It’s been a while, but today my dead dog, Pathetic Bob, channeled himself through the potted plant next to my desk.
“Hey Em, what’s up. I haven’t talked to you lately?” he asked.
“Yeah, sorry about that, but I’ve been a little depressed, and now I’m pissed off.”
“You sound it. What’s the problem?”
“Well, my psychiatrist prescribed a new medicine for me. It’s called Vraylar, and it’s just come on the market. My doctor had to get ‘prior authorization’ before he could even write the prescription. So, that’s fine, we get the authorization, and I go down to the pharmacy to get it filled. They hand it to me and say, ‘Your co-pay will be $386.’ I say ‘WTF’ and hand it back to them. I mean, come on, $386 to feel a little better. It’s robbery.”
Bob barked. He does that when he’s upset. “First of all, you should stop being depressed, it gets me depressed, and I’m dead.”
“You know, Bob, people who tell me that or to ‘get over it’ make me want to shove a hypothalamus down their throats. It’s a dumb thing to ask. It’s not like I want to be depressed and could get over it if I wanted. It’s a fucking disease, of course, I’d like to get over it. Now, I don’t want to hear that shit anymore.”
“Whoa, back off. I’m sorry. The second off all, medicine is so expensive because of advertising. Advertisements are expensive to make and very expensive to buy time on TV, radio and print. In the past, it was up to doctors to tell you what medications to take. Now, the pharmaceutical companies are marketing direct to you, on the dumbshit television.What’s worse, are the warnings of possible side-effects you can get. ‘Take our wonder drugs and you’ll be as happy as these assholes romping around in our ads. But, just so you know, you could get shingles, bad breath, crippling arthritis, a boner that could explode, rapid heartbeat, thoughts of suicide and, of course, death.’ They spend as much time and money telling you their shit might not work. I think all drugs come from plants, petroleum, and cane-toad gall bladders. Dogs have known this for centuries. We get sick, eat a leaf or lick a toad. It’s not that hard. Big Pharma is full of pussies of death who would rather someone die than cut the price on their merchandise. I don’t mind them making a profit, but Jesus Christ, show some mercy to mankind. Fuck ’em.”
“Bob, Bob, calm down, I get your point. You dead, remember, and none of these medicines will help you. And, all I’ve got is a little depression. We’ll get through. And if we don’t, we’ll show Big Pharma what side effects are all about.”
Bob was huffing and puffing. “OK, Em, I’ll calm down if you go eat a leaf.