Recently I had a need for a renewal to a prescription at our local pharmacy.
“No problem,” I was told by the pleasant feminine voice. “We will just fax a request to your doctor and he will fax us a prescription.”
So on went the process, and in due course, the pill package ordered, plus a couple of longtime regulars, were delivered to my door. For the elderly in our community, this is a much-appreciated courtesy, with no additional charge, by the drug store.
But that evening, when I opened the package, though the pills and little snap on lid container looked exactly the same, the unpronounceable, by my tongue, name on the container did not jive with the name on the previous container, which my tongue also balked at pronouncing.
So, wanting to make sure that no mistake had been made on the delivery, I waited until the next day to phone the drug store. The courteous, young lady who answered, on checking the delivery, assured me that it had been correct. When I assured her that the name on the pill bottle did not match, she replied, “Let me talk to the druggist.”
The druggist came on the phone and assured me the pills were exactly the same and that the name on the bottle is the generic name. We were requested to change to the generic by the powers that be at OHIP, as the generic is quite a bit cheaper than the brand name.
So be it. I thanked him for his time and hung up. But that kick-started my mind in to wondering and wandering, and it crossed my mind as to how many name changes take place without those concerned even knowing.
Switching now to the bird world, of which I am a little more familiar, I long remember the panic and warnings when I started breeding parrots, that I was sure to get parrot fever. Sailors on ships who kept parrots as pets quite often did, and died.
When the next crop of vets came out of the vet schools, they knew it as psittacosis, as it only infected all parrot-like birds.
But it never stopped there; by the time the next generation tumbled out of the vet schools, the familiar name that came to the surface was ornithosis, as many of the pigeons nesting behind signboards over the streets also were carriers of the disease.
But now, though another generation of vets have hit the streets, it has become known as chlamydia, contagious to people, who also could be carriers of the disease. And it does not stop there.
This past week, as we were going to be taking our fast-growing pair of Pyrenees puppies in for their second set of shots, I thought I would try and familiarize myself with the tongue-tangling lingo that might be used to explain what and why it is being given.
As it just happened, the Reader’s Digest lay open on the table by the window where I often munch my lunch.
The article on its opened page centred on pet inoculations. It suggested, among other things, that you should also get your feline friend inoculated for – you guessed it – chlamydia.
Kind of makes you wonder, doesn’t it?
Perhaps it is we humans who are carriers of this disease, spreading it to animals and birds that are in our keep, not the other way around, as it has been suggested for a much-too-long time.
Take care, ‘cause we care.