So now the patch of skin between Coolidge’s shoulder blades is ulcerated. I can no longer dose him there with the transdermal thyroid medication. There isn’t anyplace else he can’t reach.
He had been snuggling up for his insulin and the simple application of his thyroid medication to the skin on his back, but this morning he tried to bolt. I could see why. I dabbed the stuff around the perimeter of the shaved area. The center is a cluster of raised sores. I can’t stand it.
The compounding pharmacist will have to reformulate the delivery substrate. I thought of other possibilities: grind up pills and put them in a capsule so maybe the taste doesn’t make him inappetent again? Sugar water for the transdermal application? —it’s the carrier, not the drug, that’s causing the ulcers. A homeopathic remedy? Just to brighten the moment, my husband mentioned the anecdotal cure-all, mercury pills.
I’m not ready to concede that it’s checkmate. My all-time favorite scene in American cinema is the one in which Indiana Jones is confronted by a saber-swirling guy in harem pants. He watches the saber whirring around at eye-blink speed, gets bored, and finally takes out his gun and shoots the guy dead.
There just has to be another way through this, Chewie. . . .