When I got the news that the spot on my leg was cancerous, I was given a choice: more surgery or burning the cancer away with a cream. Since I was familiar with burning parts off my body, I chose the cream. That proved to be an uncomfortable decision.
I went to the pharmacy to get the cream. My cream was ready. I was ready. But the law states that the pharmacist must speak to anyone with a new prescription. The pharmacist wasn’t ready. I could have walked away from the counter and shopped in the store. I’m glad I didn’t. I peeked at the paperwork with the cream. I couldn’t believe when I read this …
I don’t have genital or anal warts. Really. Not that there’s anything wrong if you have genital or anal warts. I just don’t have them. I imagined myself wandering away from the pharmacy counter to shop, and then hearing the pharmacist announce over the store intercom, “James Flanigan, please report to the pharmacy counter. The pharmacist is ready to speak to you about your genital or anal wart cream.” I didn’t want that.
So I made the decision to hang at the pharmacy counter. But as I waited, I swear that the young lady that assisted the pharmacist looked at me differently after seeing the cream I was picking up. I wanted her to read on. There was more, really.
After the Muelleresque redaction is removed, there is a mention of skin cancer, but somewhat as an afterthought. I’m convinced that this is really a genital or anal wart cream that may be used for skin cancer. At that point, I really wanted to talk to the pharmacist. And after a bit of a wait, he was finally ready.
“Any questions?” he asked.
“No,” I replied loudly. “I have no questions about how to use this cream on the cancerous spot on my leg.” I made sure everyone in the general area heard.
As I strode out of the pharmacy area with my cream, I passed an elderly couple. I swear the old man asked his wife, “Warts that he said?”