Literally and Figuratively, Take the Medicine.

My relationship with medicines has always been problematic.

Growing up, I would often miss classes because of some sort of illness. Typhoid fever, Chickenpox, Dengue—you name it—I caught them all. Flu season? I was never spared from the outbreak at school. I was a very sickly child.

I was also a very fragile-looking kid. Skin and bones.

I remember my mom would tell me that when we were younger, she would spank my older brother with her red plastic comb (which she still uses to this day) when he would be naughty. When it came to me, though, she could never do it because of how brittle I looked. She felt sorry for me, like she might just break a bone if she tried. I chuckle just thinking about it.

My mother, who is as paranoid as she is loving, knew she had to do something to solve this problem and help me grow, like all my other friends who were much taller than me. Her method of choice – Vitamins.

The solution was simple. She would fill me up with all the vitamins you can think of every morning—right when I woke up—in hopes that if I had enough of the right vitamins, I would gain a bigger appetite and eat more than I usually would.

My morning routine looked something like this:

First, my yaya at the time would struggle to wake me up. She’d end up pulling me towards a yellow standing shelf, which stood right across my mattress (as a kid, I would sleep in a makeshift bed right beside my parents’ bed because I was too scared to sleep alone). The shelf looked like a tall side-table with layers. I would walk unwillingly towards it until I saw what was on the top shelf.

And there they were, just waiting patiently for me. Measuring cups half-filled with different-colored liquids all lined up, ready to be taken.

One, two, three, four, I would count the number of cups. Four was a good day. Five was average. Six was the most I’ve seen on that shelf. I know, it’s crazy. What I would do after counting is rearrange the cups by taste. The least bitter ones went first; most disgusting ones came last. The transparent one was an easy first choice, then the yellow one, then the orange one, and then dark orange-brown one always went last, unless I was sick, in which case the milk-colored one went last. I hated that the most.

After months of doing this same routine everyday, I developed some tricks to get through the gruelling morning trial. My favorite one is a classic called the “chaser.” Basically, I would take each cup like a shot of tequila, but instead of following it with a lemon, I would eat something sweet. On some days I had cookies, other days it was Ritz Cheese or Rebisco cracker sandwiches. Although, I found that Mocha Fudgee Bars were the most effective.

There’s this line in the film Vanilla Sky that I’ve always found to come in handy when life left a bad taste in my mouth.

Brian tells Tom Cruise’s character David:

We can tell a lot about a person based on how he takes his medicine, if he does at all.

While others would take them consistently as prescribed, I hardly ever would. I’ve grown to dread the whole exercise of going to the doctor to get a diagnosis, be prescribed drugs, going to the store to spend money on bitter syrup or hard to swallow pills, and finally going home to take them a few times a day.

As we grow older, though, the vitamins and the medicines we take morph into various shapes and forms. And they look and feel different to different people.

For many, it’s dealing with something from the past that still bothers them to this day. To some, it’s getting started on a passion project they’ve always wanted to do but have never mustered enough courage to do it. Still for others, it’s accepting a present situation for what it is and how it makes them feel.

Different medicines, same bitter taste.

In its figurative and literal sense, I guess my issue has always been that. Like everyone else, it hasn’t been easy, taking the meds that I needed to take to get better. I know I have to take it to get better. And I know the longer I wait, the more bitter it’s going to taste and the harder it will be to swallow.

But my stubbornness trusted that things would just work themselves out and I’ll be better soon enough. In time.

Every time I got sick, I would turn to my brother, who’s graduating from med school this year, for a “consultation.” 9 times out of 10, he’d prescribe lots  of water and rest. Now that’s my type of prescription. Essentially all I had to do was stay in bed all day and be sure that I peed a lot that day. Easy. But I now know, this way is the easy way out.

It’s easier to do nothing and leave the rest to the “universe.” It’s easier to just let things fix themselves, but most things don’t, unfortunately. Whether this is a question of laziness or low pain (or taste) tolerance is besides the point.

Murphy’s law is universal, and if all things that can go wrong will go wrong, then how do we expect things to just sort themselves out?

You can’t.

You have to take the medicine, in all its bitter glory.

Take all the chasers you need if you have to. Take those breaks. Take your time. But eventually, you have to take that shot, deal with that memory, stare reality right in the eye. Not because mom told you to (although that, many times, is a good reason; always trust your mom), but because you deserve to be better.

And because deep inside, you know you’re tired of being sick.

Whenever you’re ready.