The Medicine Cabinet

  I got old overnight.

My mistake was going to several doctors. So they got to tell me things I didn't want to know about myself. No, not about my ego, but  thank you for asking.

As of this morning I have quadrupled the row of pills which now line up before me. My enlarged prostate has now been joined by high blood pressure, glaucoma, cataract and hiatus hernia, as a team dedicated to reminding me that thinking young is not exactly the same thing as actually being young.

The good news is I now learned an endoscopy takes about as long as a Donald Trump speech on the incredible virtues of Nancy Pelosi. 

The less good news is just about everything else.

I think I was somewhat silently dismissive of those friends of mine who lined up mountains of pills before them as they addressed a multitude of sins committed by their bodies. That somehow, good fortune was my eternal right, that aging was something someone else did.

Don't get me wrong. This is not a lament, but merely an acknowledgement that my days from here on will be marked in " take this in the AM, take this before bed." And that I owe a debt of gratitude to my uncle A. Alan who taught me the art of swallowing pills.  You know, swirl the water around in your mouth, then tilt your head back violently so the pill descends before it has time to realize what has transpired.

Each one designed to make my body believe the lies I have been telling it all these years.

I think the lesson I take from this is definitely never go to doctors. Or maybe it is to definitely go to doctors.

All I know for sure is that the medicine cabinet is suddenly very crowded.