How Stella Got her Groove Back...at Walgreens

(Okay, so that's not a photo of Stella. It's my great-great-maternal something or other. Use your imagination and pretend it's Stella. Both have passed on, so I don't think either will mind I'm using this photo to represent Stella. They might come and haunt me tonight, but I'll take my chances. And, there's nothing really funny about a Xanax addict, but I couldn't resist blogging about Stella....I loved Stella. Think of it as my tribute to her.)

Stella was a 72 year-old, short Italian Xanax addict on my caseload. She looked so meek, mild, innocent...but, when I say Xanax addict, I mean it. Stella's life revolved around taking her Xanax and avoiding constipation. She may have been short and elderly, but that didn't stop Stella from getting what she wanted. Nothing else in life mattered but those two things.

For those not in the know, Xanax is an extremely addictive anti-anxiety medication used for those with panic attacks and/or anxiety. In this case, it was staff that needed Xanax after dealing with Stella. I don't know who started Stella on Xanax--it wasn't our agency--but, whoever it was should be slapped. Stella LOVED Xanax. She doctor-hopped to get what she wanted.

As Stella's Case Manager, my job was to make sure she got her prescriptions from our agency as prescribed (not as she liked, which would have been an unlimited supply of Xanax). I'd accompany her to the psychiatrist appointments, drive her to the pharmacy and then take her home. She was a terror in those appointments--demanding more Xanax for the prescription. Stella was fierce. Demanding. Desperate. Focused. She could wear down the strongest of professionals. Still, our psychiatrist held firm. Stella would scream, yell, cry, threaten. You haven't lived until you've seen a 72 year-old lady jones for Xanax.

Stella did everything in her power never to be constipated. To her, if you didn't have three bowel movements in a day, you were constipated. It didn't matter what any doctor said. She was determined to keep things moving down there. Poop and Xanax, poop and Xanax. I got my Master's Degree for this?

I never went in to the pharmacy--I sat in the car and waited for her. I figured it was safer that way and she was definitely able to take care of herself.

One day, for some unknown reason, I decided to accompany Stella into the Walgreens. She needed to fill yet again another Xanax prescription. As we entered, I swear I saw staff run... kind of like the parting of the seas or like when you turn on the light and cockroaches go flying. I saw sheer terror in the eyes of staff when the saw Stella. She walked boldly toward the pharmacist. I saw sweat start to bead on his forehead before we ever even got to to the counter. Stella boldly shoved the prescription to the man. He trembled. "Stella, you know I can't fill this," he meekly spit out. Stella stood taller than I've ever seen--she was 4'9" but she looked like Goliath. It was very obvious Stella knew this man and he knew her. "I WANT MY XANAX!" she screamed. I don't mean a little scream; I mean a big, loud, blood-curtling scream. She took control of that Walgreens. I was horrified in a "can't-look-away-from-the-train-wreck" kind of way. She basically threw herself on the ground, cried, and screamed. The pharmacist kept repeating himself; she kept screaming. Stella was going for the gold.

I was able to talk to the pharmacist between her screams, asking what the hell was going on. Seems Stella had it going on...she was doctor-hopping and this was her umteenth prescription for this month alone. She would have to pay in cash if she wanted this prescription and she didn't have cash.

I was stunned. I had no idea. Naughty Stella. No wonder she couldn't get her prescription filled. Stella announced she was taking the Walgreens hostage. Really. She screamed she wasn't leaving until she got her Xanax prescription filled. She meant it.

I have never felt so helpless in my life. I couldn't pick her up and carry her out. She wasn't budging. Stella took control of the situation. No staff was in sight. Should I call the police? Run while I could? Ask for Xanax myself? No, I thought I'd wait it out.

Big mistake. Stella didn't move. She had the power. She was in control. She had Walgreens by the balls.

Turns out the only thing that worked was the pharmacist calling her daughter. This savior of an offspring came to the store and removed her mom--after paying cash for the Xanax. Ah, the hero enabler! I have never been so happy to see an enabler in my life. Stella was banned from that Walgreens from that moment on. She also dropped out of sight and off my caseload after she was denied a prescription for Xanax...doctor hopping is not a good thing to do in the mind of the psychiatrist....

Stella's passed on since then. She was an addict right to the end and she pooped three times a day, come hell or high water. I loved Stella. She taught me NEVER to take Xanax for any reason and that it's good to be regular. Words to live by.