In May of 2014 when we reviewed my first positive SIBO test, my doctor and I decided that the traditional antibiotic treatment of Rifaximin was the best option for my crazy, awful infection. We had both read and heard great things about the pharmaceutical antibiotic, and felt with my years of digestive distress, hitting the SIBO infection as hard as we could was the proper course of treatment. But Rifaximin is not cheap.
Standard antibiotics range from $5 to $100 for a 7 day supply, but Rifaximin ranges from $1,000 to $1,500 for the same duration. My doctor and I set about calling every pharmacy in the valley and I contacted my insurance company and the company that manufactures Rifaximin to see what we could do to decrease the cost. I called a few friends to pray as the $1,000 to $1,500 range was way out of my budget and would take months for me to save up for.
After two weeks of research, we found the least expensive pharmacy in town and I knew the cost would be about $1200. I had signed up for a $500 off coupon from the manufacturer that according to every pharmacy in town, “may or may not work, and we won’t know until we run it.” We had learned that my insurance company would not cover any of the bill. Best case scenario the Rifaximin would cost $700.
During the days I waited for the pharmacy to order the Rifaximin, as no one in town kept it in stock, I went to the post office to check the mail and found a check for $1,000 from some friends. They wanted to help pay for my treatment or any other health care needs I had. I felt so humbled and blessed by the gift. The Rifaximin and Neomycin, which I was to take in conjunction, would be almost paid for and $200 was entirely doable for me financially. I felt like I received a gift from God. And it felt a little bit like a miracle that my husband and I were still going to get to eat the next two months despite purchasing the expensive drug.
A few days later when the pharmacist called to notify me of my prescription being complete, I made the drive across town to pick up the medication. I parked my car on the steep, curved parking lot under an old, deciduous tree with roots pushing up through the concrete. The broad, brilliant green leaves of the tree shadowing my way as I walked the short distance into the pharmacy. Traveling through the two doors that keep out the harsh, cold airs of our Rocky Mountain winters I walked across the firm carpet of the pharmacy. I walked up to the counter, stated my name, and handed over my Rifaximin coupon. A lady took my information back to the pharmacist who stood behind a tall wall looking over a computer and down at me.
The pharmacists had long, black, curly hair that hung loosely tied behind the base of her head and fluffily flowed down the back of her neck. She shifted her gaze back to her computer and set to work. Her eyes narrowing and squinting with frustration and then opening wide with relief several minutes later and then back again to thin dark lines of defeat. She typed. And I waited. Not wanting to watch her eyes for cues any longer as to what the bill would be, I looked about the old waiting room.
The pharmacy had been around for far more years than I had been alive and although the carpet was fresh, the chairs to wait in reminded me of another time. I felt a bit like I had travelled back to the days of the settlers as I sat in the wooden, hardback chair that seemed more fit for a 1850’s cabin than a modern day waiting room.
“Elena!” The dark, curly-haired woman said as she came brusquely around the corner of the tall wall and down the two shallow steps to my level. I stood up and walked to the counter.
“I’m sorry the cost is so much. I did everything I could to get the price down for you. I even ran the two different sizes of pills separately, but I couldn’t get the price any lower for you. I’m so sorry it is so expensive.” She hurriedly said.
Unsure, and a bit apprehensive by the forthright apology, I asked how much the cost was going to be. “One hundred, forty three dollars and forty eight cents.”
“I’m sorry, what?” I said in confusion.
“Again, I am so sorry the cost is so much. Usually antibiotics are about $20 but this Rifaximin is still so new, there is not a generic version of it and I can’t get a lower price for you.”
Astounded by number she said, I held back tears. I could see $1,294 written out on my form for the Rifaximin on the counter between me and the pharmacist. The cash price for the Rifaximin was $1,294 and all I owed was $143.48.
The coupon worked.
My insurance covered part of the prescription.
And the pharmacist was able to find a way to use two different sizes of pills to lower the price.
“Thank you! I was expecting to pay at least $700 today. This is a really big deal for me. I appreciate what you have done.” I exclaimed.
“Again, I’m so sorry it isn’t the cost of standard antibiotics.” The pharmacist repeated.
The dark haired pharmacist felt so bad the cost was so high, but I walked out of the pharmacy and back to my grey little car underneath the giant, towering tree, and as the energy drained from my body, I doubled over in tears. I felt like I was given a miracle. And I felt so deeply that God had not only thought of me, in that moment, but that He had paid for my prescription and then much more.
After being so sick for so many years without answers, I finally felt like God was bringing about great change in my health. And I felt like I was experiencing a brief moment in time when miracles happen.
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