"I'm a Pharmacist, You See. ~Sakuranomachi Pharmacy, Business as Usual Today~" Episode 1: Medicine Isn't Just About Medicine
Synopsis
"I'm a pharmacist, you see."
Sakuranomachi Pharmacy is located in a shopping district in the suburbs of Tokyo. Chiaki Kashiwagi (33), the managing pharmacist, never overlooks the life behind the prescription. The way an elderly person walks down the stairs at night, a medication notebook split into three volumes, a soba shop that remains closed—because her job isn't just about handing over medicine.
However, Chiaki has a past where she left the front lines as if running away from a certain incident during her time working for a major chain.
A major drugstore chain is encroaching on the area in front of the station. A home-care facility is in the red. A new pharmacist and a registered sales clerk are growing while feeling lost. As she stacks up the days in this small pharmacy, Chiaki is constantly asked: Why are you here?
This is a story about a pharmacist who once ran away, choosing to "continue here" once again.
The white medication history screen rises behind her eyelids.
Hold music. The white of the fluorescent lights. The red numbers on the numbered tickets. The faint vibration of the printer. Chiaki compared the prescription with the medicine bag, pressing her fingertip against the margin in the bottom right.
She thought she had checked it.
The seal touches the paper. It should have been a small sound, but it echoed loudly deep within her chest. Somewhere in the distance, someone said, "Next, please." She didn't look up.
Every time morning comes, only that whiteness wakes up first.
*
Chiaki Kashiwagi opened the back door of Sakuranomachi Pharmacy.
The smell of disinfectant ethanol and paper. The pharmacy computer processing accounting and insurance claims hummed low in the back, and the reception printer spat out a single test sheet.
(Neither the rainy season nor prescriptions ever seem to stop.)
Monday mornings begin with the scent of rain clearing up. It's a 12-minute bike ride from her apartment. She stepped in three puddles while passing through the shopping district, and in front of the dry cleaner's, the owner was folding wet cardboard. As she slid her arms into the sleeves of her white coat, her body returned to its usual position.
The test sheet, still white and bearing no one's name, remained halfway in the paper output slot. Chiaki pulled the paper out, flipped it over, and put it into the stack of memo paper for phone calls. In the morning, a blank sheet of paper is just a way to save money. But by late morning, it will be filled with patient complaints, confirmations to doctors, callback times, and messages to pass on to families. A day at the pharmacy begins from the edge of a white sheet of paper.
When she wiped the chairs in the waiting area, the bottom of the umbrella stand, damp from the rain, shone dully. Even before anyone placed an umbrella there, only the traces of water were waiting.
On the bulletin board on the wall, a small tag hung next to the pharmacy license.
——Managing Pharmacist: Chiaki Kashiwagi.
My own name, which I see every morning. Even though I should be used to it, when I look up from the height of my hands wiping the chair, it looks just a little bit like someone else's name.
"Good morning."
"Good morning, Kashiwagi-san. There are a lot of internal medicine appointments today."
Yoshie Fukuda says this while restocking bandages and masks in front of the over-the-counter medicine shelf. She is a person who can read the disarray of a shelf and the mood of a patient with roughly the same level of accuracy.
"That's a cheerful way to start the morning."
"Business isn't exactly booming, but it's important to know ahead of time."
(She hits me with that kind of cold logic again today.)
It's not just people with prescriptions who come here. There are people who come to choose cold medicine, people who just buy masks, and people who come to ask where the compresses are. Sakurano-cho Pharmacy is a place where dispensing, retail, and consultations are all located in one continuous space.
At the reception counter, Yui Hamaguchi is frowning in front of the copier. On the chest of her white coat, her "Registered Sales Clerk - Hamaguchi" name tag and a small "In Training" sticker sway together.
"Yui-chan, paper jam again?"
"It's not a paper jam. It has the intention to come out until the very end. But it gives up in the last five centimeters."
"Save the life counseling for the copier for after your shift."
In the back, the second-generation owner, Keiichiro Kusuyama, is facing his PC. Three ballpoint pens—black, red, and blue—are in the chest pocket of his white coat. A table filled with detailed numbers is open on the screen.
"Kusuyama-san, have you gotten over the mountain with the point table master?"
"I've gotten over the mountain. The swamp is what's left."
"Is it the notifications?"
"The notifications, and my lower back."
"If you need a compress, they're on the OTC shelf. There's no owner discount."
Kusuyama doesn't answer, returning his gaze to the numbers on the screen. Chiaki doesn't ask about the content of the numbers. Even without asking, she can tell pretty much everything from the curve of his back.
It was right after that that the back door swung open with force.
“Sorry, I’m not late!”
Itsuki Kasuga bursts in, clutching her lab coat. She is a second-year pharmacist.
Hamaguchi looks up from the copier.
“Kashiwagi-san, please give me a verdict.”
“It’s before 8:50 AM, so according to the records, you made it.”
“The way you say ‘according to the records’ is scary.”
“For a pharmacist, records are life.”
Hamaguchi nods with a straight face.
“Kasuga-san, that was cutting it close.”
“When you say it, Yui-chan, it really feels like I was in trouble today.”
“It’s not a feeling, it’s a fact.”
The morning meeting is short. If it were long, it would cut into opening time.
“I hear there are many appointments for internal medicine today. If you’re unsure about billing, stop right there and consult immediately. It’s faster to stop than to fix it later.”
Kasuga says a small “Yes,” and Hamaguchi sticks a sticky note next to the terminal. Kusuyama nods without saying a word.
While adjusting the sleeves of her lab coat, Kasuga looks toward Chiaki.
“Kashiwagi-san, what did you do on your day off?”
The atmosphere of the morning meeting pauses for half a step.
“33, single, folding medicine papers. Got a problem with that?”
Silence for three seconds. On the fourth second, Hamaguchi bursts out laughing.
“You fold medicine papers on your day off?”
"Folding. Those small white papers for wrapping powders. I can lose myself in that."
"Is that a hobby?"
"Calling it a hobby suddenly makes me sad, so I've decided to call it meditation."
Fukuda shook his shoulders. Kusuyama interjected without changing his expression.
"Kashiwagi, I'm more worried about your paid leave usage than the powder papers."
Hamaguchi burst out laughing for the second time, and for some reason, only Kasuga looked impressed.
(That's not something to be impressed by.)
9:00 AM.
The automatic door opened, and the first patient walked in. At the reception, Hamaguchi took the prescription, and Fukuda tapped away at the terminal. In the back, Kasuga was in front of the medicine shelf, comparing the names on the boxes with the text on the prescription.
"Kasuga, check the number of days on that prescription one more time."
"Yes. 14 days, after breakfast, 4 medications."
"Good. To the inspection counter."
By 9:30, Nanami Kajiura also arrived for her shift and took her place at the inspection counter.
"Good morning, Kashiwagi-chan. I heard it's going to be busy today?"
"That's according to Fukuda-san. Please be prepared."
As the morning peak at Sakuranomachi Internal Medicine Clinic approached, the chairs in the waiting room filled up one by one, and the interval at which the printer spat out paper grew shorter.
"Thank you for calling, this is Sakuranomachi Pharmacy."
Hamaguchi's voice on the phone went up an octave, and Fukuda glided between checking My Number cards and handling payments. A regular customer who only came to buy masks nodded to Fukuda in front of the shelf. It's not just prescriptions that make up the morning at this shop.
The usual day begins. Doing the usual things, properly. That is my job today.
10:15 AM.
A single drop from a wet umbrella mingled with the sound of the automatic door opening.
Chiaki opened the medication history. The medication history is a record of medication for each patient, like a pharmacy's medical chart. It keeps track not only of the medication details but also of any physical conditions or lifestyle precautions confirmed in the past.
(Mr. Kanno. It's been three weeks.)
He has been a regular for seven years. He always brings his prescription and medication notebook properly, but he is not the type to talk about his physical condition on his own. All I have to go on is the interval between prescriptions and the records in the medication notebook he brings every time.
When I turned my gaze toward the reception, I saw Fukuda's hand hesitate for a moment over the replenishment box, and Kasuga's face stiffen slightly. Everyone knows about the mood swings of Muneaki Kanno.
Kanno did not take off his hat. He didn't even make eye contact. He bluntly placed his prescription and medication notebook on the counter.
"I had them prescribe me a sleeping pill. Make it quickly."
Hamaguchi's response at the reception was a beat late.
Kanno sat down on the bench by the window, still holding his folded umbrella. A small ring of water fell from the tip of the umbrella onto the floor.
*
At 2:43 AM, Muneaki Kanno woke up.
The darkness in the bedroom was lukewarm. In the futon next to him, his wife, Kazuko, was breathing quietly in her sleep. The fluorescent hands of the clock by the pillow showed 2:43. This was the second time tonight.
His lower abdomen felt slightly distended. The weight of his bladder gradually took shape within the futon. As he tried to get up, his vision swayed for a moment.
He placed his hands on the tatami mat and held his breath. Once he calmed down, he turned on the small light by his pillow with practiced movements. A small yellow circle illuminated only the edge of the futon and the weave of the tatami. It was at an angle that wouldn't reach Kazuko's face.
When he stood up, his knees creaked slightly.
He opened the bedroom door and stepped into the hallway. He placed his right hand on the stair railing, checking the feel of each tread as he stepped. He was putting more weight on the hand gripping the railing than he realized.
The fluorescent light in the first-floor restroom was dazzling. The white light stung his eyes. Even while he was relieving himself, his body swayed slightly. He grabbed the handrail. He hadn't fallen yet. He hadn't yet, but every time he said that, the soles of his feet felt a little less reliable.
Even when he returned to the futon, sleep did not come. While Kazuko fell asleep right away next to him, he had been spending nights unable to sleep for three hours for two weeks now.
When morning comes, I'll ask Dr. Sawada for a sleeping pill.
Even though he decided that, his eyes, staring at the ceiling, could not close.
*
"Mr. Kanno, I'll speak with you over here."
Chiaki gestured toward the standing counter used for medication guidance. It was a small, partitioned area beside the counter, designed for one-on-one conversations with patients. Just by stepping half a pace away from the bustle of the waiting room, the way voices carried changed.
Kanno stood in front of the counter sluggishly, still wearing his hat.
"Why do I have to go all the way over there? What a pain."
His voice was low.
"Just give it to me when it's ready, like you always do."
Kasuga's hand paused for a moment on the inspection table. The transparent packet strip that had come out of the automatic packaging machine rustled on the table.
Chiaki's expression did not change.
(Mr. Kanno is in a bad mood today.)
But first, she had to look at the prescription.
"Since a new medication has been added today, please let me confirm a few things with you."
Kanno did not reply. He leaned his folding umbrella against the side of the counter, traced the brim of his hat with his thumb, and let his gaze drift out the window. Only the medication notebook he brought without fail every time gave her a glimpse into his life.
The prescription listed his usual four medications: blood pressure medication, cholesterol medication, medication for an enlarged prostate, and medication to suppress stomach acid. All were one tablet after breakfast.
Added to that was the new sleep aid, one tablet before bed for 14 days.
Muneaki Kanno, 78 years old. His weight is on the lower side. He is currently taking medication for an enlarged prostate.
A small alarm bell rang in her chest.
The reason for his bad mood might be lack of sleep. It might just be his temperament. But that wasn't the basis for her judgment today.
"Mr. Kanno, you've been having trouble falling asleep lately, haven't you?"
"Yeah, I can't fall asleep. I asked Dr. Sawada and he gave me this. That's all there is to it."
“It’s about the medicine the doctor prescribed for you. May I ask you a few questions?”
“What are you asking for? I’m just here to pick up my medicine.”
Kasuga’s gaze finally lifted clearly. The sound of the reception printer spitting out paper echoed strangely close by.
Chiaki aligned the corners of the prescription in her hand.
Kanno wasn't shouting. There was no malice. He simply came to the pharmacy, handed over his prescription, and expected to receive his medicine. He just didn't think that his personal life would be part of that process.
That wasn't the patient's fault.
“Mr. Kanno, please let me confirm your current physical condition. It’s necessary to ensure you can take your medication safely.”
Kanno was silent for a moment. His fingertips traced the stitching on the brim of his hat.
“...Make it quick.”
“Yes.”
Chiaki held her pen. Not on the medication history input screen, but on a notepad in her hand first. If she typed on the keyboard the moment a patient started talking, the sound alone could create a sense of distance.
As she pressed her thumb against the corner of the notepad, the paper rippled slightly. Chiaki smoothed out the habit and pointed the tip of her pen toward Kanno.
“Mr. Kanno, do you ever wake up to use the restroom in the middle of the night?”
Kanno’s eyebrows furrowed.
“...Why are you asking about such trivial things? Just hurry up.”
“Mr. Kanno, this is important. Please give me just three minutes.”
She didn't raise her voice. She didn't rush him. She didn't back down either.
Kanno looked at Chiaki’s face for a moment. Fatigue seeped from the depths of his eyes, which were narrower than usual. He immediately returned his gaze to the window.
A short silence.
“...I do. Lately, about two or three times, I guess.”
You're taking medication for your prostate, right? I'd like to check, just in case, whether you experience any dizziness when you get up to use the restroom in the middle of the night.
That's right. I've been talking to the doctor about it for a while now.
At this, the edge of his voice softened just a little.
Is your bedroom on the first floor or the second floor?
We live in a detached house. The bedroom is on the second floor, and the toilet is on the first.
So you go down the stairs in the middle of the night.
That's right. My wife is already asleep, so I go down quietly so I don't wake her.
Do you feel unsteady when you get up from your futon or while you're on the stairs?
Kanno's thumb stopped at the brim of his hat.
...Lately, a little. There are times I feel uneasy unless I put my weight on the handrail. I haven't fallen, though.
After saying this, Kanno pressed his lips together. It wasn't a complaint. It wasn't an excuse, either. It was the look of someone who, for the first time, had voiced the fact that he couldn't trust his own body as much as he used to.
Chiaki nodded.
Thank you. That was an important thing to confirm.
She asked Kanno to wait in the waiting area for a moment. He sat down on the bench by the window while still wearing his hat, neatly re-rolled his wet folding umbrella, and leaned it against the side of his knee. He complains, but he is a man who doesn't treat things carelessly.
Chiaki turned to the medication history screen.
She organized her thoughts.
If it were just numbers, it would be over in a few lines at the top of the medication history. 78 years old. Wakes up two or three times a night. Bedroom on the second floor, toilet on the first. Goes down the stairs. Recently, feels unsteady.
On top of that, a new sleep aid is being added. This class of medication requires careful administration for elderly patients due to the risk of falls. What if the lingering effects of the medication and dizziness overlap in the middle of the night? What if they overlap while he's on the stairs?
(A fall is the gateway to a fracture. A fracture is the gateway to being bedridden.)
Her pen tip stopped.
(...Stop it)
"Kashiwagi-san."
Kasuga placed a stack of medicine bags down and approached. Her voice was quiet, but her eyes were serious.
"A lot of people are prescribed sleeping pills, right? Why are you concerned in Kanno-san's case?"
A straight shot. A good question. She comes at me head-on today, too.
"If it were just the medicine itself, I wouldn't stop it to this extent."
Kasuga took a sticky note out of her pocket. She was already planning to take notes.
"If it were just the medicine itself?"
"The overlap. Age, moving around in the middle of the night, unsteadiness, and newly added medication. There are many types of sleeping pills, and for elderly patients, this particular type comes with warnings regarding falls. It's not that it's absolutely forbidden, but in Kanno-san's case, all the conditions are met."
Kasuga wrote in large letters on the sticky note.
Overlap.
The letters are huge. The pressure is intense.
"...So, are you going to stop it?"
"Not necessarily stop it. I'll inform Dr. Sawada of the situation and consult with him to see if there are other options."
"Kasuga-san, what we look at in the pharmacy isn't just the tablets."
Fukuda chimed in from the side with a smile. While closing out the register at the reception counter, her ears were clearly tuned in to us.
"We look at everything, including how they move at home."
Kasuga looked up.
"Like the path from the bedroom to the bathroom that Kashiwagi-san was asking Kanno-san about earlier?"
"Exactly."
Chiaki heads toward Kusuyama, who is at the PC in the back, holding her medication history notes.
"Kusuyama-san. I'm going to perform a prescription inquiry regarding Mr. Kanno's sleeping medication for today, including other related systems."
"What's the reason?"
"He moves around the stairs at night. I also confirmed with him personally that he feels unsteady."
Kusuyama shifted his gaze to the prescription details on the screen.
"There's also medication for an enlarged prostate."
"Yes. I'm worried about the overlap."
"You were paying close attention. Let's consult Dr. Sawada."
"When explaining it to the patient, I'll focus on the risk of falling rather than the drug names."
"That's fine."
A prescription inquiry is a task where a pharmacist confirms concerns about the contents of a prescription with the doctor. Whether to process the prescription as is or stop it for a moment. At that boundary, a single phone call carries a lot of weight.
Chiaki opened the medication history screen and placed her notes at hand. She picked up the cordless phone on the pharmacy side and pressed the call button.
She straightened her posture.
"Sakuranomachi Internal Medicine Clinic."
"This is Kashiwagi, the managing pharmacist at Sakuranomachi Pharmacy. I'd like to make a prescription inquiry with Dr. Sawada regarding Muneaki Kanno, who was prescribed medication today."
"I'm sorry, the doctor is currently seeing patients. Would it be alright if he calls you back?"
On the other end of the line, the faint murmur of the clinic's waiting room could be heard. Monday morning. They are busy over there, too.
"Understood. It would be helpful if I could hear back by noon. Please ask for Kashiwagi at Sakuranomachi Pharmacy."
As she hung up the phone, Fukuda let out a chuckle from in front of the inventory shelves.
"Dr. Sawada is decent because he actually calls back. If it were Dr. Sasaki from orthopedics, you'd be on hold for 10 minutes."
(If I can finish in 10 minutes, I win)
The problem was Kanno in the waiting area. Even while I was checking, the waiting time didn't stop. Prescriptions piled up at the reception, and from the tip of Kanno's umbrella, a droplet trembled, hovering just above the floor.
Chiaki left the counter and headed toward the bench by the window.
"Mr. Kanno. Just to be safe, I'm having Dr. Sawada confirm today's medication. The doctor is currently seeing patients, so we're waiting for a return call."
A frown returned to Kanno's brow.
"Huh? You haven't even decided whether to change it? How long are you going to make me wait?"
"I'm very sorry. As soon as it's decided, I will call you."
"Forget the call."
Kanno grabbed the umbrella beside his knee and stood up.
"I'll be back at 3:00 PM. Have it decided by then."
Saying only that, he lowered the brim of his hat and headed out through the automatic doors. The tip of his umbrella tapped the floor just once.
Kasuga let out a small sigh from behind the inspection desk.
"...He got angry and left, didn't he?"
"He gave us a deadline. In his own way."
As she said this, Chiaki looked at the clock on the wall. Even if he complains, he isn't the type to break a promise. I just need to have an answer ready by 3:00 PM.
Hamaguchi muttered from the edge of the reception desk.
"I hope Dr. Sawada calls back soon..."
"Keep your hands moving rather than praying. Call number 18."
"Yes!"
The morning rush was still ongoing. The number tickets advanced, and the white baskets moved along. While keeping her hands busy, Chiaki kept half of her attention on the reception phone.
10:40 AM.
Just as I finished dispensing medication for two patients, the reception phone rang. Hamaguchi picked it up and immediately signaled to Chiaki.
"It's Dr. Sawada."
Chiaki took the handset and placed a notepad in front of her.
"Thank you for calling. This is Kashiwagi."
"Yes, yes, is this Ms. Kanno? What's the matter?"
Dr. Masaomi Sawada's voice was fast. It was fast, but not sloppy. He must have called back during a break in his consultations. On the other end of the line, I could sense the atmosphere of an exam room with the next patient waiting.
"I'm calling about the sleep aid prescribed today. Ms. Kanno is 78 and is also taking medication for an enlarged prostate. For elderly patients, this class of drug comes with warnings regarding the risk of falls."
"Hmm."
Sawada did not agree immediately.
"Ms. Kanno, you see. She says she hasn't been able to sleep for two weeks. Not being able to sleep is bad for the body, too."
The prescribing doctor has their reasons for the prescription. The "hmm" on the other end of the line wasn't a sound of annoyance. It was the sound of weighing the harm of insomnia against the danger of falling on the same scale.
That is why Chiaki didn't offer the name of a drug, but a picture of the patient's life.
"Ms. Kanno wakes up two or three times a night to use the restroom. She lives in a two-story house with the bedroom upstairs and the toilet downstairs, so she has to go down the stairs in the middle of the night. She told me herself that lately, she feels anxious unless she leans her weight on the handrail. She hasn't fallen yet, though."
A short silence fell on the other end of the line.
"...Stairs in the middle of the night, huh?"
On the other end of the line, the scale tipped.
"That's something we should keep an eye on. Let's go with a different class of drug. One that's less likely to cause dizziness. Good catch, Kashiwagi-san."
"Thank you. I will change the sleep aid to a different class and process it for 14 days."
"Yes, please do. Tell Ms. Kanno to be especially careful when she first starts taking it.""
"I'll let them know."
The moment she hung up, Kasuga let out a small sigh, and Hamaguchi finally seemed to relax his shoulders as well.
Chiaki called out to Kusuyama in the back.
"Dr. Sawada called back. We're switching to a different class of medication."
"Do we have it in stock?"
Before Chiaki could answer, a voice flew in from the reception desk.
"We have the other class in stock here. We can fill the full amount today."
Fukuda said without even looking at the shelves.
"Go ahead with it."
Kusuyama didn't even look up from his screen. When he delegates, he delegates all the way.
"Kasuga, for Mr. Kanno's prescription, remove the inquiry tag and prepare it with the change."
"Yes."
Kasuga removed the red inquiry tag. Even with the tag removed, the verification wasn't over. As long as it hadn't reached the patient yet, it could still be corrected. As she set the removed tag down, she accidentally bent the red corner with her thumb, then hurriedly relaxed her grip.
"After the change, it's for 14 days. The dosage remains the same, at bedtime."
"Check the number of days and the dosage against the prescription correction. I'll handle the final inspection."
"Yes."
A white basket was placed in its designated spot on the shelf. There were still over four hours left until the 3:00 PM deadline. The answer had arrived much sooner than expected.
*
Just past 1:00 PM, in the break room.
Kasuga held a paper cup of coffee with both hands, while Hamaguchi had the lid of his bento box open but hadn't yet picked up his chopsticks.
"Kashiwagi-san, is Kanno-san always like that?"
Kasuga lowered his voice a little more than usual.
Chiaki poured hot water into her mug.
"Today was the most intense it's been. And I've been here for seven years."
"Seven years..."
Hamaguchi said softly, looking up timidly.
"I just froze at the reception desk..."
"It's fine, that's normal. I froze up too when I first became a pharmacist."
Hamaguchi's eyes widened slightly.
"You too, Kashiwagi-san?"
"Of course I freeze. Anyone would if a patient spoke to them that aggressively."
"I was watching from the inspection counter, but Kashiwagi-san, your tone didn't change at all."
"If you change it, they'll just come at you even harder. A professional's 'business as usual' is our armor."
Hamaguchi immediately opened her notepad.
"A professional's 'business as usual' is our armor."
"Yui-chan, you don't have to take notes during your break."
"I don't want to forget it."
Her voice was still trembling a little. Even while trembling, she could still take notes. Hamaguchi learned her job well today.
Kasuga straightened his posture while holding the rim of his paper cup with both hands.
"Kashiwagi-san, why do you get so involved? I think some people would say that since it's written on the prescription, you should just dispense it."
The air in the break room suddenly goes quiet.
"Pharmacists are the final gate."
Kasuga is listening without taking notes.
"Prescriptions are for doctors. Reception is for the clerks. The final check is for the pharmacist. If I miss something, it reaches the patient. Patients trust us and take it without a single doubt. We are the only ones who can stop it before it reaches the patient."
After finishing, Chiaki looked at her mug. It sounds cold when said out loud. But even if it's cold, it's the truth.
"...Well, I don't always stop things so dramatically. It just means that today, with Mr. Kanno, it was a situation that needed to be stopped."
Kajiura poked her head in.
"Kashiwagi-chan, you're spouting wisdom."
Kasuga hurriedly closes her notebook, and Hamaguchi finally laughs too. The tension unravels along with the steam from the lunch boxes.
"Make sure you keep your hands moving this afternoon, too."
"Yes!"
Only Kasuga's reply is strangely loud.
*
Afternoon preparations began, and Kasuga and Kajiura returned to the dispensing room. Hamaguchi also went out to the reception desk. Left alone in the break room, Chiaki looked at the rainy sky outside the window.
The rain is light. It's less like it's raining and more like the air is mixed with fine moisture.
When I was at my previous store, I didn't talk to patients like this.
Call the number tag. Process the prescription. Call the next number before picking up on their voices, and cut down wait times before noticing anything amiss. At least at the store where I worked, that wore the face of being 'correct.'
At that store, the sound of the number tags is probably still ringing out correctly even now.
(Saori probably still thinks so, too.)
On the other side of the window, a single raindrop falls from the power line.
(I ran away. And now, I'm here.)
I don't think about what comes next. Instead of thinking, I return to the dispensary and open Kanno's medication history once more. The exchange from this morning, the content returned by Sawada, and the stock of the changed medication.
I could at least do this much. For today, that's enough.
*
3:00 PM.
Sakuranomachi Pharmacy was crowded with a different face than it had in the morning. Patients from the afternoon clinic at Sakuranomachi Internal Medicine began to trickle in, and someone who looked like they were returning from orthopedics was rubbing their lower back with a prescription resting on their knees. Three wet folding umbrellas were lined up on the long bench in front of the reception desk.
"Kashiwagi-san, patient number 52 is ready for you."
Answering Hamaguchi's voice, Chiaki glances toward the automatic door at the entrance.
Muneaki Kanno was standing there.
The same thin hat as this morning. The same polo shirt. The same neatly folded umbrella. The fabric was somewhat drier than it had been in the morning.
(He came. Just as promised.)
"Kanno-san, your medication is ready."
Hamaguchi uses her usual reception voice. It was different from the stiff face she had in the morning. She's back to normal.
(Good for her.)
Chiaki picks up the white basket containing the checked medication bag and heads to the counter.
"Thank you for waiting. I confirmed the medication with Dr. Sawada, and today's sleeping pill has been changed to one from a different class."
Kanno's voice hardens.
"So you did change it after all. It's a medicine prescribed by Dr. Sawada. Why is a pharmacist saying things like that?"
It was a backlash against the decision made by the person who had told her to "decide on it" before leaving that morning. Chiaki does not change her volume.
"I shared your nighttime movements and the dizziness you've been experiencing with the doctor. The medication this time was chosen with those points in mind, to be monitored carefully."
"...What did the doctor say?"
"They replied that it would be better to change it."
Kanno looks up. It's not anger. It's the face of someone whose thoughts haven't caught up yet. The eyes that were looking at Chiaki like she was a clerk until a moment ago are suddenly searching for a different outline.
"...The doctor approved it?"
"Yes."
"Can a pharmacist really say something like that to a doctor?"
"I'm a pharmacist, after all. The final verification of a prescription is part of my job."
She doesn't mean it as a catchphrase. She says it with the same tone as a routine administrative update. Kanno is silent for a while, and the packaging machine in the back of the store gives a short hum. Raindrops slide down the outside of the automatic door.
"...I see."
It's a small reply. It doesn't mean he's convinced. But it's not just a rejection, either. If there's that much room, it's enough for today.
(It's fine if this person isn't convinced right now. As long as he doesn't fall tonight, that's enough.)
"Here is your medication after the change, for 14 days. If you feel dizzy in the morning or feel like you might fall after you start taking it, please call us immediately."
"...Yeah."
His voice is still stiff. But it isn't the kind of stiffness that pushes back like it was this morning.
Chiaki straightens the corner of the medicine bag and says one last thing.
"Also, when you get up in the middle of the night, please don't move immediately after standing up; use the handrail. Just in case."
Kanno's fingers stop at the edge of the medicine bag.
Just for a beat.
The sounds in the store don't stop. The packaging machine is running, Kasuga is flipping through prescriptions on the inspection table, and Fukuda is guiding the next patient next to the reception desk.
Even so, to Chiaki, that one beat sounded strangely long.
Kanno exhales slowly while looking down at the medicine bag.
"...You were thinking about it that much?"
Chiaki misses her chance to reply.
"I used to think being a pharmacist was just packing bags."
She senses Kasuga's hand stop in the back.
"I always thought you just had to look at the prescription, pack the medicine, and hand it over. ...Well, maybe I knew a little bit, even without my wife telling me."
Kanno touches the brim of his hat with his fingertips.
"I'm sorry."
It isn't a loud voice. Rather than an apology, it sounds like he is finally letting go of something he had been holding onto for a long time.
Chiaki swallows the lump in her throat.
At times like this, a pharmacist shouldn't smile too much. Crying is even less appropriate. You shouldn't let your own emotions amplify the words a patient offers.
So, she softens her voice just a little.
"...No. It is our job to ensure you take your medicine safely."
Kanno gives a short laugh. It is a wry smile, as if to hide his embarrassment.
"My wife always scolds me. She says, 'You're being rude to the pharmacist.'"
There is a warmth in the way he says it that wasn't there this morning.
"Is your wife doing well?"
"Yeah, she's doing well. Though she's been saying her knees hurt a bit lately."
"If there's anything you're concerned about, please feel free to consult us anytime. Even about things other than medicine."
"Yeah."
Kanno holds the medicine bag with both hands. Then, he bows his head deeply.
"I'll come back here next time, too."
His voice was low. His fingers tightened around the medicine bag just once more.
"We'll be waiting for you."
Kanno nods slightly once more and heads out beyond the automatic doors. The damp afternoon light rests thinly on the back of his hat.
The door closes.
The bustle of the waiting room returns. The printer spits out paper, Hamaguchi calls out, "I'll take the next person," and Kasuga hurriedly moves her hands that had been paused.
Nothing changes. The medication records don't decrease, and the overtime doesn't disappear. The 3 PM rush hasn't even been half-cleared yet.
Even so, there isn't a single drop of water left on the floor where Kanno had been standing. That man had kept the tip of his wet umbrella tucked against his own knee until the very end.
To capture that invisible change, Chiaki types today's details into Kanno's medication record.
There is no field in the medication record for something like, "I'll come back here next time, too."
"Kashiwagi."
Once things settled down, Kusuyama's voice reached her over her shoulder.
"Well done."
Chiaki replies briefly without taking her eyes off the screen.
"No, I just did what was expected."
"Being able to do what's expected, as expected, is surprisingly difficult."
It is a voice closer to an affirmation than a compliment. Chiaki presses the Enter key.
"Kashiwagi-san."
Kasuga's voice flies over from where she is inputting medication records. Her gaze remains glued to the screen.
"Being a pharmacist is an amazing job."
"As long as you can think that, you're still okay."
"Huh?"
"Sometimes, there are days when you can't think that. But on days like this, you can hold on a little longer."
Kasuga fell silent, and three seconds later, began writing something in his notebook.
"Kasuga. That's not worth taking a note over."
Hamaguchi burst out laughing at the reception desk, and Fukuda said, "Yes, yes, stop laughing and move on to the next one," as she straightened the papers. Then, she took an old towel and went to wipe the water tray of the umbrella stand. Just because someone said thank you didn't mean the pharmacy suddenly became a clean place.
The afternoon mountain of work was not yet over.
*
After 5:30 PM, a brief, shallow lull arrived in the shop before the evening rush.
Chiaki typed up medical records, finished the remaining inspections, and checked the labels for the home care sets. Paper in her hands, text on the screen, and the names of patients in her ears. Today, as always, the work was meticulous.
Because it's meticulous, you overlook things. Because it's meticulous, you can catch them.
Fukuda, who was organizing the home care sets, suddenly looked up toward the window.
"Oh my, there are people surveying the vacant lot on the corner of the shopping street."
"Huh?"
"You know, the site where Tanaka's greengrocer closed two years ago."
Chiaki glanced past the window. Two figures in work clothes were moving in front of the white temporary fencing.
Kasuga left, saying, "Excuse me for leaving early!" with his energy still fully charged. Hamaguchi was in front of the OTC shelf, returning the disheveled boxes to face forward one by one. The "In Training" sticker on his chest dully reflected the evening light.
"Hmm, I wonder what they're building."
Fukuda tilted her head leisurely as she straightened the stack of labels.
“Who knows, maybe a coin-operated parking lot?”
Hamaguchi at the reception desk laughs softly as she puts the payment tray back.
“That would be a relief, wouldn't it? The parking lot is so narrow.”
Chiaki just replies, “I suppose so,” and returns her gaze to the medication history screen.
7:00 PM, closing time. By the time we pulled the shutter halfway down, the rain had stopped completely.
When I take off my lab coat and close the locker door, my shoulders feel heavy. My calves are tight, too. My feet, which have been standing since morning, complain quietly at the thought of the bicycle ride home.
“I'm heading out now.”
“Good work today. Kashiwagi-san, you really stopped them today, didn't you?”
At Fukuda's voice, Chiaki raises one hand without turning around.
Water still remained on the shopping street's pavement. Just before turning the corner, I look back once, and the light from Kusuyama's desk is still leaking through the gap in the shutter.
As I walk, pushing my bicycle, I come out in front of the vacant lot on the corner.
A white temporary fence. On its surface, only the frame of a bulletin board was attached. There was nothing posted inside yet.
Chiaki's feet stop for a beat.
(I remembered those detailed numbers on Kusuyama-san's screen.)
I can't even explain the reason to myself. There shouldn't be any connection between an empty frame and management figures. Chiaki shakes her head slightly and straddles the saddle.
A damp night breeze hits my cheeks. Along the street where the smell of oil from the deli still faintly lingers, the sound of shutters closing one by one echoes.
Medicine doesn't end with just talk of medicine.
What I said in front of Kasuga this morning comes to mind, and as I pedal, I try saying it to myself in my heart once more.
(33, single, folding medicine packets, so what?)
I can laugh, just a little.
(...Well, whatever. I'm a pharmacist, after all.)
The streetlights swayed thinly in the puddles.
I wrote about why I write "I'm a pharmacist, you see." and how I create it with AI in this article.
Read the rest here.
In Episode 2, rookie pharmacist Itsuki Kasuga sees for the first time the "life" hidden behind a patient's anger.
It is a story about the first thing he, who still knows nothing, picked up at Sakuranomachi Pharmacy.
"I'm a pharmacist, you see." is compiled in this magazine.
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