Pharmacy. Jim Plagakis. Pharmacist

The pharmacy where I work every Friday evening is right close to UTMB.  It is a major medical center and is the original medical school in Texas.  It is also the provider of medical services to the poor of Texas. 

 

UTMB was mandated, in the 19^th Century, to welcome any Texan, regardless of ability to pay.

  

 That is no longer a viable situation with the costs of modern medicine, but it is a fact of life for UTMB and the source of lots of hand-wringing by the administration. 

 

Patients are discharged on Friday evenings and many of them end up at my counter.  Recently, a woman begged me to fill her son’s prescriptions.  It was 3 minutes to ten and the manager on duty had just announced that the store was closing.

 

She had a dark, stricken look on her face.  “My son had a table saw accident.  He has to have these medicines.  Please fill them.  His hand is still numb, but they said that he was going to be in real pain when the shot wears off.”

 

I took a look.  Clindamycin, oxycodone/APAP, Betadine Solution, back up Vicodin, diazepam and prescriptions for sterile pads, gauze, tape and Neosporin.   I explained to her that she could not remain in the store, but that I would stay as long as it took to get the orders ready and we could transact business at the drive-through.

 

The manager on duty did not like it, but shrugged when I told him why I had chosen to stay.

 I fought my way through an insurance that I was unfamiliar with and finally left the store around 10:30 PM.  I felt like a winner.   I was glad that I could help.

 

Last night I was a loser.  I could not win no matter what I did or said.  The girl still had her wrist band on.  She had left the hospital 20 minutes before.  With her was a second teen age girl and a middle age woman. 

 

I asked the girl if we had filled prescriptions for her previously.  

 

She answered, “I don’t know.”  She wouldn’t look at me.  This was big time guilt that I was looking at.  “I just had my baby.” 

 

I asked her if she had insurance.  She said that she had Medicaid, but did not have the card.  The older woman had her arms angrily crossed.  Her eyes were practically bugging out.  “She didn’t need a card at the hospital.”

 

“Well, this is not the hospital.”  I didn’t tell her that UTMB had to take her for free.  That is not what pharmacies do.  I wanted to lighten it up, so I smiled at the patient and asked her, “What did you have?”

 

She did not look at me, but she said, “I had a girl.”  No smile.  No emotion. Nothing.

 

“Congratulations,” I said, “That is wonderful.  A little girl.  I raised two little girls and it was a joy.  A baby girl is a wonderful thing.  You should be smiling.”    

 

The older woman piped up.  “Wonderful?  The daddy won’t have nothin’ to do with it.

She can’t stay with her crack head momma, so she come to my house with her problem.  She is just a stupid n*****r bitch.  I have a half a mind to throw her and that bastard n*****r baby right out the door.”  She gave me a look that lingers on the front of my brain.  “So, you don’t be tellin’ her how wonderful a new baby girl is.”  She grumbled.  “A joy?  Ain’t no joy in this baby.  None.”

 

I grimaced.  “Well, it better be wonderful because it’ll be many years of misery if she can’t make it wonderful.”

The other teen age girl stepped up.  “He is right, momma.  This is Yolanda’s baby and it has to be good.”

 

I explained to Yolanda that she would have to pay for the prescriptions if she did not have her insurance card. 

 

The aunt chimed in, “She ain’t got no money and I ain’t paying.”  I don’t think that this woman was as mean as she sounded.  This seemed like a no win situation for her.

 

“All three are for over-the-counter medicines”, I said, “I’ll get them for you and I’ll pay for them.”

 

“No you won’t” said the aunt.  Her eyes asked, why are you saying you’ll pay, white man?

 

“I have an agreement to do this,” I said.  “Two weeks ago, a nurse from the women’s crisis center bought her patient a fleece jacket and I told her that I would pass it on.”

 

That was that.  Less than $10.00 with my discount.  Ferrous Sulfate, docusate and APAP.  I could so I did.   The aunt hated me.  Yolanda just seemed dead.  The cousin tried to smile and failed, but did say, “Thanks”.

 

Try to make a difference, try again.  Fail.  Try harder.