HEALTH AND PRICES

ONE SENIOR FIGURES OUT NEW MEDICARE DRUG PLAN. OTHERS MAKING OWN DRUGS.

A senior citizen from Cleveland, Ohio, has apparently figured out the complexities of the new Medicare drug plan.  Her remarkable achievement immediately made headline news.

“Once I caught on,” the female octogenarian told reporters, “I was surprised at how much I saved.” 

When asked how she managed the feat, she confessed, “Well, actually, I couldn’t make heads or tails of the new plan.  So I finally gave up and asked my accountant.  He had a few questions for my lawyer, who had a few questions for the people in Washington.  But, after a month or so of investigation, the two of them nailed it.  I still don’t know how the plan works.  I just know if I show up at the pharmacy, they know me and I save big time.”

Meanwhile, most seniors, continuing to be baffled but desperate for drugs they can no longer figure out how to pay for, have resorted to manufacturing their own.

“Aspirin isn’t a big problem,” a senior gentleman from Arkansas told us. “But ibuprofen takes a little more work.”

Another senior, a man from the Maine woods, who is suffering from brain cancer, stated, “I cracked the chemical formula for most of my usual drugs, like the ace inhibitor for my heart condition.  But I’m still working on my cancer drugs.  Until I figure out how to make them in the kitchen, I guess I’ll just have to watch the tumor grow.”

The children of these resourceful seniors have a mixed view of the homemade drugs. 

One woman, whose ninety-year-old father makes his own diabetes medicine said, “I think it’s terrible that the complexity of the new drug plan has made him resort to making his own meds.”

On the other hand, a man from Oregon, whose aged grandmother concocts her own naproxen sodium said, “There’s just nothing like grandma’s homemade pain reliever.”

Seniors who require oxygen are finding the easiest solution.  They just start panting.

WHAT BIRD FLU SCARE?

Reader Contribution by Beverly Hires, Franklin Michigan

This morning the news blasted over the TV that Michigan, where I happen to live, would likely be the first state to be struck by the Bird Flu. I considered how my two children and I had already survived Lime disease, SARS, the Ebola virus, mosquito-borne meningitis, and flesh-eating staph infections. Not to mention the Cold War, the nuclear threat, al-Queda, and speed traps.

I contemplated the arrival of the Bird Flu and spending three to four months at home with my two children, providing home schooling while remaining sane. I told myself maybe I didn’t have to worry about Bird Flu, too, because it was not capable of being transmitted from birds to humans, at least not yet.

Just then I heard my daughter sneeze and turned to watch her wipe her nose with her jacket. I realized that I had more immediate germs to worry about. Then I heard Big Bird sneeze. I looked up at the TV and saw him blow his beak into an entire box of tissue and then ask Ernie for another box. Thankfully, he only had the common cold, but, I asked, What if he got the Bird Flu? The nation would face a tissue shortage. I decided I’d pick up a few extra boxes at the supermarket.

Then I remembered the present danger of the ordinary flu virus, not to mention the two-hundred or so viruses that cause the common cold. I imagined these hard-working viruses getting upset at all the attention being paid to the distant Bird Flu and saw them gathered on doorknobs in elementary schools across the nation, demonstrating against their sudden neglect and vowing to go on the attack. I decided that the nation’s paper mills should be offered incentives to ramp up production of tissues and stockpile them.

Just then I head the door open and turned to see my two children getting ready to head out to school in the chilly morning air. My son wasn’t wearing his hat and gloves. He hadn’t even zipped his jacket. My daughter had stylishly neglected to put on her socks and was heading out in clogs. Just to complete the parental heart attack, I noticed that both of them had left their orange juice on the counter.

“Drink your juice!” I called, and issued orders for them to remedy their clothing oversights. Then I cautioned them, “Don’t forget to wash your hands before you eat lunch, don’t share your food with other children, and cover your mouth and nose when you cough or sneeze.”

Then they were out the door.

I closed it behind them and sought a moment of peace leaning against it. Suddenly, the threat of the Bird Flu epidemic seemed as remote as a flock of feverish ducks in Canada.  

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