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Meet Frank and Louise Wilmot Frank, 75, is a retired engineer who enjoys gardening, fishing, and shouting at the television. Louise, 68, is a retired middle school teacher who likes to travel, read, and ignore Frank’s shouting at the television. They share their New England home with a happy little wheaten terrier named Bailey. |
It was evening in the Wilmot household, and Louise heard Frank fumbling around in the kitchen.
“Don’t bother looking for cookies. I’ve hidden them!” she chided from her chair in the family room.
“I knew telling you about my doctor’s appointment was a mistake, missy. And I’m not looking for cookies, I’m trying to figure out this new medicine pen thingy,” Frank replied.
Frank’s recent bloodwork had been concerning and with his family history of diabetes, his doctor had prescribed Ozempic, a weekly medication that came in an auto-injector.
Louise entered the kitchen and found Frank, one sleeve rolled up to his elbow, trying to slip a thick elastic band off a broccoli bunch and up his forearm. A pen-like device, and a tray of small pods lay on the counter next to the broccoli.
“What in heaven’s name are you doing?” she asked.
“I wish I knew. Help me with this thing. How am I supposed to find a vein?”
“I don’t think you are supposed to! Didn’t they show you how to do this at the doctor’s office? Aren’t there directions in the box?” replied Louise.
“There’s a whole sheet of directions, in tiny print. Yes, one of the nurses tried to show me how to use this, she made me take my shirt off and you know how I hate that. Maybe I can just jab it into my leg like that EpiPen your cousin used when he had that bee sting.”
“If it worked like his EpiPen, it would have to jab into a muscle. That would rule out taking off your shirt,” Louise said with a smirk. She picked up the instruction sheet.
“You’re right, these directions are hard to read, but the photos don’t show any jabbing.”
She gingerly picked up the auto-injector and inspected it.
“What number are you supposed to be at? Do you get a new one of these every week?” she asked, noticing the dial on the pen. “And what are these little pods?”
“I have no idea. Are we playing twenty questions? Is there a grand prize?” Frank asked.
“Do you have to start this tonight? Can’t we wait and talk to the doctor or the pharmacist tomorrow? I’m really not comfortable at all with this—are you?”
“You’re not comfortable? I’m the one taking the jab! No, I’m not real sure what I’m supposed to do with these little bits and bobs. But I don’t know if I can wait until tomorrow and the pharmacy is closed.”
Louise thought for a moment, then suggested a call to the poison center. “They were pretty helpful when we had that question about my thyroid medicine. I’ve got their number right here in my phone.”
The specialist at the Northern New England Poison Center reassured Frank that he could wait until morning when the pharmacy was open to get a demonstration on how to administer Ozempic properly. She explained how to properly store the medication, and how to get rid of the auto-injector once it was empty. She also let him know about common mistakes people make with the medication, such as dialing in the wrong dose, and side effects like upset stomach or vomiting. She encouraged him to call with any questions he had while taking the medication going forward.
After the call, Louise placed everything back into the box and returned it (and the broccoli) to the refrigerator. Frank unrolled his sleeve and began rummaging around in the cabinets, in a fruitless effort to find the hidden cookies. He turned around to find Louise offering him a small apple and an admonishing look. The hunt for contraband would have to wait.
