It’s been seven months since we received our Type 1 Diabetes diagnosis. Those first few days were such a blur, but there are moments that we will never forget. Once we were released from the hospital, our first stop was the pharmacy to pick up the supplies and medicine we would need at home. I had been crying off and on for three days (mostly in conversations with our doctor…embarrassing, much?!) and gave myself a stern talking-to before I went in the store. “You can keep it together. You can talk about this as if it’s normal. It’s a part of life now, just go in and answer their questions.” This would be the first conversation I had with someone about Cooper’s diagnosis outside of the hospital. I took a deep breath and walked in.
I handed the pharmacy assistant our prescription. She asked me to confirm the name and date of birth. When she heard 2009, her head popped up and she said, “He’s so young!” She was very innocently expressing surprise and making an observation, but that was it for me. My eyes filled and spilled over and I started apologizing, then SHE started apologizing. It was actually a funny moment, both of us apologizing all over each other. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, let’s move on, I didn’t mean to upset you, I shouldn’t have said anything!” “No, I’m sorry, I’m fine, it’s just new, he’s fine, I’m fine, you’re fine.” Ridiculous.
The pharmacist came over to ask if everything was okay, and I could tell the assistant thought she had done something wrong. I tried to explain the situation and assure the pharmacist that the assistant had not crossed any boundaries. It was comforting in some way that someone else found it as shocking as we did. We got back to business and got the prescription set up. They wished us well and I walked out, wondering if I’d ever make it through this conversation without dissolving into tears.
About every six weeks we order new supplies from the pharmacy. Every time I speak to the pharmacist, he says what’s the patient’s name and date of birth. I say Wheeler and the DOB and he says, “Oh yeah, Cooper, I remember.” Every. Single. Time.
I always order over the phone and pick up in the drive-thru, so I hadn’t physically been back in the pharmacy since that fateful day. Our health benefits changed recently and I needed to take our new prescription cards in to add to our file. So when I ordered supplies this time, I felt like it would be easier to go in and set up all the new stuff rather than trying to do it from the van. I took Cooper in with me.
While I was talking to a different assistant, getting everything in order, the pharmacist overheard our name and came out to say hello. Cooper was playing in the waiting area with some cars (of course). The pharmacist said “Is this him? Is this Cooper?” I said yes, and he came out from behind the desk to greet Cooper properly. Coops gave him a high five and they talked about his cars for a few minutes. The pharmacist stood up and said to me, “He looks like a healthy, happy boy. I will never forget the day you came in. I’ll never forget it. It’s good to see him this way.”
What are these people trying to do to me?! It was one of the sweetest things anyone has ever said. Here is a person I have not seen in seven months, whom I’ve spoken to maybe four or five times in that span, but who remembers us and our story. And not only that, he’s happy for us – people he doesn’t even know! – that we are healthy and prospering. It was a really beautiful moment.
The next Sunday, I heard Pastor Nick Park speak about being a storyteller. He talked about how Jesus was a storyteller, always using parables to teach people about the kingdom. Pastor Park said everyone has been given a story and what a disappointment it would be if those stories were never shared.
We know that Cooper’s diagnosis is now a huge part of our story. Who knows what the future holds? Will it be a story of miraculous healing? A story of encouragement to those living with less-than-perfect circumstances? We don’t know yet. But we know that we have not been given this story by accident.
It means so much that someone as random as our pharmacist remembers our story and that someone like you, dear reader, chooses to follow it. Thank you for sticking with us. Thank you for remembering us.
