Miss B has been a patient of mine for the past two years. I’ve adopted her as my special customer. I’ve had many of those since I began my career in pharmacy. There was Mrs H, the blind and deaf woman, who I would visit every two weeks and fill up her medication boxes. She was in her nineties and lived on her own. She had no family in the area to regularly look in on her. Those medication boxes and my act of replenishing them allowed her to stay in her home and out of assisted living. Then there was Little M. He was born with a super rare muscle disorder. The doctors told his parents he wouldn’t live past two years old. There was an experimental drug that one of his doctors wanted to try, but no pharmacy could get it. I set out on a mission to get my hands on it, and I did. Little M is now six. I still dispense that medication to him every month.
Now I have Miss B. Miss B suffers from a serious genetic disorder. As she gets older, her requirements to sustain life become more complex. She has two live-in nurses, and her mom has made her care her full time job. Miss B can’t talk, or walk. She can make some facial expressions and noises, but nothing more. Two years ago, after Miss B went home after a long hospitalization, her mom began to cry in the pharmacy because she didn’t know how she was going to manage her medications. I volunteered to do it. There are 46 of them. Since she can’t swallow, they need to be given through one of her tubes. Since some of the commercially available products can’t be given through her tubes as they are, I make them. Each month it takes a full day and a half to do this. Sometimes I have help, most times I don’t. I’ve become an integral part of Miss B’s care. Since I’m more easily available than most of her doctors, her mom often calls me when something seems off with Miss B. Her mom has said on numerous occasions that she can’t thank me enough. Taking on this what would be a huge burden for Miss B’s parents allow them to spend more time with their daughter and less time worrying about when her meds are going to run out. Most of my own employees don’t understand why I do this. My response is always, “you don’t need to understand.” Sometimes Miss B’s mom will bring Miss B into the pharmacy for a visit. When she does, I make sure to introduce some of my employees to her. Once they meet her, they understand.
I prepared Miss B’s meds this past Thursday. Since I’ve been feeling so blah lately with both my yoga practice and work, I decided to make the preparation of her meds a meditation. I waited until the pharmacy was closed to begin. I put on some soft music, and said a healing prayer for Miss B before I started. I made each action- pouring, crushing, levigating, and filtering– deliberate and with soul. It was the first time in a long time that I felt completely fulfilled by my profession.
Miss B will be turning 21 this week. Her parents are throwing her a big “birthday ball” tomorrow afternoon. I’m hoping the roads will be ok so I can get there. ❤
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