“What cocktail is he on these days?” my cousin, the newly minted life coach, asks as our bus lurches away from the its stop into the summer squall.
“Gin and tonic,” I say. “Same as ever.”
“Ha ha, no. There’s all kinds of new meds, no?”
I realize I have no idea, nor would I know who to ask. He’d switched doctors several months back because of HMO changes, and we’d stopped talking about it all, gosh, years ago
Odd how a one-time death sentence can slowly morph into a manageable disability and then become something one only thinks about every few months when getting their bloods done. Like changing out your electric toothbrush.
“Let’s get off here. I need to hit the pharmacy.”
“To find out about his prescriptions?”
“Nah, just remembered we need Sonicare replacement heads.”
Stepping onto the sidewalk, he grabs my arm and motions behind us. “You know, he could get hit by that bus, and you wouldn’t know what to tell the hospital.”
I nod, sheepishly. “You’re right.”
“What are you gonna do about that?”
We dodge kamikaze pedestrians wielding umbrellas like gladiators with shields.
“I’ll make sure he doesn’t stand in front of busses.”