 (and my Grandma Morris around 60), I was sitting in her kitchen while she was cooking.  I asked why she had such a long row of prescription bottles lined up on the back of her sink, and she said “So I don’t forget to take all my medicines, McDougall!  Don’t you want your old grandma to stick around for awhile?”

Yes I sure did, and worried to myself they were doing more harm than good.  She lived another 25 years (thank goodness)… I think I’m ready for my second dose now.

Well, I really should toss those opioids out—my goal is to get the top of my fridge cleared off too, except for that Metamucil and the Motrin...

And maybe a hunk of willow bark.