Pharmacology

It’s one of those milestones of maturity, and we’ve reached it.

There are pill bottles in the kitchen. Not those occasional ones that come with allergies or seasonal afflictions, but those “maintenance meds” as the call them, something that seems to imply you’ve reached 100,000 miles and now can expect to go to the service station more frequently.

I blame the annual physical. You can feel fine, nothing’s out of the norm, but when they read your blood all the sudden you have conditions of which you were totally unaware, and which all need some type of pill for treatment.

And you’re supposed to feel better about it when they explain the dietary changes that you’ll be making if you hope to live to see 60 and you realize that the bacon cheeseburger you had a few weeks back is the last one to be enjoyed in your lifetime.

And they’ll know if you cheat, because the tests are now more sensitive than drug screens used by the FBI.

So you’re now eating lots of salads. With no dressing. Or croutons. Or bacon bits or ham or diced eggs or any of the things that distinguish a “salad” from a plate of lawn clippings.

It’s a gift, of course, to know about one’s cholesterol or triglycerides or blood pressure prior to having “the big one” and finding out the hard way. It’s just that it feels like we’ve moved to a more senior level with pill bottles on the counter.

Of course, most of those bottles aren’t “real” medicine, but instead are the voodoo concoctions that we’ve learned about either from the internet or The People’s Pharmacy (www.Peoplespharmacy.com) or someplace like that.

The preference is for something holistic over something with side effects, although these things come with their own sets of issues.

The cinnamon pills, which are to help with cholesterol and blood sugar regulation, are big enough to choke a mule, not to mention the fact that you’ll burp cinnamon for the rest of the morning.

It is better than burping the fish oil, though, especially after you’ve brushed your teeth.

Then there’s the pill – I’m really not sure which – that makes you think you’ve been eating asparagus every time you go to the bathroom.

The other problem, of course, is that after a while I forget why exactly I’m taking something. I only remember that I take two of the big white ones, a little brown one, a black one and an assortment of others, now including a bright blue gel cap that adds a festive air to the whole shot-glass full of pharmaceuticals.

It’s no wonder that people with substantial health conditions sometimes just give up on trying to sort it all out and take whatever is handed to them.

The bright side is there’s lots of room in the pantry for the pills, since all of the chips, cookies, crackers and other “good stuff” has been purged.