I Miss My Pharmacist
Today I need to go to the pharmacy for strips and Humalog. I am not a hater of the pharmacy, although big Walgreen’s will never feel like home to me. In the town I grew up in, there is a small pharmacy, where they know my name as soon as I walk in. I remember when one of my orders got mixed up (new behind the counter worker), my mother said, “Just ask for *wicked awesome pharmacist (WAP)*. He knows you and it’ll be fine.” And it was: always. One day I went to pick up insulin, and of course it was right before I was leaving for somewhere, and insurance got mixed up. For some reason insurance didn’t think I needed insulin yet (or something). But what did WAP do? He gave me one bottle, fought with my insurance, and I was good to go. WAP is the pharmacist that I remember for as long as…well, I’ve had diabetes. There’s something about automatic doors, and neon signs and not being able to see the pharmacy as you walk in, that just can’t feel like home. I’ve been spoiled, and WAP, I miss you.
After I posted this, my mother emailed it to said WAP and attached this note.
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