Before heading off to the airport in an hour or so, I thought I would commit to blog something interesting that happened to me a few days ago. You may remember that I will soon be getting surgery on my rapidly deteriorating shoulder, and that I have been in a great deal of discomfort. That being the case, I asked my doctor for some pain medication to help me get through the next few weeks. He prescribed me a couple of things (an anti inflammatory and some vicodin) and I got the prescription filled about a week and a half ago. Since I had so much work to do and the vicodin tends to make me a little loopy and therefore not the most productive, I had held off taking it. But a few days ago the pain was enough that I felt I needed one. I popped open the bottle and looked inside to grab a pill, and then thought to myself, “That doesn’t look like 30 pills in this bottle”.
I looked at the prescription again, and sure enough it said 30. Then I looked at the bottle again, and it didn’t look right. So I poured out the contents and counted them. Sure enough, there weren’t 30 there, there were only 20. So I called up the pharmacy and explained to them that the prescription I had filled several days past was missing pills. I should stop here and note that it is in my nature to feel guilty for pretty much anything whether I am to blame or not (thanks mom), and I have to admit to feeling a little like a drug addict for calling them on this. Then again, something had gone wrong and I had after all paid for the medication and wanted to make sure I had it with me while traveling.
The woman on the other end icily told me that this was a controlled substance, and that I would need a new prescription from my doctor if I wanted to get 10 more pills. I explained to her that these weren’t 10 more pills, these were 10 missing pills. She got a little huffy and said there was nothing she could do. Then I got a little indignant myself and told her that it wasn’t my fault that someone in their pharmacy had sticky fingers with certain medications, and that it wasn’t my habit to count pills every time I filled a prescription. I then told her in no uncertain terms that I wanted my 10 pills and was not going to call my doctor to get them. I asked to speak to her manager about this, and then all of a sudden her voice got quiet and she said, “Ok, come in anytime today and I will give you the 10 vicodin”. That was all I wanted, and I didn’t really care what had happened to the pills, whether she was selling them or using them or what-have-you. It turned out I didn’t have time to make it that day, so I swung by the next. When I got to the counter and gave my name, the woman started over to the main area where all the prescriptions are kept, and then paused, looked around and asked me in a low voice if I was the one who was here to pick up the vicodin. I nodded, and she went over to a drawer to the side, pulls out the bottle and handed it to me. I said thanks, and walked out.