To the pharmacy ladies:

Thanks for your concern, but I don’t think I need for you to look at the box you’re about to hand me, cringe and then tell me how awful my medication is.  See, you are filling the prescription, and I am using the medicine, so I’m totally one step ahead of you there.  And then, when I say, in a fauxjovial manner, It sure does beat being sick!  That’s your cue to find a segue to another topic, not an invitation for you to start calling me a “poor thing” even though I’m twice your age.  And then, that Hmmmm you heard from me?  Just so we’re clear here: Not me prompting you to proceed to tell me about how sorry you feel for all those poor patients (here I am certain she clucked her tongue) who have to take so many medicines.  Now granted I am down drastically from the sixteen pills per day and four-hour-long IV infusions every month I was dealing with last year, but still.  Just get my damn medicine and shut the hell up.  Ahem.  Please

But if I thought my pharmacy pickup exchange was painful, at least I wasn’t the woman next to me.  The quite old, quite frail woman holding a mask over her face in hopes of not catching something from all the sick folk in line.  (Funny though, because when she walked up to the window the first thing she did was put both her hands on the hands of the pharmacy worker and I was all, All that hard work of wearing and holding the mask, BAM! totally wasted.  I sorta wanted to sidle up to her with some hand sanitizer, but I was busy trying to make my pharmacy lady have a little less pity for me.)

The woman, the older frail one, she got up to her pharmacy lady, and her pharmacy lady was all, Hi!  How’s your husband?  And then the woman got to explain that he’d died recently.  And, look, I know it’s uncomfortable to be in the position the pharmacy lady was in, but it wasn’t ten seconds before I heard her say to the woman, Well, but, he *was* suffering.

I’ve probably said that to someone myself before, and if I did, I am so sorry for it.  What is with this weird compulsion people have to try and make the bereaved feel better?  The woman lost her husband.  And no she doesn’t want him suffering, but she does want him back, whole and well and sitting across the breakfast table from her, and you’re going to put her in the position where she has to imply that it’s such a great thing that he’s dead?  What a complete and total bummer that is.

Anyway.  To sum up: My pharmacy lady — Cut the medicine chitchat, you healthy betch.  Other pharmacy lady —  How about a simple, I’m so sorry, you must miss him terribly.  He was such a kind man and we always enjoyed seeing him here

There now.  That wasn’t so difficult, was it?

3 thoughts on “To the pharmacy ladies:

  1. viellefemme

    Oh, honey, do I totally get this! Both issues. Dad’s pill box is the size of a damn IPad! If I had experienced what you did, I would give the pharmacy a call and ask to speak to the managing pharmacist and explain what you had just experienced and witnessed. It might result in a little training session that could prevent this from happening again. or not. But at least you made the pharmacy aware of what is going on. You don’t have to name the offending tech, or even describe her, but I’m pretty sure the pharmacy would appreciate hearing from you.

  2. Erin

    This one time? At the pharmacy I used to work at? We had to call someone to give her a heads-up that her copay was going to be in the hundreds of dollars range, lest she come in to the store and have a heart attack, which would have reduced the effectiveness of her meds.
    And now I’m right there with you on the tons of drugs train. And it sure does beat the hell outta the alternative.


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