A Drug Story (not the good kind of drugs)

A few years ago, my prescription allergy medication ran out and I didn't get it renewed right away. It was January, and I figured I could wait a little while, what's blooming in January?

And one day a week or two later, I started sneezing. I sneezed, and sneezed, and sneezed. And I called the doctor's office and begged for a new prescription, and got it filled that night, and all was well in the sinuses again.

And yet somehow, when I realized I was running low of my last bottle of the stuff in December (as in a few weeks ago), I thought I would be okay to lower my dosage and make it last until I could be bothered to call the doctor's office (which isn't hard, I don't know why I put it off). And today, I've been sneezing more than usual, my nose is running and running and running, and my head feels like it's full of cement. Ah. Two plus two equals oy.

Yes, I called the doctor's office today. I left a message at 10:30 this morning with the usual laundry-list of information they require, including my phone number. I gave them my cell phone number, and left it on all day in case they called back.

They didn't.

Before I left work, I called the pharmacy to see if there was a prescription called in, but there wasn't.

I got home and found a message on my home machine, left at 11:30, asking me to call back about my message. (You know, the one where I left the number I could actually be reached at? That message.)

The office is now closed, except for emergencies (and no matter my nose, I don't really think this is an emergency. A major honking annoyance, yes. One that was easily avoided if Little Miss Thing had used her brain, yes. But not an actual emergency).

I was prepared to not get the prescription today, and was not even mad about it. I mean, it's my own fault for letting the situation go this far. But now, when it's possible we could have resolved it today, if they had called the number I left for them?

Now I'm ticked.

Allergies. Good times.