Three days ago, I realized I was about to run out of meds. This happened in May of last year and it was a very, very, very bad thing. So, shaking the bottle of pills, I counted. Enough for three days. But Connor was sick so I didn’t do anything about it.
Two days ago, I was vaguely aware that I was going to have to sort this out, but I was sick so I didn’t do anything about it.
Yesterday, I got up, finally feeling a little bit better, and called the pharmacist. They had a handy little refill-your-prescription-by-phone option, so I pressed all the right numbers, confirmed I had no refills already prescribed, and chose to have them contact my doctor for a renewal. Beep, beep, boop and back to bed.
Not 10 minutes later the phone rang.
For some reason I don’t understand – and wasn’t lucid enough to question – they have my doctor, and therefore my prescription, associated with a hospital in another city. Translation: they can’t sort out the refill, so I need to see a doctor, whether one of my own or at a clinic.
So much for the easy button.
I called my psychiatrist’s office. She’s away until next week. I called my GP’s office. They closed early and were referring people to walk-in clinics.
Hmm.
I wasn’t feeling well enough to figure out a solution so I left it until today.
First stop, the pharmacy. I explained my predicament and asked if they could give me enough to last until I see my shrink on Thursday. He seemed quite prepared to do that until he looked at my file and realized I had only been on this particular med for about a month. Which, from what I can infer, would have led to all kinds of bad pharmacist karma despite the fact that abruptly ceasing anti-depressant medication can create the previously-experienced and above-noted very, very, very bad thing.
Fine, walk-in clinic it is.
I tried four before I found one that was open at 2:00 on a Saturday. I got in quickly and explained to the quite young, very kind and not entirely unattractive doctor – who generously pretended not to notice that I hadn’t had a shower – what I was looking for. To his credit, he didn’t just write me a script – he asked some questions about what else I was on and how it was working. When I told him he got a pensive sort of look but agreed to give me enough to get me through the week and said he’d leave it up to the shrink to determine if this is the right approach. I wanted to hug him for making me feel like I’m not crazy.
So the crisis has been averted and I’ve got meds again. But I’ve really got to stop doing this.
