Sunday, November 25, 2012

Don't Let Him Carry The Nuclear Football

From the man who lost a donut under a chair at St. Louis Children's Hospital, and the man who lost a banana peel in a La-Z-Boy recliner, and the man who lost his partial plate in a mouse-hole until his Christmas Eve prime rib workplace dinner...I bring you:

The Man Who Lost His Medication On The Bathroom Floor

Seriously. What is he doing in there? Three times in the last month, I have found one of Farmer H's pills on the bathroom floor. Don't think I'm some Sherlock-Holmes-hatted, magnifying-glass-wielding gumshoe. I discover them by stepping on them with my bare feet. Usually the heel area. It is not pleasant.

The pill in question is some kind of gel-cap. It's a bit bigger than a Tic-Tac. Clear to light amber in color. See-through. Gooshy. I am shocked that my feet do not pop this pill. Not that they are drug-seeking feet. I mean pop as in explode. Not that my feet are so bony that a sharp point could do damage. They are wide, flat, spread-out feet. Like you see on people who live in the wild and don't wear shoes. I suppose the fact that my soles envelop the pill speaks for the thick cushion of fat in the heel bursa area. That I even feel it under my foot is, perhaps, the miracle. Thank the Gummi Mary, nobody is slipping a pea under my mattress.

Does Farmer H make a game of drug-taking? Toss each pill in the air like a puffy popcorn kernel, to catch it in his mouth, high-five worthy, to impress himself in the mirror? Does he have a hole in his chin? Take so many pills that losing one goes unnoticed? Shove them in his mouth by the handful? Does he even know when he drops one? Does he replace it in his pill-swallowing line-up, or go without? I questioned him after the first two drug discoveries. He said it was just a vitamin of some kind. A vitamin prescribed by his doctor, and paid for each month at the pharmacy. I believe Farmer H is taking this acceptable-loss attitude a bit too far. When I tell him of my discovery, and place it on the counter by the sink, he tells me to throw it away.

I fear that I might have to start wrapping Farmer H in a towel so he can't flail at me with his arms, clamp his nose shut, stuff the pill in his mouth, put my hand over his lips, and stroke his throat until he swallows. I'll let you know how that goes. Just as soon as I grow a third hand.


Sioux said...

Oh yes, men are a bit lah-tee-dah when it comes to their medical needs.

A small skin tag has appeared? Nip it off with nail clippers...Boy, did that sucker bleed!

Some sort of pus-filled bump on your gum/arm/chin? Lance it with a dental pick your dentist gave you.

However, they are able to elevate the common cold into a medical catastrophe. Go figure...

Hillbilly Mom said...

Sometimes, they take different turn.

It seems you are forgetting the brain tumor that turned out to be a headache, and the esophageal obstruction that was only a sore throat. I don't know how guys walk around with those things.

Kathy's Klothesline said...

I am always so careful with my pills, lest one of my dogs take something that could hurt them. Hw who is not. I watch him take his pills and then do a floor check. We keep ours in the kitchen.

Hillbilly Mom said...

I keep mine in the kitchen, but Farmer H is a bathroom pill-popper. We have no inside dogs to clean up. Only my bare feet.