by Marvin, Liz
“Thanks Jenny. I’ll see you in a month.”
“Have a good day Mr. Green.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Betty saw the customer leave the counter with his white bag. She checked to make sure there was no one else near the counter, and stepped up to the “Drop Off Counter.” Jenny, a petite girl with blond hair and a bounce in her voice, greeted her.
“Welcome to CVS pharmacy. How can I help you today?”
Betty pushed her crinkled prescription across the counter. “I’d like to have this filled.”
“Do you have your insurance card?”
“No.” She didn’t want to explain that she was back on her parent’s insurance but didn’t know how to avoid it. She gritted her teeth once more and smiled. “My parents’ information is on file.”
Jenny didn’t bat an eyelash. No matter how closely Betty looked, she couldn’t detect a hint that Jenny was looking down on her for still being dependent. “Can I take your name and address?” Once her information was all typed in, Jenny smiled. “You’re all set. This is a good plan.” Then she looked at the prescription. “Miss Crawford,” she said slowly. “Are you aware of the cost of your prescription?”
Betty pressed shaking hands on the counter. “I just found out I needed it today. I don’t really know anything about it.”
“Is your prescription for diabetes?”
At Betty’s affirmative answer, Jenny grinned. “Well, there’s good news and bad news. The bad news is, this prescription would cost you sixty dollars a month even with your insurance policy.”
I can’t afford that! Betty thought, her mind reeling.
“And the good news?” she forced out, keeping her voice as light as possible.
“Metformin is a generic version of the drug your doctor prescribed and it costs much less. If you give me your doctor’s number, I’ll call to get a switch approved.” She smiled at Betty. “My sister uses it. She has Type Two diabetes, and the generic really does work just as well as the brand name.”
Oh, thank God. Betty thought. If she had to pay the brand name price, she’d have to ask her parents for help. And, while she may be living with them, Betty hated the thought of not being able to pay her own way. It was bad enough that she couldn’t pay rent or contribute more than a few dollars a month and the cost of her own food. The thought of asking for them to give her anything else made her Catholic guilt complex rise up and gnaw at her insides.
She fished in her purse for her mobile phone and wrote the information for her doctor’s office on the scrap of paper Jenny provided.
“Great,” Jenny said. “I’ll just call this over right now. If you want to wait a bit, it’ll be about fifteen minutes before this is ready.”
Fifteen minutes. Betty eyed the chairs next to the pharmacy. No. There was no way she could sit still that long without starting to brood, and she refused to brood herself into depression today. She had too much to do. She determinedly fixed her mind on pacing up and down the aisles, making her way towards the center aisle. It was always the most fun to poke around in that aisle, where CVS always kept their seasonal items. It was full of singing stuffed animals and brightly colored products that, if nothing else, were amusing to look at. This week, the shelves were stocked with bulbs to plant and the beginnings of beach items: sun block and shovels and bright yellow buckets for making sand castles.
And on the other end of the aisle, towards the front of the store, was the candy section.
Great, Betty. Of all the aisles in the store, you beeline to the sugar. Toffee and gummy worms jumped out at her, just begging to be taken off the shelves. They were the perfect driving snack. Spring themed M&M dispensers lined the top shelf, and a few leftover chocolate Easter bunnies had been pushed into a corner and labeled with a 50% off sale sign.
It was torture, but Betty couldn’t stop staring at the shelves. She had bought at least one item from this shelf every week for as long as she could remember living in Lofton, starting with her first allowance. Was that what had caused her diabetes? Was something on this shelf what had crossed the final line?
Her eye was caught by candy at one end of display. All the hanging bags had blue “no sugar added” labels. She’d always passed over everything with that label. After all, what was the point of candy that didn’t have any sugar in it? Now, she reached out and picked up a bag of no sugar added hard candies.
She didn’t have to stop buying things from the candy aisle quite yet.
And anything was worth a try once.
Betty headed back to the pharmacy with the bag of candy in hand. No sooner had she reached the “Pick Up” window then Jenny came over, white bag in her hand.
“Here you go. Your doctor’s office cleared it no problem. Do you need help with your monitor?”
Betty looked at her, bewildered. “I guess” she asked, feeling stupid. She thought back to her doctor’s appointment. Dr. Brackett had mentioned something about testing her blood sugar. It had seemed complicated. She almost took the bag and headed off without asking. She didn’t want to seem stupid, and she really didn’t want to stay in the CVS any longer than necessary. But Jenny hadn’t been condescending at all. If she was going to start managing her disease, she might as well start off on the right foot.
“Ummm…” she said in eloquent summary of her internal debate.
Jenny smiled. “Did you just get diagnosed?” Betty nodded. “That’s okay, my sister was the same way. If you want, I can walk you through it.”
“That would be wonderful,” Betty said. And it was.
Jenny took her over to a display of blood glucose monitors. “There are a lot of different kinds of monitors and your doctor says you have to check your blood sugar a few times a day, so you’ll want one that’s portable and easy to use.” She picked up a box and showed it to Betty. “Your doctor prescribed this and it’s the same one my sister uses.” She handed Betty a LifeScan One Touch monitor. “It comes with some test strips and a lancet pen to use to get the drop of blood. She likes the flag feature—it helps her remember what she was doing right before she took the test, which really helped her learn how her blood sugar reacts to certain foods and activities. If you’re busy and disorganized—”
Betty interrupted her. “I am. Very.” And she still had no idea how to use the cursed thing.
Jenny nodded. “Then I’d really recommend this one. It helps to have all the information you need in one place, and it’s about the size of cell phone so you can carry it in a jacket pocket or you can just leave it in whatever purse you use and not worry about losing it or leaving it behind.”
“Perfect,” Betty said.
Jenny reached down on the shelf and pulled up another box. “You’ll need some extra test strips as well. And once I’ve rung you up, I can show you how to use it.”
Relief flooded into Betty. “Jenny,” she said seriously, “I think I love you.”
Jenny laughed.
“Why don’t we ring you up, and then I’ll show you.”
When her purchase was made, Jenny showed her how to insert the test strip into the device and match the code on the screen with the code on her test strip vial. Then she helped Betty prick her finger and place the drop of blood on the sample site. The 5 second countdown to her results began.
“You’ll want to wash your hands before doing this normally,” Jenny said, “but sometimes that’s just not practical. The important thing is to take samples regularly. You’ll want to talk to your doctor about what your levels should be.”
Betty’s three digit blood sugar number flashed on the screen. 188.
“Is that high?”
“Yes it’s high but that’s today. Once the Metformin takes effect and you change your exercise and eating regime you should see those numbers come down. Here.”
The pharmacist gathered up some diabetes pamphlets and handed them to Betty. “Read these. They won’t tell you everything you need to know but it’s a start. The pamphlets were green and yellow,
with horrible bold faced font and glaring titles. What is Diabetes? Glucose: The Diabetic’s Guide. Diet and Exercise: Living Healthy With Diabetes. They certainly looked promising.
“Is there anything else I can help you with today?” Jenny asked.
I wonder if she’s related to Mary Poppins? Betty wondered. Jenny certainly acted the part. She’d had an answer for every question that Betty would have asked, had her brain been able to wrap around the idea of forming intelligent sentences. She’d helped Betty go from completely panicking about the possibility of going blind to having some sort of control. Betty now understood at least a small part of her treatment, and the relief that came with that knowledge almost had her weak at the knees. To top it all off, Jenny had managed all of this with an insanely cheerful smile on her face. Well, it didn’t hurt to see what else Jenny had up her sleeve. So, only half joking, Betty asked, “Do you have any tips for coaching a girl’s basketball team?”
“Do you coach?”
“I’m covering for my friend this afternoon,” Betty said. “I haven’t even played a game since high school!”
Jenny raised an eyebrow. “Good luck.”
Apparently, Jenny’s bag of tricks didn’t extend that far.
CHAPTER 8
It was still early in the afternoon. If Betty was going to recoup the cost of her new medical supplies, she absolutely had to go get some work done before heading off to the basketball game. One of the perks of starting her own business was that she could work from home and set her own hours. Unfortunately, that also meant that she had to force herself to sit down at her desk and attempt to get something done. So far, the day had been a complete bust work wise.
Betty’s parents still lived in the house where Betty had been born. It wasn’t a giant home, or a modern home, but it was cozy. It had just enough room for the three of them to coexist comfortably without constantly tripping over each other’s toes. The house was a white, two story affair with two front entrances, one from the driveway into the kitchen and one from the porch into the living room. The porch had a creaky old swing on one side and a pair of wooden lawn chairs with a table between them on the other side. At one point, all the porch furniture had been painted white, but years of use and weather had worn the paint almost completely off, except for a peeling spot here or there. The front yard wasn’t the manicured lawn visible in many of the wealthier homes around town, but a rough, closely cropped hodgepodge of whatever flowers and grass decided to take root. All around the base of the house flowering bushes sprouted and spread, with a mixture of irises, day lilies, tulips, daffodils, and whatever other flowers took her mother’s fancy springing up between and around them. The flowers were well tended and weeded, but nonetheless managed to appear like wild, beautiful chaos. The large tree in the front yard still had the remains of the wooden swing from when she was a girl.
The house wasn’t fancy, but it was well loved. And it was home.
Betty pulled into the driveway, hoping against hope that she’d be able to just head upstairs and get to work without having to answer any questions. She couldn’t afford any more distractions or delays today. She entered through the kitchen door, letting it slam behind her. “I’m home!” she called. Silence answered her.
Betty’s home had a very open design. The kitchen counter and appliances rested along the left side of the house, and the kitchen’s hardwood floor spread right into the dining area. Large windows and a chandelier in the middle of the ceiling lit the whole area. The floor ended next to the stairs, where the living room’s carpet flooring began. Betty could see at one glance that no one was home.
Betty set her purse down on the marbled counter and picked up the note that lay there.
“Betty, your father and I are out visiting some friends. We’ll be back in time for dinner. Could you cook dinner tonight? We can all eat together around seven. See you then! Love, Mom”
Wonderful, Betty thought. There was yet another thing to add to her growing list of things to do. Though, she supposed that she could try and find a diabetes friendly recipe online. In the meantime though, she really did have to get to work. She headed up the stairs, floorboards creaking under her feet.
When she’d lost her job in L.A., no thanks to the current economy, Betty had been unable to find another job. She’d looked at her interests for something that could make her money. Theater and online shopping topped the list. Now she had her own online business buying and selling items, with a specialty in odd objects and period specific costumes or props.
Betty’s bedroom, still sporting the bright purple walls she’d insisted on in high school, had been divided into two halves. In one half, she slept and read and lived. Her bed, neatly made before she’d left in the morning, sported a dark jean bedspread and pillowcases. A couple of her stuffed animals from childhood that had managed to stick around lay propped up against the pillows. A jukebox CD player stood in the far corner. Her dresser, which she’d hand painted in high school to look like the sky at sunset, had a three level bookshelf propped on top of it. The bookshelf was strewn with knick knacks and trophies from high school theater competitions. Posters from some of her favorite plays and bands hung on the wall. Les Miserables. A Doll’s House. Sinead O’Connor. A small bookshelf was packed with scripts, bad romance novels and thrillers. Her dirty laundry sat in a pile in the corner, waiting to be washed.
The other half of the room, the half nearest the door, had been turned into a makeshift office. A cork board hung above her desk, layered with notes and phone numbers. Wire shelves stretching to the ceiling, packed with carefully labeled plastic bins that held her business’s inventory. A few larger items were stored in the garage, but everything else she sold was right on those shelves. Her computer desk had small stacks of papers and post its scattered across every visible bit of surface.
Betty sat down and signed into her account.
She had 10 new e mails.
Seven of them were spam.
Delete.
One was from the local newspaper, asking for an interview with her about Clarise. She sent back a reply that she had no comment. She’d be damned if they used her to turn her best friend’s life into a circus.
Two were from clients who’d ordered multiple boxes of organic cotton jeans. Three Rings Organic Work Clothes was missing six pairs. Went’s Shipping was missing two pairs.
It wasn’t the first time items had gone missing from Betty’s shipments. Sometimes things got lost in transit, and when she was sending out dozens of boxes a week she was bound to get a few flukes. Admittedly, her customers were sending more complaints since she’d moved her operation to Lofton. She’d assumed it was just because Lofton was in the back waters of North Carolina. The postal service here wasn’t nearly as streamlined as it was in Los Angeles.
But two missing boxes on the same day struck her as odd. She added “look into missing jeans” to a to do list tacked on the cork board.
Betty checked her inventory, making sure she had enough replacement jeans. She sent apology notes to each of her customers, and promised to ship the missing pairs overnight, free of charge. She may be cutting into her profits, but keeping customers happy was more important than the hundred and fifty or so dollars she’d just lost. A few bad reviews could ruin a small online business. She printed the labels, boxed the pants, and put the boxes by the door. She’d drive by the post office on the way to the basketball game. Hopefully, the line wouldn’t be too long.
With an hour before she needed to leave, Betty decided to spend some time hunting for information on diabetes online. At the least, she needed to find a good recipe for dinner that night.
As always, her online search engine turned up with a host of sites. Most only offered cursory information on what diabetes was and how to prevent it.
From skimming those sites, she could see that the warning signs had been there for years. She’d always put the excess tiredness and crankiness down to being hungry, or not sleeping well, or… well,
anything other than being sick. What would have happened if she’d paid attention to the warning signs? Would she have been able to prevent herself from diabetes?
Too late for that, she thought. So stop torturing yourself.
She typed “healthy diabetes food” into the search engine, hoping to turn up some more useful articles.
She found a whole online universe.
There were support groups, recipe websites, sites to track exercise and sites that translated medical terms into something easily understandable.
Then there were the inevitable rabbit holes. Explore one site that leads to something else that’s interesting and then something even more fascinating shows up.
She discovered remarkable claims about adding just two servings of raw vegetables to a daily diet helping to lower blood sugar levels.
This was good news. She loved raw broccoli. Had loved it ever since she was a little girl. She would dip it into thousand island dressing and eat a bowlful of crowns (and half a bottle of dressing) but here were recipes for low carb low fat dressing!
Then she started reading about other effects of broccoli and wound up on a website proclaiming broccoli could protect the brain in the event of a head injury.
Well, that was good news. She already liked broccoli and was planning on banging her head against the nearest tree sometime in the very near future.
Unfortunately, not many other websites were helpful. Far too many of them focused on crash diets “cures” the doctors and pharmaceutical companies don’t want you to know about and pills and other “solutions” that Betty was sure were more for profit than success. Then there were the myriad studies about herbal remedies that might be promising but it was all too much. She was just about ready to give up on the search for the day when she came across dlife.com. At that moment, Betty wished she could lean through the computer and hug whoever had created it.