Cancer Journal #2 Nov 25

    Fedex delivers oral medication that, along with a dose of radiation and a timed released injection, constitutes my current treatment regimen. Surprisingly big package for a bottle of pills. It turns out to contain a boxed set of stuff entitled "Fight Gear". There's a photo of a hand being wrapped in fabric strips like preparation for a bout in Fight Club. Gonna do this thing bare fisted!   Inside are product information pamphlets, an application for grants to cover the hefty $200 co-pay and a couple of devices to help in remembering to take the stuff. There are photos of ruggedly handsome older guys with expressions of grim determination. 

     I'm put off by the manipulation of this packaging. Wrap up the fists to win the battle to remember to take the meds every day? Actually, the pills are surprisingly big and the daily dose is four of them all taken at the same time. Maybe it takes a certain manliness to get these horse pills down. Or a warrior determination to work through the application for charitable financing. And then the meds are to shut down the testosterone factory. The irony goes dark in a way I will leave alone. Indeed, if I were dwell on the packaging strategy too much, it could prompt a longing for a better place where light and truth fill all and there is no room for guided effect.

     But ahh, I should give them some slack. If there are men out there gone passive through depression and some fire gets lit at the sight of a fist getting wrapped, what business do I have carping promotional methods. I must team up with those guys, punch sides of beef, drink raw eggs. run up the stairs to the Philodelphia City Hall. Gonna Fly Now