It's Just the Drugs Talking!

Just two days prior to my undertaking this adventure, Julie went down to our local pharmacy and brought me home a three month supply of drugs. It seemed appropriate at the time and perhaps just a touch ironic too. You see, this is the second time I’ve driven west. The first time was almost thirty years ago, and then, like now, I brought approximately three months worth of drugs with me, (for a one month trip!) My! How time flies once you’ve had your fun!


And drugs were fun back then! What I take now-a-days borders on routine and chore, the generic, no thrills variety. The main difference, I believe, is that what I took back then were mainly ‘uppers’. But the stuff my doctor looks so serious about as he pens another script, all go in the opposite direction; ....straight down! There are pills to keep my blood pressure down! There are other pills to keep my clorestrol down. Sugar pills keep my glucose levels down. Anti-depressants keep me, well ....I’m not sure, but, I can see my analogy is breaking down.


The end result is that I’m now an “all talk, no action” kinda guy! And that gets me down! Those male readers of my age or older will get it. Subsequently, many of the female readers of a similar age group won’t! It’s no joking matter, and I was never one to tell jokes anyway. However I do occasionally enjoy a true to life anecdote, and perhaps you’ll allow me to share one now, if only to help shrug off this gloomy topic.


Grampa stepped out onto the porch and stretched approvingly in the early morning June sunshine. As he gazed about the promising day before him, he spotted his young grandson, Jimmy, kneeling in the grass. “What are you doing there son?” he chuckled, “You’ll be getting your jeans wet in the dew.” “Come here quick Grampa,” Jimmy called, “and see this poor worm that the rain last night forced from his home!” As Grampa ambled towards him Jimmy explained, “If I leave him lying on the grass the robins will eat him, so I’m trying to put him back in his hole!


Grampa looked at Jimmy with fond old eyes and chuckled, “Well son, that’s a grand idea, but you can’t put the worm back in his hole unless he wants to go there.” “Oh yes I can Grampa, just you wait and see!” With that Jimmy dashed across the lawn and darted into the house. In just a twinkle, he was back; carrying an aerosol can of his Grandma’s hairspray. Tenderly he stretched the poor worm out to its full length. Quickly he applied an even coat hairspray along the worms entire length. For a moment Jimmy let the sun dry the spray, then gently rolled the worm over and applied a coat to his other side. “Now, watch this Grampa,” Jimmy exclaimed, and he picked the worm up as if it was a pencil. Placing one end of the worm in its hole he began gently tapping its other end with his forefinger. In less time than it takes to tell, the worm was completely out of site! Grampa was laughing so hard that he had to hold his belly with both hands. As he wiped the tears from his eyes he pulled out his tattered billfold and withdrew a $5.00 bill. Still chuckling he said, “That was a pretty good trick son, this $5.00 is for you. Jimmy beamed at the old man.


The next morning was another lovely summer day. Grampa again stepped out on the porch and stretched. Jimmy came running across the lawn to greet him, and together they made plans for the day. As they turned towards the door to go in for breakfast, Grampa hesitated, and reached into his pocket and pulled out another $5.00 bill. “This is for you son”, he said as he tousled the boys hair. “But Grampa”, Jimmy exclaimed looking up in wonder, “You don’t have to give me that; you already gave me one yesterday.” Grampa just laughed and ruffled his hair again, “It’s not from me son”, he explained, “It’s from your Grandma, she enjoyed your trick too!”


The worst thing about all the pharmaceuticals is the realization that, even if I take them regularly, as prescribed, I won’t live forever, but ....it may seem that way. Just a word about the anti-depressants, they don’t bring me down, they keep me from arriving there by my own devices. Some English writer once said, “A rose, by any other name would smell as sweet”, and that may be true as flowers go. But I’m not so sure it applies to the terms for our mental aberrations. I liked the old term, ‘manic/depressant’. It sounded serious; even a little edgy with that almost ‘maniac’ thrown in. But, ‘Bi-polar?! What’s flattering or edgy about that? It sounds, for all the world, like nothing less than a fellow with a penchant for white, gay bears.

James, (The B. aint for Bear) Mackay