Since I'm now taking a daily pill--the estrogen-blocker, the one that makes me age at five times the normal rate--and another every third day one that's supposed to protect my bones, I bought a pill-organizer. My previous system was none: leaving the pills in the plastic bag in which they'd been shoved when I purchased them, and making sure, every evening after my last glass of wine, that I popped the medicine as I was checking emails.
I'm now the proud owner of a multicolored set of drawers, the cheapest thing I could find on Amazon, that look like Barbie's Winter storage containers. The lime-green Monday drawer, like the baby-blue Tuesday drawer, the forest-green Wednesday drawer (you get the idea) contains four tiny drawers labeled Morning, Noon, Evening, Bedtime. This contraption is for serious pill-taking. I've just dumped a week's worth of pills in their proper compartments, though some are in Evening and some are in Bedtime, because I didn't notice which flap I was opening. If I go away for the weekend, I can take one tiny drawer with me, my daughter pointed out. I enjoy looking at the thing parked on my desk, a symbol of organization in the midst of my crumpled-paper chaos. I've never yet forgotten a pill--once I got up in the middle of the night, but I was only an hour late. Yes, I take them around eleven in the evening, because the other side effect is that they make me sleepy. Even after galvanizing myself with coffee, I'm still sleepy at 9:33 on a sunny day in this year of post-cancerhood. In which I still like to say the word "cure" as faces flush or twitch or get angered, as if I'd mentioned child abuse. But I'll keep taking those pills as long as they make me do so, and reflecting on the luck that got that dang tumor discovered before it hit my bones. Get your mammograms, girls. If for no other reason, so that you don't have to run out and buy Barbie's Winter storage containers.
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