Totting up

The other morning when I was getting my meds together I began to feel a little queezy at the thought of taking yet another handful of tablets. In a rather negative moment I decided to work out how many pills I take over the course of a week and was shocked to discover that it's over 200! Then there are the nebulisers, of which I take at least 56 a week. It's no wonder I could barely face the small mountain of tablets in front of me. It's not worth not taking them though, and quite frankly I know that I wouldn't survive a day if I didn't take them, so a tossed them into my mouth, took a sip of water and had them clatter down my gullet. Most of the time it doesn't bother me and I do the tablet-taking routine almost without thinking, although I have to keep track of what day it is as there are three different tablets I take once a week on three different days of the week, which can be a little confusing at times, but I've worked out my system for remembering to take them on the right days. It's a bind though and it means that I can never stay anywhere overnight on the spur of the moment, as I was invited to do at my dad's on Easter Monday - no meds means no breathing, and that tends to lead to hospital. Speaking of which, I also worked out the other day that this millennium I have been in hospital somewhere in the region of sixty to seventy times! It's no wonder that I'm sick of the places, although also see them as my second home.

Sometimes I suddenly become aware of the weirdness that is my life - the extraordinary existence that others see that has become so ordinary for me. Sometimes it shocks me. It is though the only life that I have so I will continue to make of it what I can and do what I can while I have it ... pills, nebulisers, hospital admissions and all.