I have epilepsy. For several years already, actually. I didn't ask for it, but heaven saw it fit to gift me with excessive neuronal activity in my brain. But I'm done complaining about my situation. I now see it in the words of William Ernest Henley:
"My head is bloody, but unbowed"
I'm taking medication for it though. Trileptal. The dosage has varied through the years, but I'm on the decreasing slope now. I still have to take it daily though, no very late night gimmicks and no getting up too quickly from bed upon waking up as my brain still thinks it's sleeping. In other words, college sucked.
Today, I went to Mercury Drug to buy some medicine. As I did throughout all my purchases, I took out my prescription note and money to pay. When it was my turn, the pharmaceutical attendant read my prescription and said "where's the other one?"
Me: What other one?
PA: The one for 600mg. This says 300mg.
Me: I don't have one. My doctor told me to just say I need the 600mg tablet because I need to cut it. My doctor put that note at the bottom. See?
PA: Cut it for what? It says here one and a half twice a day.
Me: Look at this. It's basic fractions. One and a half of 300 is 450mg, my morning dosage. To do that, I have to break this tablet into 4 pieces, which basically guarantees that a good part of it is wasted because you can't cut it cleanly without pulverizing it.
PA: I'm still not giving you the 600mg because--
Me: Call your manager. Now.
PA: (calls manager)
Me: Is it your policy to not give medicines that are not written in such a format as this?
Mgr: Yes
Me: Even if the person's life will depend on it in a few hours?
Mgr: (thinks)
Me: I guess not. What's your name?
At that point, the manager just signaled to the assistant to get me the medicine. They saw it as just another person who walked away with a bunched of tablets. I walked away with my life.
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