I have a bucket of drugs in one of my kitchen cabinets, stored way up high and out of the reach of two busy little boys. For a short time during my breast cancer treatment I reached for this container every day. Lately, though, I have little use for this medley of medication. There are some things I use -- like cough medicine made for little people and ibuprofen for the occasional headache -- but mostly, we are a drug-free household. So really, I don't need much of what I'm storing in that cabinet. Much of it is so old, in fact, it has probably expired.Every once in a while, we should all take a tour through our medicine cabinets and peek at the expiration dates on our prescriptions and over-the-counter bottles. If anything is expired, toss it! Expired medications do not work. In some cases, they can be toxic if consumed after their deadline dates.
To find out more about the shelf life of common medicine cabinet products, click here. To learn more about safely disposing of expired medications, click here.
When we memorialize someone at the time of death, we often refer to the date of birth and the date of death. These numbers tell us something -- like the age of the person -- but they don't say much about the life that fills the gap between start date and end date. They don't tell of the life that was surely full of ups and downs and victories and struggles. And happiness and joy and sadness and sorrow. And family and friends and jobs and hobbies. They don't do justice to the true stuff of life that is so much more important than numbers. But there is something important about these two sets of numbers -- something that when really examined, tells the full story. This important something -- the dash.
Several boxes containing injections of Neulasta have lined the bottom of my refrigerator for more than a year. They are left-overs from chemotherapy -- from a time when one needle pierced the skin on my arm after each chemo treatment to keep my blood counts in a safe range. I've looked at them day after day after day, and I've allowed them to sit in the same exact spot for all this time. But today, they are in the trash -- not because I made a conscious choice to throw them away but because water spilled all over the inside of my refrigerator and left them soggy and damaged. Surely I would not have used them in this condition, I thought -- so I tossed them. But really, I would not have used them anyway. They were old -- probably past their expiration date -- and I am not receiving chemotherapy anymore. I had absolutely no use for them. But I kept them for safety or comfort or some other impractical reason -- for the same reason I keep a basket full of old medication in my kitchen cupboard. It's all cancer-related -- most of it never touched because I don't really like taking medication, even when necessary. So this stock-piling tendency defies all logic for me. Until today -- when part of my past sits in a white trash bag, ready for the curb, and the rest of it is soon to be trashed. So I can continue moving forward. Away from cancer. For good.
