You don't have to watch the television much to recognize that the drug manufacturers have figured out that the baby boomers are aging, and what we have now is a pill for about every malady and malaise known to old farts like me. Well, with one exception. We don't have an anti-death pill. Not yet.
This mess surely drives doctors mad. Marketing people drive the ads, not medicine, and if you review the litany of symptoms the pills are designed to cure, you quickly realize that you need that pill. Celebrex leaves you dancing. Cialis puts you bathing together with your spouse in separate tubs. Then there are the Low-T ads.
The people who worry about sex ed in the schools should pay a little more attention to the ads on the six o'clock news, not to mention the dialog on prime time TV. Come to think of it, there's more than a little rape and pillage in that book they so eagerly espouse as well. Okay, I digress. Again.
So I was in the doc's office for a mid-year check-in. No problems, aside from the usual for a 59-year old man, but like every other patient, I’m sure, I had one of those ads on my mind. We discussed some of the science and a lot of the statistics, and I declined the treatment. Clinical studies are one thing. Open trials on the population are another, and I will wait until a few million other people go first lest I become an underlying statistic a la Vioxx.
I appreciate her plain talking with me.