Pharmaceutical Follies

During the course of this past weekend's activities, I damaged a tendon in my
right arm. It is nothing serious, it just hurts like hel. I was just going to
wait until it got better but my wife insisted that I go see the doctor. You know
how women are, running off to the doctor for every little thing while men don't
even entertain the idea unless it does not look like the bleeding is going
to slow down any time soon. Wanting to eliminate the growing pain in my neck
more than the pain in my arm, I acceded and went to see the doc. He gave me a
little sympathy, wrote a scrip for some pain relievers, and, of course, told me just
to wait until it got better. In order for my time not to be a total waste, I
decided to go ahead and get the scrip filled. At least it would feel better.
This is where the real trauma begins.

It seems we have this new law called the Health Information Privacy Act (HIPA).
Its purported intent is to ensure that health care providers protect the privacy
of their clients, which sounds very reasonable. However, how this wonderful idea
has been enacted is a study in bureaucratic madness and red tape gone wild.

I had not been to the pharmacy for quite some time. I navigated my way
through the cheap toys, the pantyhose, and the seasonal sale items and finally
came upon the counter where one could actually purchase medicine. I was shocked.
It looked more like a bank- and a very paranoid one at that- than my friendly
chemist's shop. There were ropes cordoning off the counter which was divided by
two inch thick Plexiglas panels that would have stopped an armor piercing round.
Near the ropes, was a large sign saying CUSTOMER PRIVACY AREA- WAIT HERE. I
looked around for the metal detector and the person who would make me take my
shoes off but, evidently, they have not yet been installed.

My turn came quickly enough and, as I approached, the pharmacist leaned
forward and almost whispered conspiratorially "Have you been here
before?"

I was taken aback. These were legal drugs I was buying. "Yes, I
have."

So he looked at the prescription and noted my insurance card and did all of
the these they usually do. Then, he reached into a bin and pulled out a
document. He waved it in my face (creating a nice breeze) and said. "Have
you read this?" This thing was printed on 11x 17 inch paper and had six
columns on each side of miniscule blue print. I have signed contracts on
business deals worth hundreds of thousands of dollars that required less
verbiage than that monstrosity. I saw a government seal and bunch of reference
numbers and I knew that it was filled with legalese that a Philadelphia lawyer
with a PhD in Latin would not be able to understand. Since I had not brought
food, water, or otherwise made arrangements for a protracted stay, I lied and
said I had. He turned back to his computer and typed for a moment then said,
"I don't show any record of you reading it." What the hell! The
pharmacy keeps tabs on my reading habits now? Being a writer, I can think
quickly on my feet. So I mumbled something about my wife getting one when she
came in a few days ago. He didn't believe me but he decided not to force the
issue. Did this guy really think that the people who took the damn thing actually
read and, if their lives were so desolate that they did read it, it meant
anything to them? I dismissed his scornful look and went to peruse the vitamins
while they filled my order.

As I was reading about the wonders of zinc with saw palmetto extract, I heard
my name being called over the loud speaker. "David W, please return to the
pharmacy!" Return to the pharmacy? Was there some problem? Was my insurance
cancelled or was I to be mistakenly arrested for passing a fake scrip for pain relievers?
In near panic I flew back to there and ran up to the PRIVACY AREA.
"Yes," I panted out, "Is something wrong?"

"No," the pharmacist said, "It's just that your prescription
is ready."

"So, why didn't you just say my prescription was ready?"

"Oh, we can't do that because of the privacy law. We can't even say your
last name over the intercom." Oh yes, I am sure Iraqi spies are lurking
around the neighborhood druggist insidiously making note of whom was getting prescriptions
filled and relaying the information directly to Baghdad. 

"Ayatollah, Ayatollah, Bill Smith just had a prescription filled!"

"Good job, Ali. You shall have 200 virgins in heaven to thank you for
your work."

Please.

I was sure he was just getting revenge for me not reading his "War and
Peace" on a page but I took it like a man and moved to the PICK UP PRIVACY
AREA. When my turn again came, I moved up between the Plexiglas nuclear blast
shields. The lady there just looked at me. I catch on to these things fast so I
told her that I was there to pick up a prescription (I am sure the
med police would not allow her to ask). She asked for my name and I responded,
"Am I allowed to tell you that?" This lady was a tech, not a
pharmacist, and the look she gave me made it crystal clear that she was someone
who's life and job had been made ten times more complex without her getting a
penny more for her efforts. She had to listen to people bitch about the hassle
day in and day out when it was not her fault and she could do nothing about it.
She did not appreciate the joke.

So I gave her my name.

She found my little bag, rang up my order, and then started attaching all of
these little stickers to this clipboard thing sitting on the counter. "I
need you to sign here and here and sign and date here and here." When I
asked what I was signing she said, "These say you received counseling"
(I hadn't but  I was certainly going to need some kind of counseling
after this ordeal) "And these say that we complied with privacy
guidelines".

Now, please recall, gentle reader, that I was here to get relief for a
damaged tendon in my arm. A tendon I was required to use to sign ALL FOUR OF
THOSE FREAKING STICKERS. My arm was absolutely throbbing when I was through
signing and dating. Going the pharmacy made my condition WORSE! Why am I
responsible for indicating that I know what they are supposed to do and
not do? Should they not be signing things saying they complied with the law and
handing them to me? Who thinks up these stupid laws? What do they accomplish
besides making what should have been a smooth flowing process turn into
something skin to going to the DMV? How much did it cost the pharmacy to put up
those signs and barriers? How much do they spend providing, tracking, and
administering all of that paperwork? Who does it benefit and how? The one
question I can answer is who's pocket the money comes out of- mine. On
top of that it was all a WASTE because everyone else's stickers were on the SAME
goddamned clipboard and I could not only see their first and last names but what
medication they got!

Foolishly thinking I was done with the ordeal, I picked up my little bag with
my non-throbbing arm and turned to go. "Wait, you need to sign and date
this." She held out a piece of paper and a pen. I asked what this one was
for and she held up the giant piece of paper covered with legalese.

 "It says you read this."

posted by The Pendragon at 4/16/2003 05:08:00 PM