“Oh no, honey. It’s nothing like that.”
“Yeah, your mom’s right. You just need to take some medicine that will make you feel better.”
“Oh good. More medicine,” Nevaeh said as she rolled her eyes.
“Nevaeh, don’t think of it as more medicine. You only need to take a particular medicine once a week and another one when you need it for swelling.”
“Momma, what’s a specialist?”
“It’s a doctor who only works with certain people.”
“What do I have?”
“I don’t remember how it’s pronounced, but it’s called ‘A-S’ for short. Ankle-something is all I know,” I laughed, trying to make light of the long name I couldn’t remember.
“Oh. Will the kids at school know that I have AS when I go back?”
“No. They won’t know anything. You’ll take your medicine at home, okay?”
Nevaeh nodded. “Lorraine and I will be right back. Why don’t you color me another beautiful picture? Okay?”
“Ok, Momma.”
I motioned for Lorraine to follow me into the living room. “I need to get these prescriptions filled, can you keep an eye on her while I run to the pharmacy?”
“Sure, no problem. Do you want me to get dinner started for you? Did you set anything out?”
“Oh, crap! No, I completely forgot this morning. I’ll pick something up. Do you want to eat with us?”
“No, it’s okay. Tyrone’s grilling chicken breasts for us tonight. I’m sure he’ll start dinner as soon as I get home.”
“Okay, I won’t be long. See you in a bit.”
I handed the prescriptions to the pharmacist who looked them over.
“I’m sorry. We can fill her prescription strength NSAID, but we don’t fill DMARDs.”
“You don’t fill them? Where am I supposed to go? Who does them?” I questioned, trying to figure things out.
“Well, most patients who take them have to do mail order pharmacies; most insurance companies require it.”
“Mail order? You mean my daughter has to wait for her prescription to come in the mail?”
“Again, I’m sorry. That’s just the way it is. If you’d like, we can fill this portion of the prescription and fax a copy of this over to the mail order company, and they can fill the DMARD portion.”
I was at least glad the pharmacist was willing to help me. “Okay, that’d be great. Do you know how long until they typically send it out?”
“I don’t know.”
I nodded. “Okay. How long for this one to be ready?”
“Oh, say about 30 minutes. We can page you when it’s ready if you’re going to wait for it.”
“Yes, please. Page me when it’s ready.”
After the prescription had been filled, I inquired as to which mail order pharmacy they faxed the DMARD drug to.
“We ran your insurance, and it appears MaxCare is covered under your insurance, so we sent it there. They should contact you soon to obtain all of your information.”
“Thank you,” I said as I paid for my daughter’s medicine and headed home.
Along the way, I stopped to pick up dinner for us. My thoughts raced as I replayed what the pharmacist told me. Why don’t doctors tell you these things so you’re not shocked at the pharmacy? It would have been nice to have a clue as to what was going on before I got there. At least Nevaeh didn’t seem too upset about her condition; the most she was worried about is whether the kids at school would know or not. Never mind the fact it could progress into something much worse, but I didn’t tell her about that. I decided to call my mom and brothers to have a get-together this weekend. It would give me the chance to explain what had been going on with Nevaeh as well as tell them about Dale.
Later that night, Dale called to check on Nevaeh after she had gone to sleep. I was so relieved to hear his voice. I filled him in on tidbits of information I’d read from the literature. He agreed it was scary that a disease could leave a child crippled as it progressed. We talked on the phone until wee hours in the morning as we made plans to barbecue together that weekend.
“Okay, but can we do it on Sunday? I was planning on getting my family together on Saturday to tell them about Nevaeh’s condition and talk to them about us,” I told him.
“Really?” he sounded shocked. I can’t say that he was the only one. I was surprised by my own actions.
“Yep, really,” I laughed. “The way I see it, you’ve been nothing but good to my daughter and I. My family’s going to have to learn to accept you. You’re a good man, Dale Halloway.”