Acid Reflux Anonymous

Hello, my name is Brian Hagerman, and I have acid reflux disease.

Last Friday I went to the doctor. It was my first visit to any doctor in six years. The last time I went I was 30 and my wife demanded I have a physical ... because I was 30. When I went to the physical, the doctor asked me why I was there. "Because I'm 30 and my wife made me," I said. He said, "nothing wrong?" I said, "No." He said, "Come back when something's wrong."

That was six years ago, and now something is wrong. My former doc has moved on, so I saw a new guy that my wife has been to. After the humiliation of being weighed (and being reminded about how well my stellar diet is progressing), I am seated in the exam room. All the mags are Parenting Today and Good Housekeeping. For a $100 minimum charge, I would have preferred Sports Illustrated or at least something with pictures.

In walks the doc (Dr. James Bell, for those of you in Cedar Rapids).

"So, how are we today?"

"Great. Except that if I were truly great, I wouldn't be here."

"I guess that's true."

"Well, Dr. Bell, my name is Brian Hagerman, and I have acid reflux disease ... I think."

"What are your symptoms?"

"When I lay down at night, my throat burns. If I wake up in the middle of the night, I feel yucky from my stomach to my mouth. I'm taking Tums every day to no avail. I've gained a little weight in the last two years, which I've read can add to acid reflux."

"Yep, you got all the signs. I could run a bunch of expensive tests, but I'm pretty sure a couple months of prescription meds will do the trick. If not, give me a call and we'll do the expensive stuff."

Now that's the kind of doctor I like.

Unfortunately, the term "expensive" is relative. No, he didn't order the $1,000 upper GI. Instead, he ordered me up a prescription that costs $4.25 per pill. At one a day for two months, you can do the math. That "little bit extra" I talked about last week from my tax refund just got spent.

I hope the little purple pill works. At $4.25 a pop, it should come with a guarantee of superhero powers, or height acceleration. I'll keep you posted if I shoot past six foot, or begin leaping tall buildings. At the very least, I hope my stomach stops behaving like a car battery.