Enough is Enough- Where I Buy My Prescriptions is Not the Government's Business

Ever since the government implemented it's totally unconstitutional law stating we as citizens of the United States, a country that takes great pride in being free enterprise, are not allowed to buy our prescriptions anywhere we please our prescriptions have gone up, way up. I can give you examples of what I am talking about.

I use an albuteral inhaler, as needed, for asthma. It went from $42.00 to $74.00 and that was at Wal-Mart. My husband was put on Plavix (Clopidigrel) a few years ago. We were told by the doctor to get the generic because the name brand was too expensive. It is what the hospital dispenses so there is actually a generic. I was told by several pharmacies that there is no such thing as a generic and they didn't know what the doctor was talking about. They didn't appreciate my comeback, we'll just say that. Where is hospital getting it? The cost of the name brand is $200.00 for thirty (30) pills. I checked online at Canadian pharmacies, even though we are not allowed to shop them as mandated by the pharmaceutical companies- oops, I mean Congress. The cost is $134.00 (rounded off) for two hundred (200) doses. What?! (Can't arrest you for looking!- Yet.) He also takes Methotrexate for his arthritis. That went up from $41.00 a month to $76.00 a month also, and when we asked for a paper prescription so we could shop around for a better deal the doctor refused unless we drove an hour a month (one way) to pick up the prescription a month at a time because there are too many people getting their medications from Canada. Well, imagine that. He couldn't outright deny a paper prescription; that is illegal, but he can place restrictions on how we get it. He should be ashamed of himself. When my husband told me what he told him, I told him it was a good thing I wasn't with him. I would have embarrassed him to no end and I would have asked the doctor who was in his wallet. Seriously, once that prescription is out of his office, it is none of his business where we get it filled whether it is in Michigan, Wisconsin, Florida, or Timbuktu. That is completely our business as consumers in a supposedly consumer-driven economy. It is not the government's business either, thank you very much.

I will never be convinced that Big Pharma didn't pay for that law that only they benefit from, because we Americans certainly do not. Other people may have a small co-pay with their insurance to get their prescriptions, but others, like ours, require its participants to keep the receipts and send them in once a year and then they decide how much they will reimburse for them, if at all; sometimes they decide the medication isn't covered, unbeknownst to us. That doesn't help the many people who don't have the exorbitant amount in the first place. It still leads to a food or medications decision every month.

There are probably a lot of people who will say I am un-American or anti-government. I assure you I am as all-American as they come. When I worked in a building that displayed the American flag, I said the Pledge of Allegiance every day with my hand over my heart. I am anti-bought-and-paid-for by (any) business government, and that is what we have come to have in the recent years. Am I alone in this?

Fried Chicken

I heard the daily trivia question on an afternoon radio show asking what was one of the manly scent candles that rated in the top three. It reminded me of a humor piece I wrote a few years ago that I posted on Gather.com. Now for those of you who try to go to Gather, for some reason it isn't working on Firefox (which I use) but it does on Chrome (another one I use). I don't know if it works on Internet Explorer because every time I open it, my computer locks up and it does not matter which computer I use, so it's not a computer thing. At any rate, the piece was met with appreciative chuckles, so I thought I would re-run it here.

Fried Chicken

The other morning I had a very early appointment and I decided I would make a quick run by the grocery store for a few things afterwards.  The minute I opened the car door I was overtaken by the delightful and unmistakable scent of fried chicken.  I nearly forgot what it was I went to the store to get.  I went inside and somehow ended up at the deli counter.  The manager looked up at me expectantly.

“Isn’t it a little early for…”  I inhaled deeply and a dreamlike expression came over my face as I breathed out, ‘Fried Chicken?”  It was eight forty-five in the morning after all.

He laughed, of course, and asked if I’d like to buy some.  Of course I wanted to buy some, I wanted to buy it all and it must have been the equivalent of about three chickens.

Anyone who knows me knows I am from the Deep South.  Some odd twist fate has me living in Wisconsin.  I look for anything that reminds me of home.  Fried chicken should remind any true, died-in-the-wool southerner of home.  I remember walking home from Sunday morning church services and smelling the apple pies cooling by the windows and chicken frying for dinner.  God bless her, my mother can not fry chicken to save her life.  It’s almost un-American not to be able to do a good job frying chicken, but she, like many others with the same malady, is as patriotic as they come.  She just hasn’t got the patience for frying chicken.  She says it comes from having to come home from work and then make dinner for a large family in a short amount of time.  Until I was seven and went to Kentucky Fried Chicken for the first time I thought it was supposed to be black.  I almost wouldn’t eat it because I thought it was under-cooked!  After that first tasty bite it was difficult to get me to eat hers again.  And then years later she finally spills it- the truth behind the chicken.  She doesn’t like fried chicken.  Shock!!!  I wanted to take away her NASCAR memorabilia.  That’s just wrong. 

   

I have some ideas, however, for products involving the oh-so-tempting scent of fried chicken.  Everyone knows the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.  Well, the way to his stomach is through his nose.  If it doesn’t smell good, he’s not going to touch it.  Therefore all you single, but desperately seeking a husband, females out there, you need Parfum de Poulet Frit  (Fried Chicken Perfume.)  A little behind your ears and he’s yours for life.  Of course it might work a little too well and then you’ll just have to pick the one you like the best.   (Snicker, snicker) Then of course we have one for the Glade Company; you know, the ones who make all those scented candles.  There are all sorts of scents out there, not necessarily made by Glade.  I have seen (and smelled) French Vanilla, Pumpkin Pie Spice, Lavender, Gingerbread Cookie, Peppermint, and Fresh Apple Pie, just to name a few.  How about adding Fried Chicken scent to the mix?  Think about it…You want to impress someone with a great dinner but you just don’t have the time.  You go to the deli and pick up fried chicken with all the trimmings, an apple pie from the bakery, and then scented candles.  Go home, set the table, and place all the food into serving dishes (it would be tacky to use the deli containers- not to mention blow the illusion).  Get rid of the deli and bakery containers.  Light the candles- Fried Chicken Scent and Hot Apple Pie.  It fills the house with the scents of someone who has spent hours in the kitchen preparing a delicious meal.  They are extremely impressed with you and they never have to know the truth.  Works for me! 

The Surprise

"Maggie, I love you. I've waited years to tell you that," he said as she got dressed.

"Now you tell me. You're leaving for St. Louis in a few hours for that new job. Besides, office romances are awkward at best. It wouldn't have worked," she told him. She grabbed a cup of coffee. "I have to go." She kissed him. "That was a great going away party last night. I'm sure going to miss you." She walked out without a backward glance.

"It ended well anyhow, even if did have to get drunk to give in," he said to her retreating figure.

Owen strode into the front room of his former office. Trudy, the secretary, jumped up and started to cry out when she saw him put a finger to his lips. She hugged him instead.

"It is so good to see you," she whispered. "How do you like your new job?"

"It's not here, but it's good, and I did go from VP of Operations to President of Operations, so there is that," he answered. "You look fabulous. Is she in?"

Trudy nodded and motioned towards Maggie's opened door. "As usual," she said quietly. "Working with the door open. I think I'll go discuss something with somebody in another office."

Owen chuckled and nodded as Trudy left closing the door softly behind her. Owen walked to Maggie's door and watched her working. She had that look she always had when she thought no one was looking; serious, concentrating, a hand partially submerged in her hair as she read over documents, holding her pen in the same hand as the papers. He glanced around her office and noticed her usual full pot of coffee was replaced with just plain hot water and a box of herbal tea. Since when did she give up coffee? She practically lived on it. He stared at her again. Was it his imagination or had she put on a little weight? He tapped on the door frame.

Maggie looked up and dropped the pen she held in her hand. She almost stood and then just folded her arms in front of her on her desk and leaned forward. She smiled that smile she had always had just for him. Her eyes sparkled like bright stars on a clear night.

"Maggie, it is so good to see you," he said. "It feels like forever since I left.

"Seven months," she said. "I'm sure you've been busy with your new job." She stared at him fighting back tears. "I really have missed you."

"Tea?" he said indicating her cup. "What's up with that?"

"Caffeine is not for the… It's not good for me to have so much," she replied. "So what brings you to town?"

"We have a manufacturing plant not up to par. I came to see what the problem is," he said. "I thought I'd visit my old stomping grounds while I'm here."

"We're still plugging along. I'm still VP of Marketing. Not much has changed except Bill got your old job."

"Good choice. So, you seeing anybody?" he asked. Now that was subtle, he thought.

"No. I'm too busy for that," she answered. "You?"

"Same here." His watch beeped. He sighed as he checked the time. "Listen, I've got to go. If I get the chance, I'll stop back by before I leave."

"Okay, maybe we can catch some lunch and catch up," she said.

"That would be great," he said. He leaned over her desk and kissed her. She had tears in her eyes when he pulled away and he brushed one off her cheek. "Don't cry Maggie."

She sniffed. "It was really good seeing you. You'd better get to that meeting."

Owen opened the door to leave and almost ran into Trudy. "Oh good; I wanted to tell you good bye. What's up with her anyway?" he asked. "She's switched to tea instead of coffee. Now she's in there crying."

Trudy smiled broadly. "So it was you," she said.

"What was me?"

"She didn't tell you. Well, it's her place not mine," Trudy said.

Owen looked at her curiously. "If I had time to decipher that, I would stick around and chat, but I have to go." He handed her his card. "Call me sometime Trudy. I'll try to stop in tomorrow."

Trudy walked into Maggie's office. "That's one mystery solved. Why didn't you didn't tell him?"

"It wasn't the right time," was all Maggie said as she blew her nose and grabbed another tissue to wipe her eyes.

Roses arrived the next day with a message from Owen. 'Sorry I can't stop in. I got called back to the home office. Call me. Owen.' He had written his cell number on the card. Maggie shook her head sadly and set it aside.

Two months later…

Owen sat at his desk after the long board meeting where he had detailed the changes he had implemented at the failing manufacturing plant to get it back up to expected production goals. They were pleased and were celebrating at a local restaurant. He begged off stating he was just too tired. The truth was he hadn't been sleeping since his trip back to Chicago. He couldn't keep Maggie off his mind. He checked through the messages on his phone. He had a missed call.

"Owen, this is Trudy. Maggie is in the hospital. You need to come."

"What happened? Which hospital?" he screamed at the phone.

"Sir, are you all right?" his secretary asked, peeking around the door.

"A friend of mine in Chicago is in the hospital. I need to get there as soon as I can," he told her.

"Do you want me to call the pilot to get the jet ready?" she asked.

"No, I can't use the company jet for personal use. I can hitch a ride with someone else though. Call around and see if anyone is heading that way or get me on the soonest commuter flight, will you Joan? And, get me a rental car for when I get there. I'll want to go straight away for the hospital." He grabbed his jacket and started dialing the missed call number. "Thank you so much Joan."

"Sure," she said. "I'll text you the information."

It went straight to message. "Trudy," he said. "I'm on my way. Which hospital is she in?"

Owen ran into the University Medical Center. Trudy had texted him the facility and address. "Ma'am," he said to the volunteer behind the information desk. "I'm looking for a friend of mine. I understand she was admitted here today."

"The name?" the woman asked.

"Maggie, Margaret," he corrected. "Margaret Raye."

She consulted her computer. "She doesn't have a room listed yet." She pointed to the elevator. "Just tell the attendant you need the maternity ward."

"Thanks," he said, and then stopped in his tracks. Maternity ward? He squeezed his eyes shut. That's why she wouldn't stand up; I'd see she was pregnant.

Owen set down a vase of flowers on a side table and stared at the squirming infant wrapped in a blue blanket. He smiled as he read the card. Baby Boy Mayer. Parents: Margaret Raye- Mother, Owen Mayer- Father. He leaned over and kissed Maggie and she woke up.

"Owen?" she asked. "How did you know?"

"Trudy called. Will you marry me now?"

She just nodded yes as she took his hand in hers.