Back in the day, when you got sick, Dad was the ultimate doctor. A sore throat, a cough, or a fever—out came the trusty Vicks VapoRub. He’d rub it on your chest, back, and nose like a pro, and then set up some steam inhalation. That was the magical cure. By the next day or two, you’d be back to playing as if nothing had happened. No doctors, no tests—just Dad’s care and a bit of menthol magic.
Then came the “independent” phase. You’d grown up and thought you didn’t need Dad’s magic anymore. You had your experts—cousins and friends who acted like walking pharmacies. They’d say things like, “Take this for a cold,” or “This works like a charm for a fever.” So, you’d pop a pill, make some hot soup, and wait it out. It wasn’t perfect, but it worked. You felt proud of yourself—no doctors, no fuss, just a mix of bad advice and blind confidence.
Now? A clinic opened right next door, and it feels like everything has changed. I’ve been to that clinic 10–12 times in just three months! Each visit ends with a bag full of medicines and a new label for what’s wrong—flu, infection, or some new fancy term. I can’t help but wonder: am I really getting sicker, or has the clinic’s convenience turned me into someone who panics at the first sign of a cough?
Looking back, it feels like each stage stole a little bit of toughness. Dad’s care taught us that a little love and patience could heal almost anything. The self-medication phase was all about feeling bold, trusting yourself (and maybe a little too much in your overconfident cousins / friends). But now? It’s like the clinic has turned us into worriers with a growing collection of prescriptions.
We used to think, “This will pass,” but now it’s all, “Better check, just in case.” Progress? Maybe or maybe not – or progress is swapping resilience for prescriptions, and turning every small ache into a full-blown expense. At this rate, the next step isn’t just losing our toughness—it could be something more than that…..