About seven years ago, when I was still in my 40s, my GP saw fit to prescribe me another pill to take every day. I believe it was for reflux. While I was grateful for anything to address the geysers of what felt like battery acid erupting in my belly, I was dismayed. I already took something for anxiety and two for hypertension, so this would be my fourth pill. “Four a day!” I groaned. “What’s happening to me?”
“Welcome to middle age,” the GP said, drily.
