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Dangerous Compassions

my fantasy, healing soup, hospital jokes for survival

I was telling Ming–Protonix is such a good drug name.  I love it.  I love words with x in them.  Tonix is good.  Pro is good.  Protonix is the only drug name I ever loved.

“If I was a rapper, I’d take the name Protonix,” I told Ming.  It’s the drug they gave me in the hospital for my ulcer–they gave it to me through my IV, and then when I left the hospital, I was taking it in pill form.

“I’m going to become a rapper, go by Protonix, and write songs about GERD, stomach ulcers, and esophageal cancer.”  I was laughing so much—he gave me a look.  Please imagine me in a  puffy silver glittering coat as shiny as a disco ball, wearing dark sunglasses, wearing rings with huge exaggerated diamonds on them, a strange hat at an angle, and making rapper gesticulations, as I rap about stomach-related illness, an old-fashioned microphone in my hand.

Oh, Laura-Marie.  “Are you amusing yourself, over there?” Ming asks as I’m laughing at my own blog post.

In the hospital, the IV machine had a little digital display and would say the name of the drug it was giving me.  Protonix has another name as generic, and the digital display was small, so the drug info would scroll.  The name is Pantoprazole, and when Mom saw it, she thought at first it was Pozole, like the soup with hominy in it.

Somehow in the hospital, that was funny.  Imagining being given healing Mexican soup through my IV.  In the hospital, you take laughs where you can get them.  I guess that’s the case outside the hospital too.

By Laura-Marie

Good at listening to the noise until it makes sense.

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