It’s happened again. The “I really, really mean it” scenario.
The first time was with my medical insurance company; the second with the school nurse. When presented with a prescription, they needed a note from the doctor, saying, in essence, “I know I wrote this prescription, and that should be de-facto proof that I meant for these pills to be dispensed and consumed as ordered, but just in case you weren’t sure, I really, really mean it.”
Let’s follow the chain of custody in this scenario, shall we? For simplicity’s sake, we’ll use the most recent episode of “Really, Really Mean It” with the school nurse.
The child visits the doctor with Mom. Mom and doctor agree on a course of action which includes a prescription. Doctor, long in practice and known to the school for many years, hands Mom, also long in practice (as a Mom) and known to the school for many years, a prescription. Mom takes the prescription to the local pharmacy, again, known to the school as a legitimate source for prescription drugs. Pharmacist asks Mom to show a driver’s license. Pharmacist deems license and prescription to be legitimate and that the drug may legally be given to Mom to dispense to child. Mom brings the now filled prescription to the school nurse, along with the information on the drug that was stapled to the bag when she picked it up from the pharmacy. On the bag and on the label of the bottle is the name of the well known pharmacy and the doctor long known to the school. Mom, again, long known to the school says, please dispense drug as ordered: one pill at lunch time.
Here’s where we go to the weird parallel universe place.
“I need a note from the doctor.”
“Huh,” I say, mouth agape.
“I need a doctor’s order,” the nurse says.
“Um… it’s prescription. Do you think the doctor was unfit to write the prescription when she wrote it? I was there. I saw her write it. She was not under the influence of any hallucinogenic substance. She was not having an epileptic seizure and have a pen in her hand and a prescription pad nearby and write it by accident. She was lucid, and intelligible and meant to write the prescription which I filled and is sitting before you.”
“It’s policy,” she says.
“Do you think she didn’t mean to write it?” I say, still trying to figure this out.
“No. But I need a note.”
“Saying WHAT? I know I wrote the prescription but I didn’t mean it until NOW?”
“There’s no need to be pugilistic, Mrs. Fields,” she says.
“I’m not, I’m just trying to understand why you need a note in addition to a prescription.”
“It’s policy,” she says again.
That’s when I gave up. I’ve seen this movie before. I try to make sense of the nonsensical with someone who doesn’t have a prayer of seeing how nonsensical it is and I’m old enough now to know it’s not my job to teach them, and further, it wouldn’t work anyway…
We got the fax. My kid got the pill. And I still don’t understand.
