the drugs don’t work/they just make you worse/but I know I’ll see your face again…

In my profession, I have worked directly/indirectly with pharmaceutical companies for about 4 years. This has been a bit of a moral struggle for me, between the animal testing and my feelings about profiting off other people’s pain. I try to remain positive about it–to think that there is a “greater good” to this industry–that these corporations are trying to legitimately help people and aren’t just a larger network of charlatans, peddling snake oil and potions to will cure everything and nothing.

But last night I inexplicably became awash with rage as I watched my mother diligently take her handful of pills one by one as we sat at the kitchen table. This has become as routine as eating or sleeping, going to the bathroom, or putting on her shoes. In fact, the other night when I was helping her get ready for bed, she instinctively held out her hand after we finished brushing her teeth, anticipating that I would hand her meds and glass of water. I think about long she’s been taking these medications and how much her condition has worsened in the past year, and beyond that, the past 5 years since her official diagnosis, and I wonder how much good any of it’s actually doing her.

I know there is no cure–I know all the treatments are essentially a crap shoot, and frankly the only thing we can do at this point is cling to the hope these pills bring–not hope for a cure, at least not for my mother, but a hope that it will keep what we have left of her with us a little longer. Beyond that, I have to let go of my cynicism and conspiracies enough to believe that the companies making/manufacturing/selling these drugs have my mother’s–and their other patients’–best intentions in mind.


One thought on “the drugs don’t work/they just make you worse/but I know I’ll see your face again…

  1. I gotta get you some JGNs, stat. We edit so many articles about nonpharmacological treatments for dementia, or at least ones that complement drug therapies.

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