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7/27/2004
Requisite Monthly Rant III: The Point At Which I Worship the Wonders of Vicodin
 Sometimes, life just pokes you. Life's little pokes run the gamut of expression. They manifest in major disappointments, setbacks, strained relationships, and both physical as well as emotional pain. We all know that pain can sometimes be good. It reminds us we're still alive and human. Pain also stretches us, gives us fortitude and helps us to grow in this grand thing we call life. There are hundreds of flowery words and deep insights we can give pain, but let's just be honest, sometimes it stinks. The stinkage of pain is far more pungent than the aroma of its virtues.
I spent the first two days of this week wallowing in the depths of my own extreme and total pitifulness, writhing in insane pain. This "good" pain I speak of was not what I was experiencing this time around. No, this was bad pain. This was very bad pain. This was the make-you-want-to-slap somebody type pain. This was that pain that keeps you up at all hours of the night, thanking hallucinations of Nick-at-Nite executives for producing another Cosby Show marathon, sleeping on the couch because you never made it to the bed, and counting the dots on the popcorn ceiling because it takes too much energy and focus to close your eyes to sleep and that "energy" would be better spent wide-awake fighting off the evil pain monsters that haunt in the night. This is also the pain that would graciously allow very enticing opportunities like, "Hey let's go shoe-shopping, all-expenses paid, my treat!" to ease on down the road. This was the pain that kept a wordy writer such as myself silent for two days.
It seems in spite of my obsessive compulsive flossing, brushing, rinsing, impeccable attention to my teeth, "nice smile" (I've been told), regular check-ups, and two horrendous years of braces, I somehow ended up in an upset tooth predicament, which consequently, landed me in the dentist chair on Tuesday morning, getting a gosh darn root canal. That's right, a root canal. Nevermind the fact that my bionic-teeth possessing younger brother (who by the way, admittedly went YEARS without ever brushing his teeth) has never had even a minuscule cavity in his entire annoying little life. He got the good genes. Instead, all my hard dental upkeep ever reaped was the reward of a sugar-free lollipop given to me by the dental assistant upon my departure from having the crap kicked out of my gums.
The precursor to this tragic Tuesday morning event included the right side of my face swelling up to the size of a small Russian village (a well-fed one at that) and me collapsed on my parents' understuffed family room couch, pleading with the God of mercy to "just take me now". I'm hardly a dramatic person (she says under the influence of vicodin), but seriously, this one ranks right up there next to the time I broke my arm in two places and the doctor "set" it back into place with no medication, using only the death grip of his hands and the force of his upper knee.
Now I'll be the first to wail on the evils of the pharmaceutical industry, but this week I have a newfound respect, honor, and admiration for the makers of vicodin. Vicodin is now my special pain-relieving friend. Even now, when I think of it, I want to cry tears of thanksgiving and joy. Oddly, this comes from the mouth of the same person who only two months ago said one of the privileges of being a child of God is "healing any time we want". Instead, I committed the ultimate sin and worshipped the glory vicodin. I know I need to get on my knees and repent for my horrible idolotry, and trust me, I will. I guess at this point the least I can do is thank God for creating the men and women who thought up the brilliance of vicodin.
Now let's get real. With the baby-boomers heading into the last quarter of life, "futurists" and people with common sense are predicting that the next trillion-dollar business is the health and wellness industry. Pharmaceutical companies know this and they'll do their darndest to keep people buying into the hype until the grave. Did you ever notice how on those commercials for the latest "cholesterol-lowering, nasal-drip clearing, allergy-ridding, sex drive-raising" medication, the end script goes something like this,"Side-effects may include: gas with oily discharge, damage to the liver, diziness, blindness, nausea, numbness, head lice, heart murmors, internal bleeding, brain swelling, small pox, and ultimately, death. Here's to hoping that last symptom doesn't happen on their watch. Interestingly enough, most people these days take medication to treat symptoms and side-effects but not the root cause of their illness. The fact that someone has to sacrifice a healthy liver for the sake of low-cholesterol is just heinous.
What would happen if all of a sudden people started getting well? What if our need for these modern-day, manufactured, synthetic chemicals we call "drugs" was obliterated? Surely a host of individuals would be out of work and a handful would be out of a fortune. The ploy of many a pharmaceutical company to keep people sick and dependent on drugs for relief is elusively wicked. I suppose the installation of the Food and Drug Administration is an attempt to bring checks and balances to our commerce of legal medication. Some days I wonder just which members of the FDA are in bed with top drug-producing companies. Then again, I weigh all my suspicions against the backdrop of my suppressed conspiracy theorist tendencies so of course everything is fair game for "overreactor" labeling.
Still, healing is a way better remedy for life's pokings.
[The author apologies for the trivial, self-centered nature of this rant. Generally requisite monthly rants deal with more pertinent issues however considering the influence she was under, it is certain you understand the deal. Past Monthly Rants: June, April ]
posted by ambra at 7/27/2004 10:20:20 PM | link to this entry |
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