After yesterday’s visit to the allergist, I am now taking four separate medications. Four separate pills. Three of which are to be taken in the morning and the evening. And one, the new one, is to be taken in the evening only.
I am not yet thirty and I think it might behoove me to invest in a pill box.
You see, the allergists – yes, both of them, a tag team of medical strength and intent – are content, at this juncture, to throw the kitchen sink at me just to see if anything sticks. Along with the kitchen sink comes dirty dish water that stains my t-shirts, or the side effects of yet another pill- the headaches and hot flashes and journeys into the great big wallow.
So I think I just may purchase a pill box. It is, I think, the rational thing to do. I could carry it in my satchel, or fastened to the side of my leg, like the knife of a pirate world adventurer, ready to be drawn at the first sign of its enemy.