Would someone please pass me my pills?

I watched today as a mother gave her little boy his medication … probably for a cold or sinus infection. They were eating in a restaurant … social distancing … where he was being treated to a pile of French fries and “whatever he wanted.” She spooned the orange-colored liquid into his open mouth. He made a face. Then they high-fived and ordered ice cream.

I’d been to the doctor, too, but no one was offering me ice cream. So, I ordered cheesecake. I smiled across the room at the little boy, and he made the face again. Maybe I shouldn’t have said, “Ha Ha, my cheesecake is better than vanilla ice cream.”

Life is pretty simple when you are a child. Your mother gives you food and shelter and medication on the right schedule. She knows how much to give. She has the special spoon in her purse, and there is no need for an alarm to go off on her phone to remind her to get you what you need.

It’s different when you are an adult … especially when you are “overly” adult or when you are taking care of an “overly” adult person. Medication is not one small bottle of orange liquid. It’s a drawer full of little bottles and big bottles and a subdivided pill box that requires a degree in engineering to master.

It’s best if the pill separator (that would be me) has a good list. I, being the computer whiz, put it on an Excel spreadsheet. Color coded columns delineate when the pills are to be taken. Usually: morning, noon, and night. It seems most of our pills are morning and night. The doctors have thrown in a few noon pills to keep us alert. I figure if we miss a noon one, it’s not a problem. There are plenty more of those big yellow capsules in the morning and evening boxes.

So, using the list, which can change on a dime if one goes to as many different doctors as we do, I begin to fill the little boxes. It’s a lot like counting kids at the zoo. Morning: one, two, three, four … seven. Noon: one, two … seven. Evening: one, two, three, … “Oh, no, we’re out of the little blue and white ones … I’ll need to get it refilled by Thursday.”

There were ten bottles in the one gallon Ziplock bag for my friend. I used to tease him that he had way too many pills, that is until I had a flair-up of my own and had to go to a two-gallon bag for myself. Having ten bottles means ten trips down the line from Sunday to Saturday. Some of those medications are repeated in the evening and one of his is three times a day: two, two, and three. I’m telling you; it takes another degree … this one in accounting to keep up.

Factor into this that we are both getting older. We don’t see as well as we used to. We don’t remember what day it is. We can’t remember if the big green pill is an iron tablet or an M&M. Sometimes we make mistakes. My box of pills doesn’t look like his. My pills don’t look like his. But, if I start singing bass and my feet start to grow, I’m going to have the home health nurse check my pills, too.