I know…pill box is a term from WWII for small forts equipped with machine guns or small cannons…but the pill box in my life is a little plastic thing with separate compartments marked S through S with tiny lids you can lift to load…or to unload…meds. The idea is to keep track of what you took when…or what you forgot to take when. Even with a pill box organizer, I sometimes can’t remember if I took the darned pills or not. Or if I actually loaded the compartments with the prescribed stuff.
I think I’m lucky to only take two meds…unless you count aspirin…which I don’t. After all, I was using aspirin before I knew it was good for something other than headaches. Or the flu. (“Take two aspirin, drink lots of fluids, go to bed, and see me in the morning.”) I remember once opting to drink beer for my “fluids.” Didn’t work very well, so I really did have to take two aspirin.
What I don’t like about my pill box isn’t the meds or forgetting to either load it or to take the nasty little pills inside. No. What I don’t like is the daily reminder of how quickly a week passes. At my age, it’s a little scary. Makes me think I better hurry up and write a song called “The Pill Box Blues.”