Moms Talk Q&A: CVS Dispensed Medicine My Child Is Allergic To

I may or may not have threatened to throw my almost-3-year-old in the trash last night. And I may have even put him up for sale on Facebook last week for $1.50 or best offer (with free expedited shipping).

If I did either of those things, it was, of course, in jest, and delivered with a totally genuine Donna Reed smile. Totally.

What prompted all this merriment was no laughing matter: Lucas’ absolute age appropriateness, otherwise known as  “The Terrible (Isn’t a Strong Enough Word) Twos.”  

Add a double ear infection to his current winning personality, and, well, you can just imagine the charm “we” were oozing at the crowded CVS on Mass Ave. in Acton this morning as we waited for his prescription to be filled.

And waited and waited.

About 45 minutes and 3,742 items unshelved-by-Lucas later, one of the harried pharmacy staffers called our name, handed us our bag and we were off.  

And the entire place heaved a collective sigh of don’t let the door hit you on the way out.

Ironically, on the phone in the car, I joked to my husband that CVS may never let us back in the door; now, it couldn’t pay me to fill a prescription there.

Why? Because a couple of hours after the Whirling Dervish and I returned home, after I had wrestled a dose of the antibiotic into his shrieking and thrashing body, I discovered that we had someone else’s medicine. Medicine, it so happens, that Lucas is ALLERGIC TO, a fact flagged in the CVS system.

Although the bag housing bottles had the correct label (our name, our medicine and our dosage), the bottles within were filled with Amoxicillin for some other child.

In my struggle to just get the medicine down my kid’s throat, I hadn’t looked closely at the bottles, which was, admittedly, a big fat mistake.

After I confirmed that my napping son was alive and breathing quite normally, I went ballistic.

There were some phone calls—to the pediatrician and the pharmacy—and some heated words exchanged. Among the results of the latter were promises to deliver the current antibiotic, along with a refund, to our door.

When I got off the phone, I did what any concerned mom would do—I took to Facebook.

The responses to my venting were strong. Some friends encouraged a lawsuit (with one attorney pal offering her services); others urged me to make complaints to the Department of Health and the Better Business Bureau.

I’m not sure how I’ll respond. I figure people make mistakes—but then I can afford to be forgiving, as Lucas didn’t suffer a major reaction. I do think there should be some consequences.

As one friend said, “Risking your child's life was inexcusable of them and they need more heat than even an enraged mom can give.”

And indeed, the pharmacist responsible is extremely lucky that my son’s allergy is mild, resulting in a rash—and not allergic shock, which can be fatal. According to the FDA, about 4 percent of children who take Amoxicillin experience symptoms of anaphylaxis.

If my son had been among that group, I might not even have known had he struggled to breathe or lost consciousness. Almost immediately after giving him the dose, I put him down for the nap.

I think that pharmacist knows she was lucky. When she showed up on my front steps, in her white coat and her nametag, her entire 20-something body shook. And as she struggled to explain herself, and asked if Lucas was OK, her eyes filled with tears.

She’ll probably never forget this, and I’d bet she won’t make the same mistake again. I know I’ll examine prescription bottles like Hercule Poirot from here on out.

Lucas, meanwhile, is fine. Better than fine. He just broke his own impressive record for most utterances of the word “poopyhead” in one hour!

Even so, I’m taking him off the market. You can keep your $1.50.