So just in case the home remedies don’t get her back to work in one piece tomorrow, she spoke with her doctor (really, the nurse, but close enough!) and they’ve given her a prescription for Zofran. Or, well, the generic.
So, being a reasonably decent husband, when it was time to go to the store and she wasn’t feeling well, I went after them myself. Upon arriving at the pharmacy counter (what do you bet this isn’t the last time I see that counter in the next 9 months?), I passed along our name, and the cashier asked, “do you have new insurance? I don’t think you really want to pay for these.”
I think to myself, “I don’t?”
So I ask, “Why not?”
“They are eleven hundred dollars.”
Yes. 30 pills. $1049. Just to prove it, she held the bag up so I could read it. I got a little dizzy, but I steadied myself and begged that she take my insurance card, in addition to saying a little prayer that the insurance would help. We didn’t get the bag, but we did manage to get 12. The insurance will pay for 12 a month. $35 a pill.
When I got out the door, I called Susan at home, daring her to guess the original price. She threw out the whopping price of $160. She swooned when I told her the actual price. She reminded me (not that I needed reminding) that we were lucky to have insurance. These 12 pills technically will only cover 4 days. A cancer patient undergoing chemotherapy would need a lot more than 4 days worth… and what if their insurance didn’t even do the 12 pills?
I thank God I’ve got a good job and good insurance.