You pass many milestones in your teenage years: Sweet Sixteen, getting your driver's license, going to prom, graduating. I can also add learning to swallow pills to that list. Up until high school, I had a severe mental block about swallowing pills. Could be tiny ones, gel ones, even slippery capsules. It didn't matter. I just couldn't get my throat to cooperate when I had two Tylenol or Advil on my tongue. I'd take a big gulp of water and they would just float around in my mouth, bumping against my teeth. I'd end up gagging or nearly choking, with tears welling up in my eyes. It was pretty embarrassing. I knew kids half my age who could do this with no problem. I had pretty much accepted that crushing up pills and mixing them with apple sauce would remain a key part of my medicinal life forever. I had visions of myself doing just that even at the age of 92. My mom, on the other hand, thought otherwise. It was a personal conquest of hers to have me take medication the way it was intended. The sight of me reluctantly downing very bitter tasting apple sauce every time I had a headache or back pain was just too much for her. One night, she insisted that I try to take two Tylenol sans apple sauce. After some sad attempts of my own, my mother lost her patience, grabbed me by the neck, yelled for me to open my mouth, and threw a Tylenol down my throat. When I say threw, I'm talking wound up like a major league pitcher, and catapulted that thing down my esophagus. Amidst her yelling, I had no choice but to swallow the pill, beings as it was halfway to my small intestine already. After this episode of hysterics, my dad entered the picture, feeling sorry for me, and tried to show me the illogical thought process I seemed to have about swallowing small little pills. After going into an anatomy lesson about the size of my throat and the physics of pill buoyancy, he grabbed a bag of chips to use as a prop. He put a medium sized one on his tongue, swallowed it, and showed that it was gone, ending with a simple, "There. See?" This seemed a strange analogy to me since potato chips can melt in your mouth, become squishy, and are not nearly as solid as a hard, compressed pill. However, I finally realized the absurdity of the situation at this point: my mother showcasing her untapped pitching skills and my dad using fried potato slices as a teaching tool. I slowly calmed down, tried not to think about it, grabbed Tylenol #2, took a swig of water, tilted my head back, waited for about 3 minutes too long, and finally got that oval-shaped demon down. I'm sure it nearly dissolved in my mouth anyway, but it didn't matter. I had done it and I haven't looked back since. Tylenol, Advil...child's play. Try taking a peanut-sized antibiotic with no slippery coating or gel exterior with barely a mouthful of water. Now that deserves a circus-band-swallowing-act-drum-roll if you ask me. I still don't miss the taste of Tylenol-laden apple sauce; some things were just not meant to be mixed.
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