Behind The Peaceful Calm Of A Good Night's Sleep

Once a month I must renew my subscription for the sleeping pill I take nightly by calling the office of the doctor who writes the prescription.  He in theory writes other prescriptions, for instance, ninety day supplies of lisinopril and metoprolol and so on which indeed some flunky in the system actually handles. but zolpidem (which is the generic name of the sleeping pill), because it is a "controlled substance," must be dispensed by the doctor himself, and only in thirty day renewal orders.  And, I must request a renewal in a timely fashion, too early, and the insurance slaps my hand, and tells the issuing pharmacy to hold the order.  A "controlled substance" means that it is a drug to which I might become addicted and abuse it by wanting larger and larger doses. Prescription pain killers like the oxycontine products are the big trouble makers; they figure in all the seamy stories of suburban housewives and their addiction.  Because I am someone prone to take on any feeling of guilt I can find, I cringe at the moment of reordering, sure that the receptionist to whom I make my request is sitting in judgement on my need.  The matter is always fraught when I see that I shall run out on a Monday and know that to be sure that the request from receptionist to doctor to pharmacy is made in a timely way I must start on the previous Thursday, but that is also five days ahead of the projected expiration of my supply, and will the powers that be come back at me with "You're too early" ("you sick druggie", is always the subliminal addition).  Next week I am going to the Cape and while there I will run out.  This means ordering a new prescription days in advance of normal, and that means explaining to the receptionist, and she to the doctor and he making a notation on the prescription order so that the pharmacy can clear it with the insurance company counting out the pills.  That's how I see this transaction, a bunch of disapproving, head shaking persons one talking to another about this guy and his sicko needs, when of course in a rational moment I realize it is a series of electronic transfers.  And if this were not enough, I cut each pill in two so that I might have solid sleep throughout  the eight hour period, waking up mid night to take the second half.  You should see these little old arthritic fingers using the cutting machine, trying to keep the miniscule pills even on the chopping block.  I suppose the executioner in olden days had the very same problem.  The pills tend to bounce off and god forbid they role away, and I don't notice or simply cannot find them.  I will be short, and there is no reprieve from the insurance company, no notion of a "bakers dozen" with that outfit to prepare for such a contingency.  And when the month has thirty one days and the prescription reads only for thirty pills. well, we won't get into that.