Slinging Pills

This afternoon at the pharmacy:

"I'd like to get these filled." She hands me 2 prescriptions.

Before reading the name or anything else, I ask "Have you been here before?"

"They're not for me, they're for my mom. And yeah, she has."

The name immediately jumps out at me. It's her... 

-----

She had come in last Friday, gripping a stack of scripts in her pudgy fingers.

"I went to HEB, but they said it would take 5 hours--and I don't have time to wait for that."

"Alright, let me see what you have." 

Clonazepam 2mg. Hydrocodone-APAP 5/325mg. Tramadol 50mg.

2 opioids and a benzo--a combination that can easily cause respiratory depression. Only a doctor that didn't care or didn't like her patient would write these 3 together.

There was a handwritten note on the top of the Tramadol RX: "gave 2." What the fuck? It's an opioid... why would they give her any without filling the RX? Was the pharmacist high, too?

"Give me one moment." I could tell she was hesitant to let me walk away. 

I walk the 15' over to my pharmacist B and begin to whisper, "You remember, that woman, Dina, who is always trying to get controls and has brought in fake scripts before? She just dropped these off. Tramadol, hydrocodone, and clonazepam"

B looked at each one slowly, taking a moment to process the information. The warp speed of the pharmacy continued on around us, but now I could sense each sluggish second slipping past me.

"I'll have to check the PMP before we fill these and call the doctor." She said, eyebrows raised far above her black, cat-eye glasses. (The PMP is the state's prescription monitoring program. It allows us to see all the prescriptions for controlled medications that an individual has filled at any pharmacies. It provides us with the name of the medication, dosage and quantity, as well as the prescriber etc.. It is our way of tracking any patient who we know to be a doctor shopper or pharmacy hopper--those 2 favorite pass times of pill heads.)

"Okay, I'll tell her it'll be an hour or two...?" trying to gauge if that was what I should do. I could feel the burning sensation on the back of my neck increasing from Dina's scalding gaze.

"Sure."

A rush of anxiety rolled down my spine as I approached the counter. Her lips drew a straight line across her face, her clenched jaws frozen with anxiety. I knew she was shitting it but pretending to be an average, exasperated patient with no time to wait.

"Miss Dina? My pharmacist has to confirm some information with your doctor before we can fill them so it'll probably be 1 to 2 hours." my tone wavered. I braced myself and waited to hear an onslaught of "fuck you"s. 

"I don't have time for this." She spat, "Give my prescriptions back and I'll go somewhere else!"

"Alright, let me grab them." Glad to be rid of her, and pleasantly surprised not to be subjected to a torrent of abuse.

B was already on the PMP looking her up, as I told her that Dina was going to get them filled somewhere else because she doesn't "have time to wait." Once more her eyebrows raise in mock surprise, "Okay."

-----

Now (only 6 days later), I am faced with her prescriptions again.  Another cocktail of CNS depressants. The first one is Clonazepam 2mg (again), and the second is codeine/acetaminophen 30/300mg (another opioid). Welp, I understand. Downers are my favorites, too.

"Did you want to wait or come back?" I ask the girl as she twirls the hair from her ponytail around her finger. She's probably not more than 17 years old.

"I'll wait. How long do you think it'll be?"

"15 or 20 minutes."

"Okay. I'll be here." I begin to type in the date of birth on script as the girl's ponytail disappeared between the store aisles.

When I search her birthday, Dina's name doesn't appear. Assuming I typed it incorrectly, I do it again. Still not there. I search her up by name. Her date of birth is 11/19/1973 on the prescription, but our system (correctly) has 11/19/1975.

I can already hear my pharmacist M saying, in his clipped Egyptian accent: "tell hem we don't have it." That was his way of dealing with forgeries or questionable RXs, making them another pharmacy's problem. (A practice which is frowned upon.)

Sidling up alongside my coworker Ann as she's typing up electronic RXs that are coming in faster than we can fill them. I hand her the prescriptions and point out the name. "Look who it is!"

"Are you kidding me?"

"Nope. This time she had her daughter bring them in. Also, check this out!" I search her up by name. "The birthday they have on these scripts is 2 years off." We both had stupid smirks on our faces. Dina's game is going to be up very quickly... at least with these doctors.

"Do you wanna call the doctor?" I ask her. "I'm supposed to be doing production." I give am exaggerated glance at M, whose standing behind us. It's only a matter of time before he questions what I'm doing without a spatula in my hand and a vial in the other.

"Sure. No problem."

"Let me know how it goes!" I sing.

Back at the production work station, I see that 10 prescriptions are coming due in the next 30 minutes. The printer roars into life and spits out labels, while I run to the shelves and pull drugs that I see will be first. Proair, Metformin 500mg, Lisinopril 10m, Duloxetine Dr 30mg... 

A mix of curiosity and excitement builds up in my guts, but I refuse to acknowledge it. Instead, I keep filling as quickly as possible, almost unable to steal glances over at Ann to see if she's off the phone with the doctor's office yet.

5 people suddenly appear at the register. I speed them through the process. When I step back to the computer and glance back at the time, it's been about 15 minutes since I handed off the scripts. Ann is still on the phone. I can see her shaking her head in agreement, before putting the receiver down.

Right then, four people get in line at the register. Reluctantly, I drag my maroon, high-top Adidas, with the black wings, over to them. My curiosity is overwhelming. I wanna catch that bitch. 

All I want is that satisfaction of catching her in the web of lies she's spun. The trail of identities, doctors, prescriptions that she didn't think we'd notice is now her undoing.

Finally, freed from the register. I glance around to check and make sure no customers are approaching.

"What'd you find out?" I run over to Ann, brimming with enthusiasm.

"So, they have to files for her at the hospital under those 2 birthdays. Each file has the same name, address, emergency contacts, everything, but the social security numbers are different."

"Holy shit." I've never had a customer that dedicated to the pursuit of pills. Her addiction or business must run deep.

"I asked if they had a copy of her driver's license under the fake date of birth, but they didn't. I don't know how that's possible. When I worked in the hospital, I made sure to scan that in for every person."

"Yeah, I've had to do that just to go to my regular doctors. What the fuck?"

"Yup. But, they didn't want to void the prescriptions. However, the nurse is going to alert the doctor."

"Again, let me say: What. The. Fuck? They aren't going to void them? I wonder if the doctor is complicit..."

A moment of stunned silence hangs between us, the possible enormity of this find is overwhelming.

"What's going on?" M has noticed that we've been talking.

Ann explains the situation to him.

"Just tell her we don't have them." Dismissing all of our work with the flick of his wrist, as he waves Ann over to the drop off to tell Dina's daughter.

I wonder if she knows about her mom's double life... I will never do this to my future kids. I've crossed a lot of lines in my life but I will never cross this one.

Her daughter is annoyed with us, just as impatient as her mother. She leaves in a huff, stomping off to buy the bag of powdered donuts hanging from her left hand--no wiser of all the information we've pulled up on her mother's life.

I'm sure we'll see Dina again... and I can't fucking wait to catch her.

Until later,

Lucy