Errors In Punctuation and Other Intimate Mistakes

Out

I knew I was almost out of the medication I was taking but, I thought, no problem. Call The Doctor and have him refill the prescription over the phone – slam dunk done.

I called him on Thursday and, as usual, I had to talk to him leave him voice mail. Voice mail is an interesting medium. With the increased storage capacity most modern machines have, you can carry on entire conversations with the stuff. This was the way The Doctor and I held our conversations.

I dialed his number.
“At the tone, please record your message” And not just any beep either but a very obnoxious, shrill irritatingly loud beep that makes you hold the phone away from your ear and squint through one eye. It’s as close to being a “tone” as Capone was to paying the IRS.
After I got the phone back to my ear, I spoke the message I had rehearsed in my head a few times before the call.

“Hello Doctor. You have given me a prescription that I need to have refilled. I’m almost out. Please call me back if you have any questions.”

I waited for his reply which came about 2 hours later. Naturally, I wasn’t by the phone when he called so, he left me voice mail.

“Hello, This is Doctor. I got your message about your prescription and it’s no problem, I have called your pharmacy and you are set to go.” .

Wow, that was easy. There are actually systems in the world that work. I didn’t have a chance to go pick up the prescription until Friday night. It was going to be so clean. Walk in, say Hi, I’m Mr. Depression, get the stuff, walk out.

“Hello, I’m here to get my prescription. My doctor phoned it in”.

“Certainly sir, I have it right here. Oh, wait. You aren’t covered for this until next Thursday.”

“What?! Uh, I’m sorry. What does that mean?”

“Well sir, he gave you enough for 1 month with your first pickup. You are not due to receive any more until the 5th.”

“Oh, Iiiiiiiii seeeeeeeeee” I said. I knew now how to explain this whole thing away.

“The Doctor increased me from 150 mg per day to 300 mg per day so I ran out early.”

“Well, I’m sorry but that’s not what it says here. Taking medications as you see fit is a dangerous practice sir.”

“But, no, I didn’t do that. I didn’t take more. I called him and he increased my dosage. I am following his orders. See?”

“Well, he gave you the same as last time. And you can’t get them until the 5th.”

At this point I’m starting to realize the system that was so easy just a little while ago had reached around and bitten me and there was not going to be anything I could do about it. It’s Friday night and I’m reasonably sure The Doctor won’t call back this late – maybe not for the entire weekend. A mild, low level wave of panic washes through me. then, I start thinking. I have three 150 mg tabs left. That’s two for Saturday and one half a dose for Sunday. It’ll have to do me then, on Monday I’ll call and see if The Doctor can get this all straightened out. That’s the plan.

I tell the druggist thank you and walk away. As I make my way to the door I’m a little worried about Sunday. I’m wondering aloud if one will be enough.

Saturday came and went. I felt OK although there were things tugging at my stomach all day. I did a good job in covering them though.
Sunday was, well, ratty. Now, I have no idea if the was a result of taking only a half dose of the meds before I was fully on or, if it was because I knew I had only taken half and would probably feel different. Either way, suggested or real, I felt the turmoil start inside me again. I tried very hard to keep a lid on it and not spew forth a thousand questions at my wife that were gnawing away between my ears. I made it, sort of.

I called in to work on Monday morning saying I’d be late. I had some details I had to attend to. They understood and said it was fine. I had my voice mail in to The Doctor at 7:30 AM so now it was a waiting game. Shit. What happens if he doesn’t get in till like, 10 or 11? What happens if he does not call back? How long should I wait to give him another ping? What happens if he calls in sick and he doesn’t get my voice mail until Tuesday? Why all of a sudden do I sound like Woody Allen?

He called back about 8:30 or so. I talked to him directly. It was an actual mono y mono verbal exchange. He had fixed the problem and I could pick up the prescription at any time he said. With the intensity of a crack addict holding the first two bucks he’s had in the last 3 days, I headed to the drug store.
I got my meds. As I sat in my car, tearing the bag open to get a pill quick, I thought I have become what I feared most of my life. Just another screwed up neurotic American sliding through his space popping pills to keep the lid on life. Fuck.

I thought about this all the way to work, some 70 minutes worth. I wondered if Mia Farrow had a new movie she needed a co-star for. I would have been a shoe in.

Screw you Woody.

posted by Knot @ 1:26 PM