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My mind is racing.

Panic boils in my stomach, and crawls up my throat. My body feels like I’m wearing a leaden jacket. The negative energy is palpable.

“I should not have come in to work today,” I think. “Even if the COVID test was negative, I’m still feeling run down. I should have taken the time to rest. How will I make it through this shift?” But the pharmacy team already has three people out sick. The prescriptions don’t stop just because we are short-staffed. Neither do the vaccinations or the phone calls. I’m forced to choose between my well-being or further crippling the pharmacy’s ability to do the work the day demands.

So, I continue to check prescriptions. Patients need these orders before being sent home from the hospital. No one wants to stay here longer than required. Sometimes the pharmacy team’s ability to complete these prescriptions is the only thing standing between the patient and their ride home. I am the pharmacist responsible for the final check. So even though I’m exhausted, unwell, distracted, I continue to check prescriptions.

Until, I make a mistake.

I’m already feeling overwhelmed and something inside me breaks.

The lump in my throat swells. My eyes sting with imminent tears. Deep breath.

“No sweat,” I think. “I’ll just reach out to the pharmacist on the unit and ask him to fix the minor mistake.” He says no. I learn he’s working from home because his kid is sick.

I walk across the pharmacy to explain the situation to my boss, knowing he will jump to action without judgement. My voice cracks as I struggle to contain the tidal wave rushing at me inside. I know everyone in the crowded room can hear it. Shame fills me. I’m a thirty-eight-year-old grown-up who still doesn’t have control of her emotions.

I escape to the bathroom, partly to calm myself, partly to avoid further humiliation. Deep breath. I dip a paper towel in cold water and press it to my face, trying to soothe the red swollenness around my eyes. I replace my face mask, grateful it covers most of my face. Deep breath.

Back in the pharmacy and trying to avoid eye contact, a coworker approaches to let me know a patient asked for me by name and is waiting at the counsel window. Uh-oh, I think. This can’t be good.

I put on an air of confidence I don’t feel, as I step to the counter. “Hey! How are ‘ya!” I say to the customer, noticing my ability to feign cheer and ease. I brace myself for a scolding, but this patient is warm and kind and says he asked for me, specifically, because I have been helpful in the past. He makes a simple request that I’m happy to address. We part ways, him thanking me again, me internally thanking him for speaking kind words at a crucial point in my day.

Back at my workstation and still teetering on the edge of falling apart. My boss returns to notify me the error was resolved without issue and he’s ready to cover me on the bench for my 30-minute lunch break. Again, the timing is perfect.

I grab my lunch from the community fridge and a couple ice cubes in a cup in case further cold compresses are needed. I power walk towards the parking ramp so that I might make it to the privacy of my car before this panic attack consumes me.

I’m stopped by a woman about my age, moving slowly with a walker. Her child of seven or eight, following patiently along. “Excuse me,” the woman says. “My daughter has a pulmonology appointment and I’m not sure where to go. Is this 5250 Water Street?” I regretfully tell her the entrance she is looking for is on the opposite side of the large, ten-story building across the street from where we are standing. As I explain, I can see the defeat in her eyes.

The woman fidgets with her walker and looks over to her daughter. “I’m not sure I can make it that far,” she says. An image flashes in my memory of Complimentary Valet Parking signs that I have seen near that entrance and tell her such. Adding that it’s right by the entrance she needs to be at. For reasons unknown to me, she doesn’t seem satisfied with this answer. I can sense she needs more from me. Instead, she nods and turns to head back to her car.

I pause trying to come up with another, better solution. When nothing arises, I continue on towards my car. I tell myself I did what I could, but the guilt still chews at my ear. The shame spiral threatens to engulf me once again.

I’m torn from my self-recrimination by a loud, “thank you!” shouted across the parking ramp.

I turn towards the voice and am struck by the bright eyes of the child looking back at me. “Of course!” I yell back with a wave. I walk away still overwhelmed with emotion, but this time it’s with gratitude. My car door shuts with a thud and I give permission to all the pent up tears to make their escape.

I return to the pharmacy still shaking but determined to turn this day around. Once again, I am stopped for directions. This time by a round woman in a flowing, purple dress and matching hijab. She is accompanied by a frail-looking older woman. We cross paths at a T-shape in the hallway and I learn they are looking where to go for x-ray. I start directing her down one way, but then notice a small, yellow note in her hand indicating a completely different area. I’m confused. I try to clarify, but we are muddling through a partial language barrier. The hospital is a labyrinth, even to those who are familiar; I don’t want to cause further confusion. I decide to give directions to the radiology department, knowing that if they went too far, they would end up at the information desk.

We started to part ways, but the woman paused. She turned, put her hand on my arm, and with the warmest smile said, “Thank you very much. May God bless you.”

She continued on her way, while I was struck, frozen in place.

These strangers, the man at the counsel window, the child in the parking ramp and this woman in purple, were put in my path on purpose. I quietly thanked whoever is in charge of these things and embraced the remainder of my day.

~

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