I work in pharmaceuticals.

I find that whenever I say this, I must defend myself as if I was the local pedofile. I've heard it all: "Well if you're here, who is running hell?"

Or the ever so eloquent: "Why don't you just kill yourself now and maybe that will make up for the millions of deaths you cause every year."

Recently, my best friend even said to me "Dave, you know you're one step away from being a drug dealer, right?"

Yes, there is never a shortage of opinions about my profession. So, why do I do it?

Let me try and set the record straight.

November 23rd, 2006. Thanksgiving day.

I woke up to a soggy head. Thoughts of my career and girls and life and love and art. What to be thankful for on this day? Excedrin. Excedrin. Excedrin. Pop. Ahh. Headache delayed. Now I can think clearly. Think think think. Sit and think. What should I be thankful for today on this day? My heart pumps and pumps and churns out beat after beat. It slowly increases speed as I sweat to the nervousness of my situation. Zoloft. Zoloft. Zoloft. Pop. Ahh. Panic attack delayed. Crisis averted.

The lifesavers (and I'm NOT using this term loosely) that work to create the little pills that we all have popped. These amazing men and women in the pharma plants who research and compile, sample and collect, analyze and study so someone they've never met and never will meet can delay, deter, prolong, and negotiate the thing that matters most: life. These people are why I do it. So that Norma H in Tuskaloosie can survive another day to see her son. Or John G from Minneapolis can feel that he has strength to make the long trip to see his family in New Jersey on any day he chooses without having to fold his hands. Because hope can come in the form of a pill.

Step back a bit.

My first panic attack. It was the scariest moment of my life. We've all had it in some form or another.

That pang of energy. That flash of sadness. Emotional stress. Burning itches. Massive headaches. Cuts. Scars. Bruises. Burns.

Pain.

The rush was indescribable. My body was failing me on an epic level. Or so I thought. Actually, I didn't think much. I couldn't. I was too pre-occupied with the imminent heart failure that seemed to be engulfing me. The funny thing, (and it's only funny now) is I was not prepared in any way for this moment. I had no expectations and was totally vulnerable. The thing that I didn't realize at the time, and haven't told anyone since. Is that all I could think about was my family. All I could imagine is how little I had said those three words that mean so much. I thought of all the memories I have of us together, swirling to combine an etherial slideshow of my life. All of this in an instant. An eternity.

This is the part where you ask "What are the sinews? Where is the connection? Those stretched ligaments that bring the story straight back and keep it from bending too far? When will I get that 'ahh' feeling of clairvoyance?"

Well, if there is something I've learned in the brief experience that has been my life so far, it's that whenever possible, keeping things simpler is better. So the mystery is left beautiful in its simplicity.

The deluge of an understanding, overwhelms me and fills my heart with that same pang of energy that I got from my first panic attack. That same flash of happiness. Uninterrupted and clear. I felt that certain ache that can't be quelled with a single pill. There is no ointment for it. No treatment that can attenuate this feeling. No need for a shot of some antibiotic.

The feeling that today, on November 23, 2006, I'm thankful for these all too important things:

My health and my family.