<p>Memories of our childhood days can often be amusing. Among the embarrassing moments I had as a child, what stands out the most is my resistance to taking medicines. Call it phobia, aversion, obsession, or by any other name, the struggle at that time seemed unsurmountable. </p>.<p>The earliest that I can recall is when I was six or seven years old, but it all must have begun prior to that. I loathed everything about the bitter pill—from its look to its taste, smell, and feel. If swallowing a pellet was an arduous task, taking some syrup or tonic was absolutely unthinkable. </p>.<p>Imagine my parents’ plight whenever I fell sick, as I would just sit down with the pill in one hand and a glass of water in another without any intent of taking any further action. Scolding<br />or coaxing hardly helped, as I was adamant and helpless at the same time. </p>.<p>Although known for her composure, my mother too would lose her temper off and on. To make matters worse, even with the slightest illness, I would be so vulnerable, and the moans of “Amma” were endless. I wished she could be at my bedside all the time, even when I was just slightly unwell. </p>.<p>One such instance occurred when she diligently walked into my room with the morning dose of my prescribed medication on a plate. One look at the hideous, colourful array, and the next thing I remember is fiercely throwing up all over the place. That was it. I have no clue how I recovered later. </p>.<p>Meticulous step-by-step demonstrations by my grandmother did not work either. In doing so, the poor lady would exhaust all of her routine medications one after the other. I would watch her in awe, and when it was my turn, I filled my mouth with water up to the brim and slowly popped the pill in. Before I could close my mouth, the pill somehow bounced out onto the floor, much to my utter relief. Again, don’t ask me how I got better. </p>.<p>At times, some offbeat forms of placebo worked after all. Like, during a bout of fever, when my parents bought me a pack of sketch pens that I’d been longing for quite a while, the fever was magically gone! These situations might sound silly at present, but it was indeed a tough phase while it lasted, probably for years. I truly appreciate my parents for their perseverance. Looking back, I cannot even pinpoint when or how I got over this weird problem of mine despite the fact that liquid medicines are still not an option for me.</p>
<p>Memories of our childhood days can often be amusing. Among the embarrassing moments I had as a child, what stands out the most is my resistance to taking medicines. Call it phobia, aversion, obsession, or by any other name, the struggle at that time seemed unsurmountable. </p>.<p>The earliest that I can recall is when I was six or seven years old, but it all must have begun prior to that. I loathed everything about the bitter pill—from its look to its taste, smell, and feel. If swallowing a pellet was an arduous task, taking some syrup or tonic was absolutely unthinkable. </p>.<p>Imagine my parents’ plight whenever I fell sick, as I would just sit down with the pill in one hand and a glass of water in another without any intent of taking any further action. Scolding<br />or coaxing hardly helped, as I was adamant and helpless at the same time. </p>.<p>Although known for her composure, my mother too would lose her temper off and on. To make matters worse, even with the slightest illness, I would be so vulnerable, and the moans of “Amma” were endless. I wished she could be at my bedside all the time, even when I was just slightly unwell. </p>.<p>One such instance occurred when she diligently walked into my room with the morning dose of my prescribed medication on a plate. One look at the hideous, colourful array, and the next thing I remember is fiercely throwing up all over the place. That was it. I have no clue how I recovered later. </p>.<p>Meticulous step-by-step demonstrations by my grandmother did not work either. In doing so, the poor lady would exhaust all of her routine medications one after the other. I would watch her in awe, and when it was my turn, I filled my mouth with water up to the brim and slowly popped the pill in. Before I could close my mouth, the pill somehow bounced out onto the floor, much to my utter relief. Again, don’t ask me how I got better. </p>.<p>At times, some offbeat forms of placebo worked after all. Like, during a bout of fever, when my parents bought me a pack of sketch pens that I’d been longing for quite a while, the fever was magically gone! These situations might sound silly at present, but it was indeed a tough phase while it lasted, probably for years. I truly appreciate my parents for their perseverance. Looking back, I cannot even pinpoint when or how I got over this weird problem of mine despite the fact that liquid medicines are still not an option for me.</p>