Tears are the silent language of grief. *

Like any day, I get my daughter off to school and I take a shower. This day, the phone rings while I am showering … and the caller ID shows the school nurse.

Your daughter is crying and we don’t know why. Can we give her Motrin?

“Yes,” I tell them. And that was the best part of the day.

As mentioned previously, the state board of pharmacy suddenly closed the pharmacy we use, a small independent pharmacy that many people depend on for compounded meds, deliveries, etc.  Well, yesterday we learned that not only is the board taking away the pharmacist’s license for a year, they are making him sell the place, he cannot practice, nor own, nor work in a pharmacy. I don’t know what he did (or they are thinking), but, alas it is suddenly my problem.

My daughter takes eight individual meds throughout the day (in a total of 23 doses) of her regular meds. That does not include things like today’s Motrin (twice) and Alieve at night. Some of said meds cannot be “generic” because either the generic does not work (yes, this is documented for many people actually) or because the generics do not dissolve in water and that is needed for my daughter. Two of her meds need to be compounded, one by the pharmacy, one by me.

Several will need refills within 4 days.

So, you know what it is like trying to get ahold of five different doctors to write prescriptions for the new pharmacy, and making sure they are for brand names? Some prescriptions were transferred, some could not be.

Then there was the specially ordered Botox (no, not for cosmetic use, it has a long history for this population) that is two weeks late and now in some small pharmacy across town where there is no parking, the woman at the counter does not speak English, and they have me sign a blank document or they will not give it to me.

Don’t know what my pharmacist did to deserve what the board is doing to him, but the rest of us are paying for it.

Oh, and my daughter just started crying this afternoon for no apparent reason. This is extremely rare, and unnerving since we cannot figure out why.

This evening, I did too. But I know why.

* Tears are the silent language of grief. –Voltaire


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