Pharmaceuticals

I felt it coming on yesterday afternoon, knew it as soon as I sneezed. It wasn't one of those too-much-dust-in-the-house sneezes, nor a spring-allergy achoo. It was the kind of sneeze that comes from someplace deep within and leaves a funky aftertaste in the back of your throat. I even looked at my daughter and said, "I think I'm getting sick." Sure enough, by ten o'clock, my nose was running and taunting me like the Gingerbread Man: "You can't catch me!" And it was true. Sometimes before I could lift the tissue, the drip would land on my shirt.

I tossed and turned all night as the leaking continued and the pressure built. By the time the alarm went off at 6:30, my head was in so much pain I wanted to stick needles in my ears and pull out all my teeth. I got out of bed and went to the kitchen, pressing my fingers to my cheekbones and moaning, "Ow, ow, ow, ow..." As I reached for the white bottle in the basket on the counter, I heard a majestic voice say, "And on the seven-hundred-thousandth day, God created Advil." And I washed down 600 milligrams with a cup of hot tea. Within forty-five minutes, the urge for self-mutilation had passed. Yes, I'm still sick, and it probably won't be a very productive day for me, but at least I won't end up toothless.