Meanwhile.
There's the sad sad tale of the antibiotics.
The day after the surgery, Roger went to a place we now call "the pharmacy we've never used before and will never use again." These are the same people who yelled at me for the Percoset questions, but I'm getting ahead of this part of the story. He ran across to this pharmacy (which you'll note that I'm trying to politely refrain from naming, except to mention that it's in the Von's across from Huntington Hospital) while I'm being discharged to fill the two prescriptions -- the Percoset and an antibiotic.
He gets two little prescription bottles. One with the Percoset, and one filled with 26 capsules of the antibiotics with instructions to take three, eight hours apart daily for fourteen days. Now, please... just stop for a second and visualize this with me. Three capsules, eight hours apart, for fourteen days. Even in my blissful stupor, I can multiply that and come up with... uh... a boat load of pills. Not 26. Not a small bottles' worth.
We all look at these instructions and the bottle of capsules and back at the instructions again, and the only thing we can conclude is that what they REALLY mean is to take ONE capsule every eight hours for a total of three a day, because otherwise they've only give us enough for, like, almost three days?.... with one dose being short?.... it makes no sense.
So I take one capsule every eight hours, three times a day, starting a week ago Tuesday. On Monday I take the little bottle and show it to my oncological surgeon to see what she thinks; she's confused; her assistant is confused. We're all confused. (Just to kinda sorta clarify: the plastic surgeon prescribed this stuff but I was visiting the oncological surgeon; they work as a team and are fully interchangeable, so either can make a call about medications etc.)
At about this point I realize that on top of all this weird confusion, I'm going to run out on Thursday rather than making it all the way to next Monday for the full course. I actually believe at this point someone called in the good pharmacy to put a prescription in, but it's probably still sitting there because on Weds of this week I get an automated call from the pharmacy we'll never use again saying the prescription is ready to be picked up.
OK, fine. Well, I think, at least they're kind of on top of things, right? And maybe their sophisticated auto dialer system knows that I'm about to run out on Thursday? That's cool. I guess they may be good guys after all... blah de blah de blah.
I'm actually chilling out about this pharmacy (this is after the tweaker insinuation call I detailed earlier), until Roger picks up the new prescription yesterday, and gets a whole honking CANISTER of pills, 100 of them to be precise. WTF?
Well, it turns out that that's the remainder of the pills they owe us. Roger questions the quantity when he picks up the boatload of pills; they tell him this is the rest of the Rx and the original wasn't completely filled. Well, we kind of knew that (as obviously we had to come back), but... did we understand the instructions wrong and take completely the wrong amount this whole time? Like, why would they give me an amount for only two days without telling us? I look at the hundred capsules, add them to the 26 I got originally, decide to finally do some math and multiplied nine (three capsules three times a day) times 14, and get 126. Which means, yes. They gave me 26 first, without telling us, and then -- a week after those 26 ran out -- informed us that the remaining 100 were now available.
At this point I email the prescribing doctor (I know, about a week too late.) I tell her the whole sad story and she does confirm, yes, 3x3 a day. So I feel like a doofus because, really, I'm a technical writer! I know how to write and to follow instruction! And we did really not follow the original instructions to a tee... but, on the other hand... tiny vial? 26? No notification? No instructions to come back? It made no sense.
I heft up this humongous vial full of capsules and I call the pharmacy we'll never go to again myself, asking them nicely if they have an email that I can write a formal complaint to. I do kind of become my dad when I'm laying around the house all the time; a perpetual crank, he was always getting into verbal fisticuffs with the people he did random daily business with. But really... seriously...26? No notification? I could have died here, people, from some horrible infection....
Hold please, they say.
Several people pick up and several times I say the same thing and get put back on hold.
Eventually of course I get someone who is actually now interested in what I have to say. I tell her the story.
Oh, so sorry, she says. Yes, this was only a PARTIAL fulfillment of the prescription. Only a couple of DAY's worth or so.
I'm, like, I GET that now.. but... you know, shouldn't you have told us about this?
She's, like, absolutely. I am so sorry. They should have told your husband.
I'm, like, you do understand that if I got an infection it would be totally your fault, right?
She's like, oh yeah, we are so sorry.
And I'm, like, OK. So you give us this weird small amount and you don't tell us, and ... they're going to run out in like two days... so why did we get the message to pick up the rest of the pills, like, you know, a WHOLE FUCKING WEEK LATER?
And they're like, oh yeah, we're so sorry about that too. Maybe your husband signed for the other pills and since he signed for something the automatic call back thingy didn't trigger to call you back when the other Rx was actually FILLED, but actually a week later.
And I'm, like, did you get the part where if I got an infection I could sue your fucking ASSES and end up owning your stupid Von's? And by the way I was going to CC my attorney on the email that you still won't give me the ADDRESS FOR?
Depending on how cranky I feel, I'll probably call the manager back on Sunday, when she's there, and do the same thing again with her. And hope nothing infects in the meantime.
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