A wife reports, her husband’s Saturday night has come down to crossing out days on the calendar.  At age 83, the highpoint of my week begins Wednesday morning, retrieving a 5x9x15 inch, three-pound, Rubbermaid container from the linen closet.  

Placing the box on the kitchen table, I remove the lid revealing a dozen-and-a-half, assorted-size, plastic containers, preparatory for what friend Lorayne calls a “Pill-Fill.”  Prescribed potions in the same ubiquitous, amber containers I see on bathroom counters in TV drug addiction and suicide reports.  Life-savers, Carvedilol and Lisinopril, keep an antique heart up to speed.  Xarelto stops ol’ blood from getting’ thick.  Levothyroxine keeps the thyroid doin’ its magic.  Lovostatin for cholesterol.  Weekly Alendronate Sodium for strong bones.  And my Happy Pill, Sertraline.  Just in case, there’s Meloxicam for pain, Amlodipine should the blood pressure take a jump and antibiotic Ciprofloxacin, “Discard: 06/25/2020”—six months ago—on the bottom label.  To keep an aging body numbed-out, I take a couple of acetaminophen morning, afternoon and night.   

And the “Supplements.”  Despite being a skeptic regarding what I think of as “Voodoo Health and Nutrition,” every day I take Taurine, Central-Vite Senior, Vitamin D3, PB8 Probiotic, Fish-Flax-Borge Oils and Gucosamine Chondroitin MSM.  I cover my hypocrisy by noting that sometime back, someone I trust or something I read persuaded me these potions may keep me around a bit longer. 

Toward evening, some of us have sometimes wondered, “Did I take my pill?”  At the moment, the question may take on seemingly life-or-death implications.  When forty pills are down to eighteen, counting affords little reassurance. 

This quandary in mind, some smart person invented little plastic pill boxes with compartments labeled Su M T W Th F Sa.  My Pill-Fill involves assigning six to eight pills or capsules from the dozen-and-a-half containers into daily allotments.  Even so, in the evening I, uncommonly, have discovered pills and capsules in the day’s designated compartment. 

I itemize my formulary to acknowledge and express appreciation for the miracles and magic of modern medicine which, more than once, has saved my life.  Beyond our allotted “three score and ten,” chemicals and scalpels forestall graves and mausoleums.  If you are lucky enough to be here you know.  If you are lucky enough to get here you will. 

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