I do them. A lot of them.

Statins for my cholesterol. Beta-blockers for my blood pressure. Pradaxa to thin my blood and make me bruise. A water pill because you can never void too much. A potassium pill because you can void too much. A pill to help my heart maintain a healthy beat and not go tango’ing off on its own.

And that pill for my heart? A replacement for the previous pill that wanted to put me into congestive heart failure (you know you’re on a slippery slope when the published side-effects of the pill you’re taking are exactly the same as the symptoms it’s supposed to cure).

And that beta-blocker? Now two pills instead of one. When I first took this pill, I told my doctor: “The last time I took a pill that made me feel this way, I was in college and they were illegal”. He didn’t even smile. You know the joke: I used to care, but now I take a pill for that. This is the pill.

And that heart pill? It can cause liver and kidney damage (as can the statin), so more than three months on that pill isn’t advised. We may be tango’ing again.

I am a walking, talking experiment in the interaction of a variety of pills. I should be part of a medical trial. Actually, I AM part of a medical trial, it’s just that no one’s tracking me. Nor anyone else who takes what I take and we are legion, my pill regime being relatively common.

A pill to make me happy? No, but I now understand that there probably IS a pill that would make me if not happy, then insensate to the things that bother. So the “I” that I am is the I that takes pills and whose environment as perceived is shaped in part by the taking of them.

Pills.

I do them. A lot of them. Am I better? The numbers would say so.

So now I am calm, sleep well, am less bothered by the things around me that used to bother me. I record the numbers every day. Every day, a number, every day another five pills.