Ten CC's

The summer I was thirteen I blew out my right eardrum while scuba-diving. Killed my diving career, and since I was worried they would stop me from swimming altogether, I didn't tell my parents.

The result of that forty-odd year old decision was, aside from a permanent hole in the right tympanic membrane and subsequent loss of hearing, was a tendency to develop infections in that ear canal.

I haven't had one for a while, but last week, I developed a new one. Without going into the stomach-churning medical details, let's just say such infections are not fun, they involve some serous fluid seeping from one's ear, and now and again, problems with such things as one's balance.

Stand up suddenly, you can develop a severe list to starboard that is apt to put you into the nearest wall. Most unpleasant. Best hope your groundwork is solid, because you will likely need it ...

Treatment with alternating instillations of rubbing alcohol and hydrogen peroxide usually clears it up in a few days, but now and again, the bug is stubborn and more stringent methods are required. This one didn't want to quit.

The result of which was a visit to my doctor. I knew what I had and what I needed, and since I needed a physical anyway, whack, two birds with one stone.

My doctor agreed with my diagnosis. However, it has been long enough that the old medication is no longer considered wise. Something to do with sensitizing the eardrum, so they don't give that out any more.

Fine. I got a prescription for the new stuff and went on my way.

At the Rite-Aid pharmacy, they asked me if I had co-pay on my drug insurance. I dunno, I said, it's been so long since I bought any medicine for myself, I wasn't in the computer -- though, for some odd reason, my dog Scout was ...

To get to the point: The reason they asked, they said, was that the drops, which came in a ten cc bottle, were expensive. Ten cc's (or ml's) equal about a tablespoon of liquid, for those of you not into metric system.

How expensive? I asked.

One hundred and sixteen dollars, they said.

Holy crap! You're kidding! What is it made from? Ivory-billed Woodpecker tongues?

Sorry, there's no generic version.

Fortunately, I did have co-pay insurance, and so it cost me a mere twenty bucks.

But I can understand why busloads of American seniors are traveling to Canada and Mexico to buy their prescriptions medications. Somebody who is retired, on a fixed income, without insurance, has a choice of paying the rent or buying meds.

There is something really, really wrong with this picture.