Take your medicine.
When I was a kid, I’d get strep throat often. Often felt a lot like every six months but I’m not sure how often I actually did get it.
I always knew when it was coming on. I’d have trouble swallowing my own saliva one day. Then, the pain would escalate until taking a gulp of my own spit felt like trying to swallow a billiards ball covered in thumb tacks.
When the pain was its worst, I remember thinking that I would’ve given up just about anything to feel better again.
Of course, hoping for change is something only a lunatic relies on.
So my mom and I eventually developed a plan to combat this annoying predicament I’d so often find myself in.
The routine went something like this:
I’d tell my mom my throat hurt.
My mom would take my temperature and she’d grab a flashlight to illuminate the back of my throat.
She’d tell me to open my mouth as wide as I could and say “ahh” until she could assess the walls of my throat for puffy, white, and puss filled sacs.
Once she’d locate the infection, we’d go to the doctors office where the doctor would inevitably prescribe me an antibiotic.
I’d stay home from school for a day or two and eat lime jello and orange sherbert, so long as the pain wasn’t too excruciating to do so.
After a few days of medication and rest, I’d be back to normal, swearing on everything I’d ever loved that I’d be a good boy as long as I never had to suffer the pain of strep throat again.
Our game plan was perfect. When executed, we went undefeated in my battle against strep throat.
Unfortunately, we didn’t always execute. And that was on me.
This is because I hated the taste of the medication the doctor prescribed me.
I’m no clinician and strep throat is as old a memory as saturday morning cartoons and kid’s cuisine but, if I recall, I’d be prescribed Amoxicillin.
I’ve done no further research on this but from what I understand, Amoxicillin is commonly used to treat viral infections.
What I do remember, though, is that the liquid form of Amoxicillin tasted like a pink, viscous mixture of ear wax and pig’s urine.
So even though I knew the medication was the sure cure to the sickness I was feeling, I’d resist by fighting tooth and nail.
When it was time to take the medication, I’d scream, I’d cry, I’d kick, and I’d do my best to run away from home.
I recall one instance where I slipped the grasp of both my parents in our tight kitchen, ducked under the dining room table, and escaped out the front door into our front yard.
I was sure my parents were going to give up and just try to medicate me again later that I sat down in the front yard and began entertaining myself.
To my surprise, my dad came sprinting out the front door, holding the bottle of liquid amoxicillin.
I was so caught off guard by my dad’s blitzkrieg that I couldn’t escape him.
He grabbed hold of me and drug me over to the family’s black Cadillac Deville sitting in the driveway.
He tore the rear car door open and pinned me on my back. He held my head with his left hand, squeezing my jaw in a way that my mouth had no choice but to open wide, and with his right hand poured the Amoxicillin in my mouth.
If that makes you uncomfortable to read, imagine how I felt as the shit-syrup slid down the back of my strep laden throat while I gasped for air.
Yes. It was bad. The medicine tasted horrendous. I wished death upon my dad. And I’d never wanted to be adopted by another family more than I did at that moment.
But as soon as I got over all of that, I realized the taste of the medicine was no longer in my mouth and I began looking forward to the benefits I’d soon reap from it.
Before too long, the medicine worked and I was back to feeling normal.
I knew this would be the case.
The proof was in the pudding. Or the Amoxicillin.
So why was it that I’d had such an aversion to the thing that I knew was going to make me feel better in a few days.
The answer is simple.
The short term dissatisfaction of the taste of the medicine blurred my vision of the long term benefits it could offer me.
It’s the same reason I bitch about my alarm going off at 6am for my morning workout.
It’s the same reason I have such a hard time passing on that chocolate milkshake that I’ve somehow convinced myself I deserve for the third time this week.
And it’s the same reason I decided to forego a career path of my own for a positon in the family business when I graduated from college.
What’s unpleasant in the near term isn’t fun. It’s uncomfortable.
But if I’ve found anything to be true in this life, it’s this.
Comfort in the near term almost always leads to despair in the long term.
So take your medicine.
