Each month if you are sixty or over, there seems to be a very special place that you must go. The end of the month tells you it’s time to fill your medications. It has become a specialized business now, trying to anticipate when the insurance company is going to allow you to get your refill. But every month, if you want to stay alive and healthy, you have to meet at that counter. It is a tiresome ritual. It is not a very private matter, but in a choice between being six foot under, pushing up daisies and walking on your hindlegs above the ground, we take the latter.