Florence Nightingale's black market Viagra

For a nurse, I’ve never liked medicine. I’ve given enough of it and while it does have a place in medical therapy, I prefer the short-term kind. I’m not putting anyone down who truly needs pharmacological assistance. I just feel there’s something to be said for the mind-body connection subscribed in Eastern medicine. I also like Florence Nightingale’s philosophies — good hygiene, cleanliness, healthy diet, sanitary water, exercise, kindness and sunshine. My friend and fellow nurse, Hattie, also feels this way and told me she used to promote it tirelessly! Imagine my shock the other day when Hattie, who had been a community nurse in Cairo, Illinois, for many years, recalled a story about a patient she had (we’ll call him Bill), who despite clean water, hard physical labor on the river and plenty of sunshine, absolutely could not live without his Viagra!

In the early 1990s, Hattie followed her physician from town to town, serving multiple small clinics in Southern Illinois, when a new drug was brought onto the market. Originally developed by Pfizer to relieve chest pain, it was shown in the clinical trials of several English gentlemen to reduce chest pain by dilating the blood vessels near the heart, but as a side effect, it was also dilating blood vessels in other parts of the body! I can only imagine being a nurse on that floor! Thus, rather than introducing another blood pressure pill into an already saturated market, the wise ad executives at Pfizer opted to create Viagra. Thus, the little blue pill was born! No longer would strapping, testosterone-waning men suffer the embarrassment of erectile dysfunction right at that inopportune moment. Instead, they could simply pop a Viagra and poof! Their manhood was instantly restored!

According to Hattie, Bill was a regular at the clinic, always coming by for some little thing or another. However, she began noticing that every time Bill left, he was prescribed medicine or given samples from the doctor that didn’t really match up to his supposed ailment. Dr. Brown, while honest and thorough, still believed in discretion, and did not mention this side issue to his nurse. But one day, Hattie asked, “What is wrong with him that he has to see you every time we’re in town?” And Dr. Brown, being in his late 60s, appreciative of his good nurse, and a little embarrassed, blushed and explained the situation. Hattie had a good laugh but she told me that it got her thinking. As far as she knew, Bill had never married and with his clean overalls, shy shuffles and patient manners, she didn’t see him paying for the privileges of the number of companions it would take to go through that much Viagra.

This situation went on for some time with Bill coming in for a cough or a tummy ache and leaving with his supply and no one pretending the be the wiser. Until one day, while overwhelmed with sick patients, Bill shuffled in the door and asked if he could see Dr. Brown about an infected toe he had festering. Dr. Brown looked at Bill and asked him which toe it was. Bill replied, “Uh, it’s my right toe!” and promptly stuck out his left foot, smiling ear to ear. Dr. Brown grinned and Hattie met Bill around back.

They say it’s always the quiet ones that fool you, Hattie recounted, but I imagine there were quite a few men in Cairo that summer who had a good time without ever saying a word! I thought about checking the census but maybe Florence Nightingale had it right ... maybe I should just check the weather instead.

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