Me, Dad & My Medicines


I have not been feeling too well these past few days. And having a large portion of my daily diet depending on medications which I can barely pronounce correctly seems like a torture. Yes, medicines and I have our very own history which goes way back to the time I was a little girl.

I remember the time when I was about five, I fell ill and dad took me to his doctor friend – he gave me all types of sugary syrup medicines, promising it would taste like candy. It did not and I hated it. Mom tried persuading me and finally resorting to her best friend – the rotan.

But dad came to my rescue, as always. Dad would make containers of Sunquick juice so I get to balance out the bitterness in the medicine. After every spoonful of the yucky medicine syrup, I would take countless gulps of Sunquick. Dad would then give me a big hug and parade me like a champ for taking my medicine.

When I was a little bit older, I had my very first taste of tablet. I hated it. Somehow I just couldn’t swallow them. Instead, I would end up puking every time I gave it a try. Soon, I was too afraid to try and started pretending to have taken my medicines while having them thrown away.

One day, my fever went from bad to worse and I had no other way but to take my pills. I puked and puked and the pill started shrinking in size. Dad then stopped me, threw the pill away and smiled, assuring me everything was going to be okay.

“I know how to make you take your pills,” he said, charming as ever.

Dad then squeezed the pills between two tablespoons, mixed it up with some Sunquick syrup and prepared some sugar on the side as well as a container of Sunquick juice. First, he gave me my mashed up tablets with the syrup, then some sugar and then wash them down with some juice. It works every time!

Believe it or not, that was how I took my medicines until I was 20.

When I got married, everything changed. I wasn’t daddy’s little girl anymore. I had to grow up. And so I learned to push medicines down my throat. Even when it got me gagging and throwing up, I would relentlessly pick up the pill and swallow it all over again.

Of course things would have been a lot easier if I just mashed up the pills with some syrup like dad used to, but I guess I want to preserve the memory – somehow I feel doing it on my own would tarnish the sacred memory.

Today, I still gag and throw up every time I take my medicines. And I think of dad. Every time.



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