The week that Alan and I moved into my mother's house, she was actually in hospital.
She'd had a bad fall and spent a night on her bedroom floor. She hadn't called anyone for help, even though she had the phone in her hand because "it wasn't an emergency...."
I shudder to think what could have qualified.
The hospital was overcrowded, as they always are these days. As soon as the staff heard that she had people at home to look after her, she was discharged.
She left the hospital with the intake worker for CCAC (the home-care agency here) trotting along behind, trying to get a history and do a needs assessment.
Chaotic. That's the word I'm looking for to describe that time.
Here we were, looking after a nearly-eighty year-old woman with advanced MS and a couple of broken ribs. Our qualifications for the job? I loved my mother.
Every time she moved, I'd run downstairs to check on her.
After forty-eight hours of as little sleep as it is possible to have and not actually start hallucinating, Mum sent me to the pharmacy. She had a prescription ready and needed a few things.
I picked up the prescription. Spent a very long time staring at the wall o' incontinence products that seemed to stretch from one horizon point to another.... Seriously. They have them for men and women. Daytime and nighttime. Whole ranges of disability, hydration... scented or non, and how much do you think the woman weighs?
I took my best guess and moved on.
To the dish soap. Which was ON SALE! "Get two," said the woman with the broken ribs. "I've got a coupon..."
She needed anti-constipation supplies...
I arrived at the check-out with everything on the list (lip balm! chewing gum!), except for one item.
So I said to the cashier, "I managed to find the suppositories. Now all I need are the batteries."
She didn't find it nearly as funny as I did. But then she wasn't nearly as high on sleep-deprivation as I was.
Don't forget - if you have a funny pharmacy story you'd like to share with the world, e-mail me and I'll post it here tomorrow!