I am a cancer patient. This summer will mark my eleventh year of dealing with the illness. I have cancer of appendix which is considered rare. My first surgery was a fourteen-hour procedure. The doctor removed my appendix, spleen, uterus, gall bladder and part of my large intestine and then poured chemotherapy in my belly. In three months, I lost 30 pounds. Two years later, I had another surgery. One of the side effects of my surgeries is constant diarrhea. In order to manage my symptoms, I take 20 milligrams of Imodium a day.
It seems like it was only yesterday, however it was months ago. February to be exact. I was in the waiting room for my fourth clinical trial, and I remembered that I had not taken my Imodium for the day. I prefer to buy the bottle that has 96 loose tablets in it. However, they only had the 24 packs where the drug is encased in a blister packet. After wrestling with the blister packet for about three minutes, I decided to ask the receptionist for some scissors. We exchanged a quick conversation about how those packets are impossible to open.
In March, I reached an important milestone in my life, I became eligible for Medicare. YEAH! One of the benefits from my plan it that you get a medical catalogue and you can order $25’s worth of medical items quarterly at no cost—one of the items is Imodium. DOUBLE YEAH! But when my order came in the mail, I did not recognize the brand, however, I did recognize the impossible to open blister packet. Oh well, the price was right. Time to get out the manicure scissors and put them in my medical bag that I carry with me. However, in short order I learned I did not need scissors, I could simply peel the foil off the back off the package to get my much-needed medication.
As coronavirus advanced across the United States and we were placed in lockdown, my Medicare anti-diarrhea medicine had run out. The shelves of the store also grew barer and barer. The bottle of 96 tablets of Imodium, my staunchest ally in the war against cancer, quickly disappeared. Again, I settled for the Imodium 24 pack with the lowly pawn clad in the nefarious impossible-to-open blister packet. I would use my scissors for opening them. But, to my amazement, I soon realized that when I fold the Imodium blister pack where indicated on the package, I can open it with no problem, and it happens every time.
How is this possible? Did a package management vice president while enduring never-ending, mind-numbing quarantine somewhere finally came up with a blister package solution? Or is it possible that a disgruntled essential employee somewhere trying to slow down the workflow changed the blister pack machine’s dials so that the cuts are just a little deeper and sharper. Think about it. The possibilities are endless.
In life, miracles do happen all the time. I am not only talking about a stigmata produced by a saint. Miracles do not always make their way into history books or happen in front of 67 plus million crazed Superbowl fans as when Franco Harris completed the Immaculate Reception. I need to tell you that over the years, I have developed a personal relationship with miracles.
As in the past when I was offered a bus seat by the goddess of kindness after being on my feet for an eight-hour shift. I was also visited by the god of money when a friend returned a long overdue loan. But the blister pack issue is the most spectacular miracle that I have every witnessed. All I can say is God bless you. Just think, if there were no coronavirus pandemic, I would have never found out about your genius and the gift that you have offered to humanity. In a time of great suffering and sadness, it is easy to become downhearted and jaded, but remember if you look hard enough, there are miracles waiting to revel themselves to you. Do not forget to keep looking. No matter how small it may seem.