Have you ever taken the wrong medication?  

Some years ago my wife and I were hurriedly preparing to attend a funeral.  The husband of a niece had died, and we were to attend his funeral service at a church in Annapolis.  Relatives from out-of-town had spent the night at our home and would follow us to Annapolis that morning.

After breakfast, we finished last minute preparations and headed for the cars.  As we left the house I reached into the medicine cabinet and picked up what I believed to be my thyroid medication.  I have had hypothyroidism for years, and every morning I take a thyroid supplement.  This time I mistakenly picked up one of my wife’s diuretic pills instead.

My error became acutely apparent to me a short while into the funeral service.  The pressure was intense, and I had a desperate need to exit the sanctuary posthaste. I tore out of the place like a man with his hair on fire.  I then raced around the interior of the church looking for a restroom, but the place was strange to me, and I failed to find one.  I then sprinted out of the church and ran to the building next door.  It happened to be a courthouse, and guards were checking for weapons as people entered.  I thought of leaping the barricade and taking a chance on a bullet, but the line moved quickly, and I made it to a restroom just down the hall.  Oh, what a relief!

Following the service we said a sudden goodbye to the rest of the family and tore off for home, hitting more than one service station restroom along the way.

After that episode I was far more understanding of my wife’s need for frequent restroom stops during road trips.  No more complaints.