Did you know that pharmacies close at 6:00 p.m. on Sunday nights?
I think I knew that, but it just didn’t register.
It didn’t sink in until last night at 6:08 p.m. when I drove up to the Walgreen pharmacy window and instead of seeing a pleasant, helpful pharmacist, I saw a big metal curtain and a padlock.
Oh *&%^$#!
My three year old Ryan and I had just left after hours urgent care where he was diagnosed with a mean case of strep throat. The little man needed his medicine and he needed it now!
Considering the fact that we are well into the 21st century, I figured I would find a nearby 24-hour pharmacy. There have to be many of those, right?
WRONG.
The closest one, I discovered was 20 miles away.
I debated.
It was almost bedtime. Could we get away with waiting and filling the prescription in the morning?
CRY CRY CRY
No! My baby needed medicine now.
Preparing to embark on the 20 mile journey the phone rings.
“Brendan is sick now too,” Jeff informs me.
Trying my best to remain calm, I figure that I had better take him to urgent care first, get the inevitable strep diagnosis, and then make the 20 mile trek.
Two hours and two diagnoses’ later, I ask my patient and loving husband if he will make the trip to the pharmacy. Thankfully, he agrees.
An hour comes and goes ….. No Jeff. No medicine.
Another hour comes and goes…..
Apparently quite a few people need prescriptions filled on Sunday night.
By the time Jeff finally arrives home with the medicine it is almost dawn.
I resist every urge to say to my poor, exhausted husband, “Maybe we should have waited until the morning.”
Instead I climb the stairs, wake up my two sick sons and proceed to dose out their penicillin. In less than 20 seconds, Ryan throws his up.
I try again.
He resists.
Oh no, I think. I can’t let Jeff see what’s going on. The poor guy spent the entire Pro-Bowl waiting at the 24-CVS with half the local population.
I plead with Ryan to take his medicine.
“You don’t want the doctor to give you the medicine in a shot, do you?” I ask.
(Do they even do that?)
Sensing the lameness of my threats, Ryan ignores me.
It is not until I offer him both Root Beer and chocolate that he even tries to swallow the medicine again.
One hour later he is in bed with at least ½ of the recommended dose.
With a few hours of sleep under my belt, the whole process starts over again.
One sip + root beer + chocolate + one more sip = exhaustion.
Around noon, I call my sister the pediatrician, who unfortunately lives in NY and can only offer me her advice.
When I tell her about our woes she replies:
“I don’t know what kind of urgent care place you went to, but I would never prescribe penicillin for strep. It tastes awful. Kids throw it up all the time!”
Oh great. Just great
She obviously does not appreciate the lengths we went to – to unintentionally make our kids puke.
However, she does advise me to call my pediatrician and explain the situation.
I take her sage advice and after what I am sure is waaaay too much information, the boy’s doctor calls in a new, non-vomit inducing medicine.
Time for one more phone call.
“Hi honey,” I say. “Could you please pick up something at the pharmacy on your way home?”
Oh geez! I hope you and Jeff don't get strep after all of this!
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