The day started off like any other. I wore red and khaki, put on my white coat and sipped a pumpkin spice latte. I discussed dosing and drug interactions with physicians, counseled patients on side effects and counted to 30 more times than I can recall. Then something happened. I told my technician “thanks for the help today!” for the last time. I counted pills for the last time. I counseled a patient for the last time. I closed the pharmacy for the last time.
I knew this day was coming for a while. I held off on telling my boss because I didn’t know if the funding would come in, we could have to defer to July, I didn’t have enough faith. Once everyone knew I was leaving, I felt like it’d be easy. I thought I’d see it as a break from something that at times was too demanding and at other times too mundane. I thought I’d be excited for some time off.
I cried to my husband for an hour because it wasn’t easy and I wasn’t excited. You see, my parents started telling me I could be or do anything I wanted before I was even old enough to really understand what that meant. They taught me the value of hard work, discipline and education and challenged me to be my best. So, 2 weeks after my 25th birthday, I earned my doctorate of pharmacy degree. I felt like I’d worked toward becoming a pharmacist for so long and then practiced it so little. It hurt to walk away after just 2 1/2 years because I love my profession and have no idea when I’ll return to it. There are things in life that are worth our tears and I genuinely had to grieve the (temporary) loss of pharmacy.
I had the privilege of speaking to my graduating class and challenged them to live to make a difference, rather than work to make a living. In my last few weeks as a pharmacist, God gave me a small glimpse of the difference I had been making. As I told patients I was leaving, the responses were so bittersweet. They told me I was irreplaceable, I was the best pharmacist they had ever had, I was loved. Some cried, some encouraged, some prayed for me.
As a pharmacist, untactful people ask me ALL the time, “How much do you make?” I can now say, with confidence, that I make a difference. I stand on my feet for 12 hours at a time to make sure you get the best healthcare. I sometimes skip my one 30 minute break each day to prepare an antibiotic for your sick child or answer questions about your medication. I don’t take bathroom breaks so I can call your insurance company to get your medication covered or correct the drug overdose that was called in by your pediatrician’s office. I sacrifice time with my family to make sure that fax went through to your physician or that your medication is coming in the order tomorrow. I let you take your frustrations from a hard day in the emergency room out on me. I spend my days off speaking to your grade schooler about the dangers of prescription medications or to your high schooler about the profession of pharmacy and the options they have for the future. I work during the holidays to be there when your medical emergency arises. I let my work build up and put myself under stress so I can spend a little extra time making sure your elderly family member understands the changes that were just made in their medication regimen. I comfort you when you show up with a prescription for chemotherapy for the first time, when it’s too new for you to comprehend it. I call for a cheaper alternative when your medication isn’t covered by your insurance or sign you up for a patient assistance program to get your medication covered for free. I subject myself to blood-borne pathogens by giving you an immunization. My spare time is filled with continuing education and CPR renewal classes to make sure I can give you the BEST care possible. So, what do I make? I make a difference. I make a sacrifice. Yet,
That sacrifice is why I quit drug dealing. That cross is why I’m leaving something I LOVE.
