My pharmacist. Her name is Sandy and I love her. She knows my voice on the phone. She knows my medical and life history. (The bullet points). She shops at my two favorite stores and I regularly run into her there. (Anthropologie and the Sundance Outlet--as if I ever buy anything at Anthropologie--but I dream).
I love that I can call the pharmacy and I immediately recognize her voice. I'm always happy to see her and talk to her. She has seen me through PPD with Lucy, PTSD with losing Lucy, anxiety, depression, breast infections, bronchitis, lung disease, cancer, shingles, lice, AIDS (just kidding on those last five. Not that any of those are funny. Crap, maybe I shouldn't have joked about that)...the whole gamut...
Sandy is kind to me and loves my kids and answers all my questions with clarity and offers helpful suggestions all the time. I loved it when I brought in a prescription that a new shrink I was trying out had written for me. She looked at me and said, "I'm not going to fill this. Sorry. This is what they give to people with schizophrenia. Who wrote this for you? You're not getting it." Needless to say I wasn't a big fan of said "therapist" and I never went back. Sandy's just cool like that.
I'm so thankful for my PHABULOUS PHARMACIST!