This is a Memory. Good Reading for a pharmacist who wonders what went wrong.

I wrote this for JP at Large, Drug Topics.  Never finished it and never sent it in.  I like.  maybe you will too.

What a glorious day. Since August, 2014, my life has been inside, like a prison.  The hospital, the rehab center and a month at home with my foot up.  That’s a long time.  But, all bad things end.  Count on it. The wound on my foot is healing so well that the surgeon/podiatrist freed me to move around a bit, with my walker.

Wal-Mart was our choice.  They have a bunch of electric shopping carts.  The little greeter man brought a cart to the car.  My shopping list was shorter than Victoria’s, but I was going to take my time.

I was still crossing the parking lot when a cheery voice called out, “Let me drive your car.”  He looked like a homeless guy, but his clothes were too nice.  A plaid shirt from Columbia, Cargo shorts from L.L. Bean, hiking boots from R.E.I. All well used, but clean.

“Get your own.”  I pointed toward the store.

“No, I want to drive your Prius.”

“Not going to happen, man, but I will buy you a sandwich.”

“Please don’t insult Harold the King.”  He sighed and raised his arms and pointed at the sky.  He pulled a wad of twenties from his pocket.  “How bout I buy you a sandwich.”

“Not hungry, Harold” I do this all the time.  I will spend an hour with people like Harold.

“The court has left me.  All I have left is Ramona the Queen.”

            “A wife is a good thing, Harold.”

“Not Ramona.”  He frowned.   This did not make him happy.  “My wife is at home in Shaker Heights.”

I took my JP shot.  “What meds do you take?”

“How is it your business?”

“I’m a pharmacist.”

“Zyprexa made me fat.  You ever hear of that?”

“What do you take?”

He laughed.  “M & Ms.  Chocolate releases endorphins.  You like endorphins?”

“Does your wife in Shaker support you?”

“Huh,” he scoffed.  “I support her and pay the bills for Sarah Lawrence for my daughter and Oberlin for my son.”

“Expensive.”

“Not the truth.  The trustees pay for everything.”

“Are you yanking my chain?”

He gave me a sheepish look.  “I might go home for Christmas.  I have been afraid for 3 years, but Ramona has helped me see that they don’t want to harm me.”

What is happening?  Harold the King was suddenly cogent and lucid.

“Ramona is my psychiatrist.  I am taking Abilify and Adderall.”  I got a stare.  “Is that bad?”

“You better talk to your pharmacist.”

“Have you ever tried to get a pharmacist to talk with you?”

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