I walked into the
front doors of the Med Ex pharmacy for the first time in my life that
Wednesday. What had once been a well regarded Mexican restaurant had been
leveled and rebuilt to be the latest addition to the chain of discount drug
stores. I wondered as I walked in the door where I was standing in relation to
the tables and chairs my family used to frequent, but my thoughts wandered only
briefly. I was already tired, more so that I needed to be, and I was already
feeling the effects of seven hours worth of chemotherapy working its way
through my blood. Drugs with names too long to remember and side effects that
sounded more like chemical weapons that anything therapeutic hung in the back
of my mind as I made my way to the back of the store.
A college aged tech
met me at the counter with a big smile. "How can I help you?"
"Hi, I spoke
with a woman just a few minutes ago about a prescription that the Wal-Mart
Pharmacy couldn't fill."
"Ah, yes. That
would be our pharmacist. She's with another customer right at the moment"
He pointed towards the shelves that dominated the middle of the store and
concealed anyone from view. "Can I help you?"
I explained my
situation in brief; a day of chemotherapy that had run long, a list of
prescriptions that needed to be filled, and finally arriving at Wal-Mart only to
find out that they couldn't fill the most critical of the orders, Phenergan
gel, a topical anti-nausea drug any my only hope for keeping my stomach under
control for the next few days. I was tired, sore, and more than a little
scared. My first round of chemo had led to a week of torturous side effects
that I wasn't looking forward to again. I wasn't just scared of the side
effects, I was frankly dreading every second that brought me closer to the next
morning and the unknown.
The clerk took my
insurance card and my information with an understanding nod and a friendly
smile. He wasn't just being polite though, I could see in his eyes the want to
sympathize, and the need to get the job done. I didn't come there to be felt
sorry for, and the best thing he could do was set everything up for the
pharmacist's stamp when she got back.
A short time later a
girl who didn't look any older than twenty-five and not taller than five foot
four emerged from the maze of shelves, clad in a white lab coat. The clerk
pointed her at me, and I did my introductions yet again. I was glad for the
conversation. Talking took my mind off of the worry I was feeling. Her name was
Melissa, and in one well-practiced schpiel I unloaded, yet again, my uncomfortable
situation on her shoulders.
She went to work on
filling the order at hand, again understanding that her job was the best thing
she could do for me. I could see the energy in her eyes, youth doing its best
to combat something as ugly as cancer, and frankly doing a good job of it.
Then, with the order
halfway filled, I chanced a random idea.
"Actually, I
have a question for you."
"Oh?"
"One of the
nurses today said that my symptoms sound like one of the drugs might be causing
my stomach to over produce stomach acids. Do you know of any over the counter
drugs that could help me fight that?"
Melissa bit her
bottom lip and leveled a worried look at me. "I'd love to help you, but
I'm really scared of recommending anything without knowing what medications
you're on." She shrugged a silent apology, clearly hating that she had to
say that to a man whose only wish at the moment was some measure of comfort in
the days to come. But I didn't dare blame her; of course she was cautious, that
was her job, that was what she went to school for. Good intentions didn't amount to anything
when someone accidently gave themselves a heart attack or kidney failure
because two drugs didn't play well together.
But I wasn't done,
and I wasn't about to give up. The devil was in the details, and I had been
paying attention.
"What if I
could tell you all the drugs they gave me?"
She blinked.
"Can you remember all of those names?"
"Sort of. Do
you remember the CHOP R treatment protocol?"
She winced again.
"Um… maybe? I think we studied it once in pharmacy school."
"That's okay. I
think it's on Wikipedia, and I'll recognize the names if you say them."
And then, just like
that the process took off. Suddenly we weren't just two strangers with a chance
meeting. We were happenstance allies with a goal, a challenge, and tools to use. For twenty minutes she stood on
her side of the counter and I leaned on mine as she went line by line through
the list of five drugs and checked them against no less than three different
pharmaceutical databases, carefully taking note of any listed conflicts they
might have. She read off the lists of medications, and item by item I confirmed
each one, remembering the name from many lengthy conversations had about them.
It's easily now to
look back and think of that time as boring. But it wasn't. it was fascinating
to watch her work. Her hands flew over the keyboard, her lips formed half-spoke
words as my ears heard bits and pieces of sentences said to no one. She asked
questions, made jokes, we even talked about movies, but the whole time she was
still also intently studying her screen like her life depending on it.
Then it hit me, it
wasn't her life she was worried about. It was mine.
Eight thirty at
night on a Wednesday with clear skies and warm weather, miles from any hospital
or ER, and I was looking at someone who's next few decisions could very well
ease, or endanger my very life.
"Here, I think
I know what you need." She finally said, and lead me to the same shelves
that had swallowed her up before my arrival. She didn't just walk up and hand
me a box of pills like I had seen elsewhere many times. She pointed out name brands,
and generics, discussed the differences and similarities, and even pointed out
one drug and said "Whatever you do, don't get that one."
"Oh?"
"I didn't see
it listed as conflicting with any of your drugs, but it does conflict with a
host of other ones. In fact, there's still a big fight going on with the FDA
about whether or not it should be over the counter or not. On paper, its
technically safe for you to take, but on the off chance you forgot a drug in
that list you gave me, I'm just recommending that you play it safe."
"No argument
from me." I said. I recalled not a day before telling a customer to go ahead and 'play it safe' and spend an extra seventy-five bucks on an external
hard drive. All of his data was on his computer, a backup would help make sure
that all of his small business's files didn't vanish with a single hard drive
failure.
Now, here was this
girl, easily five years my junior, telling me to spend an extra three bucks so
that I didn't wind up in the hospital, or worse.
I picked up the
recommended items, and the clerk at the pharmacy desk rang me out with a smile
and best wishes.
When you study
history like I do, specifically military history, one of the most common themes
is strangers meeting for brief moments
of time to aid in a common cause. The infantryman from Nebraska who's mission
suddenly depends on the cobalt engineer from Pennsylvania. The radioman from
some small town in New Jersey who is suddenly the only way for a West Point
educated general to finished what he started. The young, the old, the
different, the similar. When faced with challenges, those who are willing to
accept them will stand side by side, even if only for a moment, and do what
they can before the necessary departures have to be made.
That night, Melissa
and I stood shoulder to shoulder, and for a brief moment she was my council, my
guide in that one moment of my fight against cancer. She did what she was
trained to do, and watched me walk out the door, probably no more certain than
I was that my next few days would be any better than their counterparts three
weeks before.
That was two days
ago.
The second dayfollowing my first chemotherapy treatment was hell, with my stomach hell-bent
on torturing me beyond reason, and without mercy.
I just got home from
work today, after pulling a full shift, and overtime. Full work load with no
help or relief given, or asked for. I walked in there armed with the lessons of
my first experience, and the advice of a good pharmacist.
And by God, I made
it through that day with my head held high, and an honest, earnest, sincere
smile on my face.
I'm no longer scared
of what tomorrow brings.
In fact, I looking
it in the proverbial eye and saying "lets see what you've got!"
