In Friday’s post, I suggested today’s story would fall under the “Believe It or Not” category. You might prefer to place it in the “Too Much Boring Detail” category, but that’s how we differ. I will temper the mind-numbing detail if you’ll pretend to be captivated by my story.
Immediately following our trip, I had planned to start on my new gout-busting medication. The drug was curiously not at the pharmacy when I visited, however. I was under the mistaken impression that my doctor had called the prescription in, when in fact the paperwork was in my dedicated pharmacy drawer, which is perpetually overflowing with pill bottles and granny pill cases and prescriptions and blood-work requisitions.
Upon realizing my error, I returned to the pharmacy, prescription in hand (Visit #2). Rarely do I wait for drugs–I don’t like to rush the professionals–but I was eager to start on these pills, so wait I did. Within 15 minutes, I headed home, pills in hand.
The prescription said I was to take one half pill daily, possibly increasing to full pills depending on the outcome of blood work. Sounds pretty straight forward, doesn’t it? I thought so, until I opened the bottle. This is what I saw:
How does one split a pill this shape, with a rock-hard coating and no dividing line? Beats me. So I headed back to the pharmacy, pills in hand (Visit #3), and said, “Ms. Druggie, how exactly do you expect me to split these ridiculous tablets?” Ms. D. said she had not looked at the pills before handing me the prescription and had no idea how anyone would split them. She willingly agreed to do so for me.
Have I written before about my pill-splitting refusal? If a pill needs to be split, I expect the pharmacist to do it for me. That pharmacy has made many thousands of dollars from me alone over the years. (Pity the pharmacist having to deal with a patient like me.) I believe that splitting my pills is the least a pharmacist can do to thank me for her secure employment.
Many a pharmacist has tried to dissuade me from my entitled stance, however. One showed me how easy it is to split by hand the one pill I’ve long taken that is unavailable in my needed dose. Another suggested I buy a pill splitter to make the job easier. Easier for me or easier for you, dear pharmacist? Need I remind you I have no room for a pill splitter in my pharmacy drawer? Oh, yeah, and petit point and teeny weeny origami are not in my wheelhouse. Neither is pill splitting.
No, dear pharmacist, I don’t have the time or patience to split my own pills. I’m busy picking them up from two pharmacies, sorting them into two different daily pill cases, and remembering to take them on schedule. I deserve to have a life the rest of the time, don’t I?
Ms. D. graciously took the challenge on, decimating seven pills in the process and stopping before she destroyed any more. So much for her high-tech pharmacy-grade pill splitter.
Did I mention that was Visit 4? How could I possibly find time for pill splitting? My headstone will read: “She died splitting her pills.”