Proof and prejudice at the pharmacy

It’s been a year since our Rachel became an adult and now qualifies as disabled with extensive needs, according to our province’s health care system. We celebrated her 19th birthday with a train trip to Toronto for the day. Visiting the big city offers a unique experience of inclusion, as a wheelchair is less of an anomaly in the busy streets and urban parks. There’s a sense of belonging found at the intersection of being seen (accessible infrastructure) and blending in (not being stared at).

Friendly face

In being recognized as a disabled adult with medical needs, the province helps to supplement Rachel’s healthcare needs, specific to monthly incontinence supplies. In a recent shipment, one package of briefs (adult diapers) was the wrong size. I debated bringing the package in, as I did not have a receipt or order invoice. Would I be taken at my word, as Rachel’s advocate, and be able to exchange for the correct size?

When we first brought Rachel home in 2006, I remember being questioned by the pharmacy team about my insistence that all her medications be compounded (made into liquid). I responded by bringing Rachel to the pharmacy, feed pump included, and introduced her to the staff. I explained that she can only receive food and medication via gastrostomy tube. That friendly exchange shifted their posture from abrasive to warm, and we’ve been so grateful for their care over the years.

Invisible framing

Last week, when I walked into the pharmacy with the package of briefs in my arms and no receipt, I wondered if I would be trusted on account of familiarity. This was confirmed in the staff’s smiles and assurance that the package would be replaced by the correct size. I thanked them for their understanding and, as I turned to leave, a staff person said, “It’s not like you’re a junkie, trying to return your ODSP [Ontario Disability Support Program] order for drug money.”

I wasn’t sure what to say in response, or if I should say anything at all. I thanked them again and headed home, mulling over the language of “junkie” and the likelihood that the pharmacy team has encountered some less-than-trusted experiences with ODSP returns and exchanges.

Coincidentally, two days prior to this interaction at the pharmacy, I met someone named Carolyn. As a person with lived experience of substance abuse, Carolyn now works as an advocate and counsellor. Her recounting of how difficult it is to live with the stigma of substance abuse and the ill-informed narrative about people who use drugs caught my attention. Carolyn shared how language plays a significant role in either creating bias or encouraging understanding in how individuals like her are seen and accepted.

I am reminded of how engagement and language profoundly shape our perceptions of one another, especially within the fabric of our communities. Fostering a sustained and intentional awareness of others, particularly those who might look different and make different choices takes effort but makes, well . . . a difference.