AUGUST 6, 2025 – These are amazing times, quite apart from all the monkey-business in Washington. I realized this while waiting for a prescription to be filled at the CVS pharmacy inside our local Target store.
The order was for a 90-day supply of “OYS-SHELL CAL – VIT D,” one part of the two-pronged remediation of my skeletal system, which was compromised by the MM.[1] This pills are gigantic and were prescribed immediately following my diagnosis over three-and-a-half-years ago. At first I panicked. I’ve always had a phobia about swallowing large pills and capsules, and when I saw the OYS-SHELL pills, I thought I was going to die, and not necessarily from the cancer. Only after I discovered that they’re eminently chewable (and virtually tasteless), did I chill out about them—just in time to learn that once I’d swallowed a few hundred other pills and capsules, I’d be ready to undergo an autologous stem cell transplant, which pretty much scared the living daylights out of me.
Anyway, nearly three years later . . . I’m still very much kicking and . . . waiting for an OYS-SHELL VIT D refill.
The marketing majors, of course, worked a deal years ago between CVS and Target. The pharmacy is parked well inside Target, and inevitably, customers picking up prescriptions wind up buying stuff on their way in and out of the larger retail environment. I’m sure Target gives CVS a spiff, since retail drugstores have thin margins on the drugs; the big margins are on all the non-prescription stuff you buy on your way from the pharmacy section (usually at the back of the store) and the exit. Today I played right into this scheme—almost.
Once I had my OYS-SHELL VIT D in hand, I remembered: I’m out of protein powder. Wouldn’t you know that this thought popped into my mind, not out of the blue but from my walk down an aisle stocked full of . . . protein powder. Here’s where things got very interesting in my stream of consciousness.
I like to think of myself as “The Rational Man.” More specifically, I like to identify a goal, objective or issue, gather facts, synthesize them, apply analysis, and reach a conclusion. But being human and more often than I care to acknowledge, being by turns a whimsical, emotional, superstitious, and okay, just plain stupid human, I’m as prone as the next person to jumping to judgments and making decisions that aren’t altogether rational.
For example, just two days ago up at the lake, our good neighbor, “Rustic John” quipped, “I’ve never seen a scrap of wood or a container I didn’t like.” (emphasis added) As a fellow hoarder, I knew exactly what John was talking about, and part of our neighborly bond comes from knowing that around each other, anyway, it’s safe to talk about saving scrap lumber and sturdy plastic containers that served as packaging for one thing or another and that can now be repurposed for any range of things, such as a tidy holder for 8-inch hex bolts for the “Pergola-on-a-platform.” In other words, as hoarders each, John and I can talk freely about . . . hoarding. The only difference is that he sees nothing wrong with hoarding, whereas I . . . know it’s a problem (for him).
Well anyway, back to the protein powder aisle at Target . . . wouldn’t you know, but in surveying the myriad selections, I as the self-styled “rational man” am sizing them up not by the container labels but by the containers themselves. “Now that one there,” I say to myself, “that’d be perfect for 10-inch bolts, and I like the color—bright blue; easy to spot on the shelf in the tool room at the cabin.” But just then I see another set of containers; white, smaller, probably good for 8-inch bolts. And yet another size and color—black. I can picture putting a white label on it with black lettering, “HEX BOLTS – NUTS AND WASHERS.”
This thought process ensues for all too long before I catch myself and realize I’m not shopping for long-bolt containers. I’m shopping for protein powder. My eye catches the outliers—at least when it comes to packaging. In one section are sturdy plastic bags containing protein powder. Plus, their labeling is far more attractive. “Protein powder” just isn’t that refined. It’s about as attractive as “Hay for Humans.” How about making a smoothie out of “Hay for Humans”?! I don’t think so, even if there’s chocolate involved. No, the label I’m drawn to says, “KA’CHAVA.” It purports to deliver 25 grams of plant protein per serving.
Initially, I’m “all over it” for the simple reason that it’s not in a large round plastic container that can be repurposed to hold hex bolts. What a brilliant way to defy my hoarding tendencies, I think. The packaging—a high-end plastic-coated stand-up bag with an embedded Zip-lock seal that can be opened without ripping the bag.
I flip the bag over to look at the ingredient list, the likes of which I’ve never encountered on any kind of food packaging—ever. The list is so long it squeezes the font size too way too small for me to decipher. Since I left my cheaters at home atop Cuba: An American History, I’m compelled to carry the 15.31 oz. package down another aisle to “borrow” a pair of cheaters from the cheater rack. Once equipped with a pair of 2.5xs, I can read the ingredients:
Plant protein Blend (Yellow Pea Protein, Organic Brown Rice Protein, Organic Amaranth, Organic Quinoa, Organic Sacha Inchi), Omega EFA & Fiber Blend [Organic Whole Grain Oat, Flaxseed, Organic Acacia, Chia Seed, Soluble Vegetable Fiber], Cocoa, Coconut Milk, Superfruit Blend [Organic Coconut Nectar, Acai Berry, Organic Maqui, Camu-Camu, Organic Jujube, Organic Blackberry, Organic Blueberry, Organic Raspberry, Organic Acerola, Organic Baobab, Organic Goji, Organic Papaya, Organic Pomegranate], Vitamin & Mineral Blend [Tricalcium Phosphate, Magnesium Oxide, Ascorbic Acid, D-Alpha-Tacapheryl Acetate, Niacinamide, Zinc Oxide, Biotin, Copper Amino Acid Chelate, Calcium Pantothenate, Vitamin A Palmitate, Potassium Iodid, Selenium Amino Acid Chelate, Chromium Amino Acid Chelate, Pyridoxine Hydrochloride, Thiamine Hydrochloride, Riboflavin, Manganese Amino Acid Chelate, Ergocalciferol Cyanocobalamin], Adaptogen Blend [Organic Maca Root, Organic Maitake Mushroom, Organic Reishi Mushroom, Organic Shitake Mushroom Organic Ginger, Organic Cordyceps Mushroom],Oat Milk, Sodium Chloride, Super Greens & Vegetable Blend [Organic Spinach, Organic Purple Potato, Organic Tomato, Organic Parsley, Maringa, Organic Barley, Organic Kale, Organic Spirulina, Organic Weat Grass[, Guar gum, Xanthan gum, Natural Flavor, Lo Han Fruit Extract, Probiotic and Prebiotic Blend [Inulin, Lactobacillus rhamnosus Lrha51, Lactobacillus acidaphilus UALa-01], Digestive Enzyme Blend [Amylase, Protease, Cellulose, Lactose, Lipase], Cinnamon.
Contains Tree Nut (Coconut).
I’m nearly howling out loud. And that’s before I read the little note below the ingredients list:
NOTE: Use as part of a well-balanced diet. Do not use this product as your only source of nutrition (max two servings daily).
That this strange nutritional supplement purports to provide 100% of one’s daily chromium requirement (along with high percentages of a long slug of other vitamins and minerals) doesn’t have sufficient appeal to my rational side. I know better than to think that between the trace of “Organic Reishi Mushroom” powder and the pinch of Organic Kale lies a hidden cure for multiple myeloma. When I compare pricing between this fancy-schmancy supplement and just plain protein powders, I realize the premium Ka’chava is apparently assigning to “organic” and who knows how many completely “made-up” ingredients.
My chuckles aren’t over, however. In the lower lefthand corner of the backside label is an American flag next to the words, “MADE in the USA,” but continuing underneath with the words “with ingredients from around the world.” I wonder if Trump’s Tariff yo-yo is playing havoc with Ka’chava’s pricing mechanisms. But of course, what does he care?
I decide to keep it simple and compare and contrast protein powders purely on the basis of price per gram of protein and disregard all the other nonsense. Price and . . . the utility of the container once I’ve consumed the contents. After all, a guy can always use an extra bolt-holder, right?
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© 2025 by Eric Nilsson
[1] The second part is a regimen of quarterly subcutaneous infusions of a bone-strengthening agent. The infusions are accomplished with a long needle attached, I think, to some kind of syringe-like device; I’m not sure, since I’m too chicken to look. The 10-second-long infusions are administered straight into the belly, which is how rabies shots used to be given, so I call my infusions, “rabies shots.” My oncologist, who has a good sense of humor, has adopted my nomenclature. At the close of yesterday’s quarterly appointment, he said, “Great! Okay, now you can go across the corridor for your rabies shot.” We both laughed.
