“DOWNS AND UPS”

JANUARY 13, 2022 – Yesterday, anxieties developed sharp edges, and the barometer of my physical condition—a one-mile walk—left me sore and tired. Yet, countering these setbacks were turns of encouragement—reminders that what falls down bounces up. Often the harder the fall, the higher the bounce. (Can we hope as much for the country we share?)

One of my prescriptions is so toxic, as far as I can discern, it glows in the daylight. In addition to typical, generic side effects messing with the patient’s intestinal tract, it poses two major threats: 1. Compromised immune system, ironically, a side effect of improving it; and 2. Raised risk (albeit lowered by aspirin) of deep blood clots, etc. that can send one to the ER and a wait so interminable, it can become . . . terminable before a patient’s time.  After reeling from these serious threats, the patient must grasp the co-pay of just under $3,000 per prescription x umpteen.

With Dr. Fauci’s prediction—“Everyone’s going to get Omicron”—ringing in my ears, along with my own doctor’s assessment that my November booster might not have generated the Covid anti-bodies as in the case of a healthy person, I called my care team regarding commencement of the “glow-in-daylight” drug. My doctor, whose judgment I trust implicitly, provided a clear response: the drug is essential to my treatment.

Then followed a miracle coupled with immediate delivery of the aforesaid drug to our doorstep: earlier in the day I’d placed calls to the specialty pharmacy that dispenses the drug in question and identifies non-profit foundations providing grant money to cover co-payments. How this works between Big Pharma and insurance is beyond my pay grade, but behind the scenes were angels. I told them that the world is a beautiful place because they’re part of it. These kind, smart, cheerful, miracle-workers arranged for immediate disbursement of grant money—based solely on my phone voice. No joke.

Then the mail brought a letter from my oldest sister’s best friend since grade school, and our “forever family best friend.” The letter, signed under a two-inch high, “Love, Ann,” included a link to music that dispelled anxiety more effectively than anti-anxiety meds. In addition was a printout of Robert Frost’s poem, The Road Not Taken. As I read it, I marveled. How did Ann know that Robert Frost is my favorite poet; that that’s my favorite poem?

Later, more encouragement from dear family and friends via texts, phone calls, email, prayers, and FB—bright reminders I’m not alone.

At 8:00—a nightly call with my doctor-friend, Ravi, whose quarter-century-long friendship, reassurance, and knowledge-based realism calmed my nerves.

Following Ravi: a long call with another set of “forever friends,” former neighbors from the beginning of time until last August. Dave and Grace—so aptly named—are yet another binary star of my universe.

Last and most important: my wife—solid as a rock, straight as an arrow, and as reliably bright as the evening star in static perigee upon a clear winter sky.

It takes a village to give a guy his bounce.

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© 2022 by Eric Nilsson