Wednesday is office day, and I look forward to my lunchtime walk more than anything. Today's chores were to fill some prescriptions, collect the mail and get some lunch.
Easy, you say.
Maybe not.
Walking along Elizabeth Street, I spotted a chemist. I went in. I tried to have my prescription filled.
The chemist looked at the script.
"Oh no, sorry, we don't have that in stock. Try Chemist Warehouse. "
I went to Chemist Warehouse, just down the road.
Same thing.
"Oh no, sorry, we don't have that in stock. Try Priceline"
I went to Priceline, which is just next to the Post Office.
"Oh no, sorry, we don't have that in stock. We'll have some in early August."
EARLY FUCKING AUGUST!
They expect me to go without HRT for three weeks!
I calmed down, and went to find some lunch. The hope was to go to my favourite salad place, but the queue was twenty deep. Sod that. I found a sandwich at BlueBag. At least they're nice of fresh.
On arriving back in the office, I called around some pharmacies near home to see if they had any of my drug of choice.
Five pharmacies later, I found one who could help me. They could get me the drug, just not my preferred brand. They put it behind the counter for me and I collected it on the way to the shrink. It's not ideal - these other patches feel like you're wearing roofing plastic on your skin - but any port in a storm.
What gets me is that going without your HRT is bloody awful. Those patches save lives - literally. It isn't bad enough that there's going to be a lot of hot, sleep-deprived, itchy, stroppy to the verge of homicidal women out there. People have to live with these Viragos.
When was the last time the chemist ran out of Viagra? Yeah?
Don't say you haven't been warned.
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