So fast forward nearly a year, I called the pharmacy to have one of the prescriptions refilled - one that I have already had refilled once - whereupon I am informed that my refills have run out. The pharmacy assistant (who sounds all of eight) advises that I call my doctor. And so I do. Only to be informed by the nasal, irritated sounding voice recording that if I am calling for a prescription refill that I need to have the pharmacy call.
Oh joy. Because I have all kinds of free time during my work day to be playing phone tag with the pharmacy, the doctor's office and back to the pharmacy. Not to mention that I have absolutely ZERO privacy at my desk for these types of conversations. So either I am forced to whisper frantically into the phone praying that the party on the other end isn't deaf or I must seek out an unoccupied space that houses a phone.
At any rate, I finally get a chance to call the pharmacy back where I find myself explaining to the
Fast forward to a few days ago, when I realized I never did hear back from the pharmacy about my prescription. So once again, I search out a semi-private phone to call the pharmacy only to be informed by another pharmacy assistant (this one was older. MUCH older...fifteen, maybe) that my refill had been denied because, according to his notes, the doctor said she'd never prescribed that medication to me. Which, of course, left me feeling guilty - like I was some kind of drug addict, trying to score unprescribed psoraisis medication. You know, because that medication is HIGH on the list of prescriptions that drug users are trying to score...
I was floored. I told the assistant that was funny, since I was holding the bottle with my name, the doctor's name and the pharmacy's name on it. He, being the clueless lad that he was, didn't have a clue. So I called the doctor's office where, after what seemed like hours of navigating my way through phone-tree hell, I finally connected with a real, live, human being. It was a miracle, I tell you. An out and out miracle.
After perusing my file, the nurse concludes - that according to the notes - the doctor DIDN'T prescribe that medication to me. The medication I've been using for nearly a year. She prescribed something in the same family - but not that. What she'd prescribed was a "solution" not a "spray."
Ye gods! Are you kidding me? Well, on the plus side, at least the medication wasn't something that was suddenly going to make me sprout horns or have me projectile vomiting, or worse. At least, not any time in the near future.
I heard back from the nurse the following day and all she could tell me is that the pharmacy is "investigating" the problem. And meanwhile, I continued to itch.
Finally yesterday, the nurse called to tell me that she'd called in the prescription. The same damn prescription that I'd been denied a few days earlier. As near as I can ascertain, the medication IS a solution until you take the cap off and put on the spray pump...then it magically becomes a "spray."
Me. It could only happen to me. Obviously. Are any of us surprised?