Pushing Pills

I take fourteen pills a day, only four of which are prescription.  Mary, my wife takes three, two of which are the same kind.  She would actually take five except she doesn’t take pills very easily.  Consequently one of her medications uses a nasal delivery system.

Most articles on pills deal with the need to take them, or the cost of them, or where R&D fits in.   But today I am going to talk about HOW to take them and why, at an advanced age and with nine years of post-graduate education, I learned something from my son.

I was trying to think of when and why I started taking pills.  My mother was a good pill-taker.  She used to chew Aspirin and more than once helped a pill to her stomach by chasing it there with Scotch Whiskey.  She also was interested in the health of her children: didn’t allow coffee until high school, fed me cod-liver oil until I was strong enough to take the spoon away, and taught me to put wheat-germ on my cereal.  Of course we sopped up the grease in the broiler with lightly toasted bread when she grilled well-marbled Iowa beef steaks and wolfed the toast down, chasing it to our young arteries with express train speed.

I started taking more pills early in our marriage when I contracted cold sores, probably from Mary, although she would probably deny that.  I attended a lecture at the Chicago Mid-winter dental meeting on treating Herpes Simplex, and even preventing reoccurrence by taking Bioflavonoid and Lysine.  This was designed mostly just to prevent reoccurrence.  If I had an active lesion, there was other treatment.  In that case I would apply some medication (I think it may have been in the Iodine family) and subject the lip to fluorescent light.  Thinking back on that it sounds like a recipe for cancer, but I didn’t follow that regime very long.  I do, however continue to take the Lysine and Bioflavonoid and believe it works.

Around the same time I started taking another pill that I still take.  Mary had an Uncle Mike, also a dentist.  At one time in my life I found myself going through a reception line and congratulating him on one thing or another.  At the time he must have been in his mid-seventies and looked about fifty.  I commented on this and with a spark in his eye he said, “The secret is Vitamin E.”  I probably have read thirty articles that disclaim that theory, but I still take my daily dose of “E”.  Perhaps coincidently, I still see mostly brown through my thinning grey hair.

Somewhere around my fiftieth birthday I started taking a multivitamin, probably enticed by the “Centrum Silver” label, and sometime five years or so later I faced the inevitable medication control of my cholesterol and blood pressure: two pills each.  And then I had to add enough Calcium and iron to counter the effects of age and the medications I was taking.

Not that long ago I found myself at a meeting in Chicago with a group of peers and discussion revealed that I was the only one not taking something for my aching joints.  Enter Glucosamine.  Now I take something else that is popular at Costco.  Two very big pills a day.  Even a good pill taker has limits.

Watching me gag one evening while taking my ration of nine evening pills, Mary must have felt sympathy, because she shared with me what our son, Tim imparts to his grade school students.  The lesson is to open the throat rather than tossing the pills down.  So, now I tip my chin down after I have a mouthful of water and gently place the pill on my tongue.  It’s almost relaxing to swallow a pill.

So, that’s the secret.  Fill your mouth with a swallow of water, slip a pill in, tuck your chin to your chest and swallow.  I find it helpful to start with the largest pill first.  If I have two of the same size the uncoated one goes first.  I bought a pill-cutter for Mary but it never worked out too well and even coated pills become uncoated when divided.

Most people my age get techy tips from kids or grandkids.  I’m fortunate to get more practical advice, something I can use every day.  Thanks, Tim!

I was going to tell my DMV story today, but it is still playing out, so probably will be a week from now.  Stay with me, the story is worth the wait.

Two-hundred Words for Snow

“What do you want for Mother’s Day?” I asked Mary the other day.  “Anything except pasta”, she said.  Thinking that rather strange, I pursued the matter, and in fact inventoried the pasta in the cupboard to see what she was talking about.

I found dried Capellini, mini Ravioli, Orzo 47 (presumably there are at least 46 other varieties of Orso), Spaghetti, Linguini (regular and whole wheat), Fusilli, Tortellini, Fettuccini, Farfalle (in four colors), Tagliolini (in three colors), a Fantasy package, which had described contents of six colors, and an observed fifteen shapes, and some non-Italian varieties including  Pansit (Filipino), Bahn Pho (Thai rice sticks), and a non-descript egg white pasta with no cholesterol, presumably better for us than what came from Italy.  I would have found Macaroni, but she used it Wednesday night for Mac and Cheese.

I confess most of that came from my Trader Joe purchases, and probably over a long period of time.  One has a short memory of what one stores deep in the pantry, and I do have an inclination to impulse-shop at TJs.  But my exploration started me thinking…

Many years ago, while skiing in New England, a friend shared what may or may not be a truism:  the Aleut language has two-hundred words for snow.  The concept is that if variations are meaningful, new descriptions are necessary to differentiate the variations.  Maybe you can’t drink some snow (I know I wouldn’t).  Maybe some snow makes Igloos and other snow doesn’t.  Maybe some snow stores blubber better than other snow.  You get the idea.  For some reason English doesn’t feel that necessity.  True, in Wisconsin snow is pretty much snow.  It falls, gets shoveled, melts and life goes on.  But even in California where this year a drought was pronounced “over” because the moisture content of the mountain snowpack was 131% of normal instead of normal, the Governor didn’t feel the need to rename that snow.

It just doesn’t seem important.

The Italians need different names for their pasta because they put stuff on it that needs to be featured in the best possible manner.  Some sauces need tubes to deliver the correct amount of sauce.  Some need small shapes or large, flat surfaces, to enhance flavors.  Some need fillings to augment the classic sauce and provide variety.  While I don’t claim to have the best recipe for even the pastas in my pantry, I understand the concept.

Maybe our experience increases our vocabulary.  I know that is true with my six-year old grandson.  I like to think of him as a protected eater.  His parents have always encouraged him to eat familiar foods, under the premise that he would then be more likely to approach a meal as a  communal event.  The fact that it hasn’t worked, doesn’t seem to deter my son from bringing familiar food for Ethan when they join us for the occasional supper.

Ethan’s protein vocabulary is limited when it comes to meat.  He recognizes, eats, and seems to enjoy chicken, hamburger, an occasional hot dog (but does not recognize the word sausage), and lately he has learned to enjoy and even ask for ribs.  Everything else is labeled and spoken of as “steak”.  That includes every kind of traditional beef cuts, commonly called steak, as well as all roasts, tenderloins, and pork of any fashion.

Since he now lives across the street and common meals are becoming more frequent, I don’t mind this affectation, as he seems to be more adventurous in his choices, but I feel the vocabulary limitation may slow down his maturation process in food selection, once he moves out of fast food dining.  Oh, and last week his dad didn’t bring anything and he ate the whole meal; “Could I have some more potatoes?”

In response to Mary’s answer about a Mother’s Day gift, I may change the menu tomorrow from Beer-can Chicken with potatoes, gravy and Fava Beans to some sort of pasta.  Or I may just plan menus for my once-a-week cooking that use some of our supply.

On another note, if you haven’t yet read Billy Collin’s poem, “The Lanyard”  visit http://www.billy-collins.com/2005/06/the_lanyard.html in preparation for Mother’s Day, and get your mind set tuned for the proper appreciation.  You won’t be disappointed.