Late-night, I lie with a copy of "To the Lighthouse" bobbing on my bosom so I won't be bored during the commercials of "House," when a gorgeous drill team of bathing beauties grabs my attention. Yes, real bathing beauties complete with bright yellow skull-hugging latex swim caps and old-timey one-piece suits. The music is what I would call "peppy." Like an old movie of the streets of New York, everyone alive on coked-up soft drinks.
Remember swim caps? They pulled out most of your hair when removing them from soaking-wet tendrils? Yeah, they worked great and we thought they looked lame, but our moms made us wear them anyway. On these models, who have likely thrown up every bite for years now, the swim caps look tidy and curiously militaristic as they gingerly kick their legs in a large pool.
Suddenly and in perfect rhythm, so to speak, one by one the girls arise and kick off their old-fashioned swim togs, transforming (poof!) into Postmodern women. Women in the KNOW. Women with POWER. Women with fewer clothes and long razor-jagged hair.
The narrator croons, entranced, describing a new medication that prevents pregnancy AND gives girls only 4 periods a year. Kicky and cute, the wonder pill's called JAZZ!
Imagine, if Mother Nature, that sweet old gal, arrived to boot-kick our abdomens repeatedly for a solid week, only four (yes 4) times a YEAR. It's a miracle. Soon ALL these beauts have aligned themselves with the Postmodern country club, jazzing it up in a marble hot tub, glowing in California sunshine...ahhhh. Just four annual plagues...we're gorgeous and happy and free!
Then as the models cavort with towels and cover-ups, flipping around gracefully for the cameras, a smooth-talking narrator rattles off certain "side effects." Her silken voice hypnotic, she seems to say these bothersome "effects" should merely be discussed with the Dr. Fabulous of your choice, and all will be well.
"Heart attack, stroke, deep-vein thrombosis," she rapidly whispers the symptoms like chocolate-covered bullets, "or blockage of the main artery to the lung..." (oops--don't we need that artery?) "...other blood clots, gall bladder disease and sudden death may occur in some patients, but just see your doctor if you experience any of these...." By the end of the commercial all I'm thinking about is the sudden death part. But the swimsuit models sizzle, whooping it up in style. I lie confused.
A second commercial followed without missing a beat's worth of air time: a thin woman in a droopy bathrobe stares out the window at her kids playing on a swing set. Neither the woman nor her offspring enjoy the day, one of the little girls peering back longingly at Mommy. Until she pops a capsule called Wellbeing! After that, she's soon cartwheeling with the kids, whose smiles twinkle for the camera.
Narrator's side effect list drones merrily on: "As with some antidepressants, patient may experience sleeplessness, excess sleeping, weight loss, weight gain, depression, anxiety, memory loss, constipation, diahrrea and suicidal thoughts or actions."
Oh. Um...excuse me? Did she say "suicidal thoughts or actions?" I believe that she did. Now if I'm not mistaken, suicidal "thoughts" may lead to "actions," but what would those be? The action alone, say. Would you buy the gun and ammo, but not quite get around to blasting away? Would you pile up the sleeping pills on your bedside table, only to ignore them, 'til weeks later, you sweep 'em into your discreet waste basket? Hang that noose in the laundry room but leave the chair in the kitchen?
But on TV, they can croon so sweetly, such terms as "suicidal thoughts or actions," with no definitions whatsoever. That, I don't like. I turned to Helpguide.org to read the definitions. Here's their take: "Thoughts and actions are two different things—your suicidal thoughts do not have to become a reality."
Oh that's huge. Big help. Big. So if you think about suicide, you're safe as long as you don't allow it to "become a reality," and if your suicidal actions fail (the rope breaks, say), then you're also safe as the Savings and Loan. Hm. I feel OK with that, don't you? Besides, side effects are only for a small percentage of patients, like maybe a few million. Right? Something like that.
Meanwhile let's take comfort that we're all going to croak. As a long-term believer in better living through chemistry, I say let's don those yellow bikinis and swim with the girls in the Postmodern Jazz pool, take the pills that lead to somersaulting around the yard with the kids, and laissez les bon temps roulez. Four periods a year. Wow. Wouldn't you just DIE for that?
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