The older we get, the more often we stand in the front line of today’s drug wars.

Or in the back of the line, or around the corner at the counter. Or waiting in the row of chairs near shelves filled with more medicines.

The older we get, the more conscious we are of prescription drugs – the need for them and their exorbitant costs. And, keenly aware of the other kind of drug war going on that most of us feel we are losing.

Take a fellow in line the other day to pick up his prescription. Already irritated at having to wait, when he was told his prescription had not been phoned in as promised by his physician, the guy became so agitated he probably needed even more pills.

He had driven 45 miles for his medicine; it wasn’t ready and he was livid, taking his frustration out on the innocent pharmacy department whose staff was filling orders as fast as their hands – and brains – could work. Those folks looked as stressed as he.

He was not the only person badmouthing doctors, or their staffs, for not ordering prescriptions to the pharmacists in a timely way.

“If you’ll take a seat, we’ll phone your doctor and ask that your prescription be faxed to us,” said the helpful counter clerk. Thirty minutes later, the guy remained there grumbling to anyone who would listen.

“But I renewed this prescription on your automated line in order to save time; I’m on my lunch break,” said a harried woman, who was told her insurance co-pay had been canceled. Instead of $30 for her antibiotics, she owed $260. For 12 tablets!

What she had forgotten to give the pharmacy was her new insurance card, which was accepted, which would be rebilled and would take hours to straighten out if she could come back tomorrow.

The lines grew longer as everyone’s patience grew shorter.

Another person whose insurance carrier had changed for whatever reason complained his blood pressure medication he’d been taking for years used to come in a 90-day supply and his co-pay was $40. Under the new arrangement, the man was told his insurance would allow pills for only 31 days and his co-pay was $25. He shook his head, muttering to his wife as they pushed their shopping cart toward another aisle. “At least, we have help with the cost,” she said to him.

People took their turns dropping off prescription slips, insurance cards, picking up their white paper bags of medicines, filing in lines here or there according to signs like fair-goers through marked turnstiles. Next, next, next!

An obese woman who had waited in line a long time – uncomfortably – asked about the cost of her medication when she finally reached the counter. “You better tell me what it is because I might not be able to afford it,” she said for all of us to hear. “No, I can’t pay $200. I’ll just live with the pain.”

As the disappointed woman limped away, a mother and her daughter waiting in line commiserated with the casualty of the drug war they’d witnessed. “I feel like paying her costs,” said the mother. “It’s so wrong. This country has a crisis.”

“This country is a crisis,” the daughter retorted.