Splitting Morning Pills Proves Tricky for This Fumbling Senior

The crowd of physicians that monitor my body, inside and out, grow every year. Now at my age of 86, they have swelled as if they were suiting up for a competition with a streaming TV medical show.

 While I am grateful for their 20-minute per appointment for me, I am becoming distressed at the amount, cost, and difficulty of swallowing medications each one prescribed. I doubt if I’m alone with this predicament.

 This is my current kvetch. One of the pills that I had been prescribed after a heart attack scare (Tachycardia) requires splitting. No matter that its current size is miniscule, it still must be cut in half. To do this, I remove my eyeglasses, bend my head so I can see closeup, and then maneuver my tiny beta blocker pill to the exact location where the splitter will hack the medicine directly into two doses.

 I am a bombardier, aquiver, but determined to make a direct hit. If I succeed at my mission, my qualms will be mollified. But if I fail, for example, helplessly stare at the tiny half as it jumps from the splitter, lands on the floor, and escapes under the refrigerator, I am a failure.

 Who can I blame for this difficulty, that resembles more a test of skill, than an essential part of my personal caregiving? A younger person may easily accomplish this daily ritual. Alas, at my age, this is a contest I, and other members of my cohort, approach with trepidation.

 Let’s look at the list of culprits guilty for turning my daily task into a trial:

 *My cardiologist who should have realized splitting a wee object might be difficult for someone my age.

*My primary care doctor who is apprised of my daily medications and their instructions.

*My pharmacist who has been providing my medications for some six years and is aware of my age.

*Me, for not alerting the above trio of my difficulty and asking for a remedy.

 Let’s charge all the above with indifference:

 Fortunately, I can count out and place my pills – intact, or in half, in a slender container that hints (faded) the names of the days. But what about my pals? Some have eyesight problems. Others, finger dexterity, A few muddled and unable to remember to swallow them.

 And what if they live alone? No spouse, partner, adult child, caregiver to assist?

 To answer that question, I learned that my local Senior Services Hotline on Aging “can help seniors with their pills and other needs.”

 This was encouraging. But alas, after being switched to various resources, then put on hold, I was asked the name of the senior needing help. But I just wanted information, I answered. “We do not have services for this.”  was the response.

 Undeterred, I posted on Facebook a query on the subject, and several friends pointed me to a service called PillPack, which unsurprisingly is offered by Amazon. It is an option that sorts medications by time and date into tear-and-go packets and delivers to your address monthly.

 With an imagined fedora on my head, I played detective. I started listing medications that the service would swipe from my current pharmacy and covertly become my new and improved provider.

 With the feeling I was having a liaison behind my spouse’s back, I handed over the address of my drugstore. Yes, the one who has served me at least 10 years. The same one that willingly switched impossible-to-open caps to simpler versions. The one who sent me texts my prescription was ready for pickup. I cheated on that one.

 But “latency,” the time data takes to make a round trip from the destination and back halted my duplicitous behavior. PillPack had found my pharmacy but regretted the search would take too long and I should identify another nearby store.

 That was enough for me to ditch the infidelity, whisk off my hat and swear allegiance to my current chain.

Although I had mastered pill splitting, I had lost multiple battles when I attempted to swallow a pill with water. My usual stance was throwing my head back, with water and pill lounging, rather than sliding down my throat. I threw my head back so often, and returned to its rightful place with pill unmolested, that I required a search.

 This is what I found, and it works!

 The lean forward method for swallowing capsules:

Put the capsule on your tongue and take a medium sip of water – do not swallow yet.

Bend the head forward by tilting your chin slightly toward your chest.

Swallow the capsule and the water with the head bent forward.

My addition: paste your chin to your chest while attempting this maneuver.

 And if that doesn’t quiet your mind, there’s a pill for that.