As well as caring for my husband who just under a week ago was diagnosed with advanced prostate cancer I also help my father (age 86) with his medication. Until a few days ago my husband was able to drive and it was a simple matter of travelling to their house and sorting dad's many pills into the relevant daily boxes. Now though, this has to be done once a day via a telephone call. I should perhaps explain that dad has trouble with his eyes and my mother needs glasses but chooses instead to use an antique magnifying glass. So picture the scene: Dad with the telephone and the daily pill boxes and mam with a big plastic box full of packets of pills...and her magnifying glass. Today's conversation went like this:
Me: Furosemide, two tablets, one in the morning and one in the evening.
Dad: Flurosimine Joanie.
Mam: Forty milligram?
Me: Dad, tell her yes.
Dad: Yes. Two tablets Joanie.
(sounds of rustling)
Dad: What's that on the floor? I've dropped a tablet!
Mam: Have you? Can you get it?
Dad: (after much grunting and groaning) Yes, got it. What is it though?
Mam: It'll be a Furosimene.
Dad: No, it's brown. I can't make out the writing on it.
Me: (shouting) Dad! Dad! (He comes back on the line) Describe it to me and I will probably be able to tell you what it is.
Dad: Its oval shaped and brown. It's flat on one side and it's got a ridge down the middle for breaking it in half. (Sounds of laughter) Oh! It's a peanut!!
Keep smiling, folks! x
