They’re going to have to pry the bottle out of my hand

I’ve extolled the virtues of my best friend before. Yes, sadly, my best friend is a bottle of pills. No, not THOSE kind of pills. These are legal. You know, over-the-counter meds that can’t be turned into some wicked meth lab.

But yesterday some doctor in a white coat told me that I needed to STOP TAKING my Excedrin. Seriously. He stood hovering over the stretcher as I groggily watched his lips moving, still under the sedation from my second endoscopy in less than ten years. Those lips were telling my husband, who would remember what the doctor was saying, unlike me who’d been given some sort of amnesia medication, that there were erosions in my stomach most likely caused by the cute little white pills that banish my headache pain.


I honestly can’t imagine a life without my green bottle. I have one in the medicine cabinet, in my travel bag, in my desk at work. You get the picture. I seriously think I’m going to have a good cry about this. Maybe I’ll just go and do that now. Thanks for listening.