Well, the pill popping has started.

To misquote John Travolta – I’ve got PILLS they’re multiplying, and I’m losing control …

I never really needed to take much even into middle age, just the odd aspirin, and after the doctor peered over his glasses and added the BP pills, but that was all.

Sitting at a horse show last year with my husband, his mate of similar age turned and said to him, “how many pills do you have to take?”

I thought this an odd topic for a chat, but when husband said three, the mate laughed like a drain and said “I take 12.”

I wandered off feeling fit and superior, but the last year has taught me a hard lesson.

I remember visiting my parents in their latter years, and each morning mum would bring out this box full of variously labelled pills, dole out several to my father before lining her own up on her plate.

Guess what – I started doing that this week.  Husband, who spent a week in hospital with an infection, now has several to take in the morning with more to take in the afternoon, plus several others prescribed by the doctor.

My own have increased, so here I am, every morning, just like my mum, pulling out the box and allocating the pills.

A question I now ask myself is what diabolical person decided that you might need to take half a pill?  Half a pill … so this means you go and buy a tiny thing called a pill splitter, which either doesn’t split the pill evenly, or hurls one into the air so you have to search madly for it in case one of the dogs grabs it.

Advanced age is so unfair. Where once we discussed life, the universe and everything, and dashed about wrestling sheep and cattle and riding horses, playing sport, now, when friends get together, like my husband’s friend said… it’s “how many pills are you on…”

I whinged about this to a good friend a week or two back. I said, “what happened to us?”

Her response was, “We got old.” 

Well, to be fair,  I suppose we got the chance to do that. So many haven’t.