This is a bit heartbreaking.

There’s an old woman who comes into Major Chain Pharmacy every so often. She has been coming in and talking to me since my lowly beginnings as a clerk, those many years ago. So, over the years, she has essentially watched me grow up. Now she calls me “doctor.” She's a bit of a grandmotherly figure. For blogging purposes, I’ll call her Mrs. J.

Last month she came in with a prescription for Aricept, and as she was dropping it off, told me that she didn’t know what the drug was for or why she was prescribed it.

*sigh*

It’s for Alzheimer’s.

Mrs. J was very upset when I told her this. She was adamant that she did not have Alzheimer’s. For being a very old woman, I had always known Mrs. J to be remarkably independent, always having a story to tell, and always appearing very on top of things.

Saying she was very upset with her doctor for not telling her anything, she did not get the prescription filled, bought some bread, and went home.

She came back the next day and asked me if I knew of a doctor she could go to for a second opinion. I wanted to believe Mrs. J was right and that she was misdiagnosed. To me, she seemed just as sharp as ever. I gave her the phone number to a few doctors in the area, she thanked me, and left.

Today, almost a month later, Mrs. J came in again. I experienced an eerie sense of déjà vu. Almost word for word, we had the same conversation as last month. The same interaction. She did not remember at all that I had given her those numbers a month earlier. Although the date on her Aricept prescription was from April, she insisted she had been given it only the day before.

With a heavy heart, I realized that Mrs. J was not misdiagnosed. It’s no longer she who is watching me change, but sadly, it is now I watching her change.

I asked if I could please fill the script for her, and she refused. I tried to get the pharmacist involved but she would have nothing to do with that.

In any case, before she left, telling me she would call the doctors tomorrow and schedule an appointment, she asked if she could have my phone number. I really don’t think Mrs. J has anyone else to talk to, and she’s really a sweet old lady, so I obliged.

But I don’t think she’ll ever remember to call me.

--IISgirl … no more emotional posts or else I will have to change my name