I’m hopelessly addicted to drugs. You name a pill, syrup, lotion, cream, antacid, vitamin, tranquilizer, hormone, douche or suppository and I’ve not only taken it, but I’ve abused it. Largely because I have an addiction. Anything worth taking is worth taking a lot.
In all fairness, I can’t take the blame for my wayward behavior. It began the day I popped out of my mother’s womb when the pediatric nurses started basting me with petroleum jelly and baby lotion like I was a Thanksgiving turkey. In those days, babies were always covered with something. Pediatricians were convinced by the drug companies that it was dangerous for a baby’s skin to come in direct contact with the air or sunlight without a protective layer of gook. Then came the decongestant drops and saline nasal sprays they shot up my nose – which would come in handy years later when I got addicted to cocaine.
Expectant mothers today are lucky if they spend 24 hours in the maternity ward. Doctors almost recommend that new dads just leave the engine running. Thanks to new insurance guidelines, babies are delivered faster than you can lance a boil. When I was born, new mothers were allowed to wile away a week or more in the hospital after giving birth before they were sent home. That gave newborns plenty of opportunities to get strung out on all sorts of drugs and be exposed to leprosy from the guy down the hall. There wasn’t much to do in the pediatric ward as a child, so I started smoking cigarettes and hanging out with a rough bunch of newborns in “The Cribs.” We were constantly in trouble with the staff for soiling our diapers, spitting up our breakfast and peeing on people whenever they picked us up. By the time I left the hospital, I was hopelessly strung out on the Pedialyte they gave me to counter the dehydration from a week of projectile vomiting and diarrhea.
At home, I wrestled with the normal challenges of crib life – rashes, colic, gas from my bottle – you name it. Then, came the teething. My mother didn’t have a clue how to get me to stop crying until my grandfather wandered into my nursery and rubbed my gums with some of his Jack Daniels. I loved it and stopped crying immediately. So much so that I voluntarily extended my teething process for several more years. By that time I had developed a serious drinking problem and ended up doing the first pediatric stint at the Betty Ford Clinic.
After getting out of rehab, I progressed through the usual childhood diseases – measles, mumps, chickenpox, rubella, hepatitis A and B, pertussis, polio, rotavirus, blaschko’s lines, meningitis, scurvy, leprosy, cholera, elephantitis, rickets, bubonic plague, blue skin disorder, pica, tourette’s syndrome, rubella, tetanus, tuberculosis, scarlet fever, Alice in Wonderland syndrome, mononucleosis and jumping Frenchman’s disorder – all the usual stuff. It seemed each disorder required its own prescription lotion, salve, powder or goo that I’d be hooked on for life.
As an adult, I’ve continued the tradition of making sure that I take something every day. And, I’m not alone. According to the Department of Health and Human Services, over 70% of Americans take at least one prescription drug daily. Sure, I may get up feeling fine, but I can’t afford risking the possibility that I might feel bad later in the day. I could get a headache at work or dysentery from drinking out of the backyard garden hose. My blood pressure and glucose could shoot up – or they could plummet through the floor. Whatever happens, I don’t want to spend one minute more in pain than I have to. If there’s a drug out there to mask my discomfort, I want it – in vast quantities.
In the old days, none of this would have been a problem. I’d have died well before I started contracting all the diseases associated with getting old. My lean frame would have probably succumbed to pushing my covered wagon up a snow-congested pass. If that didn’t kill me, the attacking Indians probably would. Or, I could have been fatally wounded by a grizzly bear before reaching 35. Today, I’m more likely to die from a heart attack in my cubicle while eating a chocolate éclair.
Thanks to preventative medicine, I’m now hooked on more drugs than at any other time in my life. I probably will be for another 30 years. Each morning begins with vitamins –A, B, C, D and E. I also take acytyl carnitine, chromium, cod liver oil, DHEA, fish oil, folic acid, lavender, phenylalanine, rhodiola, St. John’s wort and tyrosine. I eat all my meals out of the vending machine down the hall, so I take Crestor and niacin tablets to manage my cholesterol and some fast-acting fiber tablets to keep things moving. I quit smoking 30 years ago, so I chew Nicorette gum just in case I get the urge to start again. My knees hurt from being so overweight, so I coat them with a generous layer of Bengay and cover my shoulders, elbows and lower back with Salonspa patches. Being so dependent on all these depresses me, so I take double doses of Elavil, Welbutrin, Cymbalta, Lexapro, Prozac, Tofranil, Paxil, Zoloft, Desyrel and Effexor just to get me through the day.
If you include everything I put in my mouth, on my skin, up my nose and in my eyes, the cost of better living through chemistry runs me thousands of dollars each year. Oh sure, I could probably stop taking most of them, but why should I? I can’t afford to suffer for one minute more than I have to. As long as there’s a drug out there that will make me feel different, I’ll take it. It doesn’t even have to be better – just different. As Dr. Timothy Leary once said, “Uh, whatever.”
