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The Spokesman-Review Newspaper
Spokane, Washington  Est. May 19, 1883

Scoring Sudafed takes a lot out of cold sufferer

Carefully I pulled on sheer black pantyhose and slid my feet into sensible, low-heeled pumps. I fastened my tiny pearl earrings with trembling hands as a bout of coughing assailed me.

I shrugged my shoulders into a tasteful herringbone jacket and checked my makeup one last time. Was this lipstick too dark? I frantically dabbed more powder under my eyes, hoping to conceal the dark circles. I hadn’t slept well.

I wasn’t getting ready for a job interview or luncheon meeting. I was preparing to go the drug store. I had a cold. I needed Sudafed.

Recently, Washington state passed tougher laws on the sale of any over-the-counter drug containing pseudoephedrine. Medications like Sudafed are now hidden behind the pharmacy counter. You can’t buy more than three boxes, and now you must sign a registry to purchase them.

Thanks to meth users, those of us with common colds now often feel like furtive drug users when we want to purchase the medication of our choice.

I’ve tried other cold medicines, but they make me feel sleepy. With four sons to corral and chauffer around town, I have to be alert. And I’d like to breathe, which is why instead of shuffling to the store in my sweatpants and slippers, I’m decked out like an attorney ready to plead her case in court.

In the car I rehearsed my lines. I mustn’t sound desperate. I checked my teeth in the rearview mirror. Nice and shiny. Chronic meth users often have discolored, broken teeth.

I wandered around the cosmetics aisle while I worked up my courage to approach the pharmacy. This must be what teenage boys felt like when condoms were kept behind the counter instead of handed out in baskets at health class.

Finally, I braced myself and stepped in line. When it was my turn I asked for three boxes of Sudafed. It’s a nasty cold, and I hoped they’d last. The pharmacist was hard of hearing, or maybe I mumbled. “What was that, Ma’am?”

“Three boxes of Sudafed please.” I couldn’t take it. I broke down. “I have a really bad cold. I can’t breathe. I really need it!”

After showing him my driver’s license, my library card and my Costco membership, I was allowed to sign my name and pay for my medication.

Exhausted by the effort, I staggered to the car, hoping I wasn’t under surveillance by store security. I wanted to take two Sudafed then and there, but I didn’t know if any hidden cameras were aimed toward my car.

Once home I swallowed the pills and collapsed fully dressed on my bed. My husband awakened me when he arrived for lunch. He sniffed. He snuffled. He coughed.

“I think I’m getting a cold,” he said, “Did you get any Sudafed?”

I bared my teeth and whispered hoarsely, “Get your own stash, loser,” and tucked my hoard securely under my pillow.

Scoring Sudafed brought out the worst in me. I guess it’s a good thing they don’t hand it out to just anyone.