A part of today turned out to be round three with getting my prescription refills. Five phone calls and much tears. One of my refills had the wrong dosage, plus it did not come in as ordered. The frustrating part of the latter was that I was standing in the pharmacy two weeks ago and specifically asked if this new version (cheaper) of theophylline that the insurance wanted me to take was something they had in stock or if it needed to be special ordered like the capsules. Another frustrating factor was that this re-write of the prescription happened a month ago, when the appeal for the medication came through only if I switched from capsule to tablet. No one noticed the wrong dosage when both the doctor's office and the pharmacy called to tell me that the prescription was ready for the next refill.
The pharmacist called to tell me that the order had not come in and I started to lose my fragile balance. I told her that this had already been straightened out and that I was told on Thursday that the prescriptions would be ready tomorrow when I fetched the erythromycin. Friday and Saturday's pharmacist was not the one from Thursday or all the other calls regarding the authorizations and such. Although she knew of my Medicare issues. The pharmacist called a second time to say that she called the on-call physician to see if she could get him to re-write the prescription, but he would not because she told him, in error, that I still had pills. When I explained that I did not, she said she would have to call me back. I asked her what she was going to do even if she got the re-write when she told me that she could not get the tablets until Tuesday. She said she could give me the capsules, because they still had some on hand, but the difference in the two types of theophylline is $1,000 and the insurance would not cover the capsules.
Seeing little hope, while waiting for her to call me back, I called the on-call physician to explain to him the reason the pharmacist thought I still had pills left was that she was seeing the final date when the prescription was re-run through insurance so I could get back the cash I paid for it. The on-call physician was terse and rude. He lectured me about poor planning and waiting until the last minute and interrupting the weekend plans of others with my selfishness. When I tried to explain that the error was not caught by either the office staff or the pharmacist and that today was the first time I learned of it, he told me to stop talking or he would hang up. Several times he threatened to hang up. He did not want to look at my records nor did he take the pharmacist's word that I had been on the increased dosage for over two years. He told me just to take the lower dosage. A 25% reduction in the medication that helps me to faint less.
I was frenetic.
I was appalled.
I was the bad little girl again.
In the end, after a second phone call between the on-call physician, who finally agreed to look at my medical record (electronic ... easy access) to a certain that there was, indeed, not a notation about decreasing the medication and the pharmacist asking him to re-write it for four pills a day instead of two so that she could use the lower dose she had on hand so that I could have the medication, the pharmacist called me again to tell me that the prescription was now ready. At least when she saw it ring up at $8, she finally understood why I needed to switch to the tablets.
Marie ... well ... she saw my many-calls meltdown. Feeling utterly defeated and rather despairing, I started weeping. Amos, my beloved caretaker, then jumped in my lap even though I was seated in a dining chair. Marie let me weep. And wail. And melt-down into a pool of insensible anxiety and grief.
I did not like that she witnessed my anxiety and anguish.
I did not like finding myself back into that role of obedient, obsequious mouse with the doctor.
I did not like my own weakness of body, mind, and spirit.
Funny, when I saw Marie struggle with her anxiety last summer, my first thought was of compassion. And, as I have written before, I found her courageous and brave. Yet, today, with my struggle, all I felt was failure and shame.
I become so defeated fighting battles such as this. I shouldn't have to fight for my prescriptions. It shouldn't take me several months to get them right. It shouldn't have to take me several calls just get the annual refills sent into the pharmacy after my office visit during which I was told they would be sent. It shouldn't have to take me several calls just to get my prescriptions filled. It shouldn't be so hard. But it is.
I had a plan. I had a plan for the erythromycin. I have two alarms to remind me to call every other Thursday in case it has to be ordered, so there is an extra day in case something happens. I then have two alarms on every other Sunday reminding me to go in and get it. This time, the erythromycin plan failed because when I called on Thursday, I learned there was no refills of the daily medication. The plan to tie all the monthly refills to one of the erythromycin pharmacy runs failed because the refills that I was told were taken care of August 30th, still had not been sent over. The "much easier" electronic system means you no longer walk out the door with slips of paper, but a promise of some buttons being pushed later. The refill plan also failed because the new prescription written a month ago had an error that no one caught.
All of these are daily medications. All of these, save for the erythromycin, are things I have been taking for a long time.
With the erythromycin authorization, I called the doctor's office, the pharmacy called the doctor's office, the pharmacy faxed the paper work to the doctor's office, the insurance company faxed the paper work to the doctor's office, and I brought over a copy myself. I personally handed it to the nurse myself, only to learn a week later that the other nurse working on the authorization had none of those instances of paperwork and was actually spending her time trying to use the government Part D authorization online form instead of noting that I have private Medicare insurance (which is, to me, rather ironically cheaper than the government option). The surgeon's staff took my paperwork and got the authorization in three days. My doctor's office spend two months, many phone calls, and several lectures to me over the fact that the staff didn't have the time to take care of my insurance authorizations ... ignoring the fact that most of that time was due to mistakes by the office staff.
My prescription life should be easier until the end of the year. Since the plan year is changing, the five authorizations I have all have to be re-written. I may even need all the prescriptions all called in again. Yes, I have been already fretting about and trying to figure out the best way to get this accomplished between my prescription refill at the end of December and the first erythromycin refill mid January.
The doctor was wrong. I do plan ahead because so much of my life has to be planned or I cannot cope. I check, double check, and alarm myself out the wazoo trying to ensure that I at least have the medication in the house, even if I cannot always remember to take it.
I told the nurse in September, when I handed her the paperwork, that I was to the point of thinking I should just stop taking everything and let nature take its course. I'd either fall down the stairs and break my neck or else I'd go into a coma from low blood sugar. Or maybe I'd be so immobilized the arthritis pain that I would simply languish away trapped in the bed. I am not sure death by missing thyroid medication is even possible, but I do know that my life would cease to be anything but an insensible sea of misery. And that ... that ... is more preferable to me than to have to keep battling for my prescriptions ... especially the anxiety medication.
I told Marie the same thing today. I just don't have it in me to keep fighting for the things that should be easy, much less the harder things. Hard things like the shame that flooded me knowing Marie witnessed my utter inability to not weep and despair and melt down when facing obstacle after obstacle.
I felt like the devil heaped coals of fire upon my head once I got home and realized that despite all my careful list-making, planning, and packing for a day-long-support-Marie-in-her-marathon-cooking-event, I managed to leave the erythromycin in her refrigerator. I remember the syringe to measure it out, but not the actual bottle. Marie's beloved drove it over to me because I was so exhausted that I was willing to pay the price for missing the two doses that would come between leaving her apartment and getting to the pharmacy for the next refill. Missing a single dose upsets the fragile balance I have achieved in the innards writhing department. Missing two would be days recovering. I know this because I missed a day and a half the week before. Funny how quickly I have lost the fortitude to face immense innards writhing, how quickly I have become accustomed to a mere argument in my digestive system, instead of a full-scale war.
Paul was very sweet when he brought it to the door. I still felt ashamed and a failure a thousand times more than I had thinking about the meltdown that Marie saw when I was supposed to be there cheering her on in her culinary marathon.
At least Amos was willing to help Marie out in her endeavors...
Why do I see her battles with anxiety courageous and something to be honored and my own shameful and a confirmation of my own weakness and failure?
I am Yours, Lord. Save me!
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