Anyone interested in the outcome of my recent postal debacle? The story could have ended so many ways. I could have died because my chemotherapy was lost in a mailroom maelstrom. My writing you today suggests that this did not happen.
Alternatively, I could have been recruited for a study of noncompliant CML patients who stop taking their medication because they don’t feel they need it anymore. I don’t qualify for that study. I’m taking my medication every day until I die, assuming it doesn’t get lost in the mail.
A third but unlikely outcome is the arrival of the package the next day. But that’s too simple. The situation must get worse before it gets better.
On Monday morning, I begged the Cancer Centre pharmacy for a week’s worth of chemotherapy until my missing meds were found. Then I called the post office for a daily update on my untrackable package. Because I am so difficult to please, again I was dissatisfied with the response. I learned that only the sender could instigate an investigation into the missing pills. Furthermore, Ms. Making Me Postal would not contact the pharmacy because she could not make outgoing calls; I would have to ask a pharmacist to call her.
Imagine my surprise that someone at a call centre cannot make outgoing calls! Aren’t most telephones capable of both making and receiving calls? I told Ms. MMP I would not waste the pharmacy’s time. The pharmacists at the Cancer Centre are run off their feet doling out chemotherapy to ailing cancer patients. They haven’t time to spend on hold with an incompetent postal worker. I ended the call frustrated and with no intention of involving the pharmacy in this mess.
If I am unsuccessful at solving a problem despite my best efforts, occasionally J. jumps in on my behalf. You may be unaware that J. can be quite persuasive. In fact, just yesterday a cashier who had never met her before accepted her credit card over her friend’s to pay for lunch because, in her words, “she looks scarier.” So J. called 1-800- Making-Us-Postal again, pretending to be me (yet another benefit of a lesbian relationship, in addition to the obvious sock sharing).
When J.’s Ms. Making Her Postal repeated the same feedback I’d received, J. asked to speak to a supervisor. Why didn’t I think of that? I was incapable of effective problem solving by then. Remember this the next time you’re too angry to think straight: take a few deep breaths before you jump back in.
J. spoke to the supervisor who, upon learning the contents of the missing package, said she would ensure it was located and delivered promptly. She suggested we’d receive it faster if we retrieved it from the mail depot once it was found, but the irony of picking up something intended for delivery prompted J. to decline politely.
Ms. Supervisor was true to her word. The next day, the package magically appeared at our house, followed by not one but two calls to confirm its delivery. Wait, I thought those posties couldn’t make outgoing calls, they could only lose outgoing mail. Will wonders never cease!
Do you think this effective resolution had anything to do with Ms. Supervisor’s being a recent cancer survivor herself? Nah, neither do I.