No Such Thing as a Free Prescription

My daughter Dena is one of those crazy (in a good way) young moms who isn’t afraid of anything.  Last week she and I were chatting on the phone.  As we were winding up our conversation she said, “I have to go.  I’m heading to the doctor in an hour.”

When I asked her why, she said she was sick and running a fever.  I offered to come and get the three older kids so she would only have the baby with her, but she said the nurse said to bring them, that she’d be in and out quickly.  I offered again, but like I said, my daughter’s crazy brave.  On hindsight, I should have rushed over and taken them anyway – the fever probably worked against her decision-making process.

Things went fairly well in the doctor’s office, except for the part where she was in the examination room and the nurse informed her that her daughter looked out the window and saw they had left the van door open.  That’s not exactly what you want to hear while you are donning a paper outfit; but that was easily resolved with the key fob.

Next she headed to Publix where many antibiotics are free and decided to pick up a few things for dinner while she waited for her prescription (making the price of the free prescription now about $28.50).  This was the point where her launch window closed.  Conditions were no longer favorable for a safe trip.  The mission should have been scrubbed.  But she pressed on.

While they were waiting for the prescription, the melt down began.  During that time there were a couple of injuries and numerous complaints from the kids.  The freezer section left them frozen.  They were tired from their day, not to mention starving.  Thankfully, a good distraction was found next to the prescription window – the chair with the blood pressure monitor was just begging to be sat in.  One child tried playing in it and that looked so exciting to three-year-old Jett that he ran across the floor, tripped and slid head first into the hard chair.  As he’s screaming and the manager is approaching, Dena is still waiting for her drugs (at this point the more the merrier).

So with voices crying, “I’m hungry.”  “I’m cold.”  “I have a concussion,” she headed home with deli chicken and medicine, and of course the cold, hungry, and concussed children.  Just another day.  When she told me about it later, I was so tempted to say, “I’ll bet you were kicking yourself for not letting me come get them.”  But that wouldn’t have been kind.

I confess, I said it anyway, along with a thank you for the blog post.