For several days now I haven’t had a Nate-Nonreality and hoped I was over the hump. I hadn’t “heard” his voice or thought he was driving in the driveway. I hadn’t planned to ask him “about that” when I saw him next and hadn’t dialed his office number to see how his day was going.
Then I drove past Walgreens.
It wasn’t just any Walgreens. It was “our” Walgreens, the one we passed driving home from every appointment, treatment and test during Nate’s weeks of cancer. We had to stop there often with our fistful of prescriptions, and our last visit was on Thursday, October 15. It had been an especially trying day for both of us, and Nate was at his limit. We needed to stop, though, to renew a prescription for pain meds, or he wouldn’t have made it through the night.
As we approached the drive-through pharmacy window, there was no one ahead of us, and the parking lot was nearly empty. The clock read 5:50 PM, and people were probably at dinner. Although Nate had lost his appetite, he was anxious to get home. His back was killing him, the cancer had delivered a raw belly ache and the day’s radiation had drained his last ounce of energy.
I handed our prescription to the pharmacist who said, “You can’t wait in this lane. Pull up into the lot.”
“Can’t I wait here?” I asked, hoping the visual of our car outside the window would make them hurry. “If someone drives up behind me, I’ll go around.”
“No,” she repeated. “You can’t wait here. Pull up.”
Nate sat with his passenger seat pushed all the way back in an effort to take weight off his spine, his face pulled into a pained expression. I drove forward, made four slow left turns around the building and arrived back at the pharmacy window.
“We’re calling your insurance company,” she said. “Pull away from the window.”
We went around a second time and were greeted with the news that our insurance company wouldn’t approve any more pain pills.
“Call the doctor,” I said, trying to keep my frustration from bubbling over. “He said if there was trouble, you should call him.”
“Pull forward,” she said again. “You can’t wait here.”
Our ordeal turned into a battle of two hours and twenty minutes, accompanied by unnumbered left turns around the building and repeated commands to “Pull forward.” By this time Nate was groaning in pain, not a shred of medication left in him. Since the only two pain pills we owned were 27 miles away at home, it became urgent to secure the new prescription. In the end, three pharmacists and an insurance phoner were all on the project. Eventaully we had the meds in hand, but not before I’d written a check for over $700.00 for pain pills that would last just one week.
As the pharmacist handed me the bag she said, “This is the last. They said absolutely no more, even if you pay full price again.”
Thankfully, Hospice arrived the next afternoon, medical angels with sign-up forms and a hospital bed. Nate never even used all the Walgreens pills, because our at-home nurses initiated a parade of daily FedEx drug deliveries without us even lifting a finger.
Today as I passed that Walgreens, I felt a chill. If I ponder how much pain Nate felt, I cry hard, anytime, anywhere. So today I asked the Lord to replace sadness with gratitude. Before the Walgreens had disappeared in the rear view mirror, he gave me five reasons to be thankful:
- I’m glad Hospice removed the need to fight any more pill battles.
- I’m glad there actually are medicines that can overwhelm severe pain.
- I’m glad that all pain is ancient history for Nate.
- I’m glad we don’t need a pharmacy for any reason today.
- I’m glad Nate accepted his incurable cancer and finished well.
I still like Walgreens, but I sure hate cancer.
“I know, O Lord, that a man’s life is not his own. It is not for man to direct his steps. Woe to me because of my injury! My wound is incurable! Yet I said to myself, ‘This is my sickness, and I must endure it’.” (Jeremiah 10:23,19)
i remember that. what an ordeal. i am thankful for the same things you are, Mom.
I wonder what makes people be so unfriendly to someone really in need? I’m sorry you had to battle those people at a time when it took so much energy out of you. Good that hospice came and took care of things. Warm thoughts from a snowing Norway
I’m the same way – I hate thinking about the pain he had to face. So glad he’s done with that now. Love you.
You handled that episode alot more gracefully than I would. Just reading about it makes me want to go inside that store and wake that person up. It is frustrating to have to jump through so many governmental hoops for something we have to pay for any way. The irony is we still have a better healthcare system than other countries which helps to look at that positive side instead of the negative side. God gave you much grace.
Thanks for the reminder to be thankful instead of dwelling on sadness when things remind us of past pain and current circumstances. I’m choosing to be joyful with you today. And I’m praying for you and your family often. 1 Thess.5:16-18.
Hi Margaret,
Ditto to all above comments- that was quite a model of Spirit-controlled behavior in the moment, and in your current reflective thankful list of five.
I am afraid my response would not have been so long suffering. I think under that kind of pressure what would have come out of me would have been Italian Ba-Da-Bing and not the manifestation of the Spirit. Your example is exemplary.
I read an unforgettable book a while ago about a friend in a group of women dying of cancer. At the end, she is being driven to the airport by her best friend, the author of the book, to essentially go and die at her brother’s home. While driving the author wonders if there are any other cars on the length of the highway with passengers in such an extraordinary situation. She concludes there must be a million stories on the road, and how dare we honk or be rude to others in traffic when we know nothing about where they have come from or what they are on their way to.
I thought of that as I read of the way you were treated by the Walgreen’s employees and the insurance people. I think all too often I am less like you and more like them. In every blog, there is something you show us about what it means to walk with the Lord in every circumstance.
“Lord, thank You for Margaret and her worthy example. Thank You for hospice people everywhere who bring mercy, comfort,help,and compassion into life’s toughest moments. Make each of us more thoughtful in our human interchanges, lengthening our capacity for patience and understanding, and shortening the amount of time we think about the cost of doing so.
Much love,
Terry
P.S. Those verses in Jeremiah are incredible. I was astounded to read them, as they applied so perfectly to Nate. There doesn’t seem to be any life experience His Word does not address.
Your post reminds me of what absolute angels the Hospice people were when we needed them. In fact, just last week, our very favorite hospice nurse made contact with me on facebook, and we’re going to get together on Saturday, if we’re not totally snowed in. Trust me. You’ll never forget those ministering angels!
Bless you for not responding to the pharmacy personnel as I would have wanted to. My boss sometimes refers to a spiritual gift of slapping – and sometimes I wish I had it. : )
I am so sorry to hear the way the Walgreens pharmacist handled your situation. It is an real disgrace to the practice of pharmacy. I am in my third year of pharmacy school. I am sharing your story with my fellow pharmacy student friends as a reminder of the importance of knowing our patients and their situations. Thanks for exhortation of the importance of treating all of our patients with grace and compassion.
I just ran across this site from a Google search of my name but this story is such a good example of two things. First, that people often refuse to do what is right even when they know what is right. Secondly, that through God we can accomplish all things and he gives blessings as freely as trials. Thank you for sharing your story.