I have a lot of problems, and new ones are popping up all the
time. Every time I watch television or read a magazine, I discover
a new problem and a new pill to help me overcome it.
I have a lot of problems, and new ones are popping up all the time. Every time I watch television or read a magazine, I discover a new problem and a new pill to help me overcome it.
Like, for instance, restless leg syndrome. They call it RLS. I might have that. My legs, sometimes they do stuff. They get spontaneous. Especially during a long haul in the easy chair.
I learned about RLS on a television commercial. There was a beautiful woman sitting in a comfy chair, and she said if one or more of your legs twitch or feel tingly or odd, you might have RLS. And if you think you have RLS, go to your doctor for these new pills.
I never know these things are wrong with me until pill advertisers point it out.
A short while after the restless leg syndrome commercial, a nice woman came on the television to talk to me about “stool softener.” At first I thought she might be talking about furniture. But that wasn’t the case. She wanted to let me know I could get help with bodily function problems. So that’s another pill I probably need.
By the end of the show I was watching there were, like, dozens of new things I had to worry about. My head, legs, mid-sections, private parts – I need pills for all of them.
And mental problems. Let’s not forget those. A cute little cartoon character was depressed, so it took pills and bounced along and felt better.
And sometimes there are ads telling you what the pills are but not the problem. I imagine making a trip to the doctor asking for a prescription.
Doctor: “What seems to be the problems?”
Me: “I don’t know, but I think I might have it. Just give me the pills.”
Doctor: “These are for female menopause. Go buy a red sports car instead.”
Compounding the cultural medical uncertainty for us regular people is the fact that the people in the ads are so beautiful. I want what they have, even if it kills me. They can’t sleep, but they’re beautiful. When I can’t sleep there is no beauty, only creases and bags. But they are gorgeous and depressed. Their private parts are troubled, yet they look like Macy’s models. They are aging gracefully, yet their legs are restless.
I am grateful not to have a restless leg, but if I can have that kind of beauty, maybe a couple of twitching limbs isn’t so bad.
But the most disturbing aspect of the problems and pills are the side effects, which often are worse than the problems. A pill for acid reflex can cause “headaches, diarrhea, abdominal pain,” according to the commercial. Other pill side effects are death, dismemberment, identity theft, restless thumbs, desire to wear yellow, etc.
They always say “see your doctor” if the pill makes your head cave in. That’s fine, but what if you’re a guy and you take a private-parts pill and are in an aroused state for six hours? How is that conversation gonna go? I don’t want to think about it.
When I started watching the program, I felt pretty good. By the end, I figured everything was killing me.
And when my daughter asks how my show was, I tell her: “Great show, rough side effects. I better take some pills.” Soon I’ll need a prescription just to watch television.
