Letters for George: Me and Mark McGwire Are Muy Simpatico

Mark McGwire

ME AND MARK MCGWIRE ARE MUY SIMPATICO*

Dear George,

Home run king Mark McGwire is sure getting a lot of flak. When he recently admitted to Bob Costas on national TV that he’d been on steroids in 1998 when he hit 70 homers and broke Roger Maris’ all-time record, the fans applauded his contrition. But then Mark went on to say that the steroids had had no effect on his hitting. He only took them so he could get healthy and keep playing. The sports radio guys said this was the stupidest lie they’d ever heard. Now nobody thinks that McGwire should ever even get near to the Hall of Fame.

I myself completely agree with Mark, and, if I had the chance, I would definitely vote for him for the Hall. As you know, just like Mark, I’ve been struggling with a lot of arm and shoulder pains for months. It all goes back to last September when my fitness trainer, whose identity I will protect with the pseudonym Morgana von Sadistica, told me to increase all my exercise weights. It wasn’t easy, but I did it. Then I woke up one morning with throbbing achiness in my arms and shoulders, and I found that I couldn’t put my shirt on without experiencing excruciating pain.

I didn’t return to Morgana, and I quit doing my strength exercises at the fitness center altogether. I decided this was a matter of rest and healing over time. I started taking Advil several times a day. I did feel pretty good during the day, but began hurting each mid-evening, and was thoroughly sore at bedtime. Because certain movements aggravated the pain, I had to stop sleeping on my stomach (which I’d been doing for fifty years) and had to keep my arms pinned to my sides and completely motionless. This did not make for restful sleeping and, according to Katja, caused loud snoring. I began taking Ambien every night to put me to sleep.

By December I wasn’t feeling any better, and I’d had to double my dosage of Ambien, though even then it was no longer working. Finally I made an appointment with my new family physician, Dr. Cosgrove, to get a better sleeping pill and a more powerful painkiller. Cosgrove is a sort of mum person who spends most of my appointment time typing on his laptop. He told me that my tolerance for Ambien had increased, and he didn’t want me to use that any more. He moved my arms this way and that and came up with a diagnosis of bilateral tendonitis. Katja had recently gotten a steroid injection for tendonitis in her hand, and it had been very successful. I asked Dr. Cosgrove if he could give me some shots, but he didn’t think so. Instead, he prescribed a milder anti-inflammatory, Naproxen. I told him that I couldn’t sleep because of pain and that I would need a strong painkiller at bedtime. I think Dr. Cosgrove had already decided that I was a drug addict because of my increased Ambien usage, and he said that Tylenol was the strongest painkiller that he would prescribe. I gloomily complained that Tylenol was worse than nothing. Dr. Cosgrove thought it over. Then he said, “We can try Cycladyne on you.” I’d never heard of it. He said it was one of the earliest antidepressants that was used before Zoloft or Prozac, but that it would work both as a sleep aid and as a painkiller. That sounded good. Dr. Cosgrove paused. “There is one side effect,” he said. “What’s that?” I asked. “Priapism,” he said. I’d never heard of that either. While I won’t go into the gory details, Dr. Cosgrove explained that it’s like that four-hour condition that Katja finds so amusing in the Cialis commercials, except that it can go on for days or even for the rest of one’s life. “That doesn’t happen very often, does it?” I asked, and Dr. Cosgrove said it didn’t. But he told me to phone his service immediately if it did.

I went to the drugstore and filled my Cycladyne prescription, then went to Keller’s IGA where I ran into one of more former clinical psychology colleagues, Art Ruby. We chatted a bit and I mentioned going to the doctor. Art’s jaw dropped when I mentioned Cycladyne. He explained he has a lawyer friend who recently defended a client whose anatomical parts were completely destroyed by Cycladyne. While the client did wind up with a ton of money from the drug company, the lawyer’s opinion was that Cycladyne was the work of the devil.

Art’s story raised some doubts in my mind, but I’d already paid the $25 co-pay for my one month prescription. I paused and looked in the mirror before taking the first pill that night, but decided I would simply abide by whatever fate had in store. It’s not that easy to fall asleep when you’re lying there in a cold sweat, but the Cycladyne did its work. I drifted off at 11 p.m. and woke promptly at 8. The only hitch was that my mouth felt stuffed with cotton balls and my arm muscles were in agony. I think the Cycladyne was so powerful that my entire body had remained locked rigidly in an immobile position the entire night.

This went on for a couple of weeks. I was enjoying the best sleep ever, but my tendonitis was getting worse and worse by the day. Finally Katja, fed up, demanded that I call her orthopedist. I worried about being disloyal to Dr. Cosgrove, but I was feeling so terrible that I just went ahead. Her doctor came up with the same tendonitis diagnosis, and he went ahead and gave me a steroid injection in each shoulder. It hurt. I asked how long the effects might last. He said it might not help at all or it could help for a few days, or a few weeks, or forever. I’d have to wait and see. That was three days ago. The first day I felt a little bit better; the second day, I felt a lot bit better; and today I feel 100% back to normal. Plus Katja is happy because I don’t snore any more. So, Mark McGwire, I know exactly where you’re coming from. My home run hitting probably hasn’t improved a whit, but I’m definitely a whole lot healthier. If you need my testimony for the commission, just give me a call.