I don’t know when this was written, but after he quit seeing doctors for a long while Jack went to Mexico for his prescription meds . –Jeanne
Mexico trip complete. Home to the felines, with a gift bag to myself. Another year of life.
Another time around the sun contained in these dozen plastic bottles rattling with medications. Normal blood pressure. Pain and internal bleeding from acid reflux avoided 12 more months at the cost a few uninsured cents on the insured pharmaceutical US dollar.
Traitorous, cowardly purchases in these times when our nation needs our blind, unquestioning support.
Border guard: “What country were you born in?”
Old man: “This one.”
Border guard: “What are these?”
Old man: “Drugs”
Border guard: “Who are they for?”
Old Man: “Me.”
Border guard: “Do you have a prescription?”
Old man: “No.”
Border guard: (Shrugs). “Go on through.”
Turnstile clockticks planet-wise around a steel post.
Foreign enemy homeland fades (No. No. That was a different century. They’re friends now. If not friends, at least neutral. They’ve mostly forgiven us for taking this spot of land from them by force of arms), pulsebeat slows.
A dozen Hail Marys and a flag-waving parade in penance, I promise. I pop a cap and sink a Prinivil dry into mouth cavern, feel the rush of sinking blood pressure.