FEELING NO PAIN<br /> With hundreds of types of drugs and other health-related products lining pharmacy shelves, I wonder how, in God's name, did I make it through childhood without dying of some mishap or some god-awful disease. When I grew up in Branch in the 50s, we had very little with which to treat our ills and ailments. However, that did not stop us from medicating ourselves, in some form or another , when the need arose. Aspirin, which came in a little flat tin container, was the only painkiller used, unless you took my bachelor uncle's advice. No matter where you had an ache or pain, he would say, &quot;The only thing to cure that is a good strong drink of hard liquor.&quot; My uncle gave the phrase &quot;feeling no pain&quot; a whole new meaning.<br /> My mother's panacea for most ailments came in a little royal blue bottle called Vicks Vaporub. She had lived through the 1920s where she had witnessed a deadly influenza which killed many people including her own mother. She had also seen the dreaded tuberculosis decimate whole families. If we showed the slightest sign of a cough or a cold, she would plaster the strong substance all over our chests. Sometimes she sent us to school smelling like an apothecary's lab. Long before those little Vicks inhalers came into use, she would melt Vicks cream in hot water and make us sniff it to clear our nostrils. Some nights, the odor was so heavy in our kitchen that just sitting at the table could make you as high as a kite.<br /> I jest, of course. but you get the picture. With seven children in our family, there was always someone sporting a cut or a skin wound and for this there were two options. If you were lucky enough to get painted with a coat of Mercurochrome, the treatment would be quite painless, but that awful iodine could make raw skin smart like the devil. I would rather hide a skin injury than see my mother or father coming toward me with that dreaded brown bottle. I remember one spring when my mother found a novel use for those two medications. She would add a generous amount of Mercurochrome or iodine to her paint can in order to create a new colour for her walls. For the whole month of May, the smell of iodine would knock you down if you happened to find yourself in our porch with both doors closed.<br /> Need I remind any child of the 50s about the poignant taste of that darn cod liver oil, which was inflicted upon every schoolchild of that decade. The first time I was forced to ingest a spoonful, it came back up as quickly as it went down. More of that oily liquid was spit across kitchen floors than went into our stomachs. And if perchance, it got on your clothes, you could smell like a liver pot for a week. <br /> Today, if I feel the slightest inkling of a cold, I rush out to buy the traditional Buckley's mixture despite the fact that the first time I drank it, it completely took my breath away and knocked me out a cold junk. So much for following the correct dosage.<br /> All this being said, I am still alive and kicking into my senior years. In spite of the obnoxious tastes, smells, stinging skin and a near overdose of Buckley's Mixture, maybe there is something to be said for medicines of the past. If need be, and the good Lord permits, I'll keep trying them for a few more years.<br />   Submitted By: Marina Power-Gambin