…that I am really tired of having.
For the most part, I am pretty fortunate when it comes to actually dealing with the process of getting medications. I don’t take any OMGADDICTIVEADDICTIVE medications which would require people to place hoops in front of me to jump through every time I need my meds. My pharmacy is usually very together and I rarely have any problems with them. Since I am currently surviving about half on samples and half on prescriptions paid for in cash, I don’t actually have to go into the pharmacy that often.
Except for this one medication.
Just the one.
Can you guess what it is?
Here’s how the conversation starts:
Me: Hi, I’m here to pick up a prescription for Smith?
Pharmacist/Pharmacy Tech: Ok, great.
(Whoever is helping me goes to grab it from the back. When they bring it to the front, I can clearly see that it’s not the right package.)
Me: Oh, uhm, Dr. Redacted called in a three month supply? That looks like a one month package.
Pharmacist/Pharmacy Tech: Oh, well, the discount plan only pays for one at a time.
Me (confused): I’m not in a discount plan? I always pay cash. For a three month supply.
Pharmacist/Pharmacy Tech: But the discount plan only pays for one month at a time.
Me: I have been getting this prescription at this pharmacy for a very long time. I always. Pay. Cash. For a three month supply. Every time! I swear!
Pharmacist/Pharmacy Tech: Oh, you’re not on the discount plan? Sorry. But the insurance still only pays for one at a time.
Me (gritting my teeth): I don’t have insurance. (I come in every three months to pick up this prescription, I pay in cash for a three month supply, and every time, we have this exact same conversation. In fact, the last time this happened, you were the person who helped me.)
Pharmacist/Pharmacy Tech: Oh, ok. Sorry. Well, do you want this?
Me: No, I want a three month supply.
Pharmacist/Pharmacy Tech: Oh, well, I’m going to have to put it back into stock…and then redo the prescription…are you sure? It’s very expensive to get a three month supply.
Me: Yes, I’ll wait, thank you. (No, I would not like a month supply, my need for this medication is not going to suddenly stop in a month, therefore, I would like three months, so that I can come into the pharmacy once, NOW, rather than three times.)
Now, what sort of prescription could possibly require this much fuss? Could it be expensive (it is, a bit)? Could it be dangerous (no, not really)? Could it be…birth control?! Yup, that’s right, it’s birth control. And the conversation gets better. The pharmacist checks off the new package with a three month supply, the tech brings it up to the counter to ring it up, and this happens:
Tech: Most people use those green cards1?
Me: Oh, I don’t qualify for that.
Tech: Have you considered applying for one?
Me: I don’t qualify for that program.
Tech: Oh, why not?
Me: … *eyebrow*
Tech: Ok, well, $235.87!
So, here’s the thing. This sounds like a kind of minor annoyance. And, in the grand scheme of things, it is. Way worse things happen to people with disabilities than this. Way worse things happen to people with disabilities in pharmacies than this. I am really not complaining that much. If this is the worst thing that happens to me in the pharmacy, so be it.
But, for me, this is an endeavor which basically turns the silverware drawer upside down. Spoons? I’m out. For days. The pharmacy is a loud place. It’s bright. It is filled with smells which make me anxious, and loud noises, and noxious magazines which tell me about how I can take a diet pill and trim inches and pounds off my tummy.
This prolonged social interaction agitates me every single time. There’s usually a line. People are glaring at me because I am taking so long. People are rolling their eyes because I insist on having my prescription filled properly. I am trying to control myself, because it’s not the tech’s fault, it’s probably some glitch in their system, but I want to lunge over the counter, speak sternly to someone, and liberate a year’s supply of BC from the back room before fleeing out the side door. I start to hyperventilate. I fidget. I feel like I am exploding inside.
And, every single time, I ask if it’s possible to put a flag in the system so that they know that I will pay in cash for a three month supply. So that a 40 minute ordeal every three months could be turned into a five minute in and out trip every three months. Every time, someone says “uh huh, we will look into that,” and then, the next time I come in, this happens again.
This is a pretty minor thing, in the grand scheme of things, but it’s yet another tiny little facet of the American health care system which is broken. While I’m waiting for my correctly prepared prescription, I watch people go through the line. People with MediCal or Medicare or CMSP or any number of other welfare programs get to the counter, hear that a prescription has been denied, and shuffle away without it. People with private insurance get told that the authorization for a prescription hasn’t come through, or it’s been denied, and they look at the prescription and the price on the register, and they walk away without it. I can tell that the people who know they will have to pay cash, like me, arrive at the counter and weigh their options; pick up the prescription today, put off grocery shopping another week?
I’ve actually had the pharmacist refuse to fill this prescription in the past until I’ve paid for it. And, you know, I think that they think they are doing me some sort of budgeting-related favour by trying to get me to take a month’s supply. But it’s not like I’m not going to need it next month. And the month after. And the month after that. The way I budget, I would rather pay a large lump sum every three months than get dinged every month. Every three months I see a collision of class issues in the pharmacy. The haves and have nots. The assumptions that get made by the pharmacy staff. The callous and routine denial of prescription benefits to people who need them. And every three months I think there was to be a better way to do this.
Comparatively, I’m lucky. I can at least afford to pay for my prescriptions most of the time. There are a lot of us out there who cannot.
- She is not, in this case, referring to a US Permanent Resident card, but rather to the cards issued to people in the FamilyPACT program, which provides reproductive health services for low income Californians. I would note, among other things, that this program at one point paid a bonus to low income folks who got sterilized. I don’t think they do this anymore, but they definitely pay for/encourage sterilization. Oh, and it gets better; once you are sterilized, the program refuses to pay for reproductive wellcare like Pap smears. ↩