The Anatomy of Medicine Dispensing from A - Z

by Keesha

“Ain’t gonna!” the stubborn little tow-headed boy exclaimed in a raspy voice as he stamped his foot on the rough-hewed floor.

“But don’t you want to get better?” his mother queried, spoon poised in mid-air.

‘Course he wanted to get better, as long as it did not involve swallowing one of the healer’s vile concoctions,’ he thought to himself.

“Don’t want the nasty medicine,” the four-year-old replied through teeth clamped tighter than a miser’s purse.

“Enough of this nonsense,” Eryetheia warned, “that is, unless you want to wait until your Father comes home and ask him if you should take the medicine.”

“Father,” the young child echoed in a voice tinged with fear.

‘Gods, that was the last thing he wanted,’ the little boy thought as he suppressed a shudder.

His father would make sure he took his medicine, even if he had to beat him to death to ensure it.

“I don’t want to hear any more arguments”, his exasperated mother advised, her patience at an end with her stubborn son.

“Just open your mouth and swallow this,” she ordered presenting the offending spoon to Iolaus again.

Knowing that had been mentally beaten and wanting to avoid a physical one, Iolaus grudgingly opened his mouth and allowed his mother to spoon in the potion.

“Look now, that was so bad was it?” Eryetheia asked gently as she withdrew the spoon from his mouth.

Motioning no with his curly-topped head, Iolaus turned to go.

Now if he could just get out of sight of her…

“Oh no you don’t” his mother cautioned laying a hand on his scheming shoulder.

“Perhaps the old ‘I’ll hold the medicine in my mouth and spit it out once I’m out of Mom’s sight’ might work on this old gal once, but not twice!” she chided him.

“Quickly now, swallow that medicine!” his mother demanded.

‘Rats,’ he mentally sighed as he allowed a small portion of the foul tasting liquid to trickle down his raw, red throat.

Stoically suffering, he noisily swallowed the rest of the medicine with a mighty grimace.

“To bed with you now or I will speak to your Father about your behavior,” Eryetheia ordered heading off the ‘I don’t wann go to bed’ argument at the pass.

Unusually docile, Iolaus compiled with his mother’s instructions.

Very little could be won by trying to further circumvent his mother’s orders and much could be lost if his father became involved.

Watching the shadows creep across the wooden planks that comprised the kitchen floor, Iolaus realized his father would be home soon.

‘Xactly the situation’, the four-year-old mind reckon, ‘that he did not want to find himself in; that is if he did not want his bottom to be as sore as his throat.

‘Yes, this battle was lost; best to retreat and live to fight another day’, the warrior wanna-be sighed as he climbed into his bed

Zeus’ legendary temper couldn’t hold a candle to his father’s and he had the bruises to prove it’, Iolaus thought as he drifted off into narcotic induced sleep.

4 April 2000



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