I wasn't exactly breaking bread with Stan Brown recently, but we were schmoozing over edibles - Stan and his merlot, me with a hot fudge sundae. Stan is considered by many Ojai's foremost raconteur and bon vivant. And Stan threatened me.
Not a violent threat. After all, Stan is too sophisticated for that sort of thing. But he did warn if I wasn't going to write this column, he was going to send the notion to Andy Rooney.
Stan raised the issue about the small print, the unreadable very small print which accompanies prescription medicines and warns of their potential side effects.
"Have you heard of Celebrex?" Stan asked.
"Heard of it? I take it. You name it, I take it. Medicine to me is the elixir of life. If Wheaties is the breakfast of champions, medicine is the sustenance of hypochondriacs. I keep the pharmaceutical houses in business."
"Count me in, pal. And have you read the small print which comes with every medication?"
"Only with a magnifying glass," I said.
"That's the whole point," said Stan. "Who are they making these medications for, old guys like us or young kids? One needs a microscope to read print this small."
"They make it small deliberately," I answered.
"Why?" he questioned.
"They don't want us to read it because if we did wouldn't take the medicine. So what do you think of those side effects?"
"I told you, I can't read them."
"You've never read the side effects?"
"Never. But I know what I'm taking."
"But you don't know what it can do to you."
"It's supposed to make me better."
"Hopefully it will, but some prescribed medicines make people worse. And I swear the side effects of all these medications are identical."
"How's that?"
"They list, a total compendium of every symptom ever experienced by hypochondriacs, genuinely sick people, and just plain folk who have been sick occasionally."
"How do you know this?"
"I read the fine print before I put anything in my mouth."
"You can see the print?"
"With a halogen light and magnifying glass I can."
"So what are the side effects?"
"You don't want to know.
"Tell me."
"First of all, they don't happen often."
"I understand. Just tell me what they are."
"Well," said I, taking a deep breath, "they could make you nauseous, nervous, homicidal, suicidal, cause temporary blindness, diarrhea, constipation "
"Diarrhea and constipation simultaneously?" he asked. "How can they do that?"
"It's one or the other, I believe." Continuing the catalog of potential side effects, I added, "Drowsiness, chills, dry mouth, fever, sweats, difficulty swallowing, blurred vision, abdominal pains, joint pains, headaches, vomiting, difficulty urinating, black stools, internal bleeding and, in extremely rare occasions, a falling off of the genitalia."
"I wouldn't want any of those things," said Stan.
"Have you ever had any of 'em since you've been on the medications?" I asked.
"Not that I know of."
"Then you've got nothing to worry about. You have no side effects."
"But does that mean I won't ever get 'em?"
"Stan," I said. "I'm not the doctor, I'm not the pharmacist and I'm not the manufacturer. And I'm also not a fortune-teller who can predict the future. If the medicine makes you feel better then it's working."
"Have you ever had any of those side effects?" he asked.
"I've had 'em all."
"So how come you're still taking the medicines?"
"The medicines have had nothing to do with them. I've had these symptoms for years, long before I ever started on the medicines."
"You're a hypochondriac. Or else you're either crazy or drunk," Stan said.
"Well, you're drinking the merlot. I'm eating a hot fudge sundae. That cuts the possibilities down to two. And may I offer a word of advice? Don't read the side effects."

© 2002 The Ojai Valley News

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