When Friday Goes Missing
Written by Kristin Anderson on October 20, 2009
“Now I really feel old —- I just had to buy a weekly medication pillbox to remember to take my pills!”
This was a friend’s recent Facebook status. I had to laugh — and comment — because what for her is a sign of “maturity” is for me just one of the many tools that enable me to get through the day. Without it, my day wouldn’t get started.
Living life with chronic illness requires so many tools and the establishment of so many rituals — including the bi-weekly medication refill. I dread this exercise. I lug out my tackle box — filled with my arsenal of meds — curl up on the couch and hunker down for about 30 – 40 minutes, counting out all of my medications for two weeks.
Living life with chronic illness requires so many tools and the establishment of so many rituals — including the bi-weekly medication refill. I dread this exercise. I lug out my tackle box — filled with my arsenal of meds — curl up on the couch and hunker down.
I’ve tried to make this ritual “fun.” That means I have to find the perfect television show to watch while I count out and divide my meds. It can’t be too engrossing — or require too much of my attention — or else I’ll miscount (HINT: BRAVO shows usually fit the bill). Nothing is worse than pulling out my pill box at work only to find that I’m missing my oh-so-important pain pill … and all because I was too engrossed in a scene of “True Blood”!
I shudder to think of what my day would be like without my daily medication pill box, with its cool turquoise plastic and four labeled slots that just barely contain all of my pills. For a few days one of my Friday pill boxes was missing, and it was a bit of a crisis in our household. Should I buy a whole new set of Monday-Sunday pillboxes? It’s not possible to find a single pillbox to replace the missing Friday pillbox. And I certainly didn’t want to change my bi-weekly medication refill ritual to — God forbid! — a weekly ritual.
I finally found Friday in my handbag (a dark, deep abyss of medications, band-aids, heat packs, makeup, and other odds and ends). And I’m now eternally grateful for the individual who created my medication delivery system, even though I hate the cumbersome ritual that turns me into my own pharmacist every two weeks.