It recently occurred to me that sometimes making and accepting the consequences of a brutal decision is easier than facing the gut-wrenching realization that the decision needs to be made…
And when I say ‘it recently occurred to me’ I mean – I’ve spent the last 3 months reliving the few moments that formed the mosaic that led to the realization that I had to make a tough decision.
For years I’ve known independent pharmacy is a dying… no, no…. a hunted-to-the-point-of-extinction breed. For years I’ve allowed my family to take a back seat to a career that shows but a faint resemblance to the one I chose so long ago. For years I’ve wondered just how much longer I could continue the fight…
And then in the span of 5 days, the mosaic fell into place…
March 11th: Cal was getting ready for school. “…got my cleats, my glove, hat…”
“Hey bud, I can’t wait for your game Friday!”
“We don’t have a game, mom… too many guys are on the senior trip so they postponed it.”
(I couldn’t hold back my tears) “What??? it’s was the only game this season I was going to see…..”
Cal looked at me with those Calvin eyes and said, “It’s ok momma… I know you’re busy.”
I held the big tears until the kids left and then I let ’em rip. What was I doing? What had my life become? The truth of the matter is – I hadn’t made a real salary in years; I was tied to my store, being legally required to be onsite during working hours and I was missing out on my kids’ lives. What in.the.world was I doing???
The day played out like they all do – I got to work 2 minutes late with dripping wet hair because I’d waited to the very last possible moment to shower. I snapped at customers, employees, salesmen… whomever I felt most deserved my ire at the moment and then spent the better part of 10 hours holed-up in my office feeling sorry for myself.
March 13th: I filled a prescription and the insurance-regulated copay came back $253. I told the customer what he owed and he said, “no way… I’m calling my insurance company!” and with that he walked out.
He called back in less than 30 minutes; “please transfer that to Walmart, I’ll only pay $52 there.”
So much for the level playing field promised by all of my government representatives.
After ranting and raving about the unfairness of it all – I sat down to do payroll – only to find… I’d worked 97 hours in that 2 week period and couldn’t afford to pay myself.
March 14th: I ran the same 8 prescriptions for a customer that I had been filling month after month, for years. The pharmacy’s net reimbursement on them? (-)$12.11. Yes… that’s a negative. The insurance company paid us less than cost on 7 of the medications and we made$2.56 on the 8th for a net of (-)$12.11. I told the woman I could no longer fill her prescriptions and asked where she would like for me to transfer them. While she completely understood my plight – apologized even; I still had to go back to my office, rest my forehead on my desk and mentally calculate how much I would lose if she took her other family members with her to the new pharmacy.
About an hour later, Tyler called to give me his notice…
Tyler… the pharmacist I’d raised from a pup. Tyler who had worked for me for – I don’t know… 10+ years? I mentored him during pharmacy school and through his first years as a pharmacist; I also went to him with every pharmacy question I had. He told me he could stay on for a short time but he was starting up his own pharmacy (in addition to the one he had recently acquired).
And I ruined his happiness by crying.
I cried because I was so happy for him – he’s not my child but he is my… pharmacy child; and isn’t our whole sense of “parenting” centered around wanting our children to succeed, to be better than we are? So I cried because I was proud and nervous (after all… the pharmacy in which he was raised wasn’t exactly successful at that point). I cried because I knew I’d never replace him – on a thousand levels… and I cried because I knew by calling ME to give his notice – he had saved me the embarrassment of calling HIM to tell him I could no longer afford his salary.
And a few hours later I cried some more when it became abundantly clear that the store finances had flatlined.
It
was over.
March 15th: I drug myself out of bed after 13 or so minutes of good sleep and did some googling then I drafted an email to Rite Aid, asking if they had any interest in buying my files. Today, June 13th, I can finally tell you that not only were they interested but that all of the papers are signed and filed.
I’ve run the gamut of emotions; there’s nothing I haven’t felt during this process. I’ve worried about my employees, my customers, the town. I’ve been angry at insurance companies and PBMs and with people who just accept that their insurance provider signs exclusive contracts or pushes mail order. I’ve been disappointed in myself for not working harder. I’ve nearly drowned in guilt… actually, I’m still flailing about in an ocean of guilt. I’ve shed countless tears of embarrassment. And I’ve spent most of the last 3 months trying to convince myself I’m not a failure.
That one, my friends… has nearly broken me.
Very few people knew about this before today; Rite Aid asked for our discretion and we complied… mostly. I have my core group of friends whom I entrusted with the information – it’s a charming group of 6 people including one I’ve known since 1984 and one that wasn’t even born yet in the 80’s. They, along with Dan, have tried to convince me that this is not my failure… this is an industry failure. And my gosh… how fabulous if I could actually allow myself to believe that…
I’ve said all along that I would not give voice in this space to the Goliaths that brought me to my knees – and I’m holding to that. With that being said – you might wanna steer clear of me for a while unless you want me to chew your ear about the unfair, unethical and appalling treatment being showered upon independent pharmacies .
Lest you think I’ve been dwelling in only negativity… let me reassure you – there has been laughter and hope.
First, I cannot say enough good about my dealings with Rite Aid; yes they are one of the very chain stores I’ve spent so much time abhorring… I get it… it’s not lost on me. But Rite Aid has been generous, compassionate and truly committed to the best interest of my customers and employees. Todd, our liaison, has answered my questions, allayed (most of) my fears and been an all-around decent human being. Our store, 1 of 3 in a town of 1800 people, was of no value to any independent buyer… Rite Aid knows that and could’ve acted accordingly; instead they treated us fairly and have allowed us to leave this situation with our dignity intact.
Second, my family. Oh my what I’ve put my family through; I’m not sure why they keep me around… My kids have played 2nd fiddle to Everett Pharmacy for 10 years. One evening last month I said, “…remember how I used to come home and have the energy to play catch… I miss that and am looking forward to having that energy again soon…”
Cal looked at me wide-eyed and said, “Oh man mom… I’ve REALLY missed that.”
Abby told me 2 nights ago, “I’m so excited to have you around more…”
I said, “nah…. kids do all the good stuff when their parents are at work…”
“ok… maybe I’m not so much looking forward to you being home more…” then, she squeezed me with everything she has in her.
It saddens me to think they’ve not gotten the best of me during their formative years. It saddens me even more to know – NOBODY has gotten the best of me. My customers certainly haven’t – I haven’t been able to mask my unhappiness for years. I’ve done my job well – as far as meeting the needs of my customers but I never wanted to be a healthcare provider who ‘meets the needs of her customers’ – I wanted more from myself. The burden of being bullied by Big Pharma has weighed so heavily on me that it left no room for empathizing with the varied plights of my customers; I’m ashamed of myself for that and I can only say, I’m sorry.
It’s time somebody got the best of me – it’s time to take care of me and mine; starting with my kids, my husband who has worked himself ragged earning money to compensate for my paltry income, my home that looks like it should have yellow warning tape around the property, and myself… I haven’t seen a doctor in over 6 years and I won’t even get into the horror that is my gray hair…
Alex will be entering her senior year of high school in the fall. She’s pretty good at a lot of stuff… and I can’t wait to watch her in action. I spent this softball season tied to the pharmacy, reading about her in text updates from teammate’s moms, in the paper, in heartwarming texts from officials… everything I know about Alex’s junior softball season I know from other people. I couldn’t… I CAN’T accept that for her senior year.
In the span of 3 months I’ve gone from not being able to afford a fill-in to being able to take some time off… I have no idea what my future holds. Tyler has mentioned wanting me to help him out in his new pharmacy… I told him I might need a while; but the amazing (sad??) thing is… I can work a day a week for him and bring home nearly the salary I’ve made for the last 3 years at 50 hours/week.
I plan to take a few weeks to sleep (Dan thinks I can cram it all into a solid 2 week nap… we’ll see)… honestly, I don’t know how long it’ll take to recuperate from the emotional toll of the last 10 years and more so, the last 3 months; but I’m looking forward to finding out. The rest of the summer will be spent getting reacquainted with my family; kayaking, playing catch, being available to them, making dinner for Dan, going on unhurried dates, touring colleges, and putting my laundry away as it comes out of the dryer… all things that have been neglected for far too long.
Once the kids go back to school I’m going to turn my attention to this house… it has suffered the most. Dan tells me we have 20+ windows in this house (he says he knows because we replaced them years ago)… I’ll be damned if I see anything resembling glass that can be looked through…
And then, on my 49th birthday (October 22nd) I will begin my 1-year quest for success in the field of writing. I’m not saying I won’t dally in word slinging before that time but on October 22nd of this year I will spend 365 days treating writing as a 9-5 job (or 7-3… or 10-4 and 6-11…). I’m giving myself until my 50th birthday to see a modicum of success… if by that time I haven’t been published in some form, I’ll go back to pharmacy on a slightly-less-than full-time basis (after all… we DO like to spend money frivolously….).
I can’t seem to shake the feeling of dread right now… worried about what people will say, think… still wallowing in the guilt of what I’ve put my family through, what I’m putting my employees through and what I’m doing to my customers… I’ve cried so many tears, I’ve spent so many sleepless nights…
Mostly I want people to know that I realize the gravity of what I’m doing. I am acutely aware that I’ve orchestrated the extinction of an iconic Everett business but it was a fight that I couldn’t win; the best I could hope for was to walk away with something to show for my time and to do that… I had to walk away before I was made to limp away…
And to that end we will be closing our doors for good at 7pm Monday, June 24th. Dan and I reached our 10th year of ownership on February 2nd of this year and we couldn’t have done it without the amazing people who have graced the Everett Pharmacy threshold; many of whom chose loyalty to us over the less costly alternatives pushed by their insurance companies. ‘Thank you’ seems inadequate… but I don’t know how else to express the gratitude and love I have for our customers; the very people who have kept us going all these years… I’ll be forever humbled by your trust in me.
Dan, Alex, Cal, Abby, my dad and those friends I mentioned have spent the last 3 months watching me cry… supporting me… encouraging me… loving me… they’ve kept me alive; so now… to honor them – I’m going to give myself permission to start living again…