If I really need some medicine, I’m going to take it.

And yet, fatal illness aside, I would never willingly take one of the first drugs on the market for a disease.

Not your guinea pig
Case in point: the recent release of the first drug to explicitly treat fibromyalgia. I have done no research on the medication and am basing my judgment entirely on the medication’s commercial, an ad that features a 60-something art teacher furrowing her brow and wringing her hands in pain while discussing her crippling fibromyalgia symptoms. The actress “art teacher” roams about her class, providing painting instruction while her voice-over details how much the medication has helped her resume her lifestyle. And then the list of side effects begins.

“This drug isn’t for everyone. Notify your doctor if you experience swelling, headaches, nausea, diarrhea, joint pain, vomiting.” The list starts off reasonably but then degenerates into scary stuff that seems counterproductive – things like bleeding, stroke, heart attack (Oh yeah, I’ll just calmly call up my doc and inform him I think I’m having an adverse reaction and my heart is stopping), skin discoloration, organ failure, purple urine, sprouting of a third head, development of lizard scales and more.

OK, I might have gotten carried away. I made the lizard scales up. Point is, I’ve seen this commercial only one or two times, but that’s definitely enough. Unless you’re ready to lie down on a set of train tracks due to your fibromyalgia, it confounds me how anyone could listen to the commercial, nod along and think, “Heck yeah! I’m calling my doc immediately! Get me some of that!”

The medicated life
Before coming to Charlotte Weekly, I worked closely with a few big-name pharmaceutical companies. The daughter of a registered nurse, I’ve always been pretty comfortable in the pharmaceutical world. But going into the inner sanctum was something else entirely.

I heard stories of sales reps baking cookies for obstinate doctors and picking up their dry cleaning so they could get in the door and give those doctors an earful about how Sphincter2000 was the gastroesophageal reflux medication they needed to use. And of course, there’s the creepy free swag – clocks, antibacterial gel, notepads, calendars, pens, laptop cases, stress balls, even cloth covers for gynecological stirrups – all shamelessly emblazoned with the logo of the drug in question. A visit with any pharmaceutical rep is like Christmas until you realize you’ve received gifts that now make you a walking billboard for erectile dysfunction.

What frightened me most, though, was that it seemed the pharmaceutical representatives I came in contact with actively used the drugs they shilled. You could always tell from the clique-ish clusters in the pharmaceutical monolith’s lunchroom. Out of habit, the gastrointestinal drug reps skirted their trays around the spicy food, avoiding General Tso’s Chicken like the plague. The antidepressant and stimulant reps would be hopped up in the corner, high on life.

Pill-popping bear
The antidepressant reps troubled me most. When they’d ask how I was, I felt they were sizing up any reaction I gave, mentally ticking off my candidacy for their drug of choice.

I met with one guy in his office. We had worked together before but had never met in person. As he closed his office door behind me I noticed the distinctive flash of some colorful and surprisingly recognizable furry hides. I leaned closer and asked with horror, “Is that Winnie the Pooh?”

“Well, yeah!” the rep said with his ineffable buoyancy. “Actually, it’s the whole crew!” He ran over to the back of his office door and pulled off the hook adult-size Tigger, Winnie the Pooh, Piglet and Eeyore costumes. Even with his arm fully extended toward the ceiling the giant costumes grazed the floor. I tried to act natural.

“Yeah, we use these when training the new reps. The skit we do is hilarious. Let’s just say that by the end, Eeyore isn’t so glum anymore.”

Plying Eeyore with antidepressants was too much. I never got out of him which Winnie the Pooh character pushed the prescription on the unsuspecting stuffed donkey, but I had a sneaking suspicion it involved Pooh himself and that characteristic “honey pot.” Honey, indeed.

Like I said, I’m not against pharmaceuticals. They improve, lengthen and outright save lives (when we’re not losing an arm and a leg to pay for them). Just exercise caution if the side effect list is longer than the Magna Carta or it’s endorsed by an illustrated character with a drastically altered mood. In that case, you may need more than a spoonful of sugar to help the medicine go down.