Pillbox now a necessity

A pillbox is a type of blockhouse, or concrete dug-in guard-post, often camouflaged, normally equipped with loopholes through which defenders can fire weapons, like on the beaches of Normandy.  A pillbox can also be a box containing pills, or medications arranged by day so that us old people can remember if we took our medications or not.  If the “Tuesday PM” slot is empty, we've taken our medication for the evening, or maybe we just forgot to fill the slot.
I have officially entered old age ( 76).  How do I know this?  It's because I take so many pills, morning and night, and throughout the day, that I can't keep track of them all, and, yes, there are times when I can't remember if I took the pills I was supposed to take, like my memory of, “Did I read this book or not?”  Hmm.
So I asked Ginnie to pick me up one of those handy-dandy pillboxes when she went shopping.  She did, and now my bathroom cabinet is adorned with the “Old Peoples' Badge of Courage,” a pillbox, like those brown liver marks that for no reason seem to appear on the back of my hands and wrists.   
Why am I taking so many pills?  It's like this: as I've written before, I came down with cancer of the lymph nodes.  I was treated by immunotherapy, which nipped the cancer in the bud, thank you for your prayers.  But I have to continue immunotherapy for one year following the “Cancer-Free” diagnosis.  The immunotherapy drug, Keytruda, attacked one of my internal organs, the colon, and gave me colitis.  Ugh.  I won't go into details.  To combat the colitis, the doctors put me on High-Dose Prednisone and a slew of other meds.  Ugh Ugh.  I got tired of opening pill bottles numerous times a day, and wondering if I'd already taken the pill or not.  My internal organ is now organized. 

Our dog Buddy, a French breed, Petit Basset Griffon Vendeen, is going on 15.  He developed a cough, and the Vet announced that Buddy has a heart murmur.  Buddy is taking a plethora of pills also, therefore, Buddy and I have something in common—pillboxes.  Only he takes his pills with a peanut butter flavored pill-pocket.  Even with that, we have to watch him like a hawk or he will try to spit one or more of the pills out.  Crafty booger. 
But we've had a mild winter.  I haven't had to shovel a path through two feet of snow so Buddy can use his dog pen.  Yet.  There's always the “yet,” the high school basketball tournaments that can trigger the worst blizzards of the winter and trap students and players in gymnasiums overnight across the state.  After all, our Full Moon for February 12th this year is called the Snow Moon.  For a reason.   But even the “blizzard” we were supposed to have on the 12th was sort of light weight, like, “Is this really all you've got?”    
I'm a Medicare Insurance Sales person.  I visit a lot of elderly people.  I've used bathrooms at their houses and seen pillboxes beside their sink and thought, “Geesh, I hope I don't have to do that in the future.”  Well, the future is here.  When we have guests at our house, I hide the pillbox.  I don't want them thinking I'm an old man.  (They already know I'm a character.)
Like the battlements of World War I and II, the pillboxes are permanently etched into the beachscape, a reminder of where we were, where we're going, and the life that Buddy and I have in common.
Have a good story?  Call or text Curt Swarm in Mt. Pleasant at 319-217-0526 or email him at curtswarm@yahoo.com.  Curt is available for public speaking.